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 THE 
 
 
 
 J 
 
 L. 
 
 TKIANGttLAK 
 
 I V\ V\ 
 
 /SOCIETY" 
 
 p^o]vr fjiE LIFE op 
 
 PORTLAND 
 
 HOYT, FOGG & DONHAM 
 1886 
 
COPYRIGHTED BY 
 
 HOYT, FOGG & DONHAM, 
 
 1885. 
 
 B. THURSTON & Co., 
 Printers and Stereofypers, 
 
 PORTLAND, ME. 
 
f? 
 
 Al- 
 
 -n 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE CAT. . . -5 
 
 II. ANOTHER POEM. . 17 
 
 The Extinguisher. The Adjective. 
 
 III. AN UNCONFESSED POET. 
 
 Acorn Planting. 
 
 IV. A SNOW-STORM. 
 
 Snowed In. Shovelling Snow. Song of 
 
 the Season. * 
 
 V. ACCEPTING A SITUATION. . 43 
 
 VI. THE MOUSE TRAP. . 
 
 VII. A CHRISTMAS PRESENT. . . 57 
 
 VIII. THE FIRST TRIANGULAR. . . 70 
 
 The Derwent Ducks. The Cockroach. 
 How Strange it will be. Ishmael 
 Day. A Caged Lion. The Last 
 Voyage. 
 
 IX. TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS. . 95 
 
 X. THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. 103 
 
 A Dear Lonesome Day. Winter Time. 
 Old-Fash ioned Flowers. Grandmoth 
 er s Garden. Old Roses. Bed Time. 
 XL THE MAN WHO WAS HAPPY. . . 120 
 
 XII. THE THIRD TRIANGULAR. . . 135 
 
 Eyes. Afterward. Poetical Patchwork. 
 To the Moon. Dr. McGee. 
 
 XIII. PARSON SMITH S BIB. . . .144 
 
 A Pewter Tankard. 
 
 XIV. THE DOOR-MAT MAN. . .151 
 
 The Blind Man s Wife. 
 
 XV. THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. . .156 
 
 A Cavalry Private. A Hero in a Good 
 Cause. What is it? Little Lone 
 some. Knitting Work. A Modern 
 Minstrel. 
 
 3 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAQE 
 
 XVI. A RAINY DAY. . . .179 
 
 A Wet Week. A December Night. 
 XVII. LOOKING OVER THE WALL. . .185 
 
 Fessenden s Garden. 
 
 XVIII. JOHN, THE FLY. . . . 189 
 
 XIX. THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. . ..198 
 
 Little Friends. The Baby s Smile. A 
 Country School-House. The Sun 
 shine Song. A Moonlight Excur 
 sion. To Casco Bay. 
 
 XX. THE MINCE PIE. . . .213 
 
 XXI. THE TRAMP. . . . .225 
 
 XXII. THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. . 231 
 
 A Rebus. Haunted Houses. Wounded. 
 A Demolished Homestead. Her An 
 swer. He came Too Late. Solemn 
 New England. 
 
 XXIII. NEVER WRITE VERSES. . . 254 
 
 Writing to Order. 
 
 XXIV. BROKEN BONES. . . . 268 
 
 The Fact and the Report. 
 
 XXV. THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. . . 274 
 
 Munjoy Hill. The Colorado Potato 
 Bug. Afterglow. Madge Miller. 
 To-morrow. 
 
 XXVI. TROUBLE WITH TYPE. . 292 
 
 XXVII. IN THE GARDEN. . c . 307 
 
 Morning Glories. 
 
 XXVIII. THE MALIGNED COMPOSITOR. . 319 
 XXIX. THE EIGHTH TRIANGULAR. . . 328 
 
 Lizzie. Bertie. Gracie with the Gold 
 en Hair. Ned. Winnie. 
 XXX. CREEPING THINGS. . . 340 
 
 The Span-worm. The Caterpillar. 
 XXXI. ENVY AND AMBITION. . . 347 
 
 XXXII. A PLUMBERS RECEPTION. . 350 
 
 A Familiar Acquaintance. 
 
 XXXIII. COLE us. . 358 
 
 XXXIV. A FAITHFUL FRIEND. 364 
 
 Toby. 
 A PERIOD. , . 381 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY, 
 
 I. 
 
 THE CAT. 
 
 THE family had a cat. Not that this is any special 
 distinction almost every family has a cat. To some 
 families cats are born, some achieve cats, and some 
 have cats thrust upon them. Among the latter may 
 be reckoned the amiable household of which these 
 pages are a fragmentary and imperfect record, or, 
 more correctly, a string of sketches, making small 
 claim to chronological order, or consecutiveness of 
 dates or doings. Their cat, alas, came to them, as, 
 indeed, one time and another, did many a friendless 
 and desperate animal of the genus. Households 
 made up principally of tender-hearted women and 
 children, households wherein the masculine element is 
 either unusually amiable, or altogether absent, are 
 generally besieged by tramps of all descriptions, 
 human and feline. 
 
 And here arises a question where do all the 
 vagrant, homeless cats come from? Almost every 
 body drowns the superfluous kittens which an inscru- 
 
 5 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 table fate from time to time adds to the family circle ; 
 almost every bad boy stones and kills every cat he 
 sees; all the waste places and open cellars which 
 mark the sites where houses have been burned, are 
 half full of dead cats in various pathetic attitudes ; 
 and it remains a marvel to every reflecting mind, 
 whence come the cats, all more or less scampish-look 
 ing, gaunt, and disreputable, which are always sneaking 
 and snooping around back doors, sitting melancholy, 
 dingy, and hungry, on roofs and fences, or giving 
 songs in the night to an audience of sleepy and 
 ungrateful dead-heads ? 
 
 To tliis innumerable company of unpaid musicians, 
 originally belonged the cat which in the fullness of 
 time invaded this previously happy household. No 
 body ever quite knew how the cat got imbedded in 
 the family. Once or twice she had been seen sitting 
 forlorn on the doorstep, with her hands in her muff, 
 looking up at the windows, with an injured expression 
 of countenance, (which, being remarked upon, was at 
 once accounted for by Bobby, the terrible infant of 
 the family, who suggested that it had been injured in 
 a %ht,) and when the door was opened, suddenly 
 darting away, and pretending she had been kicked. 
 The next anybody knew, she was installed in the 
 cosiest corner of the sitting-room lounge, and declared 
 by Bobby, who at once assumed proprietorship, to be 
 uncommonly particular about her eating. 
 
 After some faint opposition, Bob and the cat carried 
 the day. Peremptory orders were issued, however, 
 
THE CAT. 
 
 that if the cat was to be a member of the household, 
 she must forthwith wash the dust of travel from her 
 sooty and begrimed person, and conduct herself like a 
 respectable family cat. She must conform to the 
 wholesome rules and steady habits of the establish 
 ment ; she must confine herself to three regular meals 
 a day; must content herself with the range of the 
 house and wood-shed, give up scrambling over fences 
 and ridge-poles with vagrant companions, and sleep 
 regularly in a barrel, on some soft straw, covered with 
 a piece of carpet. No more open-air concerts, no 
 more vagabondish associates. To these conditions 
 the cat agreed. But how did she keep her promises? 
 Nobody was mercenary enough at the time, to try 
 to drive a sharp bargain with the cringing, half-starved 
 creature, and so nobody suggested as a condition of her 
 adoption, that she should rout the innumerable com 
 pany of mice which held nightly dancing-schools in 
 the walls and ceiling of the antiquated dwelling. 
 And it was just as well that this was not mentioned, 
 since nobody ever had any reason to suppose that the 
 cat would have known a mouse had she met it, unless 
 somebody had been by to perform the ceremony of 
 introduction. As for cleanliness, she so seldom washed 
 her face or hands, that when, at long intervals, she set 
 awkwardly about it, the whole household was sum 
 moned to witness the operation, which, from its unus- 
 ualness, always gave her a cokl i i her head, so that 
 she went about sneezing, all the next day or two. 
 Up to the time when the cat was added, it had been 
 
8 THE TBIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 a united and comfortable family, the mother, and Bru 
 nette and Bob; all with ideas of their own, to be 
 sure, and all inclined to think her or his own idea the 
 very one to be acted on in any present case. But on 
 the whole, they agreed pretty well, and had rather a 
 pleasant life of it until the cat came. 
 
 Alas the day ! It was found out before long that 
 they had all along been happier than they knew. It 
 had been possible to go down stairs without being 
 tripped up by a cat s tail ; to leave the doors open a 
 moment without afterward finding a coal-smutted quad 
 ruped asleep on the clean white pillows, or everything 
 in the pantry dragged off the plates and mussed 
 around the floor ; to leave the dinner-table for a 
 moment unguarded, without risk of loss, or a gravy- 
 deluged table-cloth. But after the cat came, all this 
 was changed. Nobody ever went down stairs again 
 without a stumble and a wrestle, a spasmodic grasp 
 ing at the balusters and much disjointed exclamation, 
 which, though it certainly was not swearing, surely 
 had some most blasphemous inflections. Xobody ever 
 left a door open after that, without at once discover 
 ing that cat either in the milk-pitcher, the butter-plate, 
 the water-pail, or the best bed ; nobody ever went out 
 without letting her in, or in, without letting her out. 
 Every garment, cushion, chair, and lounge in the house 
 was furred with cat s hairs. Somebody was always 
 washing up grease-spots, or sweeping up crumbs, or 
 opening doors, or scolding or fretting, or getting ur^ 
 too early, or going to bed too late, because of 
 
THE CAT. 
 
 9 
 
 cat. She was always getting under chair-rockers, or 
 somebody s feet, or the treadle of the sewing-machine ; 
 even the stove-oven door must be studiously kept 
 shut, to prevent her from going in and baking 
 herself to death. She was always hungrily besieging 
 the pantry, or thirstily apostrophizing the pump ; 
 always missing when she was wanted, and on hand 
 when she was not. She was pretty sure to be 
 in the sitting-room if a caller was announced ; and 
 she would frequently astonish an unsuspecting party 
 by getting under the open-work bamboo chair in 
 which he was sitting, and clawing at the seat with all 
 her might, under pretence of sharpening her claws, 
 a process never altogether agreeable to the sitter, who 
 generally betrayed her by bouncing from the chair 
 and choosing one with a more solid basis. If she was 
 busy with worse mischief in the kitchen, so as to be 
 quite unable to meet visitors in the parlor, they were 
 often reminded of her by the sight of a chicken-bone 
 on the key-board of the piano, or a cold buckwheat- 
 cake on the sofa-cushion. 
 
 While she was a pilgrim and a stranger outside the 
 house, she was dying to get in ; as soon as she was 
 established inside, she was perishing to get out. Every 
 departing visitor who found her meekly waiting at the 
 street-door, called her " poor pussy," and obligingly let 
 her out ; and then Bobby cried, and dug his knuckles 
 into his eyes he was younger then than afterward 
 and rubbed his nose to a fine polish until the truant 
 was reclaimed. This task was only accomplished by 
 
10 
 
 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 some one standing at the open door, and, with a 
 vacant and preoccupied air, scraping away for dear 
 life with a knife in a tin pan. The cat was not hun 
 gry ; but reversion, natural selection, or the survival 
 of the fittest, led her to swarm toward the sound of 
 scraping ; and by the time everybody s teeth were well 
 on edge, she would come bounding in, like a belated 
 fireman at a conflagration. It is needless to say that 
 all the tin ware in the house was before long scraped 
 down to hard pan. 
 
 That cat became the bane of the family, the staple 
 of discontented converse. Even the mother, who 
 dotes on dumb things, and deifies Mr. Bergh, was 
 often heard to say, after some season of unusual trial, 
 " I declare, I wish there were some instantaneous and 
 merciful way of killing a cat. If I hire a boy to kill 
 her, he will torture her ; if I turn her away, she will 
 be abused and starved ; if I keep her, she will wear 
 the life out of me. She is a perfect elephant ! " This 
 last position was strenuously .combated by Bobby, who 
 intimated that she had no trunk ; but he was promptly 
 snubbed by Brunette, who remarked, " I wish she had 
 a trunk, I d put her into it and send her off by 
 express this afternoon, with C. O. D. on the cover, 
 meaning Carry her Off and Drown her." Only Bob 
 remained her friend; chiefly, no doubt, because he 
 never had any work to do for her. 
 
 Of course it would be impossible to set down all the 
 tantrums of that cat, or to rehearse the worries, 
 troubles, and vexations which she brought into the 
 
I 
 THE CAT. 11 
 
 family. A specimen prank of hers will give a taste of 
 her quality. 
 
 The house, as previously intimated, is running over 
 with mice, or would run over, were it not perforated 
 with mouse-holes, to let out the surplus. By dint- of 
 stopping these holes with obstructions saturated with 
 a solution of cayenne pepper, a small percentage of 
 the little devourers is kept out of the rooms ; but 
 the jigs they dance in the wall are wonderful to hear. 
 One Sunday they were unusually lively, and Bobby 
 was much excited by their uncommon scuffling and 
 squeaking. The idea at once occurred to him, that it 
 would be well to introduce the cat to the attic, which 
 is supposed to be mouse headquarters. So the cat 
 was tenderly carried up and deposited in the little 
 prism-shaped cuddy under the eaves, informed that 
 she might have all the mice she could catch, and left 
 to her pursuits. 
 
 Half an hour later, a fearful commotion was heard 
 in the sitting-room wall, a scratching, scrabbling, rat 
 tling, tearing racket, as though there were a fight of 
 wild beasts going on behind the wall-paper, the whole 
 accompanied by a most blood-curdling y owing and 
 spitting. The unhappy three read in each other s 
 faces the dreadful fact that cat had fallen down 
 between the laths and the boarding! 
 
 Of course there was a family consultation, which 
 immediately adjourned to the attic. The closet door 
 was opened, disclosing to the garish light of day a lot 
 of rubbish left by the last tenant (why don t people 
 
12 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 clear out their trash when they move ? ) an old cur 
 tain, a broken goblet, a mouldy boot, a debilitated hoop- 
 skirt, a veritable skeleton in a closet, a fragment 
 of a pitcher, one leg of a pair of trousers, an old 
 chair bottom, and some empty bottles, the whole 
 "rounded and finished " with the cobwebs and dust 
 of years, but no cat. Instead, a prolonged howl, 
 ending in a spasmodic scratching that threatened to 
 rip off the clapboards, came dismally up from the 
 eaves, where a narrow crevice at the ends of the floor 
 boards showed the only place where the cat could 
 have descended. To this day, nobody understands 
 how she could have squeezed herself down there. 
 
 "Fuff! fuff ! pint! phit! mow! mow! m-a-e-i-o-u-ow ! " 
 came up through the crack, as though a dozen cats 
 were swearing on a wager. Whereupon every listener 
 begun calling "Kitty, kitty!" in every tone of 
 entreaty, endearment, and absolute wheedling. But 
 all in vain. Bob ran for the persuasive pan, and 
 scraped like mad, but nothing came of it. When he 
 ceased, an ominous silence reigned. " She s stifled ! " 
 screamed Bobby, " she s just suffocated down in that 
 horrid hole ! I wish you M never told me to put her up 
 here ! " added he, quite forgetting that it had been 
 his own proposal. 
 
 Presently two pale yellow phosphorescent spots 
 appeared in the black crack, accompanied by a plain 
 tive " M-a-e-i-o-w ! " It was that cat. She put her 
 nose against the crack to show that she couldn t get 
 her head through; she pushed her paw up to show 
 
THE CAT. 18 
 
 that she couldn t get her body through ; she evinced, 
 or pretended, the most frantic eagerness to get out, 
 but all in vain. 
 
 " Fetch me a lamp, and the axe," said the worried 
 mother, in desperation ; " perhaps, if I can see, I may be 
 able to pry up a board and let her out." The lamp 
 and axe were brought, and the edge of the latter 
 was inserted between the boards. Then the combined 
 family sat on the handle for a purchase, until a groan 
 from^the axe warned them that the handle might give 
 way, when they dismounted. But the board being 
 firmly fastened at the ends, simply bowed up a little 
 in the middle, not enough to let a mouse through, and 
 defied all the mother s strength, who was meanwhile 
 burning off her eyelashes over the lamp chimney, and 
 getting her hair tangled in the shingle nails of the 
 roof. Brunette afterward declared that even in this 
 sore strait, the mother only said under her breath, 
 "What would Mr. Bergli say?" 
 
 But Brunette made no jocose remarks at present. 
 " What shall we do ? " she wailed. " When I was in 
 New York, I knew a cat that got down in the wall 
 that way and died there; and the family had to move 
 away because " 
 
 " Dear, dear," groaned the mother. " What could 
 we do ? " and she struggled wildly at the board, skin 
 ning her fingers and turning back her nails recklessly. 
 * Get me a wedge-shaped piece of kindling-wood," she 
 said, " perhaps I can drive it in and raise the board a 
 little more." 
 
14 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 " The poor thing starved to death by inches," con 
 tinued the dismal narrator of New York experience, 
 "and it was dreadful to hear her mewing growing 
 weaker and weak " 
 
 " For mercy s sake," groaned the poor mother, to 
 whom every word was a fresh goad, " do hold this 
 wedge while I drive it. This wretched little hole of 
 a closet isn t big enough for one to get into, even on 
 one s knees ! If I could only get to the other edge of 
 the board, so the axe-handle wouldn t hit the door- 
 casing every time I pound, I believe I could manage 
 it." 
 
 " Let me come," said Brunette, insanely anxious, 
 "I m larger than you are, perhaps I can get in." 
 
 The poor mother, too much exhausted to rebuke 
 this folly by anything more than a reproachful glance, 
 paused a moment and wiped her wet forehead with an 
 extremely dirty hand, which left three black streaks 
 across her face diagonally ; she was quite unmindful 
 that the drops which anguish and fatigue had called 
 out on her forehead, had entirely ruined her inchoate 
 crimps. Finally, after everybody was covered with 
 dust, cobwebs, scratches and splinters, the wedge was 
 driven, giving about two inches and a half of space 
 for the cat s egress. 
 
 "The creature never can flatten herself through 
 
 o 
 
 that," sighed the poor woman, absently withdrawing 
 a hair-pin which had been driven too far into her 
 head by contact with the sloping roof, " I know she 
 can t." 
 
THE CAT. 15 
 
 "I guess she can," chirped hopeful Bobby, "I 
 have n t given her anything but a soda-cracker this 
 morning, and she ate that flat-wise." 
 
 C? 
 
 By this time the piteous mewing had quite ceased. 
 u She has got caught somewhere, and choked herself 
 to death," said Brunette, who was apt to take gloomy 
 views. 
 
 " She s what s-his-name-iated," moaned Bobby, wip 
 ing his eyes on his sister s overskirt. He had that 
 morning been reading about a colliery explosion in 
 Belgium. 
 
 " Let s go down stairs, any way," suggested the 
 mother, gathering up her cramped limbs, " perhaps 
 she 11 try to come out, after we are gone." 
 
 " If she does, she 11 be spoiled for a cat," murmured 
 Brunette, under her breath. 
 
 The saddened trio departed, Bobby afterward 
 returning surreptitiously to place some tempting 
 viands within smelling distance of the crack, and 
 retiring with the most dismal forebodings, in which he 
 was joined below by the others. 
 
 " How can I ever eat another mouthful," said the 
 mother, half to herself, " with that poor creature starv 
 ing in the wall ? It will drive me frantic to hear her 
 mew, and as likely as not the Cruelty Agent will get 
 hold of it " 
 
 " But he can t pull her out by her mew, if he does 
 get hold of it," despairingly commented Bobby, " and 
 I do wish " 
 
 " A sweet place this will be next summer," groaned 
 
16 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Brunette, her agile fancy springing forward six months 
 at a bound, " which is the best disinfectant, chloride of 
 lime, copperas, or carbolic acid ? " 
 
 But this ghastly discourse was too painful, and a 
 mournful silence succeeded. After a wretched hour, 
 varied by occasional trips to the attic, which brought 
 no tidings, the mother went to the wood-shed, return 
 ing a moment after, laden with a larger stick, a ham 
 mer, a cold-chisel, and a washboard. " I know she can 
 never get up through that crack," she said, " this 
 washboard is stronger than the axe-handle, or at any 
 rate, I can split a floor-board with the chisel." And 
 the procession wound up stairs again. 
 
 Half-way up, the absurdity of the affair occurred 
 to her. " Too bad ! " she exclaimed, " here s the whole 
 day going, just wasted on that cat! I believe I will 
 never take pity on an outcast again ! " 
 
 " It s shameful," grumbled Brunette, " I believe if 
 she ever does get out, I shall feel like strangling her. 
 A pretty day s work for Sunday, indeed ! " 
 
 She opened the attic door spitefully as she spoke, 
 and that cat came forward, smiling, to meet her 
 friends, with her whiskers full of cobwebs, and her 
 tail over her left shoulder. 
 
II. 
 
 ANOTHER POEM. 
 
 "MOTHER!" sang out Brunette, one morning, as 
 she came breezily into the breakfast-room, on her 
 return from a flying visit to the attic, cellar, or wood 
 shed, to which, in common with many other people, 
 she always had some inscrutable errand as soon as 
 she was called to breakfast. In strict candor, it ought 
 to be mentioned that the breakfast-room of this frugal 
 family was also the dining-room, and the supper-room, 
 and the luncheon-room, and the tea-room but just 
 now, breakfast was on the table. The mother was 
 busily rubbing away at the inside of a coffee-cup, 
 with a napkin, and did not reply. " There ! " said 
 she, suddenly dropping the napkin, " it s only that old 
 spot in the glazing, after all! I suppose I shall wipe 
 that cup every time I see it, as long as it lasts ! Some 
 people never do learn wisdom from experience, and 
 I m one of them ! " 
 
 " Mother ! " said Brunette again. She had a pecu 
 liar way of addressing her mother a way of calling 
 up to her, as though that amiable woman had just 
 taken flight from the earth, and were hovering just in 
 sight above her. So marked was this expression in 
 Brunette s frequent exclamation, that her mother, 
 
 17 
 
18 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 though not a specially brilliant or impressible woman, 
 yet felt it to that extent that she often replied, ner 
 vously "Yes, yes, Brunette, I ll come down 
 directly." 
 
 " Why don t you shout, Brunette ? " said Bob 
 pertly ; " I heard somebody say at a camp-meeting, 
 out at Old Orchard, once, that there w:is no law 
 against shouting. " 
 
 But Brunette only noticed her brother s interrup 
 tion by one of her flashing glances, which he had long 
 ago christened " a settler." It " settled " him for the 
 present, and Brunette went on, " Mother, I ve written 
 another poem." 
 
 The mother spake not a word she simply raised 
 one eyebrow. 
 
 " Well, string of verses, then," amended Brunette, 
 "you certainly have the most speaking countenance 
 that I ever heard. I believe the expression of vour 
 eyebrows would be audible to me, if I were in another 
 room. And I m going to read them to you, and, 
 Bob, if you 11 be good, you shall hear them, too." 
 
 Bob groaned in a sepulchral tone, and grumbled 
 
 " Mother told me, the other day, about old times, 
 when people were very wicked, and she said they 
 used to poison folks that they didn t like; and so 
 some of the kings and other great people school 
 teachers, and policemen, and editors, and such, I 
 s pose used to have tasters. A taster was a poor 
 servant, who had to taste, beforehand, all the food and 
 drink that were meant for the king to see if they 
 
ANOTHER POEM. 19 
 
 had been poisoned. That s just how you do by 
 mother and me. You read your verses to us, and if 
 we can stand them, you think they will do to publish. 
 Only I guess the taster in old times got some pay for 
 his work, and we have to suffer for nothing, and take 
 our chances/ 
 
 " The taster in old times," said Brunette, with an 
 uncommonly radiant "settler," "probably got his 
 board and clothes for attending strictly to his busi 
 ness. His example is an excellent one for the youth 
 of the present day." 
 
 " I m sure," said the mother, hastening to the res 
 cue, "Bob likes your verses. Tie has a scrap-book, 
 and he puts into it everything you give him. He has 
 a number of your poems in it already, as well as sev 
 eral written by people who who " 
 
 "Know how?" added Brunette smiling, "and to 
 reward you for that compliment, I will read my verses 
 to you. And, moreover, sometime you shall hear my 
 three-volume story ! " 
 
 THE EXTINGUISHER. 
 
 Oh! tales are told and songs are sung 
 
 Of toilers far and near, 
 The soldier and the fisherman, 
 
 The plodding muleteer, 
 The lumberman with sounding ax 
 
 Where northern forests bow, 
 The sailor on his dizzy ropes, 
 
 The farmer at his plough 
 
20 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 But no fond bard has sung the praise 
 Or marked the weary way 
 
 Of him who puts the street-lamps out 
 Before the dawn of day. 
 
 Who knows at what unchristian hour 
 
 He leaves his happy sleep? 
 Or does he stay all night awake 
 
 His lonesome tryst to keep ? 
 And does he walk the dismal streets 
 
 Without a thought of fear, 
 !N"or dread to meet a prowling foe, 
 
 3s"or dream of danger near ? 
 And does he do his work for love 
 
 Without a thought of pay, 
 The man who puts the street-lamps out 
 
 Before the dawn of day ? 
 
 They call the midnight hour the time 
 
 When cemeteries yawn 
 But ah, the fearsome time o night 
 
 Is just before the dawn 
 The darkest, coldest, dreariest time, 
 
 When half the world is dumb, 
 When shadows look like spectral shapes, 
 
 And thieves and burglars come 
 
 When windows stare like sleepless eyes, 
 
 And fogs roll up the bay 
 Just when he puts the street-lamps out 
 
 Before the dawn of day. 
 
 But worse than all the darkest nights 
 Are those when low and late 
 
 The ghostly moon companions him, 
 And follows like a fate; 
 
ANOTHER POEM. 21 
 
 She waits at corners till he comes, 
 
 Then flits before he knows, 
 And sends a phantom, black and grim, 
 
 To track him where he goes; 
 I wonder if he dreads her face, 
 
 Or likes her pallid ray, 
 This man who puts the street-lamps out 
 
 Before the dawn of day ? 
 
 The only signs of life he sees 
 
 But wear a mournful guise ; 
 Behind each dim-lit pane, he knows 
 
 Some sleepless sorrow lies; 
 Some woman tends a suffering child, 
 
 Or bathes a sick man s head, 
 Or some devoted spirit keeps 
 
 Its vigil by the dead 
 And hails his footstep as the sign 
 
 Of morn s returning ray, 
 What time he puts the street-lamps out 
 
 Before the dawn of day. 
 
 I hear him when the inky skies 
 
 Pour down their drenching flood, 
 His boots are noisy on the bricks, 
 
 Or silent in the mud; 
 I hear him in the windy nights 
 
 When blinds and windows creak, 
 I hear him in the winter-time 
 
 When storms are wild and bleak 
 And yet I never saw the face 
 
 (Perhaps no mortal may ) 
 Of him who puts the street-lamps out 
 
 Before the dawn of day. 
 
THE TRIANGULAll SOCIETY. 
 
 "I question whether anybody ever took that sub 
 ject for a i)oeni before," said her mother, " and I don t 
 believe any editor will accept the verses." 
 
 "/think," said Bob, with his head on one side, like 
 a contemplative canary-bird, " I think that would be 
 a very good poem, if you did n t have so many adjec 
 tives in it." 
 
 " Adjectives ! " exclaimed Brunette, why, Bob, I 
 don t believe you would know an adjective if it 
 should walk into the room ! " 
 
 " Well," said Bob, still trying to look brave and 
 wise, "I heard the teacher tell one of the girls at 
 school the other day, that she spoiled her composition 
 with so many adjectives ; she said there Avere two or 
 three of em to every noun ; and I believe that s what 
 ails your poem. Anyway, I wish you d write one 
 without any adjectives, and see if it would be any 
 better." 
 
 "Bob," said his sister, kindly, "if criticism ever 
 helped anybody, I shall be a poet one of these days ; 
 and meanwhile, little one, while I m waiting to be 
 great, I 11 write a poem to suit you. I think I shall 
 have time, if I make it short." 
 
 And the next evening, as they sat around the supper- 
 table after the meal was finished, Brunette read aloud, 
 for her brother s special delectation, the following 
 stanzas, first promising him the copy for his scrap- 
 book. 
 
ANOTHER POEM. 23 
 
 THE ADJECTIVE. 
 
 Where would the force of language be 
 
 Without the adjective ? 
 How could the critic wing his shaft? 
 
 How could the poet live ? 
 
 How could the novelist portray 
 
 The creatures of his brain, 
 The beauty of his heroine, 
 
 The transport of his swain ? 
 
 Xo more his tide of eloquence 
 
 The orator could pour, 
 Xo more the man of science fill 
 
 His treasuries of lore. 
 
 The lover s tongue could never tell 
 
 His passion and despair; 
 Deprived of its superlatives 
 
 Who would for flattery care ? 
 
 Where would the sting of satire be ? 
 
 The edge and point of wit ? 
 How could the stab of censure wound, 
 
 The dart of sarcasm hit? 
 
 Biographers would cease to prowl, 
 
 Historians drop the pen, 
 Paralysis would chill and numb 
 
 The tongues and minds of men, 
 
 The press would lose its voice of might, 
 
 The pulpit all its power, 
 The sage could not describe a star, 
 
 The botanist a flower, 
 
24 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 So rarely is a period penned, 
 
 A line or sentence made, 
 Or thought set down, O adjective, 
 
 "Which does not claim thy aid I 
 
 Yet I for once defy thy might, 
 
 For mark me, as I live, 
 Ko stanza of the nine here writ 
 
 Contains an adjective! 
 
 " I don t like that as well as I do some of the 
 others." said Bob, in a disappointed tone, " perhaps 
 it is n t the adjective that ails em, after all. I met a 
 lady coming out of a grocery, the other day, with some 
 sort of fruit in a paper bag, and she said to her little 
 girl that it was luscious, and when I asked mother 
 what " luscious " was, she said it was an adjective. 
 I guess I like adjectives, after all. And the teacher 
 told the girl at school that an adjective was only a 
 part of speech, and there were lots of other parts, I 
 don t remember how many ; and how would it do if 
 you should make a poem all of adjectives, and leave 
 out all the other parts of speech ?" 
 
 " Bob," said his sister, kissing him, with a-little sigh, 
 <: you re as brilliant as most of the critics, and you 
 have n t had half their advantages. I 11 tell you what 
 I 11 do the next poem I write specially for you, I 11 
 leave out all the parts of speech^ and I think it will 
 just suit you, yellow-head ! " 
 
III. 
 
 AN UNCONFESSED POET. 
 
 "MOTHER!" cried Brunette, pulling off her hat as 
 she entered the room, and letting her black hair tum 
 ble all about her face in the process, " I want to tell 
 you " 
 
 " Brunette," said her mother solemnly, " there s 
 only one adjective which applies to your hair, it s 
 exuberant. Do tone it down a little." 
 
 " Why don t you quote the college song, and call it 
 copious ? " asked Brunette, taking a dancing turn 
 around the room to the tune of " Sweedle-inktum " ; 
 "but that was n t what I wanted to tell you," said 
 she, dropping so suddenly and solidly into a chair that 
 the floor trembled. ** I read today in one of the 
 papers that a gentleman well known in this town 
 he must be a poet at heart, although he has heretofore 
 kept it from the public " 
 
 " There are some failings, my daughter," said the 
 mother, " which even the best of us instinctively keep 
 to ourselves." 
 
 " AY ell," replied Brunette, with a grimace, " he s 
 betrayed himself now, at any rate." 
 
 " lias he let some astrologist examine his head?" 
 asked Bob, crowding between them, "and did the 
 2 25 
 
26 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY.. 
 
 astrologist, or the apologist, I forget which, find that 
 the soft place had n t grown up yet ? You know you 
 told me once, that the soft place that is in all babies 
 skulls, don t grow up and get hard in the head of one 
 who is going to be a poet, did n t you, now ? " asked 
 Bob, half ready to cry at the difficulties of his expla 
 nation. 
 
 Brunette looked keenly at her mother. " Did you 
 and Bob have that talk after I read you my last 
 poem?" she asked. But the mother looked up can 
 didly, and asked, " Well, what about the well-known 
 Portland gentleman ? " 
 
 "Why," said Brunette, mollified by her mother s 
 interest, " he has bought an island down the bay, and 
 actually planted it all over with acorns, in order to 
 have a great growth of oak trees for ship-timber." 
 
 " Ship-timber ! where will lie be, when trees from 
 newly-planted acorns are large enough for ship-tim 
 ber ? " gasped the mother. 
 
 " That s a question between himself and his con 
 science," replied Brunette, " but it is safe to say that 
 if he is alive then, he will be considerably older than 
 he is now ; rniddle-aged, at any rate. But that makes 
 no difference with the poetical phase of the affair. 
 I think " 
 
 " What is a middle-age man ? " asked Bob, who 
 had a bad habit of interrupting his sister. It was the 
 principal ground of debate between them. " Mother, 
 is a middle-age man one who was born in the middle 
 ages?" 
 
. AN UNOONFESSED POET. 27 
 
 " Bob Smith," said his sister severely, " I wish 
 mother would never answer a single one of your 
 interruption-questions. I was saying that I think the 
 matter of the acorn plantation is highly suggestive, 
 and I m going to write something about it. A fine 
 poem might be made on the subject, but I don t 
 expect to do it justice." 
 
 " There she goes again," muttered Bob ; " the least 
 thing sets her off to writing verses. Even an acorn 
 will do it." But Brunette went on : 
 
 " How long does it take an oak tree to grow from 
 a seed ? Fifty years would n t make much of a tree, 
 would they ? A hundred, perhaps. The song says, 
 And still flourish he, a hale green tree, when a hun 
 dred years are flown. In a hundred years, perhaps, 
 the government will take a fancy to have a navy, and 
 then the acorn-planted island will yield a dozen for 
 tunes to somebody, if the crows dxm t eat the acorns 
 up before they grow." 
 
 " Crows don t eat acorns ! " exclaimed Bob, who 
 prided himself on his natural history. " They eat corn 
 and insects, and I saw in a newspaper the other day, 
 that the crow is the farmer s friend, and I suppose 
 that is why he goes to see the farmer and stays all 
 summer." 
 
 " Crows eat many other things beside corn and 
 insects," said the mother. " A friend of mine in New 
 Jersey says, that crows actually carry off his chickens 
 out of the door-yard. When I tried to make him 
 believe that the mischief was done by hawks, he 
 
28 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 declared that he had often seen the crows descend and 
 capture chickens. It struck me as queer, because I 
 have known Maine farmers to keep black hens, in 
 order, as they said, to keep off hawks from the farm 
 yard, since hawks are afraid of crows, and will not 
 willingly approach them." 
 
 "And so are expected to take black hens for 
 crows ? " asked Brunette. 
 
 " And so are expected not to take them at all, but 
 to avoid the neighborhood altogether." 
 
 " I thought," said Brunette, suddenly returning to 
 her original subject, " I thought we were talking about 
 planting acorns, and here we are, discussing the merits 
 of black hens as scarecrows." 
 
 " As for acorns," said her mother, " does n t Long 
 fellow speak in Evangeline, about crows with naught 
 in their craws but an acorn ? 
 
 Brunette laughed. " Why, little mother," she said, 
 "those were wild pigeons, instead of crows. I hardly 
 believe the wild pigeons will meddle with the gentle 
 man s acorn-farm on the island. And after supper, 
 to-morrow evening, I am going to read you my verses 
 on the subject, and see if you think them worth offer 
 ing for publication." 
 
 Bob had read enough of the cheap chronic witti 
 cisms in the newspapers, to convince him that " poet 
 ry " was a weakness properly relegated to silly girls 
 and light-ballasted young men ; so he generally affected 
 great contempt for it, and although at heart he 
 delighted in it, and liked Brunette s readings, he felt 
 
AN UNCONFESSED POET. 29 
 
 it a duty to put in a demurrer whenever opportunity 
 offered. 
 
 After supper was cleared away the next day, Bru 
 nette read her poem. 
 
 ACORN PLANTING. 
 Bury the seeJ-germs deep, before the snow, 
 
 No pledge for amber grain or golden ears, 
 But for a fleet of ships, whose hulls shall grow 
 
 Out of these acorn shells in fifty years. 
 
 Who plants but for a summer-time, has need 
 Of steady faith to rule his doubts and fears ; 
 
 How full of trust the soul that sows the seed 
 Whose harvest ripens not for fifty years I 
 
 Upon these germs shall Nature s forces wait, 
 Sunlight and dew shall nurse the tender shoots, 
 
 The landward breezes bring their misty freight, 
 And timely rains refresh the thirsty roots. 
 
 On the slow marvel of their annual growth 
 Shall fickle skies alternate frown and smile, 
 
 And richest green and deepest scarlet both 
 In turn make beautiful the desert isle. 
 
 How will the strong limbs writhe in woe and pain, 
 When winter tempests rise in howling wrath, 
 
 When roaring waves sweep inward from the main, 
 And sailors wives turn pale beside the hearth! 
 
 And when the noble boughs swing wide and high, 
 And the rejoicing trees wax tall and great, 
 
 Then, on their seeming immortality, 
 Will fall the sudden thunderbolt of fate, 
 
30 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Strong arms will level all their leafy grace, 
 Deft hands will hew and shape, and spar and mast, 
 
 Keel, rib and beam and plank will find their place, 
 And lo! the tardy harvest smiles at last I 
 
 More marvellous than aught in that old tale 
 
 Of dragons teeth which sprouted men and spears, 
 
 The story of the vessels which shall sail 
 Out of these acorn cups in fifty years I 
 
 Perchance some happy trunks, unscathed, may be 
 Spared in their splendid strength and stateliness 
 
 To greet the morning rising from the sea 
 New, yet the same a hundred years from this. 
 
 The squirrel, wisely lightening toil with mirth, 
 Will frisk and fill his cheeks, upon the bough, 
 
 Then, chattering, hide his treasures in the earth, 
 In autumn days, a hundred years from now. 
 
 Shy, sweet-voiced birds will warble in their shade, 
 Far from all human stir and turbulence, 
 
 And rear their downy offspring unaf raifl 
 
 The song-birds of a hundred summers hence. 
 
 But you and I, my friend, who muse and smile 
 Over these fancies, we shall be, by then, 
 
 Bowed, and dim-eyed, and wan; so little while 
 Makes ships of acorns, and makes wrecks of men! 
 
IV. 
 
 A SNOW-STORM. 
 
 " WHAT a beautiful snow-storm ! " exclaimed the 
 mother, as she drew up the sitting-room curtains one 
 morning. Being of a somewhat sentimental turn, she 
 was apt to look at the pretty side of things first, and 
 it did not at the moment occur to her, that a storm 
 which had piled the snow so high against the front 
 and side of the house, that the windows were half 
 obscured by the drifts, might have another than the 
 " beautiful " side. It had snowed, blown, and drifted, 
 , all the early part of the night ; but the wind had 
 fallen before the snow ceased, and every fence-post, 
 and lamp-post, and garden-stake was capped with a- 
 soft, feathery turban, while every weed and flower- 
 stalk which was tall enough to appear through the 
 snow, wore also its spotless and downy crown. The 
 mother unlocked and opened the front door, and met 
 a solid wall of snow so high that she could just see 
 over it. 
 
 <; No admittance except on business," said Brunette, 
 peeping over it by standing on tiptoe, " and no egress 
 on any plea. Whatever shall we do ? " 
 
 "I ve o;ot a nice new snow-shovel," cried Bob, 
 appearing bent double over the stair-balusters, and 
 
 31 
 
32 
 
 THE TKIAXGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 coming down with a reckless slide, and one boot in 
 his hand, and I can shovel it all away, after break 
 fast." 
 
 "You/" said Brunette, "you ll make about as 
 much impression as a sparrow could with a teaspoon." 
 
 " Sparrows never shovel snow with teaspoons," said 
 Bob, doggedly. 
 
 " Well, when I was little, grandmother used to tell 
 me, when I asked her what became of the snow in 
 the spring, that the birds ate it up," said his sister, 
 "and if they do, it s more than likely that they use a 
 teaspoon. I wish they M eat this," she continued, anx 
 iously, "for nobody can get out to hunt up a man, and 
 no human being will come near us to see whether we 
 are dead or alive." 
 
 " Yes, there will," said practical Bob, who already 
 felt an interest in municipal government. " I saw, the 
 other day, in the newspaper, that anybody who don t 
 have his sidewalk cleared of snow in season, will be 
 arrested, and prosecuted, and persecuted, and fined, 
 and executed according to law; and you see if the 
 Mayor and council don t come up here and arrest 
 mother, unless you let me go out and shovel the snow 
 
 "If the Mayor and council of aldermen should 
 come up here," said Brunette, they would at least 
 break a nice road, and the fine would n t amount to 
 much more than we should have to pay for a man to 
 shovel. The last storm, mother actually paid a man a 
 dollar for half -shovel ling the walk. I could have done 
 
A SNOW-STORM. 33 
 
 it better myself, and would have been glad to do it 
 for that money, if only the neighbors, great two-fisted 
 men, would n t lean on their shovels and compliment 
 me on my smartness," said Brunette, her eyes kindling 
 with resentment. 
 
 "Compliments are apt to be plentier than assist 
 ance," replied the mother, who had had her share of 
 the former, but very little of the latter. "I don t 
 want to find fault with my neighbors, or to ask help 
 of them, but sometimes, when the wind favors them, 
 and burdens me " 
 
 " Yes," flashed Brunette, " when the wind does as 
 it did last night, sweeps every bit of the snow off Mr. 
 Jones sidewalk, and piles it all up on ours, and he 
 with two or three men in the family, and we with 
 none, I think it s scandalous for him to go off down 
 town, laughing, and leaving me to shovel the snow 
 that really ought to go half to him. Why, we have 
 more than double the snow which really belongs to us." 
 To him that hath, shall be given," quoted the 
 mother, " and though I could never see the justice of 
 it, either in the matter of snow, sorrow, or riches, it 
 appears that we can t help ourselves. Bob can make a 
 beginning on the drifts, after breakfast, and if nobody 
 comes near to ask for a job, you and I must take a 
 turn at it this evening, when no one will see us, and 
 at least make a passage to the street, so that we can 
 hunt up a shoveller." 
 
 The day was as absolutely quiet as it is possible for 
 a day on earth to be, excepting, perhaps, in the far 
 
34 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 frozen silence of the North pole. No sleighs, or sleds, 
 or vehicles of any sort were heard. No visitors came, 
 no errands were done, no supplies came in, no one ven 
 tured out in the remote street, far from business 
 thoroughfares, wherein was the half-buried dwelling 
 of this self-contained and self-dependent family. Bob 
 went from window to window, to vary the prospect of 
 snow, snow, snow; the mother busied herself with 
 some of those occult tusks which the ruling spirit of 
 the household always saves for " a good quiet day, 
 when there will be no callers;" and Brunette spent 
 some time upstairs. She emerged in the afternoon, 
 however, and to Bob s outspoken delight, read aloud 
 the following fruit of her seclusion. 
 
 SNOWED IN. 
 
 All night when the rattling windows ceased a moment to 
 strive and beat, 
 
 We heard the merciless wind pursue the whisking, whis 
 pering sleet, 
 
 And gazing now with the dawn s first gleam through 
 panes by frost impearled, 
 
 We see but a waste of whirling white, what has become 
 of the world ? 
 
 We open the outer door to meet a solid, snowy wall, 
 That, uninvited and unannounced, comes tumbling into 
 
 the hall; 
 The path from door to gateway is as though it had not 
 
 been; 
 And we are lost to the world to-day cut off left out 
 
 snowed in! 
 
A SNOW-STORM. 35 
 
 There is no creak of laboring teams no jingle of cutter 
 bells - 
 
 No schoolgirl s giggle, and clicking heels no school 
 boy s senseless yells 
 
 There is no sound in the whole long street of whistle, or 
 laugh, or talk, 
 
 But shovel responds to shovel again, along the drifted 
 walk. 
 
 The snow-birds sit in the leafless tree, and laugh at our 
 sorry plight; 
 
 Even the postman plays us false, and never comes in 
 sight; 
 
 The drift grows deeper across the walk, and deeper still 
 by the wall, 
 
 And the milk-boy slights the waiting can, and the clam- 
 man fails to call. 
 
 Between the dwarfed and night-capped posts, the useless 
 clothes-lines swing 
 
 And Monday s clothes will go unhung, for who would 
 wash and wring, 
 
 With drifts hip-high in the drying-yard, and never a soul 
 about 
 
 To shovel and tread the zigzag paths, and dig the door 
 steps out ? 
 
 And hours go by, and still it snows, till the fences stand 
 
 knee-deep, 
 And ever between the house and street there drifts a 
 
 higher heap; 
 
 The empty milk-can on the step is hidden out of sight; 
 We shall have no milk for our frugal toast, no cream for 
 
 our tea to-night! 
 
36 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Snowed in! and we might die to-day, and lie here dead a 
 
 week, 
 And who would question our whereabouts, or come to 
 
 ask and seek ? 
 Not one would wonder where we d gone, or when or 
 
 how we went, 
 Until the landlord came to bring his monthly bill for rent I 
 
 A little before dark, Brunette tied down her rebel 
 lious hair with a scarf, wound a shawl closely about 
 her chest and tied it behind, drew a pair of hose on 
 over her boots, and, armed with Bob s wooden shovel, 
 went out to " make a break for the gate," as she said. 
 She was neither very large nor very muscular, but she 
 was in perfect health, and, as Bob said, she had " vim 
 enough for half a dozen girls." She was not tall 
 enough to lift the snow from the top of the front-door 
 drift ; so she began by boring into it, tunnel-wise, and 
 packing the snow on each side. She had nearly got 
 down the steps to the ground in this way, when the 
 tunnel roof fell in altogether, nearly smothering her, 
 and filling every fold of her garments with fine snow. 
 She kept on, however, valiantly, though the wind, 
 whenever she raised the shovelful of snow, blew back 
 about half of it in her face. Her feet ached, and her 
 ears tingled ; her skirts flapped and tangled, and 
 impeded the way of the shovel, and, presently, the 
 sharp corner of the latter cut a triangular piece out 
 of the bottom of her neat black dress. 
 
 " Now, that s too bad ! " said she ; " skirts were 
 never made to shovel snow in, any way ; and yet, if T 
 
A SNOW-STORM. 37 
 
 should put on the garb adapted to my work, the cos 
 tume that men find so convenient, comfortable, and 
 economical, they would arrest me for it. That s the 
 comfort of living in a free country," said Brunette, 
 throwing her shovel away accidentally, and plunging 
 after it, while Bob toiled after her with an old broom. 
 
 At the end of an hour, she appeared in the kitchen, 
 rosy and wrathful. While her mother was brushing 
 the snow off her daughter with a whisk, Brunette 
 broke out, with a vehemence that affected that amia 
 ble woman s elbows like a shock from a galvanic 
 battery. 
 
 " What s the use of saying that labor is respected ? 
 The newspapers say it, the copy-books say it, and 
 preachers and teachers and lecturers of all sorts say 
 it, in one way or another. But it is n t so. Nobody 
 respects it ; everybody despises it. It was pronounced 
 a curse in the garden of Eden, and it s been a disgrace 
 ever since ; at any rate, to women, although the doom 
 of labor was n t pronounced on Eve, at least by any 
 body but that coward Adam." 
 
 " Brunette ! " exclaimed her mother, " what has 
 become of my industrious, brave, and patient little 
 girl ? You are too sweeping, my child ! " 
 
 " No, I am shovelling," answered Brunette, " Bob is 
 sweeping. See ! he looks for all the world like a 
 yellow-haired fairy with a long-stemmed thistle-blos 
 som. But if you think I am wrong, if you have lived 
 all this time, believing that honest labor is always 
 respected, please explain this. If I should go out 
 
38 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 there in the door-yard and stand half an hour, simply 
 looking up and down the street, a hundred men might 
 pass, and not one of them would speak to me, or even 
 look at me. They know it would be an impertinence 
 to speak to a lady who is at her own gate, probably 
 waiting for her father or brother to come to supper. 
 But when I go out there with a little shovel, and try 
 to make a path to the gate, half the persons who pass, 
 feel free to speak to me. Not only the neighbors 
 whom I know by sight, but actually people whom I 
 never saw before, will sing out about the weather, or 
 remark about the depth of snow, or tell me that it s 
 hard shovelling, or something of the sort, as though I 
 were a sort of crony, and on the best terms of acquaint 
 ance with them, and they had a right to be 4 Hail 
 fellow well met 7 with me. Why? If labor is 
 respected, why don t they show me as much respect 
 when I am at work, as when I am doing nothing ? It 
 was just so last summer," she went on, putting her 
 hand lightly over her mother s mouth ; " when I went 
 out in the door-yard at sunset, and walked stately 
 among the flower-beds, nobody ever gave me a word 
 or a look, but minded his own affairs ; but after the 
 grass was mowed, and the man, like all the men we 
 employ, failed to finish the job, and left the hay to 
 blow all over my flowers, and I got tired of it, and 
 took the rake, one evening, and solemnly raked it up, 
 what do you think ? At least every third man that 
 went by, said something to me about my occupa 
 tion; said the grass was light, or the rake was heavy, 
 
A SNOW-STORM. 39 
 
 or that I understood my business, or something of the 
 sort. Xot all clowns, either, but some of them well- 
 dressed, and looking like gentlemen, who would n t 
 have thought of speaking to me if I had been simply 
 loafing at my ease, observing a spear of grass. At 
 last, when one man planted his elbows on the fence 
 and took himself by the ears, preparatory to a long 
 conversation, I dropped the rake and came in. Xow, 
 is all tliat corroboration of the popular assertion that 
 honest labor is always respected ? Tell me that ! " 
 
 " Brunette," said her mother tenderly, kissing one 
 of her burning cheeks, "you are all out of breath, 
 child, and supper is ready ; and there are a few things 
 which even your mother cannot satisfactorily explain." 
 
 After supper, Brunette still farther relieved her 
 mind by the following lines on the current topic. 
 
 SHOVELLING SNOW. 
 
 A bountiful snowfall, over night. 
 
 And street and sidewalk are blocked with white 
 
 Ami plied by many a sturdy hand, 
 
 The sound of the shovel is heard in the land 
 
 Ah. hapless delvers. who rise at six, 
 
 To excavate for the buried bricks! 
 
 Alas, the labors of shovel and spade 
 On all the railroads that ever were made, 
 Can never begin with the toilsome woe 
 Of muscle wasted in shovelling snow; 
 And when all the winters task is o er, 
 The world is the same as it was before I 
 
40 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 In all other digging under the sun, 
 
 There s something gained by the labor done 
 
 A well, a highway, a grave, a ditch, 
 
 Canal or garden, no matter which; 
 
 But what is there left to save or show 
 
 Of a winter s labor in shovelling snow ? 
 
 Ah, struggle for triumph that never is won! 
 What does it come to, when all is done ? 
 For after the toiler has blistered his palms, 
 And strained his shoulders and lamed his arms, 
 He has cleared with infinite toil and pain, 
 A place for the snow to fill again! 
 
 Three undertakings beneath the sun 
 Are never abandoned, and never done 
 Though generations their lives expend, 
 They 11 never be finished till time shall end; 
 These three, as many have cause to know, 
 Are house-work, kissing, and shovelling snow. 
 
 Bob, who was not over-critical about artistic hand 
 ling, when the subject-matter of verse happened to 
 please him, was much entertained by this nonsense. 
 He had not seemed to be in his usual merry health 
 for a day or two, and the afternoon s dissipation 
 among the snow-drifts had not improved the matter ; 
 he was evidently rather under the weather. Brunette 
 decided that he needed a little coddling, with herb 
 tea and hot water as accessories ; and while she was 
 roasting and toasting him to her heart s content that 
 evening, she diverted his attention by singing him the 
 
A SNOW-STORM. 41 
 
 following song, to a familiar air which chanced just 
 then to be extremely popular. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEASON. 
 
 Darling, you have taken cold, 
 It is e*asy to be told, 
 That s the sixteenth time to-day 
 You have sneezed that dreadful way! 
 I 11 exhibit presently 
 Foot-baths hot, and ginger tea, 
 Else, my darling, you will be 
 Sick as Punch, t is plain to see. 
 
 You must take a sweat to-night, 
 And when you are melted quite 
 With the heat and perspira 
 tion, I cannot choose but say 
 Oh, my darling, mine alone! 
 I am grieved to hear you groan, 
 But this remedy, my own, 
 Is the best prescription known. 
 
 Darling, we must cure your cold, 
 Or, ere ever you grow old, 
 Rheumatism will rack you oh, 
 But its twinges torture so! 
 Ah, this weather s wicked will 
 Is enough to make you ill 
 Yes, my darling, frost and chill 
 Sharpen many a doctor s bill. 
 
 Let me move your easy chair 
 Farther from this draught of air 
 
42 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Put your feet up in a row 
 
 On the nice warm stove-hearth, so; 
 
 I am fearful you have grown 
 
 Careless of your health, my own, 
 
 For you cough, and wheeze, and moan, 
 
 Like a phthisicky trombone. 
 
 L EISTVOI. 
 
 Darling, you have taken cold, 
 That is easy to be told, 
 Sneezing in that dreadful way, 
 That s the sixteenth time to-day I 
 
V. 
 
 ACCEPTING A SITUATION. 
 
 " MOTHER ! " called Brunette, one evening just at 
 twilight, as she came into the sitting-room from her 
 own chamber, where she had been closeted for some 
 hours. There was a serious look between her eyes, 
 and an ink-stain on her right forefinger. " Mother, I 
 believe I shall accept a situation." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean, my child ?" asked her 
 mother, looking up from Bob s shoe, on which she was 
 sewing buttons, while he made the most of the oppor 
 tunity to run up and down the room " stocking- 
 footed," as he called it. " Has anybody offered you 
 one ? If so, who, when, what, where, and how ? " 
 
 " That inquiry covers the whole ground," said Bru 
 nette, "but when you have studied newspapers as 
 much as I have, you will perceive that accepting a 
 situation does n t necessarily mean that one has been 
 offered ; at least, not in the newspaper business. When 
 a college-boy feels within him the impulse to mould the 
 masses, and enlighten the world, and recognizes jour 
 nalism as the path to these glorious ends, and begins 
 to inquire among his friends, and write letters to pub 
 lishers, and visit newspaper offices, and air his Greek 
 and Latin before the editors, and perhaps try to cut 
 
 43 
 
44 THE TEIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 some poor woman out of her situation by offering to 
 work for less than she does, and finally gets a chance 
 to work a month for nothing, on trial, it is announced 
 in the dailies. th:it he has accepted a situation on the 
 staff of the tri-weekly Trombone." 
 
 " A situation on a staff ! " echoed Bob, refusing to 
 see that his shoes were waiting ; that s worse than 
 old Simeon Stylites, you told me about. He had a situ 
 ation on a pillar, but if the pillar was a good soft 
 one " 
 
 " And," went on Brunette, overriding the comment, 
 " when he fails utterly to be good for anything, and 
 the editor gives him up as a bad job, and presents 
 him with a letter of introduction and recommendation 
 to some other editor, then the papers say that he has 
 severed his connection with the Trombone, and is 
 now enjoying a vacation preparatory to entering a 
 larger field of usefulness. Now I have always felt as 
 
 though /"might write for the newspapers " 
 
 " Dear me, dear me," exclaimed the mother, putting 
 the remaining boot-buttons into the wrong box, 
 "you ve got it, the what s-his-name scribendi I 
 never could pronounce the other word and they say 
 people never recover fiom it." 
 
 "Is it catching?" asked Bob, looking with largo 
 eyes from one to the other, " and will it keep me out 
 of school?" 
 
 " I think not," retorted Brunette ; " you 11 have it 
 very lightly, if at all. I don t believe you will even 
 break out with it. Persons of your complexion rarely 
 
ACCEPTING A SITUATION. 45 
 
 do," she said, in a milder tone, looking at the fair face, 
 blue eyes, and blonde hair, which offered so decided a 
 contrast to her own. 
 
 "Now, Brunette, don t underrate your brother," 
 said the mother. " I have often heard it said that great 
 men are more frequently light-complexioned than dark, 
 and " 
 
 " The only great man I ever saw," interrupted Bru 
 nette, "never changed his complexion at all, but 
 stayed one color all the time, a sort of gray blonde." 
 
 "And" said the mother, rebuking her daughter by 
 this little emphasis on the conjunction, " a very wise 
 friend of mine once told me that the great majority 
 of celebrated persons have been blue-eyed," and she 
 smiled as she met her daughter s dark orbs. 
 
 " Yes," said Brunette, " he had pronounced blue 
 eyes himself, I suppose." 
 
 " I don t know about the pronunciation of his eyes," 
 replied the mother, dreamily, "they were certainly 
 blue enough. When I was a child and went to coun 
 try spelling schools, the teacher always used to speak 
 of putting out the words, instead of pronouncing 
 them. In that sense, if putting out is pronouncing, 
 as my wise instructor thought, one of my friend s eyes 
 was certainly pronounced, afterward ; but then, 
 again, when it was pronounced, it ceased to be blue, 
 did n t it ? " 
 
 "Mother," said Brunette, tenderly, "if you had 
 been born a few ages later, you would have been a 
 great woman. I never shall be, but I m going to try 
 to earn^ny board and clothes in this town, and I m 
 
46 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 going to do it by writing, if possible. I don t expect 
 to earn much at first, but it does seem to me that with 
 what you have spent on my education, and with my 
 knack at writing, I might make at least my board out 
 of my pen this year." 
 
 " What nonsense, Brunette ! " cried Bob. " People 
 make a pen out of boards, not board out of pens. 
 You re just turned round with writing so many 
 verses. I read the other day in a paper, that it is n t 
 a good plan for girls to go to college, because no 
 female brain can stand the strain of hard study ; and 
 if you keep on with your verses, and get a chance to 
 do newspaper work too, it will be every bit as bad for 
 your brain, as college; and the first thing we know, 
 we shall have a full-blown idiot in the family." 
 
 Brunette gasped. " Is this," she said, as soon as 
 she could get her breath, " is this the viper that I 
 have been hemming pocket handkerchiefs for, all the 
 afternoon? This is what comes of allowing babes 
 and sucklings to read newspapers ! And now, Robert, 
 do you gather up all my stereographs and put them in 
 the box, and don t ask for them again, until you c<in 
 be civil. And remember that nobody with any kind 
 of a brain, be it male or female, likes pert little boys ! " 
 
 Brunette s nonsensical remarks about the difficulties 
 of accepting a situation, were not altogether without 
 foundation. "In order to accept a situation," said 
 she, as she started bravely out on her quest, "first 
 find your situation." She went systematically about 
 her search, and made thorough work of it. This edi 
 tor had no vacancy ; that one employed no women, 
 
ACCEPTING A SITUATION. 47 
 
 excepting in the composing-room ; the other would 
 like her help, but really could n t afford another 
 assistant; a fourth employed nobody but college 
 graduates; (and Brunette thought, with grim amuse 
 ment, of some of the liberally-educated syntax which 
 she had noticed disporting itself in the columns of his 
 journal) ; and a fifth, who needed no more help just 
 now, consoled her by being certain " that if it were 
 generally known that Miss Smith would accept a place 
 as assistant editor in a newspaper office, vacancies 
 would appear in shoals." The idea of a shoal of 
 vacancies caused Miss Smith to smile in her sleeve. 
 
 But at last Fate relented, and she " accepted " a 
 situation in the Daily Adviser office, a place in which 
 she hoped to make herself generally useful. She was 
 to attend to the literary and miscellaneous part of the 
 paper ; to provide for the funny column ; to be 
 responsible for the book notices, and look after the 
 magazines ; in case the local editor was overworked, 
 to try her hand at reporting ; if the news editor were 
 absent, or ill, to don his mantle, and wrestle with the 
 badly-written, oily-smelling, tissue-paper telegrams ; 
 and when the chief editor was called away by busi 
 ness, to occupy his place as a pea might occupy a 
 cocoa-nut shell. But Brunette was neither inefficient 
 nor indolent ; and if her life was hard and laborious, 
 it was also useful and independent. After the first 
 trial of getting accustomed to her duties, she liked 
 her work, and enjoyed the sense of earning her own 
 living. And Bob s respect for her grew apace. 
 
VI. 
 
 THE MOUSE-TRAP. 
 
 "THE mice are knee-deep in the pantry," said Bru 
 nette, coming out of that apartment with an old hen s 
 wing in one hand, and a dust-pan half full of crumbs 
 and litter in the other. 
 
 The mother was not surprised, being accustomed to 
 Brunette s habit of exaggeration under excitement. 
 " I know it," she replied sadly. " I can t put a nameable 
 thing in there that is n t either run over, gnawed, or 
 eaten up outright. I have to wash beforehand every 
 dish I use. And they got into the napkin-box and ate 
 holes in three of those pretty pink and white napkins 
 last week, and actually chewed out all the puddings 
 and pastry pages of Mrs. Shaw s cook-book to make 
 a nest " 
 
 " What will Mrs. Shaw say ? " asked Bob, who was 
 busy magnifying a mealy-bug that he had found on 
 the oleander. 
 
 "The cook-book written by Mrs. Shaw, then," 
 amended the mother, " and she 11 say buy another, but 
 whatever shall I do with em ? " 
 
 " First catch your mice," suggested Bob, under his 
 breath, as he posed the mealy-bug anew with a pin. 
 
 " What are cats for ? " asked Brunette, gloomily 
 48 
 
THE MOUSE-TKAP. 49 
 
 eyeing Aureus Superbus, who was boxing a bottle- 
 cork about the floor. 
 
 " If that is a conundrum, I give it up," replied the 
 mother, at that moment stepping on the cork, and, 
 under the momentary impression that it was the cat s 
 foot, nearly dislocating her own vertebrae in trying to 
 lighten her weight on the supposed paw, " excepting 
 to suggest that they are for the purpose of being 
 always under foot," she added with mild wrath, as 
 she recovered her balance. 
 
 " I know what cats are for," struck in Bob, " they 
 are to sit in the window and look comfortable. I 
 heard you say that a plump, well-fed cat sitting in a 
 window, gives a nawful comfortable and contented 
 look to a house. But Aureus never sits in the window 
 only when I hold her there with both hands, and then 
 she don t look comfortable worth a cent." 
 
 "Whatever mother said, she didn t say nawful," 
 replied Brunette ; " and I d like to know how a cat is 
 going to look comfortable where you are," suddenly 
 wheeling over to the cat side of the argument. " I d 
 rather be a dog and bay the moon " 
 
 " I don t think dogs obey the moon half as well as 
 cats do," interrupted Bob. " Did you hear em last 
 night?" 
 
 " The cat certainly does n t seem to be much help 
 against the mice," said the mother, returning to the 
 original question. " We can t put her in the pantry to 
 catch em, because she knocks all the dishes off the 
 shelves ; we can t put her in the cellar-way closet, 
 3 
 
50 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 because she steals more than the mice do ; and we 
 can t put her down cellar, because you say she blacks 
 her feet in the coal-bin " 
 
 " I wonder if she don t ? " retorted Brunette. "Just 
 look at my antimacassar on the parlor lounge ! It a 
 a sight to behold ! " 
 
 " I thought so when you finished it," agreed the 
 mother. " A baggy-trowsered boy in a slouch hat, and 
 a short-waisted skimp-skirted girl in a poke bonnet, 
 teetering on a slab across a saw-log, with esthetic cat 
 tails in the middle distance. But it certainly was n t 
 improved by black cat-tracks in the background, I 
 admit, although Mr. Whistler might say they made a 
 symphony of it. But I really don t see how the cat 
 can be expected to catch the mice if she is n t allowed 
 to go where they are, and they can t be persuaded to 
 come into the kitchen in broad daylight and let her 
 catch em." 
 
 " Pshaw ! She would n t catch one if he should 
 come out and ask her to, " retorted Brunette. 
 
 " Now, Brunette, that s too bad," exclaimed indig 
 nant Bob, " she has caught a mouse, with a bell on, 
 too." 
 
 " A mouse with a bell on ! I can t believe it," replied 
 his sister. 
 
 "No, the cat herself had a bell on. I put it on 
 myself, so I could tell when she was under the shed," 
 said Bob, " and I think she was real smart to catch a 
 mouse while she had a bell on, and it shows just how 
 much sense there is in that old story about the mice 
 
THE MOUSE-TRAP. 51 
 
 getting together and planning to bell the cat to keep 
 her from catching em. I don t believe in fables, any 
 how," said skeptical Bob, stoutly. 
 
 " What became of the mouse she caught ? " inquired 
 Brunette, sticking to the original proposition, and fix 
 ing Bob with her glittering eye. 
 
 44 The mouse ? O, I took him away from her and 
 put him in my mouse-cage," answered Bob, blushing 
 a little, but still cheerful, " and he does nothing but 
 eat and eat and eat, and I m afraid he 11 die of fatty 
 de-what s-his-name of the heart." 
 
 "Js it contagious?" asked Brunette, severely, "if 
 so, I wish he would, and give the disease to all his 
 kindred. I can t sleep nights for the dancing-parties 
 they hold in the walls, and half my time goes to hid 
 ing things from them and clearing up after them ; and 
 when the cat catches one, by accident, or, more likely, 
 when a specially old and miserable mouse gets tired 
 of living and walks into her mouth, why, Bob takes it 
 away and makes a pet of it ! " 
 
 . " Well," mildly pursued the mother, hanging up the 
 broom in the cellar-way, " surely, nobody can blame 
 the mice for eating what they can find, if nothing hin 
 ders them ; and nobody can blame the cat for not 
 catching them when she can t get at em, or for not 
 eating them when they are rescued from her very 
 jaws. The real sinner seems to be Bob." 
 
 " He always is," muttered Bob, aside. 
 
 " I suggest a trap to catch Bob," said his sister. 
 
 "A trap ! the very thing 1 " exclaimed the mother, 
 
52 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 joyfully. A trap won t gnaw things, nor break dishes, 
 nor get its feet black clambering over the coal " 
 
 " Of course it won t," said practical Bob, " who ever 
 heard of such a thing? And I hope you 11 get a trap 
 that 11 catch em alive, and then I 11 have a mate for 
 my mouse in the cage, and " 
 
 " And establish a mouse factory," interrupted Bru 
 nette. "And presently have all the mice that the 
 country needs." 
 
 " Let me see" ! " mused the mother. " I used to have 
 a mouse-trap, one of those choking, strangling, hang 
 man s traps that caught the poor things by the neck 
 and suffocated them. I gave it away to somebody 
 when we moved. Is n t it funny that you never give 
 away anything without needing it afterward ? " 
 
 "Nothing but the mumps," muttered Brunette. 
 
 " But," said the mother, " is n t there a new-fash 
 ioned trap advertised, that will catch but not choke, 
 scotch but not kill, cheer but not inebri " She felt 
 that she was running off the track, and ended with, 
 "It must be awful to die for want of breath." 
 
 After much discussion pro and con, and sundry 
 consultations with the neighbors as to the most effect 
 ual and merciful kind of mouse-trap, the matter was 
 settled by a magnanimous acquaintance, who said he 
 had been greatly annoyed by mice in his counting- 
 room, and kindly volunteered to lend the family his 
 new patent trap; a splendid affair, shaped like a 
 Derby hat, or the snow hut of the Esquimaux, only it 
 was built of bright wire, had a street door and a sky- 
 
THE MOUSE-TRAP. 53 
 
 light for the mice to go in at, and another door for the 
 convenience of patting in bait and taking out the 
 dead bodies of the mice which were expected to go 
 in after it. The entrances were lanes of horizontal 
 wires a little smaller at the inner ends, and the mice 
 were expected to crowd themselves in by springing 
 these wires a little, and then to eat so much that they 
 could not get out at the same holes. The trap even 
 had a wire ring in the platform, intimating with silent 
 eloquence that its work of extirpation would soon be 
 done, and then it could be hung up against the wall 
 as a high-art decoration, a sort of nocturne in steel- 
 color. 
 
 " I wonder the inventor did n t light that trap with 
 gas," murmured Brunette, " and have Sebago put in. 
 It lacks nothing else of all that cheers and embellishes 
 civilized life. No mouse of common sense will ever 
 want to come out of it after he once gets in." 
 
 But nobody ever had a chance to see whether a 
 mouse could or would get out of it or not, since no 
 mouse showed the least disposition to get in. The 
 mother, who believed in treating borrowed things 
 with courtesy, carefully cut a circular piece of paper 
 to fit the floor of the trap, so as to keep it from being 
 grease-spotted by the bait, and then as carefully depos 
 ited the bait (a nice piece of cheese, bought at Wil 
 son s for eighteen cents a pound ), in the middle of the 
 paper, and placed the edifice in the pantry over night. 
 
 " If we find it crowded full of mice in the morning," 
 
54 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 asked she, with her usual proneness to borrow trouble, 
 "whatever shall we do with era ?" 
 
 " Put em in my cage for pets," answered Bob. 
 
 "Drown em, trap and all, and Bob s cage with 
 em," bloodthirstily remarked Brunette. 
 
 " You must do it then," replied the mother. " I 
 never will put the trap under water, and watch the 
 poor things until they stop bubbling." 
 
 But it was evident in the morning that nobody 
 would be distressed by the bubbling of drowning mice 
 that day. The mother rose uncommonly early, and 
 opened the pantry door with bated breath to examine 
 the baited trap before she had even started up the fire. 
 She beheld the trap, empty, surrounded by a circular 
 windrow of chewed paper. The mice had gnawed the 
 paper on all sides until it looked like a pattern of a 
 circular saw, had drawn it between the wires until 
 they could reach the cheese, had devoured the cheese, 
 held a dance of triumph after their feast, and evidently 
 departed in high good humor, after having eaten out 
 the entire inside works of a hapless biscuit which Bru 
 nette had inadvertently left on the shelf. The mother 
 drew a long breath, and uttered aloud to the solitary 
 kitchen, Well, I never ! " 
 
 In theory, the trap was absolutely perfect ; in prac 
 tice, the family was soon obliged to agree that, in the 
 words of Bob, who was born down South, " it was n t 
 worth corn-shucks." 
 Night followed night with the same result ; the bait 
 
THE MOUSE-TRAP. 55 
 
 was varied with a persistence and ingenuity which 
 would have humbled Miss Parloa herself, and every 
 possible inducement offered to coax the mice to enter 
 the trap. In vain. They even seemed to bring for 
 age from remote corners of the pantry, and hold 
 picnics round the trap, leaving their crumbs there as a 
 testimony and a scorning. Indeed, Brunette cuttingly 
 remarked, " I declare, I believe this trap is the only 
 spot in. the house not infested by mice. Mother, if 
 you have anything which you wish particularly to 
 keep away from em, I recommend you to put it in 
 this trap ! " 
 
 " I never shall get a mate to my mouse at this rate," 
 said Bob, in despair. " I believe it s because the trap 
 is so new and stylish, and they re afraid to move in. 
 They think the rent is too high." 
 
 After some self-communing as to whether it would 
 do to so look a gift-horse, or a loan-horse, in the 
 mouth, the mother ventured to remark to the courteous 
 owner, that for some reason she had failed completely 
 to catch anything in his trap. He laughed loud and 
 long. 
 
 " Well, I m rid of the trap, anyway ! " he said. 
 " I ve had that set in a drawer in my office three 
 months, and never caught a mouse. In the first place, 
 they ate all the papers around it, without appearing 
 to notice the trap at all ; then as I persisted in keep 
 ing it set in their way, they actually went into it, ate 
 the bait, and went out again, to show me their opin 
 ion of the patent. Or, more likely, they took it for a 
 
56 
 
 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 charitable free-lunch place, where they could eat at 
 their leisure, absolutely safe from cats. I was very 
 glad of a chance to lend it. I beg you won t take the 
 trouble to send it home again. In fact, possession is 
 nine points of the law, and I will gladly throw in the 
 other point, and make you a present of the trap.. 
 Charmed, I m sure ! " 
 
 "If ever I have a house built," said Brunette, once 
 more emerging from the pantry, with a dust-pan full 
 of mouse-gnawed paper-chips and the fragments of 
 Bob s last ear of pop-corn, "I 11 have it built on the 
 principle of that trap, keep it well baited, and so have 
 an establishment entirely mouse-proof. Look at this ! " 
 and she shook out, while fluffy fragments of white 
 linen flew around her like a stage snow-storm, the cur 
 rent table-cloth, which, having been gnawed quite 
 through its thickness while it was folded, now pre 
 sented a view of sixteen holes, eight in a row, each as 
 large as one s fist, making the breadth of unlucky 
 damask look like the front side of a pigeon-house. 
 "Ill fares the house to hastening woes a prey 
 
 Where mice accumulate and table-cloths decay," 
 
 she said, dropping it in a ragged heap. 
 
 " That s a needless Alexandrine," said the mother, 
 with a face of dismay, and I shall have to get one of 
 those choking, strangling, suffocating, horrible hang- 
 man s traps, after all ! " 
 
VII. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 
 
 IT was a bleak and blowy morning near Christmas, 
 and Brunette was on her way to her daily work. It 
 was too early yet for the ornamental part of the pop 
 ulation to be astir ; the human butterflies and hum 
 ming-birds were still enjoying their beauty-sleep ; only 
 the working bees were visible. Mechanics, going to 
 the scene of their day s labor, and not much in a hurry 
 to arrive there ; errand-boys, trying how long they 
 could be in passing a given point ; a few clean-aproned, 
 white-clouded Irish women, with market-baskets ; trim 
 saleswomen, hurrying to their counters; shop-girls, 
 with a thimble-mark on the right middle finger ; and 
 a few unsunned-looking men-clerks, made up the 
 majority of pedestrians. 
 
 Far ahead, in the middle of the sidewalk, Brunette 
 descried a small object of a brownish ginger-color, 
 which presently she perceived to be a little dog. 
 Everybody who passed it, either jostled or jeered at 
 it, and the poor little animal seemed too much at a 
 loss to make even an attempt at getting out of the 
 way. Brunette knew every dog whose home or board 
 ing-place was on her beat, and she was instantly sure 
 that this little dog was a stranger. As she drew 
 * 57 
 
58 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 nearer, she perceived that he was not only a stranger, 
 which was bad enough, but a vagabond, which was 
 worse. He was a Dandie Dinmont terrier, with the 
 long, low, ungraceful body of his kind ; but he had a 
 beautiful head, a handsome, intelligent face, long, 
 silky ears, and a lovely pair of brown, clear, mellow 
 eyes. His fringy tail was draggled and dirty ; his 
 coat was tangled with dead leaves and fragments of 
 sidewalk litter, which betrayed that he had spent at 
 least one homeless, comfortless night in some lee 
 street corner, where trash and fallen elm-leaves had 
 gathered to keep out of the wind ; his soft ears were 
 rough and unkempt ; and he was shivering miserably 
 in the sharp air. Brunette always bade good morning 
 to all the dogs she met, and she did not slight this 
 one. 
 
 " Why, doggum," said she, " why do you sit here in 
 the way, where everybody hits you ? Go up by the 
 wall, where people won t step on your toes." 
 
 He had been gazing wistfully up and down the 
 street, looking at nothing in particular, but the moment 
 her voice touched his ear, he sprang up, put his dirty 
 paws against her dress, and wagged his disreputable 
 tail, while his eyes fairly shone with intelligent and 
 delighted welcome. Like the ancient mariner, he 
 knew instantly to whom his story must be told. Bru 
 nette conversed with him a minute, and passed on. 
 The dog followed, as though he had been waiting only 
 for her. 
 
 " But, doggum," remonstrated she, " you must n t 
 
A CHEISTMAS PRESENT. 59 
 
 follow me. Your master is probably in one of these 
 stores ; you must wait here until he comes out." At 
 the same time, Brunette felt a strong misgiving as to 
 the probability that anybody from Gorham, Scar 
 borough, or Moderation Mills, was shopping in Con 
 gress street at that early hour. She returned to the 
 spot where she first saw the dog. " I must leave you 
 where I found you," she said, I can t be accused of 
 stealing a dog in this public manner. Go back ! " she 
 said, as with eager eyes fixed on her face, he followed 
 her every step. " Go back ! " she repeated, but 
 although the words were peremptory, she could not 
 make the tone sharp enough to terrify or detach her 
 new friend. 
 
 A chivalrous boy, happening to pass at the moment, 
 and seeing her perplexity, gave the dog a little kick, 
 in her behalf, and that settled the matter for the pres 
 ent. Brunette could not scold or threaten a dog 
 which had been kicked for her sake, and in her 
 interest ; so she said no more, but went on her way, 
 feeling sure, with some sinking of the heart, that the 
 dog s nose was just touching her skirt behind. When 
 she reached the office door, she paused, and tried to 
 argue with him anew ; but he only smiled, and slipped 
 in with her. When he saw that she was going up 
 stairs, he bounded up a step ahead of her, and waited 
 ^at the top to see what she would do next, shrinking 
 close to her when she came up, as one who says, " I 
 have no friend but you." As she went into the 
 library and seated herself at her desk, he gravely 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 observed her, and perceiving that she was at home, he 
 lay comfortably down on the edge of her dress, with 
 his nose between his paws, and took a long, relieved 
 breath, which said, "My troubles are all over, I am 
 safe." 
 
 All day he lay there, apparently sleeping, but occa 
 sionally waking to gaze in her face a moment with 
 affectionate eyes, or touch her hand with his quiver 
 ing, sensitive nose. If any one entered the room, lie 
 did not raise his head, but looked up askance, with a 
 little thrill of the ears, which showed him to be keenly 
 observant, AVhen at last the day s work was done, 
 and Brunette rose to go, he was alert in a moment, 
 his eyes bright with expectancy and interest, and he 
 followed her into the street like her shadow. 
 
 "What will mother say?" was the uppermost 
 thought in her mind. "How can I tell her that I 
 have stolen this dog ? for that s what it amounts to. 
 I feel precisely like a thief. I wonder if I shall meet 
 the owner? and if I do, what can I say?" and poor 
 Brunette was so perplexed by her new treasure, that 
 she even tried to hide herself from him. It was 
 nearly dark, and the shadows were growing dense; 
 she stepped behind a tree-box as she turned an abrupt 
 corner, and held her garments tightly about her, that 
 he might not discover her. She saw him look about, 
 for a moment, then put his nose to the ground, and 
 come straight to her hiding-place, wagging his tail 
 apologetically, as though saying, " Excuse me for hav 
 ing got out of your sight a minute, it shall not happen 
 again ! " And it did not. 
 
A CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 61 
 
 Arrived at home, she explained matters as best she 
 could to the mother, whose heart melted at the dog s 
 friendlessness and evident desire to make himself 
 popular. Bob and he were friends in two minutes ; 
 in fact, the dog was so eager to recommend himself 
 to his new acquaintances that he could hardly stop to 
 eat the supper that he so evidently needed. After 
 ward, he went about the house and examined it criti 
 cally and carefully, with the air of one who has just 
 moved in, and then, apparently satisfied, took his 
 place in the family circle, as though he had belonged 
 there a thousand years. 
 
 "How are we going to find out his name?" que 
 ried Bob. " Here, doggie, have n t you got a card 
 about you ? " 
 
 " He does n t look as though he ever saw a card, or 
 a comb either," said the mother, " and clearly he 
 has n t had one about him for some time. Whatever 
 shall we do with him? I can t bear to turn him out, 
 this cold night, and if he stays in, he ll fill the house 
 with fleas." And as though to corroborate her 
 icmark, the dog began to scratch his ear with his hind 
 foot, in the most vigorous fashion. The subject was 
 not pleasant, and Brunette led the conversation back 
 to the matter of his name. 
 
 " The only way I can suggest, of finding out his 
 name, Bob, will be to call him by every canine name 
 you can think of, and if you happen to get the right 
 one, he will brighten up and recognize it." 
 
 No sooner said than done. " Here, Skip, Flip, Gyp, 
 
62 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Trip, Snip, Brisk, Frisk, Whisk, Pedro, Carlo, Rollo, 
 Lion, Tiger, Bear, Flash, Dash, Pepper, Frolic, Fido, 
 GINGER!" called Bob, growing louder and louder 
 with every word, and clapping his hands, as he ran up 
 and down the room, while the excited dog brightened 
 up and recognized " every name he uttered, and join 
 ing in the wild dance, barked vociferously, while the 
 r&st of the family held their hands to their ears. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " cried Brunette ; " hush ! Have you 
 been reading a dog s directory, or wherever did you 
 find all those names, I wonder ? " 
 
 " But you told me to call him nine names, and I 
 could n t stop to count." 
 
 "I told you to call him ca-nine names, and you 
 called him ca-nineteen," said Brunette, with severity. 
 "But it s clear that the dog does n t need any special 
 name, since he responded to every one of them." 
 
 " It s the tone that he recognizes, not the name," 
 said the mother. You can see that by trying him 
 with a name that can t possibly belong to him, and 
 that he probably never heard in his life. Here, Atha- 
 nasius, Nioodemus, Montgomery, Gustavus Adolphus, 
 Hieronymus, Ichthyosaurus, Plantagenet, Memphre- 
 magog, Tiglath-Pileser, Halicarnassus ! " called she, 
 in a tone that would wheedle a bird off a bush. And 
 the responsive animal, delighted at his sudden popu 
 larity, came across the room like a catapult, and sprang 
 into her lap with a force that bounced the breath out 
 of her body. " You see," gasped she, " he does n t 
 cart* what we call him, so he s only called ! " 
 
A CHBISTMAS PRESENT. 63 
 
 Now let me try," said Brunette. " Here, Some, 
 One, Any, Other, All, Such, Either, Neither, Yet, 
 Nevertheless, Notwithstanding ! " And the eager ani 
 mal, quite beside himself at so much attention, vaulted 
 across the corner of the table into her lap, nearly 
 upsetting the kerosene lamp in his progress, and utter 
 ing a volley of barks that might have awakened a 
 Congress street policeman. 
 
 "After all," said the mother, in a tone of voice 
 which somehow seemed suddenly dull and changed, 
 " after all, what do we cnre what his name is ? What 
 difference does it make to any one of us? Who 
 started the question, anyway ? " 
 
 Brunette looked at her mother, surprised at her 
 sudden change of base, and beheld her ruefully regard 
 ing an ugly three-cornered rent in her dress, a hole 
 evidently made by the dog s sudden onslaught. 
 
 " Dogs are always rough and destructive when they 
 try to be sportive," said the frugal woman, " and pup 
 pies are specially mischievous. He s going to be 
 advertised to-morrow, and his master discovered," 
 and she regarded the poor animal with a look of cold 
 displeasure. " I can mend a worn hole with equanim 
 ity," said she, carefully placing together the frayed 
 edges of the rent, " but " 
 
 " With what ? " interrupted Bob, opening his eyes, 
 " I should think a piece like the dress would be best." 
 
 " I was saying that I can mend a hole that has been 
 worn, and feel that I am really accomplishing some 
 thing ; but I have small patience in mending a torn 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 place. The fact itself is irritating, the work seems 
 altogether unnecessary, and after it is finished, it 
 does n t look as well as it did before. And this merino 
 was to have lasted me all winter ! " 
 
 "Mother," said Bob, "I have always noticed that 
 after clothes are mended, they last forever. A mended 
 garment is just like a cracked dish; it seems to outlast 
 dozens of new ones. And the doggie did n t mean to 
 tear it, and it s too bad to call him a puppy, just for 
 that! " and Bob put on an aggrieved look, as though 
 his new friend had received a deadly insult. 
 
 " Anybody can see he s a puppy, by his big feet, 
 and his his general air of irresponsibility," said the 
 mother, relenting a little, as the dog, from the vantage- 
 ground of Brunette s lap, looked back at her, smiling 
 widely, with his thin pink tongue hanging out of his 
 mouth by reason of his late violent exercise, and his 
 beautiful eyes shining with delight at everybody s 
 appreciation. 
 
 When Brunette went her nightly round to fasten 
 the doors and windows, the dog accompanied her, 
 apparently taking note of every bolt and lock. And 
 when, at bed-time, the mother spread a superannuated 
 shawl on the hearth-rug (Bob said the shawl was 
 meant for a feather-bed, but Brunette said it was to 
 keep fleas out of the rug), and informed the dog that 
 his bed was made up, he took immediate possession, 
 lying down at once, placing his chin on his paws 
 if a dog may be said to have a chin and casting his 
 eye up to the face of each of his admirers, as who 
 
A CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 65 
 
 should say, Now you just go to bed, and I 11 take 
 care of the house. I shall keep very quiet unless I 
 smell mischief, then you 11 hear barking ! " 
 
 And he kept his faith, speaking never a word until, 
 somewhere about midnight or after, the nearest neigh 
 bor came home from, probably, a Masonic symposium, 
 and made such a racket with his latch-key, that the 
 watchful animal took the alarm and began spreading 
 it with all his might, barking, as Dob afterward said, 
 like a house a-fire," and bringing the mother hur 
 riedly into the sitting-room, in a wrapper and one 
 slipper, to quiet him. As soon as he perceived that 
 she heard the noise and understood it, he lay down 
 again, remarking, by means of his eyes and tail, " O, 
 the fellow is n t coming here ? Well, you know the 
 tricks and manners of these people better than I do, 
 but I shall learn. I m sorry I shouted at nothing. 
 Go to bed again, I m asleep." 
 
 His joy at meeting the family next morning, was 
 really touching. "I never saw such a fectionate 
 dog, " remarked Bob, " he s all over everybody at 
 once." The happy creature frolicked, and rolled, and 
 whined, and barked, and whenever a hand or a face 
 came within his reach, he kissed it with the warmest 
 and juiciest of kisses. 
 
 u O mother," pleaded Bob, quite overcome by these 
 demonstrations, " why can t we keep him? I ll shut 
 the cat out-doors, so they need n t quarrel, or I 11 give 
 the cat away altogether." 
 
 "That would be the best method of giving her 
 
66 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 away," remarked Brunette. "I doubt if anybody 
 would accept a cat by instalments." 
 
 " I in talking to mother," said Bob severely. " And 
 I 11 give up my pet mouse in the cage, and I won t 
 ask for any more pets, or for fire-crackers, or any 
 thing ! Do let s keep him ! " 
 
 " He s a nice doggie," said Brunette, placidly, " but 
 I really don t see how he s going to answer for fire 
 crackers, when Fourth of July conies. And as for 
 disposing of the cat, that would leave a hiatus in the 
 family arrangements. As it is, we have a mouse to 
 annoy the family, a cat to terrify the mouse, a dog to 
 worry the cat, a boy to bully the dog " 
 
 " And a girl to badger the boy," interrupted Bob, 
 " and mother, I wish you d manage the girl, and keep 
 her from making game of me all the time. But why 
 can t we keep the dog? What fun we could have 
 together ! " 
 
 " In the first place," said the mother, " with you at 
 school, and Brunette at the office, he would n t get 
 exercise enough to keep him in health. Then we 
 have no kennel for him. Then he would presently be 
 running away, and somebody would have to hunt him 
 up. Then we could never leave the house for a week 
 alone. And then we should have to pay a tax on him, 
 and buy him a collar. And, last and best reason of 
 all, he is n t ours." 
 
 "True," said Brunette, " Jhad forgotten that, too. 
 Somebody, somewhere, is probably hunting for him 
 this minute, and calling him by some name that we 
 
A CHEISTMAS PBESENT. 67 
 
 have n t thought of. Here, Towscr, Bruiser, Caesar, 
 why won t you tell what your name is ? " 
 
 Much as the dog was pleased with all three of his 
 new friends, he evidently considered Brunette his 
 special charge. He watched her with keen interest as 
 she prepared for her daily departure, and as she went 
 out, bounded ahead with a joyful bark, and followed 
 her closely every step of the way. Arrived at her 
 desk, he lay down at her feet as before, and all day 
 long, at every odd minute, Brunette found herself con 
 tinually querying, "What shall I do with him?" 
 
 After the paper went to press, the chief editor came 
 into the library to give some directions about to-mor 
 row s work, and a bright thought occurred to Brunette. 
 She rose with a bow, and said, with perfect gravity : 
 
 "It is the happy Christmas-time, the era of good 
 wishes, good feeling and good gifts. It is eminently 
 fitting that I should present to my employer some 
 token of my respect and esteem. Allow me, then, to 
 present to you all my right, title, and interest in this 
 excellent and valuable animal, the only Dandie Din- 
 mont in town. The gift may not be commensurate 
 with the occasion, but it is all I have to give. Angels 
 could know more, perhaps; but they could n t give 
 more freely." 
 
 She had only intended a solemn kind of joke, but 
 to her amazement, the editor promptly accepted her 
 testimonial, expressing his gratitude and pleasure, and 
 stooping to caress his prize. The dog licked his hand 
 
68 
 
 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 with effusion, and seemed to understand the situation 
 at once. 
 
 " I must say that there is one drawback about the 
 gift," admitted Brunette, as an unpleasant contingency 
 occurred to her, the dog is properly the subject of 
 an advertisement in the Lost and Found column. I 
 was going to invest a cent a line in advertising him> 
 to-morrow. I found him, or rather, he discovered me 
 in the street, the day after the last English steamer 
 sailed. As the sort of dog is not common here, I am 
 inclined to believe that he came on shore with some 
 body from that steamer, and got lost, being young, 
 and unaccustomed to foreign travel. But he has fol 
 lowed me to and fro three times, and nobody claims 
 him, nor does he try to find anybody, or haunt any 
 special place. But I can t give a warranty with him, 
 only a quitclaim." 
 
 When she left the room, the dog rose and looked at 
 her, but when she said, " No, this is your home now, 
 and here is your master," he kissed her hand, and then 
 lay down contentedly at the feet of his new proprie 
 tor, apparently understanding the arrangement and 
 agreeing to it. 
 
 He was duly advertised, next day, and e o d i s t f , 
 but nothing came of it. His home, thereafter, was 
 the office. He was called Toby, and had the freedom 
 of the establishment, and a rug for a bed in the 
 library. He still loved Brunette, but she became the 
 secondary object in his heart. Sometimes he would 
 
A CHRISTMAS PKESENT. 69 
 
 go home with her at evening, and return after making 
 a dignified call. But he would never remain away 
 from the office over night, unless his master was out of 
 town. Then he would attend Brunette home, and 
 defend her castle with all his first enthusiasm. Quite 
 frequently, too, he would start off alone, when he felt 
 that he could leave the office business, and go up-town 
 to have a game of romps with Bob and his playmates. 
 In fact, Bob declared that Toby could play hop- scotch 
 as well as any of the boys, and he believed, for his 
 part, that Toby was a hop-Scotch terrier. 
 
VIII. 
 
 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 "MOTHER!" said Brunette, at the tea-table one 
 night, " I am growing popular. They say a prophet 
 is never honored in his own country, but I have actu 
 ally been invited to join a literary society ! " 
 
 "Indeed! and what are the advantages?" asked 
 her mother. 
 
 " Oh, the privilege of complimenting and being com 
 plimented is one, I suppose," said irreverent Brunette, 
 taking another biscuit, " but after writing and reading 
 all day, I d rather stay at home evenings, I believe. 
 Besides, I earn so many compliments from my own 
 family that " 
 
 " Why can t we have a little literary society of our 
 own?" suddenly asked the mother. "Now that you 
 are accustomed to your office work, you ought to have 
 something to read to us nearly every evening. And I 
 don t want to be always put off with verses; I want to 
 hear some of your reports, and condensations, and 
 local and miscellaneous articles, and " 
 
 " Hear her, ye powers that smile ! " exclaimed Bru 
 nette, casting her eyes tragically upward, "she 
 does n t want to be put off with pound-cake, she 
 wants corn-bread, and tripe and onions! And what 
 70 
 
THE THIANGULAE SOCIETY. 71 
 
 kind of a literary society would it be, with one mem 
 ber doing all the writing and reading ? It would be 
 like a government by the people, with more than 
 half the people left out it is n t fair play." 
 
 "Well, Bob and I have each a scrap-book from 
 which we could make selections ; and too, I am an 
 excellent listener. 1 take it there will J>e a good deal 
 of listening to be done. They also serve, who only 
 sit and " 
 
 " Criticise," broke in Brunette. " Well, I agree. I 
 see in the distance, a chance to bring before a select 
 audience, fit though few, the waiting pages of my 
 three-volume story." 
 
 " Why can t we begin right away ? " asked Bob, 
 who, like most very young persons, believed in " no 
 time like the present," when anything new was in 
 prospect. 
 
 I never have belonged to a mutual admiration 
 society," said Brunette, "and a gentleman who admit 
 ted that he was a backsliding member of one, was 
 saying to me " 
 
 " Do you mean to say that the gentleman said he 
 was a member of a mutual admiration society ? " asked 
 the mother, smiling. 
 
 " Oli, no, he called it a literary society ; there arc 
 several in town, and they are said to be excellent in 
 their influence and associations ; but he said they had 
 their disagreeable side, too. That after awhile, the 
 showier parts of the work the articles written, and 
 read, and commented on were all done by a few 
 
72 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 persons, and the rest of the members found themselves 
 mere wall-flowers, relegated to the necessary, but in 
 no way specially creditable duty of sitting about and 
 seeing other people distinguish themselves. And 
 from the fact that he had left the society, I judge that 
 he had played audience as long as he considered it his 
 duty." 
 
 " Well, we shall have no jealousies of that sort in 
 our society," said the mother ; u our trouble will be 
 that we are so few and so fond of each other that we 
 shall not feel a sufficient spirit of rivalry to keep up 
 our interest." 
 
 " Our meetings will have several advantages," said 
 Brunette. "They will require no worry of dressing 
 and going out in the evening ; they will cost nothing ; 
 we can defer them without trouble whenever it is 
 necessary ; and they will be quite independent of the 
 weather. What shall we call our club ? " 
 
 "And we shall need no constitution or by-laws, and 
 hardly a name, since our doings will not be adver 
 tised," said the mother. 
 
 " But we must have a name," said Bob. " Let s 
 call it the Triangular Literary Society, and begin 
 to-night." 
 
 " Now I want to say," said the cautious mother, 
 after tea was over, as the members of the home liter 
 ary society gathered around three sides of the table 
 
 there being only three members, it was impossible to 
 occupy the fourth side "I want to say that I do 
 not wish to be understood as endorsing everything 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 73 
 
 that I have in my scrap-book. Endorsing it as excel 
 lent, or as a sample of my own best taste and judg 
 ment, I mean. Some of the articles I have included 
 because of their oddity, or because I knew the writer, 
 or because I have been in the place described, or 
 seen the subjects, or sometimes, because people have 
 given me the cuttings, and it is more convenient to 
 have them in a book than on the mantel-shelf, in the 
 match-box, or in the sewing-machine drawer." And 
 she looked pleasantly across at Bob, whose slips were 
 often tossing about the house for days, before being 
 anchored in his book. 
 
 " And I suppose Bob will have the same excuse for 
 his contributions to the general entertainment," said 
 Brunette, " so I shall be the only responsible party ? " 
 
 " Well, of course you 11 be responsible for your 
 own productions," said the mother. 
 
 " But, luckily, this is so free a country that I can 
 have a scrap-book too," said Brunette. "And when 
 I have doubts about the reception of an article, I can 
 just credit it to my scrap-book." 
 
 " You can never mislead us in that way. I should 
 recognize any article of yours, prose or verse, wher 
 ever I might see it." 
 
 " We 11 see," said Brunette. " But who is the old 
 est member of this club ? The oldest reads first." 
 
 " Well, I m the nearest white-headed," volunteered 
 Bob. But no one noticed his remark, and the mother 
 opened her book, and re.d. the first article which 
 caught her eye. 
 4 
 
74 THE TKIANGULAB, SOCIETY. 
 
 THE DERWENT DUCKS. 
 Through the verdurous valleys of Derbyshire 
 
 Flows the pretty Derwent river, 
 Quiet and serious, slow and clear, 
 While hazel and beech-sprays, drooping near, 
 
 To its music dance and quiver; 
 
 Through bosky shadows and banks of moss, 
 
 Lazily, softly slipping; 
 So narrow its channel that one may toss 
 With little effort, a pebble across, 
 
 And see where it ceases skipping. 
 
 Steep hills rise sharply on either hand, 
 
 And nestling in greenest hollows 
 Clusters of small stone houses stand, 
 Half -burrow, half -nest, like the quaintly-planned 
 Homes of the queer bank-swallows. 
 
 So old, no doubt they were occupied 
 
 In the times of torch and martyr; 
 They seem grown into the slope s steep side, 
 And terraces, narrow and walled, divide 
 The town into definite strata. 
 
 I doubt if the folk in the upper row 
 
 Are better than those below it; 
 But if stronger reason for high and low 
 Ever existed, surely no 
 
 History lives to show it. 
 
 Beneath, with a look of calm content 
 
 And a slow and slumberous motion, 
 The quiet tide of the fair Derwent 
 Kolls on, to join with Ihe broader Trent, 
 In its search for the Gcjman ocean. 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 75 
 
 Looking down from my ivied nest, 
 
 In the misty autumn weather, 
 I watched two ducks on the river s breast, 
 Side by side in their peaceful quest 
 
 Sailing for days together. 
 
 Their lives so happy and innocent, 
 
 Into, the past have drifted; 
 
 They have been and are gone but where Derwent 
 Lazily eddies in cool content, 
 
 The secret is still unsifted. 
 
 They were white and fair as the snow s first flake, 
 And their necks were smooth and supple ; 
 
 (I call them ducks for convenience s sake, 
 
 But one was a duck, and one a drake, 
 And the two were a pretty couple.) 
 
 When oft at night through the shadows brown, 
 
 Of autumn s mild forewarning, 
 I looked from my lofty window down 
 On the mossy roofs of the sleepy town, 
 
 And bade them adieu till morning 
 
 I saw them dimly, two shapes of snow, 
 
 On the darkness of the waters, 
 Sailing sociably to and fro, 
 As loth to paddle ashore and go 
 
 Home to their sleeping quarters. 
 
 And when, as soon as the daylight came, 
 
 I looked for them down the river, 
 I found them floating there all the same, 
 As though night were nothing, and time a name, 
 And they had been there forever. 
 
76 THE TEIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 (In this dull town, which is sure to be 
 
 Rainy, foggy or muddy 
 For two whole days out of every three, 
 There s really so very little to see 
 That these two lovers became to me 
 
 A most absorbing study.) 
 
 At last on a morning chill and gray, 
 
 One feathery sailor only 
 Breasted the waves at break of day, 
 Floating about in an aimless way, 
 
 Silent, distraught and lonely. 
 
 And day after day went by, until 
 
 A week had dawned and departed, 
 But the lost one came not, and sorrowing still 
 TlTe widower followed his waning will, 
 Languid and heavy-hearted. 
 
 But one fair morning no eye descried 
 
 The wanderer unattended; 
 No white neck parted the limpid tide; 
 No fond hearts floated there, side by side 
 
 The idyl was done and ended! 
 
 On half my story perhaps two-thirds 
 Do doubt and mystery hover, 
 
 Since what became of those two fond birds 
 
 I cannot put into fitting words, 
 For I never could discover. 
 
 Did they die, I wonder and ask in vain, 
 In the under world or the upper ? 
 
 Did they dive, and fail to come up again ? 
 
 Did they sicken and perish, or were they slain 
 For somebody s Sunday supper ? 
 
THE TKIANGULAR SOCIETY. 77 
 
 I never shall know how their lives were rent 
 
 And their true hearts reft and broken 
 After their summer of calm content 
 The doom of the ducks on the dim Derwent 
 Must always remain unspoken! 
 
 " Well, what became of em ? " asked Bob, discon 
 tentedly. " Why don t it tell what became of em ? " 
 
 " Because the person who wrote the verses appar 
 ently did n t know," replied his mother. 
 
 " Well, I wish people would n t try to tell stories 
 till they know the whole of em," said Bob. " I won t 
 have anything in my book that ends right in the air, 
 like like Bunker Hill monument," concluded he, 
 rather distrustful of his simile. 
 
 " Or the Observatory," suggested his locally-inclined 
 sister ; " but where else should they end ? You 
 would n t have either of those celebrated edifices turn 
 over at the top and grow down into the ground again, 
 like a walking fern, or a banian-tree, would you ? That 
 pattern might do for a triumphal arch, but not " 
 
 " Don t worry me so," said Bob, discomfited by his 
 sister s raillery. " I only meant that I don t like to 
 have all the trouble of reading a story, and then find 
 that I must make all the hardest part of it myself. 
 Anybody can begin a story. I ve begun dozens of 
 em. The job is to finish em." 
 
 " But Bob," said his mother, " nobody s story ends 
 until he or she dies. You would n t have all stories 
 end with a funeral, would you? " 
 
78 THE TEIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 " The ducks might as well have died comfortably," 
 persisted Bob, " as to have disappeared in that dread 
 ful way. I should feel easier about them, if I knew 
 they were dead. Now, Brunette, it s your turn to 
 read." 
 
 " Mother wanted to hear some of my prose work," 
 said Brunette, " and so I will read an article that I 
 have just finished for the newspaper." 
 
 " Well, I hope it is n t melancholy," said Bob 
 " so many of your articles have a melancholy tang 
 especially your verses." 
 
 "I don t think I have put any tang of melan 
 choly in this," answered she, " but you shall judge for 
 yourself, Bob." 
 
 THE COCKROACH. 
 
 The lark has long enjoyed a monopoly of praise for 
 early rising; the bee is the stereotyped pattern of dili 
 gence, and the ant has been quoted for industry and busi 
 ness habits ever since the days of Solomon ; but all with 
 manifest injustice, since neither of them, in either par 
 ticular, begins to approach the cockroach, who, by some 
 unfairness of fate, has never been set up as an example 
 for youth, or a pattern of any shining virtue. That he 
 distances the lark in early rising, is proved by the fact 
 that he bestirs himself at a quarter before four in the 
 morning, works all day long and into the night, and goes 
 to bed at forty-five minutes past three. The palm for 
 getting up early surely belongs to him; but as he does 
 not, like the lark, make it a point to sing while he is ris 
 ing, perhaps the fact is not generally noticed. The fact 
 
THE TKIANGULAB SOCIETY. 79 
 
 that he does not receive the praise he deserves on this 
 score, can only be accounted for on the extremely inade 
 quate plea that his name is not euphonious. Nobody 
 wants to say: 
 
 " Kise with the cockroach, and with the cockroach to bed " 
 and there would be a similar prejudice against writing 
 
 " How doth the little busy cockroach 
 Improve each shining hour " 
 
 and if the wisest of kingly counsellors had been reported 
 as saying: 
 
 "Go to the cockroach, thou sluggard; consider his ways and 
 be wise," 
 
 his remark would not be half so often quoted in copy 
 books, and in the addresses of school superintendents. 
 It seems unjust that the cockroach should be made to 
 suffer for his name ; a name that he not only did not sug 
 gest or invent, that, so far as can be gathered from him, 
 he never even consented to, but which was probably 
 thrust upon him by some malicious entomologist. 
 
 Yet suffer he does, if the deprivation of praise properly 
 due is a wrong. For surely the cockroach, considering 
 his persevering habits, his methodical ways, his untiring 
 industry, his constancy through adversity, his patience 
 under persecution, and his uncomplaining adaptability to 
 circumstances, merits greater popularity and quotation 
 than any other known insect. Bruce apostrophized a 
 persevering spider; Sir John Lubbock has made himself 
 famous by his intimacy with and admiration of ants ; an 
 old poet identified his name with that of a " busy, curi 
 ous, thirsty fly"; but who has sounded the praises of the 
 cockroach ? Yet no spider was ever so persistent, no ant 
 ever showed half such diabolical intelligence, no fly was 
 
80 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 ever so busy, curious, or thirsty as he. But nobody 
 writes stanzas about him. To be sure, his name does not 
 lend itself kindly to verse: 
 
 " Busy, curious, thirsty cockroach, 
 Drink with me, and drink as I " 
 
 would never do, since it utterly refuses to favor either 
 rhyme or measure. Another objection, though hardly 
 worth mention, might be that no poet would ever think 
 of inviting a cockroach to drink with him though 
 heaven knows some poets have not been very particular 
 in boon companions. 
 
 The cockroach is said by the oldest inhabitant, to have 
 reached Portland by water to have been introduced 
 from on ship-board to a public house much frequented by 
 sailors, and thence to have spread through the city. 
 Being thoroughly public-spirited, he is believed to be 
 rather shy of private residences, though he refuses him 
 self to give the reason. 
 
 But he abounds in cheap boarding-houses, he flourishes 
 in store basements, he luxuriates in low-priced restau 
 rants, and he fairly revels in a printing-office and it is 
 chiefly with his tricks, manners and customs in this lat 
 ter locality that this record deals. Here he is at home 
 
 for he delights in piles of waste paper, he dotes on wide 
 floor-cracks, half-filled with trash, old quads, match- 
 stumps and dust, he enjoys getting stuck on the proof- 
 rollers, he finds comfort in crawling over the cheap sta 
 tionery in the editor s desk-drawers, and takes pleasure 
 in packing himself away between rarely-used books. In 
 a sanctum he feels safest between the Bible and a volume 
 of patent-office reports. lie scampers on the editorial 
 table, he holds meetings in the drawers, and when they 
 are opened suddenly, he scurries by dozens under the 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 81 
 
 papers, and pretends he is n t there, or overflows the 
 edge and drops down on the floor to ensconce himself in 
 a crack, or burrow in the contents of the waste-basket. 
 
 But the height of his ambition is reached when he 
 manages to find the inkstand left unstopped, and suc 
 ceeds in drowning himself in the ink. The next time a 
 pen is dipped therein, it is sure to pierce his thorax, and 
 he is unwittingly drawn forth on the pen point and 
 deposited on the fair white sheet of paper, a spectacle 
 for gods and men, yet with an expression of gratified 
 vanity on his countenance which is specially exasperat 
 ing to the angler. He likes almost as well, however, to 
 get into the mucilage-glass, where, as mucilage is never 
 applied with a pen, excepting in cases of great absence 
 of mind, he is pretty sure to remain, like a fly in amber, 
 until the proprietor, disgusted with the appearance of his 
 dishevelled legs, empties the whole thing out at the back 
 window, and fills it afresh from the bottle. 
 
 A remarkable peculiarity of the creature, and one 
 which makes him a calamity in a newspaper office, is his 
 appetite for new books. Old standard works which have 
 been smoked and seasoned for years on the library 
 shelves, he never touches; but every new book he 
 devours with an insatiable appetite and an unbounded 
 stomach. He is not in the least difficult about his mental 
 pabulum, but attacks alike history, classics, travels, 
 school-books, and even volumes of verses, and every 
 other new book, which comes into a newspaper office. 
 Not that he eats the paper or the ink; but he goes over 
 the cover like an army of locusts, gnawing off the sur 
 face and destroying the color, until the volume looks as 
 though it had had a malignant form of small-pox, and no 
 art can ever thereafter restore its complexion. 
 4* 
 
THE TEIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 It was said with confidence during the late civil war, 
 that up to the beginning thereof, nobody had ever seen a 
 dead mule. It may have been true; but it is probable 
 that up to the present date, nobody ever knew a roach to 
 die in the course of nature, unhelped by premature 
 squelching of one sort or another. True, his shreddy 
 remains may sometimes be seen on the floor, or adhering 
 to the cover of a book; but these are deaths by violence 
 the pressure of a vindictive foot, or the heedless or 
 vicious slamming down of a heavy volume. It is plain 
 that the roach has a much better constitution than the 
 mule, although his ears are not so long in the land. 
 
 Yain are the devices of men against the cockroach s 
 occupation of premises where he has once made up his 
 mind to settle. Vainly the newspaper man searches the 
 columns of domestic recipes in the rural prints which 
 have an ingenious way of publishing cook-books as 
 serials, in a dearth of local news to find some effectual 
 method of destroying cockroaches. Methods there are 
 to be sure, by the score, but not one of them convinces 
 the incredulous cockroach, or the newspaper man who 
 tries it. The confident insect smiles on Paris green as 
 gentle patience smiles on pain in the psalm, and tracks 
 it saucily all over the envelopes which he delights to 
 promenade on; he turns up his nose at insect-powder, 
 having no fear of powder that is unaccompanied by shot; 
 he contemns borax, alum, salt, lime and cucumber-par 
 ings, notwithstanding the rural papers declare that either 
 will oust him; he laughs at all forms of tobacco, and 
 even chews a little himself, sometimes, just to show that 
 it is not offensive to him ; he snuffs up camphor afar off, 
 as the war-horse smelleth the battle, and hurries to fling 
 himself into the midst thereof; and when some over- 
 
THE TEIANGULAR SOCIETY. 83 
 
 confident soul thinks to flank him with chunks of carbolic 
 soap, he covers his enemy with confusion by being dis 
 covered next morning, sitting calmly on the largest piece, 
 pleasantly vibrating his antenme, as one who should say, 
 "Good wholesome odor, is n t it? unpleasant to some 
 folks, but I always rather liked it! " 
 
 Somebody suggests kerosene oil as a means of con 
 founding him; another mentions turpentine, and a third 
 recommends pennyroyal; but a hundred such scents 
 make no dolor for him. He walks among them undis 
 mayed, pausing occasionally to smooth his feelers with 
 his forelegs, as if remarking, " Bather discursive in per 
 fumes, these people, but if they can stand it, I can! " 
 Calcined plaster is recommended, but the cockroach 
 accepts it as a new but in no wise alarming dispensation 
 of weather, and even wears a little of it on his whiskers 
 to show that he bears no hardness. Indeed it may be 
 said of the cockroach as of some vermin with fewer legs, 
 that his amiability amounts to a positive vice. 
 
 It has sometimes been remarked, and with more truth 
 than the philanthropist likes to admit that the best 
 people are not often the most popular; and by a similar 
 freak of fate, the cockroach, though possessing a greater 
 number of the cardinal virtues than the average Chris 
 tian, is regarded with dislike and aversion. His excel 
 lent attributes of patience, temperance, discretion, 
 silence, and ability to live on the shortest commons, cer 
 tainly ought to endear him especially to the newspaper 
 fraternity, whose whole fortune generally consists of 
 these admirable qualities; but by a strange paradox, in 
 no place is the cockroach more contemned and perse 
 cuted than in editorial rooms. He makes but an unprof 
 itable journey who carries owls to Athens. 
 
84 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Probably from the tremendous vitality, ths everlasting 
 vigor and the iron constitution of the cockroach, his 
 uninterrupted health, his long life, his contempt for 
 poisons, and his freedom from all the thousand ills which 
 other creatures are heir to, arose the proverbial compar 
 ison which has long been a puzzle to so many curious 
 minds, " As sound as a roach." 
 
 Considering his fondness for paste and book covers, it 
 is astonishing how little gross material there is about 
 even the most corpulent of his kind. Step on him, and 
 
 you hear a loud crack; it is doubtful whether he hears it, 
 
 if he does, he knows it is the crack of his doom. 
 Remove your foot, and only a few brown fibres and 
 a tangle of thready legs remain, as all that was mortal of 
 the cockroach. Numbers of his family meet their fate 
 in this way; numbers more are destroyed by the office 
 dog, who, in the absence of other game, frequently 
 catches them at a disadvantage, far from a friendly crack, 
 and pounds them to death with his clumsy paws. 
 
 But although these and other malign influences sweep 
 off many scattering individuals, on the whole few die and 
 none resign, as Gen. Jackson acutely remarked concern 
 ing other office-holders; and when it is considered that 
 they have a factory in every out-of-the-way corner, the 
 producing capacity of which is not affected either by 
 financial fluctuations or the weather, but has all seasons 
 for its own, it is easy to see that it will not be necessary 
 to import any more of them at present, since our 
 unequalled facilities for home production will soon make 
 it possible to raise all the cockroaches that the country 
 needs. 
 
 " Now I like that pretty well," said Bob ; " there 
 is n t any melancholy tang to that, anyhow." 
 
THE TEIANGULAE, SOCIETY. 85 
 
 " But it seems to me to ; end in the air, as you said 
 of my duck story," said the mother. "It certainly 
 does n t kill off all the cockroaches." 
 
 " I wish it did," said Brunette. " I have heard that 
 rats may be driven out of a house by leaving in their 
 haunts a written request for them to go ; but I fancy 
 the cockroaches at the office will even endure this 
 article, in good round print, without taking the 
 hint." 
 
 "Why, Brunette," exclaimed her mother, "you 
 surely don t expect that article to be printed in the 
 Adviser? It s neither news, nor politics, nor relig 
 ion, nor market reports, nor ship news, nor " 
 
 " Nor advertisements, nor city business, nor deaths 
 and marriages," rejoined Brunette ; " but I m going 
 to try it. And even if the editor does n t accept it, 
 there s always one place where I can find room for 
 anything I write." 
 
 " Indeed ! and what s the title of this accommo 
 dating medium between unappreciated genius and an 
 indulgent public ? " 
 
 " It has several advantages over those publications 
 known as the popular magazines," said Brunette ; " it 
 never keeps a manuscript three or four years after 
 accepting it ; it never refuses an article for lack of 
 space ; it never makes any unpleasant remarks about 
 stamps to pay return postage. In fact I never knew 
 it to return or reject a manuscript." 
 
 " It must be a great favorite with young authors," 
 commented the mother. 
 
86 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 " On the contrary, I don t think they appreciate it," 
 said Brunette, " although the merest tyro has just as 
 good a chance in it as anybody, every article being 
 admitted on its own merits, as it is no respecter of 
 persons. Some of the best writers, it is said, have 
 had poems, stories and essays in it ; in fact, it has 
 probably contained a greater number of original 
 papers than any periodical in this country or Europe. 
 It never pays its contributors, to be sure, but the pro 
 prietor is thought to make quite a profit out of it." 
 
 u But do tell me the name of it, and when and where 
 it is published ? " said the wondering mother. 
 
 " I did n t say it was published," said Brunette. " I 
 only intimated that articles are inserted in it. It 
 appears daily, and it is called," continued she, lower 
 ing her voice, and wiping an imaginary tear from one 
 eye, " it is called the waste-basket ! " 
 
 " And now it is Robert s turn," said the mother. 
 So, after some shuffling of leaves, as though much dif 
 ficulty were experienced in finding the place, that 
 young person proceeded, to his mother s amazement, 
 to read the following : 
 
 HOW STRANGE IT WILL BE. 
 
 How strange it will be, love how strange, when we two 
 
 Shall be what all lovers become, 
 When love is no longer absorbingly new; 
 Not vulgarly faithless not really untrue, 
 But cool and accustomed; you, ceasing to woo, 
 Grown thoughtless of me, and I careless of you, 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 87 
 
 Our pet names grown rusty with nothing to do 
 Love s bright web unravelled, and rent, and worn through, 
 And life s loom left empty O, hum! 
 Ah, me! 
 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
 How strange it will be when the witchery goes 
 
 Which makes me seem lovely to-day; 
 When your thought of me loses its tint-of-the-rose 
 "When every day serves some new fault to disclose, 
 When you criticise sharply, eyes, chin, mouth and nose, 
 And wonder you could for a moment suppose 
 I was out of the commonplace way; 
 Ah, me! 
 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
 How strange it will be, love how strange, when we meet 
 
 With just a chill touch of the hand! 
 When my pulses no longer delightedly beat 
 At the thought of your coming the sound of your feet, 
 When I watch not your going, far down the long street, 
 When your dear, loving voice, now so thrillingly sweet, 
 Grows harsh in reproach or command; 
 Ah, me! 
 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
 How strange it will be when we willingly stay 
 
 Divided the weary day through! 
 Or keeping remotely apart as we may, 
 Sit chilly and silent, with nothing to say, 
 Or coolly converse on the news of the day, 
 In a wearisome, old-married-folks sort of way! 
 I shrink from the picture, don t you ? 
 Ah, me! 
 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
88 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Dear love, if our hearts do grow torpid and old, 
 
 As so many others have done 
 If we let our love perish with hunger and cold, 
 If we dim all life s diamonds, and tarnish its gold, 
 If we choose to live wretched, and die unconsoled, 
 T will be strangest of all things that ever were told 
 As happening under the sun I 
 Ah, me! 
 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
 " Well, of all things for a boy s scrap-book ! " said 
 his sister. " Why did n t you select a chapter from 
 the Rig-Veda, or some passage from a treatise on the 
 differential calculus, or a speech out of the Congres 
 sional Record, or something else that you could under 
 stand ? I never ! " 
 
 " Well, I don t care," said Bob, a little confused, " it 
 jingles well, and it is n t melancholy. And people 
 like lots of things that they don t understand." 
 
 " Bob is certainly growing wise beyond his ears," 
 said Brunette. " And now I 11 read you an old war 
 reminiscence that I found the other day." 
 
 ISHMAEL DAY. 
 
 One summer morning, a daring band 
 
 Of rebels rode into Maryland, 
 
 Over the prosperous, peaceful farms, 
 
 Sending terror and strange alarms, 
 
 The clatter of hoofs and the clang of arms. 
 
 Fresh from the South where the hungry pine, 
 They ate like Pharaoh s starving kine; 
 
THE TEIANGULAE SOCIETY. 89 
 
 They swept the land like devouring surge, 
 And left their path, to its furthest verge, 
 Bare as the track of the locust-scourge. 
 
 The rebels are coming! " far and near 
 
 Kang the tidings of dread and fear; 
 
 Some paled and cowered, and sought to hide 
 Some stood and waited, in fearless pride, 
 And women shuddered, and children cried. 
 
 But others vipers in human form 
 Stinging the bosom that kept them warm, 
 
 Welcomed with triumph the thievish band, 
 Hurried to offer the friendly hand, 
 As the rebels rode into Maryland, 
 
 Made them merry with food and wine, 
 
 Clad them in garments rich and fine 
 
 For rags and hunger to make amends, 
 Flattered them, praised them, with selfish ends 
 " Leave its scathless, for we are friends! " 
 
 Could traitors trust in a traitor? No! 
 
 Little they favored friend or foe, 
 
 But gathered the cattle the farms across, 
 Flinging back, with a scornful toss, 
 " If ye are friends, ye can bear the loss! " 
 
 Flushed with triumph, and wine, and prey, 
 They neared the dwelling of Ishmael Day, 
 A sturdy veteran, gray and old, 
 With heart of a patriot, firm and bold, 
 Strong and steadfast unbribed, unsold. 
 
 And Ishmael Day, his brave head bare, 
 His white locks tossed by the morning air, 
 
90 THE TEIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 Fearless of danger, and death, and scars, 
 Went out to raise, by the farm-yard bars, 
 The dear old flag of the stripes and stars. 
 
 Proudly, steadily up it flew, 
 
 Gorgeous with crimson, and white, and blue; 
 His withered hand, as he shook it freer, 
 May have trembled, but not with fear, 
 While, shouting, the rebels drew more near. 
 
 " Halt! " They had seen the hated sign 
 Floating wide from old Ishmael s line. 
 
 " Lower that rag ! " was their wrathful cry. 
 " Never! " rang Ishmael Day s reply; 
 "Fire, if it please you! I can but die! " 
 
 One with a loud, defiant laugh, 
 
 Left his comrades and grasped the staff; 
 
 "Down! " came the fearless patriot s cry; 
 
 " Dare to lower that flag, and die! 
 One must bleed for it you or II " 
 
 But caring not for the stern command, 
 He drew the halliards with daring hand. 
 
 Ping! went the rifle-ball, down he came 
 Under the flag he had tried to shame. 
 Old Ishmael Day took careful aim ! 
 
 Hark! an echo! and now again 
 The tramp and tumult of armed men; 
 And panic-stricken, the lawless band 
 Left their leader upon the sand, 
 And fled in fear out of Maryland. 
 
 Seventy winters and three had shed 
 Their snowy glories on Ishmael s head; 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 91 
 
 But though checks may wither, and locks grow 
 
 gray, 
 
 His fame shall be fresh and young alway 
 Honor be to old Ishmael Day I 
 
 " Well, what became of him ? " asked Bob. 
 
 " Probably he died, when his time came," said Bru 
 nette ; " when a man is seventy-three years old, he 
 can t look forward to a very long or varied career." 
 
 " He was one of the nine-days heroes of the civil 
 war," said the mother " the newspapers praised him 
 for a week or two, and lion-hunters called to see him 
 in his poor shelter, somewhere* near Baltimore, and 
 then he was forgotten, and left to starve, like most 
 private heroes. And now I 11 read you a brief arti 
 cle, and then it will be bed-time." 
 
 A CAGEU LION. 
 
 He stands behind his iron bars, 
 Untamed, untamable and proud, 
 
 Disgraced by bondage, seamed by scars, 
 The centre of a taunting crowd. 
 
 Hunger and blows have vanquished him, 
 Weakened his limbs and dwarfed his size, 
 
 Yet all his woes have failed to dim 
 The yellow splendor of his eyes, 
 
 Which note no face in all the throng, 
 
 But see across, beyond, afar, 
 The jungle depths, remembered long, 
 
 And desert palms of Africa. 
 
92 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 So human souls, enslaved by chance, 
 Deformed by time s remorseless scars, 
 
 And scourged by cruel circumstance, 
 Behind Fate s hindering prison-bars, 
 
 Heedless alike of praise and jeers, 
 Blind to the present s chilly truth, 
 
 See, through the unfriendly crowd of years, 
 The torrid tropics of their youth! 
 
 " How queer it is," said Brunette, meditatively, 
 " that you never can make a, captive lion look at you. 
 He seems to be looking over your head, or through or 
 beyond you you never can catch his eye. I won 
 der if it would be so if you should meet a wild one 
 on his native plain ? " 
 
 " I rather think, in that case, the lion would do the 
 catching," suggested Bob. " Anyway, I should n t 
 care to try the experiment." 
 
 " I do pity those tropical creatures, when they are 
 brought captive over-sea for people to stare at," said 
 the mother, " no wonder they 11 not look at their 
 tormentors it is the only right which cannot be 
 taken from them. And even if a lion or an elephant 
 escapes from his keepers, his case is utterly hopeless ; 
 he cannot possibly get back to his own lovely land 
 again. He is sure to be either recaptured or killed." 
 
 " I suppose it s bedtime," ventured Bob, " but I 
 have just one more bit of verse that I want to read. 
 The paper I cut it from said the story was true." 
 
 " Of course there s no manner of doubt about it if 
 the newspaper said so," said Brunette. " I remember 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 9*3 
 
 when I was a little girl, just beginning to read the 
 newspapers, I one day repeated some story which I 
 had spelled out, with infinite labor, in the columns of 
 a weekly journal, and was beyond measure amazed 
 when somebody said it was n t true. True ! said 
 I, * of course it is true ; I read it in the newspaper ! 
 How I was laughed to scorn for my confidence! I 
 thought then that nothing was put in print that 
 was n t true. But, Bob, let us have your story." 
 
 " I think this is true," said Bob, " because it told 
 the man s name, and all the circumstances, in the 
 prose introduction to the verses." And he read as 
 follows : 
 
 THE LAST VOYAGE. 
 
 The midnight skies of autumn were brilliant overhead, 
 
 As up the gleaming Hudson the laden vessel sped ; 
 
 The while with eye unsleeping, and nerves as strong as 
 
 steel, 
 The brave and faithful pilot kept vigil at the wheel. 
 
 His home had been the river, he loved its ceaseless 
 roar; 
 
 He knew each mile of channel, each winding curve of 
 shore ; 
 
 Had dared its rocks and shallows, and laughed at lands 
 men s fears 
 
 In every wind and weather, for five-and-twenty years. 
 
 No vapor hid the pole-star, no tempest crossed the night, 
 No mist- wreath veiled the waters, no haze obscured the 
 
 sight, 
 
 But on the quiet midnight the bell s alarming note 
 Hang out with sudden clangor, the warning " Slow the 
 
 boat! " 
 
94 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Up sprang the second pilot, with wonder in his eyes; 
 "What hoi where is the danger? he asked in dazed 
 
 surprise. 
 
 " The sky is clear above us, the water deep below; 
 What hidden peril threatens, or wheref9re signal so ? " 
 
 The boat slid through the water with smooth and even 
 
 keel, 
 With grasp unmoved and steady, the old man held the 
 
 wheel, 
 
 Nor ever paused or faltered, but raised his eyes to say 
 " A heavy fog has fallen I cannot see the way! " 
 
 "No! look! the night is cloudless, the way is straight 
 
 and clear; 
 Yonder s the light at Ehinebeck, and Eondout lies off 
 
 here." 
 Still unconvinced, he whispered, his voice grown faint 
 
 and hoarse, 
 "The fog is thick and heavy, and we have lost our 
 
 course! " 
 
 Awed suddenly to silence, the other took his place; 
 
 He marked the deathly pallor that touched the old man s 
 
 face. 
 
 The pilot s work was ended; it was his time to go 
 Upon that mystic voyage whose port we may not know. 
 
 His years of patient labor and watchful care were past; 
 A true and faithful servant, and loyal to the last, 
 He felt across his vision death s icy dimness steal, 
 His eye upon the beacon, his hand upon the wheel. 
 
 Surely some waiting angel, who counts as victories won 
 Long years of earnest labor and duties nobly done, 
 Some just and gentle angel, with forehead like the day, 
 Helped his bewildered spirit to find the shining way ! 
 
IX. 
 
 TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS. 
 
 " MOTHER," said Brunette one day, coming in, tired 
 and fretted with her day s work, " I do believe that 
 typographical errors are the most exasperating things 
 in this world. It does seem to me that the average 
 compositor actually exhausts ingenuity in trying to 
 make absurd every paragraph that passes through his 
 hands. The most vexatious thing about it, is that if 
 the whole sense or wit of an item hangs on one word 
 or one letter, that is the very word or letter which is 
 wrong in the proof." 
 
 " Brunette ! " said the mother, " you are actually 
 scolding. I am afraid your newspaper work is spoil 
 ing your temper." 
 
 "And well it may," rejoined the girl, "look at 
 this ! I have been made to state to-day to several 
 thousands of people, that according to the weather 
 report from New York, they have had there 4 a fall of 
 snow and brick and northerly winds ! 
 
 " Did bricks really fall ? " asked Bob, dropping the 
 slate whereon he had been drawing cats with three- 
 cornered faces. " The wind must have been awful, to 
 blow the very bricks out of the walls ! " 
 
 " I wrote brisk and northerly winds, " explained 
 
 95 
 
96 THE TEIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 Brunette, "and the other day, when I copied among 
 the personal items a description of the appearance of 
 a well-known French politician s daughter, mentioning 
 that her eyes were fine, I was represented as stating 
 to an astonished world that Mademoiselle Grevy has 
 five eyes ! " 
 
 "Never mind, Brunette," said Bob, soothingly, 
 " nobody will believe it." 
 
 " I m afraid that s the most vexatious part of it, 
 to Brunette," ventured the mother ; " if people could 
 only be made to believe these remarkable announce 
 ments, the newspaper would be pronounced uncom 
 monly enterprising, in fact, it would soon merit the 
 compliment of being called a sprightly sheet. " 
 
 "You may laugh all you like," said Brunette, 
 gloomily, taking a half-sheet of pencilled printing- 
 paper, badly crumpled, out of her pocket, " but when 
 
 I read you some of the grievances set down here, 
 
 things which have wrung my heart to strings within 
 the last three months, you will see that it s no laugh 
 ing matter to me. lor instance, when, speaking of 
 the servant-girl question, I said many employers com 
 plained because Norah and Bridget turned the meal- 
 hours upside-down with their masses, meaning, of 
 course, that the servants changed the breakfast-hour to 
 suit their church-going what outrageous accusation 
 do you suppose I was made to bring against those 
 devoted young women? The paper gravely stated 
 that they turned the meat-house upside-down ! " 
 
 " Of all things ! " exclaimed her mother, " how 
 
TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS. 97 
 
 on earth could any type-setter see any sense in 
 that?" 
 
 " He did n t," said Brunette ; " he simply paid no 
 attention whatever to what he was doing, excepting 
 in a purely mechanical way. The two compound 
 words do bear a slight resemblance to each other, and 
 he acted on his first impression, wit!) out regard to the 
 meaning of the sentence at all, his wits being wool 
 gathering miles away. When I call the compositors 
 to account for these blunders, they invariably say, 1 1 
 was thinking of something else, as though that were 
 any excuse. When a tailor or a carpenter or a dress 
 maker fails to make a tiling according to pattern, 
 when a clerk makes a blunder in his accounts, or a 
 wife fails to have breakfast ready for her husband at 
 the precise moment, not one of these culprits ever 
 thinks of accounting for the misbehavior by cheerfully 
 remarking, I was thinking of something else. It 
 would only make his or her condemnation greater. 
 Yet it is the shield and buckler of the average com 
 positor, when caught in these provoking blunders, 
 this prompt admission that his mind is not on his 
 work." 
 
 " I don t see," said the mother, reflectively, " how 
 a printer can set type without looking at every letter, 
 and getting the sense of every sentence if there s 
 any in it," she added, guardedly. 
 
 " Well, he can," replied Brunette, " after a fashion. 
 I know a veteran printer who has set type for forty 
 years, who will now set two columns on any subject, 
 5 
 
98 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 and when he has finished, declare that he has no idea 
 
 what it was about. I once knew him to set a lon<* 
 
 e> 
 
 article about the settlement and progress of Chicago, 
 in which the city s name occurred again and again, 
 and yet, when the proof-reader, irritated by some out 
 rageous blunder in the proof, called rather perempto 
 rily for the copy, that compositor declared that it 
 was n t on his string, and when the demand was 
 pressed, became quite angry, and insisted that he 
 had n t set or seen a word about Chicago for a week. 
 And he had picked up the letters forming the name 
 of that enterprising town, and put them in proper 
 order, a dozen times in the last half-hour." 
 
 " I have often heard it said that a printing-office is 
 an excellent school for boys who have had small edu 
 cational .advantages," said the mother, "but " 
 
 " I hope I am not too severe," interrupted Brunette, 
 " when I say that to me it seems as though the aver 
 age compositor is made out of just that sort of boy. 
 Half the compositors I know, always misspell the 
 words receive, believe, reprieve, perceive, and the like, 
 invariably misplacing the vowels in the last syllable, 
 even with correct copy before their eyes. Quite as 
 many of them fail to see the difference between the 
 plural and the possessive, allowing their work to speak 
 confidently of two chair s, or two horse s, and again 
 of Mr. Smiths house, or Mr. Ross late accident. 
 And as for the trade being a school to them, it seems 
 quite impossible to change their opinion on these deli 
 cate points by teaching them anything. I had a little 
 
TYPOGRAPHICAL EEKOIIS. 99 
 
 reunion of compositors in my corner of the office the 
 other day, on which occasion I undertook, in a man 
 ner which I intended to be charmingly inductive, to 
 impress on their minds some small facts regarding the 
 plural number and the possessive case. Of course I 
 told them that an observance of these facts would 
 save them a great deal of trouble. But even my 
 disinterestedness failed to convince them. They 
 thanked me, and went back to their work, doing it in 
 the same old way, with the exception of one, who, 
 apparently utterly befogged by my instructions, care 
 fully refrains from using an inverted comma from that 
 day to this. It is almost impossible to get the pos 
 sessive of a word which ends with the letter s, prop 
 erly spelled and punctuated in a newspaper ; and I 
 have never, since my experience began, succeeded in 
 getting the word 4 cheery printed otherwise than 
 cherry, in the proof-columns." 
 
 " Perhaps your writing is illegible sometimes," sug 
 gested the mother, trying to defend the absent. "I m 
 sure when you wrote me last summer that a dreadful 
 accident had happened near your uncle s house that 
 three of Mr. Blank s children had been, by the upset 
 ting of their father s cow, drowned in the bag, I 
 thought you had gone distracted, until it was 
 explained that they were drowned in the bay by the 
 upsetting of a canoe, or was it a scow ? " 
 
 " Well," answered Brunette, a little abashed, " per 
 haps I don t always write like copper-plate engraving, 
 but I ve often thought that the printer does bettei 
 
100 THE TEIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 when setting the most illegible manuscript, than when 
 he is at work on good plain printed copy. For 
 instance, in the reprint of an article on Turkey, the 
 other day. I saw it stated that Xb people bathe as 
 often as the Turks, but none are so indifferent to civil 
 ideas. The last two words were evil odors. In a 
 sentimental story not long ago, a young man was 
 described as casting upon his sweetheart a look of 
 administration, instead of admiration ; and she, not 
 to be behindhand, it would seem, gazed upon him 
 with diluted eyes. As she had previously been 
 described as a beautiful blur-eyed girl, this was only 
 consistent." 
 
 " I remember reading in the Adviser, long before 
 you went into the office," said the mother, " an item 
 stating that some bad boys had been selling stolen 
 type to a firm of old pink dishes on Fore street. 
 The item seemed serious, and I always wondered 
 what it meant." 
 
 "It meant old junk dealers, "said Brunette, "that s 
 easy to see. But when you read of a good man 
 recently deceased, that 4 he always drew on his cheek 
 bone at the call of benevolence, what are you going 
 to understand by that ? " 
 
 "I know," exclaimed Bob, who had been a per 
 plexed listener to the discussion, and now saw a 
 chance to make himself useful " Billy Brown told 
 me the other day that he thought his father would be 
 benevolent enough to give him half a dollar to <*o to 
 the circus with; but when Billy asked him, he said no, 
 
TYPOGEAPHICAL EEEOES. 101 
 
 and Billy said, Didn t he have the cheek? and 
 perhaps " 
 
 " I wish you would n t bring home the slang you 
 hear at school, Bob," said his sister, " and besides, 
 you jump at the wrong conclusion. It was the gen 
 tleman s cheque-book, and not his cheek-bone, which 
 he drew upon when people wanted money. And here 
 the other week, on the occasion of the trial trip of a 
 new steamer between here and Boston, I was made 
 guilty of remarking that the steamer s engines were 
 stopped from the time she left Portland until she 
 reached Boston an unusual and severe test ! 
 whereas it meant that the engines were not stopped 
 for the whole trip. That important word not makes 
 a vast difference in a sentence, sometimes, and it 
 seems to be the special delight of the compositor to 
 leave it out. Of course a good many of the errors I 
 catch, and mark in the proof-columns, so they are cor 
 rected, and never meet the gaze of a censorious world. 
 But often and often, in the hurry of making up, 
 the correcting is scamped, overlooked or neglected 
 altogether, and the errors which I have carefully 
 marked, stare at me triumphantly in the last edition. 
 Not long ago, in the report of a trial during which it 
 was proved that one party had been severely injured 
 by a pistol fired by another, I read with horror, * It is 
 plain that the discharge of the jury at the plaintiff 
 had a tendency to shorten his life. Jury was the 
 type-setter s translation of the written word gun. " 
 
102 THE TEIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 " I m sure," said Bob, who had been lost in thought 
 eo deep that lie failed to catch the explanation, I m 
 sure I Ve heard about discharging a jury. But I 
 did n t know they ever discharged it at anybody, or 
 that it ever killed anybody. It must be that they 
 did n t know it was loaded." 
 
X. 
 
 THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. 
 
 " I FOUND some lines yesterday," said the mother, 
 at the next meeting of the Triangular Society, "which 
 express a feeling that I fancy comes to everybody 
 sometimes. I will read them first." 
 
 A DEAR LONESOME DAY. 
 I have been searching through every room, 
 Careless of echoes, and silence, and gloom; 
 Upstairs and down, from the roof to the ground, 
 No human being is there to be found I 
 And I exult in an infinite glee, 
 No living soul in the castle but me ! 
 So, jubilate! I turn all the keys, 
 World, do without me to-day, if you please! 
 
 I am alone! I can laugh or can cry, 
 Nobody watches or questions me why, 
 Nobody asks what the matter may be, 
 Oh, how delightful it is to be free! 
 Talk of society s rarest delights, 
 Sociable mornings and talkative nights, 
 Willingly, gladly, I fling them away, 
 Give me myself and a dear lonesome day! 
 
 I am alone! I can do as I will, 
 Ilest or be busy, be noisy or still, 
 
 103 
 
THE TKIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 Read, sing, work, study, or string at my ease 
 Verses (don t criticise, better than these. 
 These are the bubbles atop of the wine; 
 Just a relief for this gladness of mine,) 
 Jubilant, joyous, ecsk ic, I say 
 I am deliciously lonesome to-day! 
 
 Tired of the friction of soul against soul, 
 Who can endure it, and keep his own whole I 
 Tired of all argument, counsel and blame, 
 Tired of my yoke-fellows, tired of my name, 
 Tired of tame questions and tamer replies, 
 Figures, and faces, and voices, and eyes, 
 Often anil often I cordially pray, 
 Give me myself and a dear lonesome day! 
 
 After so long being worried and whirled 
 In this bewildering cage of the world, 
 
 Like a poor squirrel made captive, I feel, 
 
 Caught from the nut-woods and kept in a wheel. 
 Oh ! the broad desert the wide lonesome sea 
 Seems a desirable dwelling to me; 
 Not self-sufficient, but weary, I say 
 Give me myself and a dear lonesome day! 
 
 Selkirk, ungrateful, irascible elf, 
 
 Growled, with a whole island all to himself, 
 
 And in the midst of his numberless farms, 
 
 Questioned of solitude, " Where are thy charms?" 
 
 Stupid old fellow he was, I declare, 
 
 I could have answered, if I had been there; 
 
 And if I err not, with little ado, 
 
 I could have taught him to value them too! 
 
THE SECOND TRIANGULAB. 105 
 
 Oh, t is so rare and delightful to be 
 Careless, unguarded, imwatchful, and free, 
 Not observed, looked at, and marked all the while. 
 So if one will, one may frown, blush, or smile, 
 With the sweet surety that no one will spy, 
 Guess at one s motives, and judge one thereby. 
 Blessings on Fate, let her scowl when she may, 
 I am deliciously lonesome to-day I 
 
 " Mother," said Brunette, " whenever you feel like 
 that again, just let Bob and me know, and wo will 
 take the first train on the Ogdensburgh. As for me, 
 I have n t written much verse lately ; I have been too 
 busy, and business is prose. So I will read you my 
 excuse in verse, and then give you my prose remarks 
 on old gardens and old-fashioned flowers." 
 
 WINTER TIME. 
 I cannot touch the cheerful strain 
 
 My summer used to know, 
 My soul is barren as the plain 
 
 Beneath December s snow; 
 Its gorgeous hues are dim and pale, 
 
 Its fountain-voices dumb ; 
 Dead blossoms drift before the gale, 
 
 My winter time has come. 
 
 The soaring eagle cannot stay 
 
 Forever on the wing, 
 The dew-drops cannot shine all day, 
 
 Nor thrushes always sing. 
 5* 
 
106 THE TEIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 The flowers, in field and garden-plot, 
 
 Faint as the long days roll; 
 All things seek rest and wherefore not 
 
 A feeble human soul ? 
 
 You do not chide when Nature s hand, 
 
 Bidding her toilers cease, 
 Spreads wide across the dreary land 
 
 White robes of rest and peace; 
 Then do not blame as waste and crime 
 
 My dead and fruitless hours, 
 For souls must have their winter time 
 
 As well as streams and flowers. 
 
 You do not seek anemones 
 
 In January s dawn, 
 Nor ask for June s sweet harmonies 
 
 When all the birds are gone; 
 Then do not plead for me to sing 
 
 A summer melody, 
 When, though the world may call it spring, 
 
 T is winter time with me. 
 
 "Your apology is sufficient," laughed the mother. 
 " I would accept an apology like that, any time, in 
 preference to some of the poems you have given us." 
 
 " I think," put in Bob, sagely, " that Brunette writes 
 better when she can t write, than she does when she 
 can." 
 
 "That is encouraging," replied Brunette. "And 
 now for the prose." 
 
THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. 107 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED FLOWERS. 
 
 A city paper says that there is a lilac-tree in Deering, 
 which is a hundred years old. This, though unusual, is 
 not specially remarkable, since the lilac is a perennial, 
 and asks no care or favor, only desiring to be let alone. 
 The lilac used to be much more fashionable than now, at 
 a time when very few flowering shrubs were known in 
 New England dooryards. Almost every country-house 
 of the better class then had its clump of lilacs. In the 
 rage for new things, many of these old friends have been 
 crowded out; but still in many country and village gar 
 dens in Maine, there flourishes the same lilac bush 
 which gray-headed men and women remember as bloom 
 ing in their babyhood, and bearing the lovely purple 
 plumes then for some unexplained reason, known as 
 u laylocks." Beautiful flowers indeed they are, with 
 their delicate varying tints, their graceful movement in 
 the wind, and their sweet, homelike odor. But hardy 
 and common though the lilac-tree may be, it has an 
 unusual pride and self-respect. It will not allow its blos 
 soms to be cheapened. They wilt immediately on being 
 broken from the tree; whoever would enjoy them must 
 go where they grow. The shy arbutus, the delicate 
 ferns, the floral beauties of the garden and the green 
 house, may be purchased in the market, for so much 
 money; even the queenly daughter of the lakes, the wild 
 white water-lily, may be bought for a price in the streets 
 and in the railway-trains, but the lovely languid lilac 
 droops in the hand that would make merchandise of its 
 beauty, and refuses utterly to be bought or sold. 
 
 In an old garden in Androscoggin county, there is still 
 a clump of asparagus which was set there more than a 
 hundred years ago, in the old days when all good house- 
 
108 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 keepers thought it necessary to have branches of " spar 
 row-grass," with its graceful feathery sprays full of red 
 berries, to occupy the idle "fore-room" fire-place in 
 summer, and to decorate the best looking-glass the year 
 round. Not a person in that town, then, probably, had 
 ever raised asparagus as an edible; it was simply as an 
 ornament that it was cultivated if placing it in a use 
 less corner of the garden, and allowing it to take care of 
 itself, could be called cultivation. 
 
 In the same old garden there was, and is probably to 
 this day, a patch of ribbon-grass, then called "lady- 
 grass," in which little children who now feel like 
 antediluvians, used to hunt by the hour to find two 
 "spears" alike, but never succeeded. The patch was 
 old then, and had begun to revert to the original green 
 around the edges, but it was a joy, a wonder and a puz 
 zle to children still, and may be yet; albeit nowadays so 
 much of the ingenuity, labor and money of the w r orld 
 are spent in devising amusements and pleasant occupa 
 tions for children, that they are not, as a class, apt to find 
 pleasure and entertainment in so simple and inexpensive 
 things as delighted and satisfied the little ones of a 
 former generation. 
 
 In the same garden, too, was a clump of cumfrey, with 
 its rough woolen leaves flavored like cucumbers, and its 
 sprays of delicate wax-like white bells, which were so 
 vexatiously sure to drop off before chubby hands could 
 break the stems. This clump had been there " ever 
 since grandmother was a little girl," according to the 
 children and unless the garden has suffered modern 
 " improvement," or a railway has been run through it, 
 it probably grows there still. 
 
 In the garden of an old house in Franklin county, 
 
THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. 109 
 
 there was, years ago, and probably is to-day, a dense 
 clump of rather course-growing herbage, known among 
 the children as " lovage " a name never heard in mod 
 ern gardens. The leafage was something like that of 
 parsnips, but smoother, and the fresh leaves were often 
 eaten by the children of the resident family, although 
 the flavor was rather rank, and the mother used to 
 express frequent disapproval because when they were 
 put to bed at night, it was discovered from their too-fra 
 grant breath that they had been " eating lovage," which 
 she specially detested. Years passed, and one of these 
 children, always specially interested in " green things 
 growing," tried in vain to find in any garden the old 
 familiar "lovage," the memory of which was pleasant 
 for its old associations. Not only was there no "lov 
 age," but nobody had ever heard of it. But persever 
 ance and comparison finally succeeded in establishing 
 the fact that the poor, despised, stalky, tough, and strong- 
 flavored " lovage" was simply and only the crisp, white 
 succulent celery of the city markets, strayed into the 
 country and run wild uncultivated, untrenched, un- 
 blanched and unvalued, having lost even its name in the 
 transition; like some dainty city girl, who from being the 
 admired and appreciated centre of a brilliant social cir 
 cle, is transplanted into some out-of-the-way country 
 corner, under another name, and presently finds herself 
 rooted to a spot where nobody recognizes her real value 
 and charm, and where her u maiden name " is unknown 
 even to her nearest neighbors. 
 
 There is a fashion in flowers as truly as there is in 
 coffins. Everybody who ^ver had a country grand 
 mother, remembers the grass pinks, hollyhocks, mar 
 joram, damask roses, four o clocks, fennel, love-lies- 
 
110 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 bleeding, gauze-flowers, mallows, sweet-williams, London 
 pride, lady s-delights, and a dozen oilier things which 
 used to grow in her garden: the enormous marigolds, as 
 large as oranges; the clump of "double tansy" in the 
 fence-corner; the coriander, dill, and caraway, and the 
 wholesome-smelling bush of gray wormwood; the dear 
 little "cinnamon" roses, which came so early and 
 bloomed so bountifully; and the sweet old-fashioned sap- 
 onaria, which the children called "bouncing Bet," With 
 its faint, far-away, delicate odor r and its loose petals 
 always bursting their calyx with sheer too-muchness of 
 flower; and the low, creeping, moss-like camomile, with 
 its delicious odor of health and soundness the one 
 plant which was supposed to grow all the better for being 
 walked over to really enjoy being stepped on; the 
 pretty plat of thrift, the queer blue devil-in-the-bush, 
 and the fragrant blue-green bush of southernwood, whose 
 rare blossoming was popularly supposed to herald " a 
 death in the family." What garden has all these now? 
 
 Many of these things become fashionable again at 
 intervals; hollyhocks, for instance, which were banished 
 from flower-beds as coarse and vulgar, when dahlias came 
 in, are now appreciated again and sold by florists. Lady s- 
 delights, or Johnny-jump-ups return again, enlarged and 
 improved, as pansics, and so on. But London pride 
 has disappeared altogether; mallows are seldom seen, and 
 gauze-flowers are rarer now than orchids. Occasionally 
 one sees a bush of southernwood, whose good bitter 
 smell makes a graybeard almost homesick. Does he not 
 remember the dear old grandmother who in the summer 
 Sundays, always had a sprig of it, and a single spicy pink 
 or two, for a "meeting" nosegay? They were always 
 nosegays in those days there were no bouquets. It is 
 
THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. Ill 
 
 doubtful if a bunch of those sweet old-fashioned flowers- 
 would answer to the name of a bouquet, if one should 
 call it so till doomsday. 
 
 But many of these old friends have disappeared utterly. 
 Where, for instance, is the old-fashioned blue-bell bush, 
 which used to grow a tall, strong plant by the garden 
 pickets a plant that had odd, drooping, robin s-egg blue 
 flowers, monopetalous, shading down to a yellow-white in 
 the centre, and with a calyx like that of the ground- 
 cherry? This plant loved the shady side of the garden, 
 and even nourished under the crab-apple tree; and its 
 buds had the habit, always delightful to children, of 
 being filled with water. When a bud was nearly ready 
 to bloom, a slight pressure by a small thumb and finger 
 would cause it to explode and shoot forth a quantity of 
 pellucid water, like hoarded dewdrops. This trifling 
 did not seem to affect the coming flower in the least, 
 which bloomed the next morning as though nothing 
 had happened. 
 
 What has become of the blue-bells ? And where is 
 the cumfrey ? And the prince s feather ? And who has 
 any old-fashioned mallows ? Or star-of -Bethlehem ? And 
 how far must one search to find a camomile-bed ? And 
 where do these dear old things go when they go out of 
 fashion ? 
 
 "I should like to go into one of the old gardens 
 where all those things grow," said Bob ; " and it 
 reminds me of a piece of verse which I have here, and 
 will read to you. It speaks of several of the old-fash 
 ioned plants which you have just mentioned." 
 
112 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER S GARDEN. 
 Grandmother s garden was brave to see, 
 
 Gorgeous with old-time plants and blooms, 
 All too common and cheap to be 
 
 Grown in modern parterres and rooms; 
 Old traditional herbs and flowers, 
 
 Some for pleasure and some for need, 
 Gifted, haply, with wondrous powers, 
 
 Hoot, or petal, or bark, or seed. 
 
 All old fashions of leaf and root 
 
 Grew there, cherished for show or use; 
 Currant-bushes with clustered fruit 
 
 Eed as garnets, and full of juice; 
 Tiger-lilies with beaded stalks, 
 
 Balm, and basil, and bitter rue, 
 Gay nasturtiums and four o clocks 
 
 Grandmother s garden was fair to view. 
 
 Pinks how rich in their stately prime I 
 
 Filled the air with a rare delight; 
 Lavender blended with sage and thyme ; 
 
 Lilacs, purple and milky white, 
 Met and mingled and bloomed as one 
 
 Over the path, they grew so tall; 
 And tulip-torches, in wind and sun, 
 
 Flamed and flared by the southern wall. 
 
 Periwinkles with trailing vines, 
 Lordly lilies with creamy tint, 
 
 Bachelor s buttons and columbines, 
 Proud sweet-williams and odorous mint; 
 
 Heavy peonies, burning red, 
 Wonders of lush, redundant bloom, 
 
THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. 113 
 
 Longed for a wider space to spread, 
 And flushed the redder for lack of room. 
 
 Brilliant asters their prim heads tossed ; 
 
 Dark blue monkshood, and hollyhocks 
 Smiling fearless at autumn s frost, 
 
 Waved and nodded along the walks; 
 Love-lies-bleeding forever drooped; 
 
 Disks of sun-flowers, bright and broad, 
 Watched like sentries; and fennel stooped 
 
 Over immortal Aaron s-rod. 
 
 Cumfrey, dropping its waxen flowers, 
 
 Purple gooseberries, over-ripe 
 Lady-grass, that I searched for hours, 
 
 Vainly trying to match a stripe, 
 Pansies, bordering all the beds, 
 
 Ladies delights for the children s sake, 
 Poppies, nodding their sleepy heads, 
 
 And yellow marigolds wide awake. 
 
 Morning-glories, whose trumpets rung 
 
 Resonant with the rifling bees, 
 Daffodils, born when spring was young; 
 
 Yain narcissus, and gay sweet-peas 
 Clinging close, but with bright wings spread 
 
 W^ide, like butterflies just alight; 
 Gauze-flowers fragile, to sunrise wed, 
 
 And bashful primrose that bloomed at night. 
 
 Kich syringas, all honey-sweet, 
 
 Trim carnations of tenderest pink, 
 Bluebells, spite of the noonday heat 
 
 Holding dew for the birds to drink: 
 
114 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Marjoram, hyssop and caraway, 
 
 Damask-roses and mignonette; 
 Ah! sometimes at this distant day 
 
 I can fancy I smell them yet. 
 
 I have a garden of prouder claims, 
 
 Full of novelties bright and rare, 
 Modern flowers with stately names 
 
 Flaunt their wonderful beauty there ; 
 Yet in threading its brilliant maze, 
 
 Oft my heart, with a homesick thrill 
 Whispers, dreaming of early days, 
 
 " Grandmother s garden was lairer still I " 
 
 " That is comprehensive," said the mother. " Bob 
 is always fond of any tiling in the nature of an inven 
 tory. And thinking of old-fashioned things and per 
 sons, reminds me of some verse which I have here, 
 that seems to huve been written about one of the old 
 citizens of this town, whom I used often to see, years 
 ago. He must have been nearly eighty years old, but 
 his cheeks were always as rosy as a boy s." And she 
 read the following lines : 
 
 OLD ROSES. 
 
 There is one I often meet 
 
 As I pass along the street, 
 One upon whose furrowed face 
 Three-score years have left their trace, 
 
 Yet his strong and upright form 
 
 Has not bowed to wind or storm, 
 Nor his hair, though touched with rime, 
 Fallen beneath the scythe of Time. 
 
THE SECOND TEIANGULAB. 115 
 
 And I said, the other day, 
 Seeing him across the way 
 
 Speaking half to one who stood 
 
 Near me, in a musing mood 
 " Lo, how lightly, it appears 
 On his forehead fall the years ! 
 
 Youth s unfrozen blood still speaks 
 
 Eloquently in his cheeks, 
 
 " And their well-kept ruddiness, 
 Somewhat withered, I confess, 
 
 Looks as last year s roses look, 
 
 Pressed and dried within a book; 
 Still, with all their freshness fled, 
 Keeping all their olden red: 
 
 Or, again, it seems to me, 
 
 As I look more carefully, 
 
 11 Like the wrinkled crimson rind 
 Of the apples which we find, 
 
 As we peer with curious eyes 
 
 Into last year s granaries, 
 Or some dusty storehouse, where 
 Hidden from the light and air, 
 
 They have lain the winter through 
 
 Losing everything but hue ; 
 
 " So, methinks, the withered cheek 
 Of whose rosiness we speak, 
 Keeps, unblanched, the ruddy glow 
 Of the bloom of long ago." 
 "Nay," spoke one who, waiting, heard 
 Smilingly my every word 
 
 One whose arch, half-serious eyes 
 Answer ere her voice replies ; 
 
116 THE TEIANGTJLAE SOCIETY. 
 
 "Nay, bethink you," thug she said, 
 
 " This is not the lingering red 
 Of his early morning years 
 Which upon his face appears ; 
 
 " T is the ruddy sunset gleam 
 Lighting up life s darkening stream, 
 T is the slight return which age 
 Makes for youth s lost heritage; 
 T is the light reflected o er 
 From a brighter, rosier shore ; 
 Or, to suit your playful mood 
 With a gay similitude, 
 
 " When October s yellow hair 
 Brightening all the hazy air, 
 Half disputes her prophecy 
 Of the winter-time to be, 
 You have marked the various hues 
 Which the forest-monarchs choose ? 
 You have seen them all arrayed 
 In their robes of light and shade ? 
 
 " When the sharp and frosty airs 
 Chill the sweet woods, unawares, 
 And to pallid whiteness bleach 
 All the tresses of the beech, 
 How the elm grows all alight, 
 Sallow with consumptive blight 
 And the willow, blanched and sere, 
 Drops its leaves in trembling fear; 
 
 " And the poplar s faded leaf 
 Quivers with its whispered grief, 
 
THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. 117 
 
 While the birch-tree s airy limbs 
 
 Wave to autumn s funeral-hymns 
 And the oak, with lofty pride 
 Yielding, though unterrified, 
 
 Tones his glossy greenness down 
 
 To the dignity of brown ; 
 
 " But the maple dons a blush 
 Rosier than the richest flush 
 
 Which in summer glows and thrills 
 
 All along the sunrise hills; 
 Breaking into sudden bloom 
 As from out his sombre tomb 
 
 Bursts the newborn butterfly 
 
 Gorgeous with his brilliant dye. 
 
 " Wherefore, trifler, we will say 
 Of the sire across the way 
 
 He is like the maple tree 
 
 Growing old so rosily 
 Borrowing nothing from his youth 
 Age is wealthier far, in truth; 
 
 Blooming, when the summer s past, 
 
 Brightly, brightlier, to the last ! " 
 
 "I don t think I care very much for that," said 
 Bob, frankly. " The truth is, I am getting sleepy, 
 and so I will just read this one short article, which is 
 a good one to finish the session." 
 
 BED-TIME. 
 
 The children s bed-time hour struck long ago, 
 But all too short to them the evening seems ; 
 They linger by the fire, although they know 
 
118 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Their slices should all be standing in a row, 
 And each bright head be busy with its dreams. 
 
 They dread the bed s soft chill, the pillow s cold, 
 
 And make the plea so often made before; 
 With small excuse and pretexts manifold, 
 They stop to hear some well-known story told, 
 Or play, perhaps, some worn-out game once more. 
 
 Yet in the morning, when the mother s call 
 Eings up the stairway, not a voice replies; 
 
 Last evening s interests are forgotten all; 
 
 Each hides his face, or turns it to the wall, 
 Nor once uplifts the lids of sleepy eyes. 
 
 In vain to tempt them forth to sport and light, 
 The wakening sunbeams through the curtains peep; 
 
 The world has lost the charm it held last night; 
 
 Stories, books, games, are all forgotten quite, 
 Nor work nor play is half so sweet as sleep. 
 
 With shoulders bowed, and aches in every limb, 
 My neighbor stoops beneath his eighty years; 
 
 Slow is his step, and every sense is dim; 
 
 How can the world keep any charm for him, 
 Or life be anything but pains and fears ? 
 
 Yet still he grasps it with unyielding hold, 
 
 And when his hour comes, chooses not to know 
 Still waits to hear the worn-out stories told, 
 Still counts his gains, still notes the price of gold, 
 And plays the game that tired him Ion- ao- o . 
 
THE SECOND TRIANGULAR. 
 
 But when he finds, beyond the hap and harm 
 
 Which ever wait upon this mortal breath, 
 That what he shrunk from, with a vague alarm, 
 Was a kind healer, bringing peace and balm- 
 IIc will, mayhap, grow so in love with death, 
 
 That when the morning-angers pinions sweep, 
 With wakening touch, across his quiet breast, 
 To rouse him from his slumber soft and deep, 
 He will but murmur, in his happy sleep, 
 
 " Eveu heaven itself is not so sweet as rest I " 
 
XL 
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY 
 THAT 
 
 "SOMEHOW, all the stories seem to be about un 
 happy people," said Bob, meditatively, after Brunette 
 had been telling him a long history. " Why i s it that 
 many of the people in stories are unhapm- ? 
 And those who are not miserable, generally die, or get 
 killed why i s it ? " 
 
 " One reason why," said Brunette, who had a happy 
 faculty of explanation, "is that you are never willing 
 t a story stop in the right place. You ahvays 
 want the story finished, as you call it. When I tell 
 you a story, and try to leave the hero of it in felicity 
 with everything to his mind, you always ask, Well 
 what became of him ? " 
 
 "It was just so when you were a little trot," said 
 
 the mother - - . What becomed of him, mamma ? > was 
 
 always the question, if I finished a story without bury. 
 
 ing the hero. All of Mother Goose s personages and 
 
 animals had to have satisfactory ends fitted to them- 
 
 a work which required not only some ingenuity, but 
 
 an excellent memory; for if, after haying once stated 
 
 Jenny Wren died of rheumatism of the heart, 
 
 Doctor Foster, who went to Gloucester, fell a 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY THAT 121 
 
 victim to water on the brain, I afterward, through 
 stress of preoccupation or forgetfulness, remarked 
 that she perished of measles, and he of cerebro-spintil 
 meningitis, I was immediately brought up with a 
 round turn. < You told it different another time ! was 
 the accusation. Talk of the stories of a thousand 
 and one nights ! That number of nights would n t 
 make quite thirty-four months not three years ; and 
 my term of telling stories to Bob was longer than 
 that." 
 
 "If you would n t always insist on < What became 
 of him ? I could tell you ever so many happy sto 
 ries," said Brunette ; " but so long as nothing ever 
 does finally become of anybody excepting death 
 (and for that matter, death is more becoming to many 
 persons than anything in their lives) I don t see nny 
 way to finish your stories satisfactorily, excepting to 
 say * And so he, she, or it, as the case may be, died 
 and went to heaven. I in sure that s a happy 
 enough ending." 
 
 u Well," said Bob, who had listened patiently to all 
 this torrent of censure, " I should really like to hear 
 a story about somebody who was happy real happy, 
 so that he did n t want something different." 
 
 " I think that frame of mind would be as fatal to a 
 human being as prussic acid," said Brunette. 
 
 " I heard of a man once who was perfectly happy," 
 said the mother, brightening, " and he lived over 
 on the Cape, too not so far away from this very sit- 
 6 
 
122 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 ting. He was happy so happy that he actually " 
 She stopped short, and her smile faded. 
 
 " Tell the story, tell it ! " cried Bob, " the story of 
 the man who was perfectly happy ! Tell it, and I 
 won t ask what became of him," he urged, moving his 
 chair nearer to his mother s, and preparing to give her 
 his whole attention. 
 
 " I fancy you 11 not need to ask," murmured Bru 
 nette, who had heard the story, or a part of it, long 
 before. " But come, mother, let s hear the story of 
 the man who was perfectly happy. And please make 
 it as interesting as you can, for happy people are 
 not generally interesting." 
 
 " It is n t much of a story," said the mother, " and 
 I can t affirm that it is authentic, but I will tell it as 
 nearly as possible as it was told me. Well, years ago, 
 there lived a poor boy " 
 
 " Now if you could only fix on a date when there 
 did n t live a poor boy," said Brunette, " the story 
 would be much more entertaining. The world is full 
 of times when there live poor boys." 
 
 t; Nevertheless, I must tell the story as I heard it. 
 There was a poor boy, and he lived over on the Cape. 
 His parents were not only poor, which is bad enough, 
 but his father was shiftless, which is -worse, and 
 drunken, which is worst. Not much headway can a 
 poor, discouraged, hard-worked woman make against 
 a shiftless and drunken husband ; and so the poor son 
 of this poor woman had a hard time. Poor clothes, 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY THAT 123 
 
 poor food, poor shelter, and a poor prospect ahead of 
 him. I am afraid he went hungry sometimes when he 
 was little, and his mother could not get odd jobs 
 enough to feed him comfortably. As he grew older, 
 he began also to do odd jobs for the neighbors, most 
 of whom were much better off than he. Among 
 these neighbors, and living not far away, was the fam 
 ily of a well-to-do ship-master. This was long ago, 
 in the days when to be a ship-master, sailing out of 
 Portland, meant to be a wealthy man, to own the 
 whole or a part of a vessel, and to go to far, rich coun 
 tries, and bring home wonderful and curious things. 
 This special ship-master had, among his valuables, and 
 curiosities, and good things of all sorts, a very charm 
 ing and lovely little daughter. Whether she really 
 was the most beautiful little creature that the sun 
 ever shone on, I know not, but the poor boy thought 
 so, and so we will take it for granted. But she was 
 rich, and he was poor ; she was clad in costly 
 garments, while he was coarsely and insufficiently 
 dressed ; she fared delicately every day, while he ate 
 what he could get, and was thankful for enough of 
 anything. And the poor boy worshipped her in 
 silence and afar off, never daring to approach or 
 speak to her, although he often saw her while he was 
 engaged in odd jobs about her father s house or gar 
 den. And there grew up in the heart of this poor 
 boy a strange, wild, unreasonable, ambitious longing 
 to raise himself, to better and improve and cultivate 
 and beautify himself, until he might be worthy to 
 
124 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 walk on the same level with the rich and beautiful 
 little girl who seemed to him a veritable angel on 
 earth. He made the most of his meagre opportuni 
 ties for schooling ; he picked up scraps of knowledge 
 wherever he had the chance ; he learned the speech 
 and manners of educated people ; and he squared his 
 whole conduct by the supposed taste of the charm 
 ing little girl who, perhaps, hardly knew of his 
 existence." 
 
 "It seems to me that this hero of yours was a 
 rather precociously sentimental youth," said Brunette, 
 who was in a severe mood. 
 
 "Sentimentality is an affectation of sentiment," 
 said the mother. <k No, he was not sentimental he 
 never mentioned his youthful dream through all his 
 boyhood, even to his own mother. And as for pre 
 cocity I am not sure but it would improve most 
 boys, if they would make up their minds to do noth 
 ing that a well-bred, pure-minded, well-behaved girl 
 would disapprove or dislike. At all events, this plan 
 had a very good effect upon my poor boy. He never 
 stole or cheated, because he knew she would not like 
 it ; he never learned to smoke or chew tobacco, 
 because he was sure it would be disgusting to her ; 
 he never tortured insects or animals, or robbed birds - 
 nests; he never learned to drink and gamble, and 
 mingle with bad company, as he grew older, because 
 he knew it would put him farther away from her, 
 I presume, too, although I do not know, that he 
 refr.dned from spitting on public steps and stairs 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY THAT 125 
 
 where ladies go up and down, that he avoided 
 standing at the corners of streets, and peeping under 
 every parasol that passed by ; that he eschewed dis 
 cussing the personal appearance and probable senti 
 ments of every young girl th;it he saw ; and that he 
 was as civil to a woman who was old enough to be 
 his mother or grandmother, as to damsels of his own 
 age. Of these things I feel sure, although nobody 
 ever told me so. I only judge so from his other con 
 duct, and the manner in which he prospered." 
 
 " And so he really did prosper ? " asked Bob. 
 
 " Look out, Bob," said his sister, " you 11 presently 
 be asking, Well, what became of him ? It is odd, 
 though, that he prospered ; so good a boy would natu 
 rally be a shining mark for misfortunes of all sorts." 
 
 " I should think a boy who behaved as well as that 
 would have been awfully lonesome," said Bob, gravely. 
 "Did n t he ever have any fun ? " 
 
 "Bob seems to have the truly masculine idea of 
 fun," laughed his sister. " Bob, do you really suppose 
 that bad, wicked, cruel, rude, and disobedient boys are 
 happier than than you are, for instance ? " 
 
 " Well, I don t know," replied Bob, doubtfully. " I 
 know two or three bad boys, who are always in dis 
 grace at school ; and a great deal of the time when 
 they are out of it, they seem to be in hot water of 
 some sort. They don t look happy, that s a fact ; 
 they don t act very happy ; but they are always tell 
 ing what lots of fun they have. They say they re 
 happy." 
 
126 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Brunette laughed. " You remind me of the maple- 
 sugar man," said she. " Once in the beginning of a 
 Vermont sugar-season, the owner of a maple-orchard 
 made his annual appearance in a Connecticut river 
 village, with small cakes of sugar for sale. The sugar 
 was of very poor quality, having been badly burned 
 in the making, as was gently intimated by his custom 
 ers. Oh, no, he replied, taint scorched a mite. 
 c But look at it, smell it, taste it, persisted the would- 
 be purchasers, it s black, and smoky, and bitter 
 it s certainly scorched. S I know, replied he, looking 
 at it closely, it looks scorched, and with a little 
 sniff it smells scorched, and, tasting a bit it 
 certain does taste scorched, but it aint scorched a 
 mite. Your bad boys are like this, with a difference. 
 They don t look happy, nor act happy, but they are 
 happy, nevertheless, becnuse they say so. But looks 
 and deeds often speak louder than words, my blessed 
 Bob, and it is n t always certain that people, young or 
 old, have s lots of fun because they say they have." 
 
 " Who s. telling the story ? " suddenly asked Bob, 
 who was apt to grow restive under his sister s disser 
 tations on questions of abstract morality. " Mother, 
 where did you leave your poor boy ? " 
 
 " Trying to live up to an ideal, under difficulties," 
 said the mother. "Of course he was continually study 
 ing how to advance and improve himself, and better 
 his condition, and it naturally enough occurred to him 
 that if he, too, could in course of time become a ship 
 master, he should have a much better chance of mak- 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY THAT 127 
 
 ing the acquaintance of the marvellous little girl, than 
 he could gain in any other way. So, having earned 
 all he could earn, and learned all he could learn, at 
 home, he shipped in some humble capacity on board a 
 merchantman, and went to sea. There is no record 
 or tradition of his voyages, or of how seasick and 
 homesick and heartsick he may have been. No doubt 
 he was wretched enough. Poor and friendless little 
 boys, or boys of any size, have a hard enough time at 
 sea, learning to be sailors. It s rather pathetic, I 
 think the idea of that poor little fellow, perhaps 
 fourteen or fifteen years old, away out on the windy 
 ocean, pulling icy ropes, and tugging at frozen sails, 
 and keeping his forlorn heart warm with the deter 
 mination to make a man of himself, a true, w T ise, 
 honest, clean and good man, for the sake of making 
 the acquaintance of the loveliest little girl in the 
 world." 
 
 " But how did he know he should ever see her 
 again ? " queried Bob, who always walked round 
 everything, and looked at every side of it " how 
 did he know that she would n t have the measles 
 and die, or move away, or be killed by lightning or 
 something?" 
 
 " He did n t," replied the mother. " He had to 
 take his chances, like the rest of us, when we make 
 plans, and labor toward the fulfilment of our hopes 
 and ambitions. And he probably did not propose to 
 manage anything which w r as quite out of his power. 
 He was intent on doing what was possible for him to 
 
128 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 do, toward the realization of his early dream. If he 
 was the boy I fancy him to have been, he did not bor 
 row trouble, or worry about things which he could 
 not control, or cross his bridges until he came to them. 
 In short, he seems to have thought that if he sur 
 mounted the principal obstacles, conquered the great 
 est difficulties, and did the hardest part of the work, 
 Providence was amply capable of accomplishing the 
 remainder. Voyage after voyage he went, growing 
 wiser and stronger and more manly continually, em 
 ploying all his corners of time in adding to his stock 
 of knowledge, and carefully avoiding all places, com 
 panions, habits and associations which could lessen 
 his self-respect and derogate from the high standard 
 of manhood which he had set for himself. Of course 
 he had his drawbacks and discouragements ; of course 
 sometimes his progress seemed slow, his hope wavered, 
 and his trials seemed greater than he could bear ; but 
 he never really faltered from his first purpose, or 
 ceased from his upward struggle toward the loveliest 
 little girl in the world." 
 
 " But all this time, did he never speak with her ? " 
 asked impatient Brunette. u When he returned from 
 his voyages, did n t he go to see her, and tell her his 
 purpose, and assure himself of her sympathy?" 
 
 " Doubtless he saw her whenever he came home, 
 as he had always seen her, by chance, as she walked 
 the same streets, and perhaps went to the same 
 church. But it does not appear that he ever had 
 even a speaking acquaintance with her, until he had 
 become mate of a vessel." 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY THAT 129 
 
 " And then I suppose he made love to, and married 
 the loveliest little girl in the world," said Brunette. 
 
 "Don t hurry him. so," said the mother. " No, he 
 did n t." 
 
 " I thought this was to be a story about somebody 
 who was perfectly happy," said Bob, " and it does n t 
 seem to me that your poor boy was happy worth a 
 cent." 
 
 " I did n t say he was born happy I was only tell 
 ing you how he came to be perfectly happy so 
 happy that it positively " and the mother checked 
 herself again. "When the poor boy first began to 
 worship and dream about the loveliest little girl in 
 the world, it is n t probable that he had any more idea 
 of winning her for a sweetheart, than the old fire-wor 
 shippers had of making love to the sun. But at some 
 period between that time and the time when he 
 became mate, it is evident that he must have enter 
 tained such a hope. Whether it occurred to him 
 suddenly, and showed him as by the sudden flash of 
 a meteor, the meaning of his long unquestioning fealty 
 to her, or whether it grew slowly and naturally out of 
 his childish admiration, and loyalty, and singleness of 
 heart, who knows? Nobody ever knew excepting 
 himself and the loveliest little girl in the world. 
 
 " After he had achieved the position of mate, he was 
 at home in his native place for a little while, and 
 during the time, he saw her frequently at the neigh 
 borhood gatherings, and made some progress in her 
 acquaintance, having made himself, as he believed, 
 6* 
 
130 THE TKIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 worthy to touch her hand and speak to her. Indeed, 
 it seems probable that he told her something of his 
 childish reverence and admiration for her, and of the 
 long, toilsome, lonesome years through which he had 
 remembered her. But if he did, nothing came of it 
 at present, for when he asked her father if he might 
 try to win her, that pompous and purse-proud old per 
 sonage promptly told him that he was not rich enough 
 to be eligible as a son-in-law ; that he must be master, 
 and at least part owner of a ship, before he could be 
 allowed even to ask the favor of the loveliest little 
 girl in the world. And so he carried his heavy heart 
 to sea aGrain." 
 
 O 
 
 u I should have thought that hope deferred would 
 have made his heart sick," said Brunette; "so sick 
 that he would have thrown up the whole plan." 
 
 " Ah, you don t appreciate my poor boy," said the 
 mother ; " he had a constant and loyal soul, which a 
 few years more or less could not change or discourage. 
 I wish there were more of them. But by this time 
 some of the neighbors had guessed at his secret 
 and some of those people who are so fond of telling 
 ill news that they will even write a letter to do it, 
 reported to him from time to time, stories of the num 
 ber of suitors who hovered about the fine house of 
 the wealthy ship-master, and of how much the lovely 
 daughter was sought and admired, and various other 
 matters which did not conduce to his peace of mind 
 for by this time he understood his whole heart, and 
 felt pure that no money, nor position, nor power, nor 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY THAT 131 
 
 possibility, would be worth anything to him, without 
 the presence of the loveliest little girl in the world. 
 And as she was in no way bound to him indeed, it 
 seems doubtful whether she knew that he was in love 
 with her, or had consulted her father on the subject 
 of course my poor boy, now a fine, tall, handsome 
 man, with a bronzed and bearded face, a pair of fear 
 less and candid eyes, and a voice like a north-wester, 
 may have been a good deal troubled about the dear 
 inaccessible sweetheart (that s a fine old word, and 
 I like it better than any modern word which has 
 taken its place), away up on the coast of Maine, 
 especially as her father had cruelly told him that he 
 had other views for her. In this respect, probably 
 the last years of his probation were the hardest. But, 
 to shorten a long story, he by and by found himself 
 in the position he coveted. He was master of a ves 
 sel, of which he owned a large part. He made fortu 
 nate voyages, and accumulated money. And when 
 there could be no farther objection to him as a son-in- 
 law on account of his poverty, he once more asked 
 her father s permission to approach the loveliest little 
 girl in the world. 
 
 " This time it was not refused, and she, although she 
 did not know how many years she had been the hope 
 and guiding-star of his life, inclined favorably to the 
 wooing of the handsome, intelligent and honorable 
 young ship-captain, and in due time consented to be 
 his wife." 
 
 "Of course," said Brunette, with a smothered 
 
132 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 yawn, " we all expected that. It s the natural des 
 tiny of poor boys." 
 
 " Do for mercy s sake let mother finish her story," 
 exclaimed Bob, " and show me how this man was hap 
 pier than any other man." 
 
 " I judge he was happier than most men," said the 
 mother, placidly, " because he was evidently so happy 
 that it " and for the third time she checked herself, 
 and left the sentence unfinished. " Well, the wed 
 ding was a great occasion. There was of course a 
 famous banquet, with all manner of delicacies and 
 wines and there were flowers, and music, and 
 satins, and laces, and jewels, and all the beautiful and 
 costly things for which the Cape is so celebrated 
 but nothing was so beautiful as the loveliest little girl 
 in the world, and nobody was so happy as the hand 
 some bridegroom, as, like young Lochinvar, he trod a 
 measure with his bride." 
 
 44 What is treading a measure ? " asked Bob. " I vo 
 heard Brunette sing that song lots of times, but I 
 never knew what it meant." 
 
 " Grandmother used to tell of people who could run 
 around all day in a half-pint dipper," said Brunette. 
 " I should call that treading a measure a very small 
 one." 
 
 Bob glanced at her with speechless indignation. 
 "And then ?" said he, turning to his mother. 
 
 " And then, late at night, all the guests departed, 
 and the brilliant scene grew dim and the bride 
 groom sat down by his bride alone, and beginning the 
 
THE MAN WHO WAS SO HAPPY THAT 133 
 
 recital at his childhood the time when he was a 
 poor little half-fed, half-clad urchin, and was hired to 
 weed onion-beds, and shovel snow for her father he 
 told her the whole long story of his life his admira 
 tion of her as a little child, his dreams, his hopes, his 
 ambitions, his struggles and temptations and hard 
 ships and trials, through all the long years of his labor 
 to make himself worthy of her, the loveliest little girl 
 in the world. And at last, said he, putting his arms 
 about her, and holding her close to his most faithful, 
 clean, patient and steadfast heart at last, it is all 
 over, and I am happy, perfectly happy ! And even 
 as the words left his lips, he was dead." 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes. Then Bob 
 drew a long, quivering breath. "What made him 
 die ? " asked he. " Did he die because he loved her 
 so much?" 
 
 "Pshaw!" said skeptical Brunette, stoutly, brush 
 ing a winker out of her eye with her handkerchief, 
 " no man ever died of love. Shakspeare himself says 
 that worms have died, and men have eaten them, but 
 not for love. I " 
 
 " I don t see why they should eat em, else," said 
 Bob, in a low tone. 
 
 " I believe the man died of heart-disease," persisted 
 Brunette. 
 
 " It s one of the most difficult things in the world 
 to be certain what we believe," said the mother, "but 
 I believe that I believe, I want to believe that he 
 died of perfect happiness, pure and simple." 
 
134 THE TKIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 " It s a complaint that docs n t make any notice 
 able difference in the Portland death-rate now-a-days, 
 any way," said Brunette. " I am pretty sure that 
 case was sporadic, and the only one on record." 
 
 " And this is the story of the man who was per 
 fectly happy," said Bob, mournfully, putting back his 
 chair, and preparing to go upstairs, " and he died, after 
 all ! " 
 
 " Yes," said the mother, " he was happy so 
 happy," and this time she finished the sentence 
 " so happy that it actually killed him ! " 
 
 " I suppose," said Brunette, with the lamp in her 
 hand, " the fact that perfect happiness is fatal to 
 human beings, explains why most of us get it so 
 dreadfully diluted ! " 
 
XII. 
 THE THIRD TRIANGULAR. 
 
 " TO-JSTIGHT," said Brunette one evening, as the Tri 
 angular Society met about the table " to-night I m 
 going to read some nonsense, that I wrote simply for 
 amusement, to see if certain difficulties could be 
 compassed. Here, for instance, is a sonnet. After 
 I have read it, I want you both to tell me if you see 
 anything unusual in it any peculiarity or oddity. 
 If you do not, I shall think I have succeeded in my 
 purpose." 
 
 Bob sat up very straight to listen, and Brunette 
 read as follows : 
 
 EYES. 
 
 In ancient times did valiant minstrel-knight 
 His mistress visual beauties advertise, 
 Singing their winning radiance lover-wise, 
 Bepraising lavishly their brilliant might, 
 Hoping his skill might win his life s delight; 
 Finding similitudes in morning skies, 
 Likewise in moonlit midnight s duskiest guise. 
 I claim slight kin with singers fierce in fight 
 I question this if either warbling wight 
 Amid high Chivalry s bright votaries 
 Did, in his rich, inspiring strain, devise 
 This hidden difficulty, which to-night 
 I in this idly-tinkling line comprise 
 This simple trifle, bristling thick with Is. 
 
 135 
 
136 THE TKIANGULAR SOCIETY 
 
 " I don t know that I notice anything uncommon in 
 it," said the candid mother. " It is n t so good as some 
 of your work ; it seems to me to belong with the 
 middling verses which * gods and men despise. J: 
 
 " Thank you," said Brunette, " now, Bob ? " 
 
 " I don t like it much," he answered, " but it does 
 seem to have the letter i in it a good many times." 
 
 " More than a hundred," said his sister, " there s 
 an i in every word." 
 
 " Then I should think you d better send it to the 
 Argus," suggested Bob, who doted on the " Age of 
 Fable." 
 
 " It is lost labor to carry owls to Athens," said his 
 sister. " And now I 11 read one more little bit, and 
 leave you to guess its secret." 
 
 AFTERWARD. 
 
 After all great disturbance falls a calm 
 Tornadoes pass, and peaceful rainbows make 
 Heaven fair again, and sea and inland lake 
 
 Cease raging, and acknowledge beauty s charm, 
 
 As Nature laughs away all late alarm. 
 Dormant volcanoes, after ages, wake 
 And scare great nations; earthquakes roar and 
 shake, 
 
 And straightway cease again all jar and harm; 
 
 And after fate and circumstance have made 
 Disaster, disappointment and despair 
 A heavier load than human heart can bear, 
 
 Malice and hate at last shall faint and fade, 
 
 Falsehood s sharp stab shall heal, and faith betrayed 
 Cease paining, after Death has vanquished change and 
 care. 
 
THE THIRD TRIANGULAR. 137 
 
 " That s more sensible than the other," said Bob, 
 promptly, "but I don t see anything special about 
 
 it." 
 
 u I don t notice anything unusual in the sound of 
 it," said the mother, " but perhaps if I should look at 
 
 But Brunette objected to an examination of the 
 manuscript. " I cannot submit my papers to the Soci 
 ety," said she, loftily; " if the members cannot judge 
 of them by hearing them read in my expressive and 
 appreciative style, I must do without their criticisms. 
 But if the peculiarity of the lines should occur to 
 either of you, I hope you 11 mention it. And now 
 it s Bob s turn." 
 
 " Well, I ve made some verses myself, this time," 
 said Bob, " and I must say it s uncommon hard 
 
 work." 
 
 "You!" exclaimed his sister, "made verses? 
 What did you make them of?" 
 
 "Oh, other people s," said Bob. "And now you 
 just listen, and see if I have n t done it nicely." And 
 Bob read with great gravity, this amazing medley : 
 
 POETICAL PATCHWORK. 
 
 I only know she came and w6nt Lowell. 
 
 Like troutlets in a pool ; Hood. 
 
 She was a phantom of delight, Wordsworth. 
 
 And I was like a fool ! Eastman. 
 
 " One kiss, dear maid," I said and sighed, Coleridge. 
 
 " Out of those lips unshorn!" Longfellow. 
 
 She shook her ringlets round her head, Stoddard. 
 
 And laughed in merry scorn. Tennyson. 
 
138 
 
 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, Tennyson. 
 
 You hear them, oh ray heart ? Alice Carey. 
 
 " T is twelve at night by the castle clock, Coleridge. 
 
 Beloved, we must part! " Alice Carey. 
 
 " Come back, come back," she criediii grief, Campbell. 
 
 " My eyes are dim with tears Bayard Taylor. 
 How shall I live through all the days, Mrs. Osgood. 
 
 All through a hundred years! " T. S. Perry. 
 
 ? T was in the prime of summer time Hood. 
 
 She blest me with her hand, Hoyt. 
 
 "We strayed together, deeply blest, Mrs. Edwards. 
 
 Into the Dreaming Land. Cornwall. 
 
 The laughing bridal roses blow Patmor-e. 
 
 To dress her dark-brown hair, Bayard Taylor. 
 
 ~No maiden may with her compare, Brailsford. 
 
 Most beautiful, most rare I Head. 
 
 I clasped it on her sweet cold hand, Browning. 
 
 The precious golden link, Alex. Smith. 
 
 I calmed her fears and she was calm, Coleridge. 
 
 u Drink, pretty creature, drink! " Wordsworth. 
 
 And so I won my Gene vie ve, Coleridge. 
 
 And walked in Paradise, Hervey. 
 
 The fairest thing that ever grew Wordsworth. 
 
 Atween me and the skies I Tennyson. 
 
 "Bob, you never did that alone?" exclaimed 
 Brunette. 
 
 "Well, mother helped me about some of the au 
 thors names," replied Bob. 
 
 The mother laughed. "My father used to tell a 
 
THE THIRD TBIANGULAR. 139 
 
 story," said she, " about a capitalist who once started 
 a shingle-mill in an upper county in this State. He 
 got everything in working order, put a man in charge 
 of the machinery, and himself returned to the haunts 
 of civilization. Months passed, and he heard no 
 report from his manufactory. At last, out of all 
 patience, he flew to the scene of operations, and found 
 his man calmly sitting around in the village gro 
 cery. Why on earth have n t you shipped some 
 shingles? inquired he, wrathfully ; you ought to 
 have turned out thousands by this time ! 
 
 "* Well, replied the foreman, uncrossing his knees, 
 and crossing them the other way, I ve concluded 
 tli at it s cheaper to buy shingles than t is to make 
 em ! And I think it would be cheaper to buy 
 poetry than to make it in the toilsome, slow, trouble 
 some way that Bob has employed. I shall recommend 
 purchasing it from you, hereafter. But he has shown 
 marvellous patience and much ingenuity. However, 
 it takes more than those to make a poet." 
 
 " Yes," said Brunette, " else this stanza which I am 
 going to read would be the most perfect poetry. I 
 will tell you beforehand, that it is a brief address to 
 the moon but the word * moon is not in it, neither 
 does it contain one of the letters of that word." 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 Dear pallid vestal, that upbears 
 
 A cresset tipped with silver fire, 
 At thy behest, earth s fretful cares 
 
 Abashed by utter peace, retire. 
 
140 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Where er the wretched fall asleep, 
 Wearied at last by life s despair, 
 
 T is sweet that thy pure face will keep 
 Its ever-f ailhf ul vigil there I 
 
 " Now I m perfectly well aware," said Brunette, 
 " that those lines have no merit excepting their diffi 
 culty ; but this is greater than you would think, for 
 the condition tabooes all the ordinary names of the 
 moon. You can t pay * orb, or 4 crescent, or speak of 
 4 Dian or the * huntress, or 4 Selene, or mention 
 bow, or boat, or shallop, or even the queen of 
 night. " 
 
 " And you can t call it a luminary, cither," said 
 Bob, as though that would be a precious privilege. 
 
 " That is a privation," said his sister, " not to be 
 allowed to call the moon a luminary, in verse. By 
 the same token, you can t call her a good friend to the 
 Portland Gaslight Company, nor a powerful rival of 
 kerosene oil. And, mother, I know by your left eye 
 brow that you re going to tell me that the lines would 
 have been better if all the rest of the alphabet, as 
 well as the three forbidden letters, had been omitted. 
 You need n t ; it would n t be original, because a self- 
 conceited Englishman said it a great while ago, on a 
 similar occasion and besides, I told you in the first 
 place, that I did n t plume myself on the stanza. But 
 you just try one yourself ! " 
 
 " Indeed, no," replied the mother. " If I were 
 going to write verse, I should want to use not only 
 the whole twenty-six letters to express my ideas, but 
 
THE THIRD TRIANGULAR. 141 
 
 several others which have never been invented. Your 
 rhythmical calisthenics are ingenious and amusing, 
 and very few persons find a recreation at once so 
 innocent and inexpensive. And as this session seems 
 to abound chiefly in oddities, I am going to read to 
 you from my scrap-book, an example of persistent 
 rhyme which I found the other day, and which I 
 hardly think you can excel. And then we shall find 
 it time to adjourn." 
 
 DOCTOR McGEE. 
 
 In a cosy hotel in great London, G. 13., 
 
 One winter quite lately, Fate chanced to decree 
 
 I should stay for awhile and I could but agree. 
 
 It was not in " the season," and consequently 
 
 There were few fellow-lodgers to speak to, or see. 
 
 In the coffee-room there (where, quite lucky for me, 
 
 The guest is by no means restricted from tea, 
 
 Or chocolate, or milk, but may have them all three, 
 
 By ringing for Lucy, and biding a wee ) 
 
 I noticed one clay, on the prim mantel-tree, 
 
 Between two pink vases of lofty degree, 
 
 The servant declared they were " real Japanee " 
 
 A letter, directed to " Dr. McGee, 
 
 K"umber sixty-one, Norfolk street, W. C. " 
 
 In a pretty hand- writing, neat, graceful and free; 
 
 On the corner was written, as fine as could be, 
 
 To await the arrival of Dr. McGee." 
 
 And I absently wondered, while drinking my tea, 
 
 What manner of man the new-comer would be, 
 
 Who might drop in, to-morrow, and breakfast with me. 
 
 But the letter remained there two days, and then three, 
 
142 THE TEIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 A week, two weeks vanished, like foam on the sea, 
 And morn after morn, as I poured out my tea, 
 I glanced at the note on the prim mantel-tree, 
 And pondered and wondered and waited to see 
 Why it never was called for by Dr. McGee. 
 
 Who was he, 
 This Dr. McGee, 
 
 Who was not where he was expected to be ? 
 Was he Doctor of Laws, or a simple M. D. ? 
 Or a travelling quack, with extortionate fee ? 
 Was he native, or born in some foreign countree ? 
 French, Scotch, German, Irish, or wild Cherokee? 
 Or an ill-growing sprig of some noble old tree, 
 With a new name wherever he happened to be ? 
 Was he wealthy and gouty, as often we see, 
 Or poor and rheumatic ? or youthful, and free 
 From all the sore ailments which time may decree ? 
 Was he bluff and big- whiskered, as doctors may be, 
 Or dapper, mild-mannered, and brisk as a flea? 
 Was he curled like Hyperion, or bald as a pea ? 
 Would he ever appear and decide it ? or be 
 Forever and ever a sealed mystery ? 
 
 Where could he be, 
 Poor Dr. McGee ? 
 
 Had he perished by shipwreck in yonder great sea ? 
 
 Was he ill in some hospital ? dying, may be, 
 
 With no fond friend near to console him, or see 
 
 That his pillow was smooth, and his breathing-space free, 
 
 And his medicines given him regularly ? 
 
 It troubled my thoughts, and quite wore upon me, 
 
 The possible fate of poor Dr. McGee, 
 
 As day after day came, but never came he. 
 
THE THIRD TRIANGULAR. 143 
 
 But might it not be 
 That by Fortune s decree, 
 
 It was joy, and not woe, that kept Dr. McGee ? 
 
 Thus often I mused, in a happier kcy- 
 
 Perhaps his good star had arisen, and he 
 
 Of some wealthy nabob was sole legatee, 
 
 And was counting the worth of an Indian rupee, 
 
 Or busily reckoning 1. s. and d. ; 
 
 Or, as Christmas was coming, and holiday glee 
 
 Was rife all through England, from centre to sea, 
 
 Perhaps in some pleasant home drawing-room he 
 
 Was planning the growth of a tall Christmas-tree, 
 
 While rosy-cheeked boys and girls, one, two and three. 
 
 Were pulling his whiskers and climbing his knee, 
 
 Till, entering into their innocent spree, 
 
 He quite forgot how this poor letter might be 
 
 Neglected in Norfolk street, W. C. 
 
 But Christmas departed, with " boxing" and fee, 
 
 And the letter that lay on the prim mantel-tree, 
 
 And that once was as white as the lamb on the lea 
 
 Grew yellow with waiting as often, ah, me, 
 
 Befalls those who wait till hope s rosy tints flee. 
 
 And I left it there still, when I took my last tea, 
 
 Handed Lucy the coin she expected to see, 
 
 And paid my last reckoning, and gave up my key, 
 
 And went to the station at quarter past three. 
 
 And though I may wander by desert and sea, 
 
 No matter what marvels may happen to me, 
 
 I never shall know, wheresoe er I may be, 
 
 Who, when, why, or where, about Dr. McGee. 
 
XIII. 
 
 PARSON SMITH S BIB. 
 
 " AND now, Bob," said his mother, one September 
 morning, as they were finishing breakfast, " what did 
 you and Brunette see at the fair yesterday? You 
 were so tired and cross last night that I did not ask 
 you. There must have been a good many interesting 
 things there, especially in the centennial loan exhibi 
 tion department." 
 
 " I was tired, that s a fact," agreed Bob, ignoring 
 the other part of the charge; "dreadfully tired, 
 being dragged about all day by Brunette. All she 
 cared for was just to write her report, and whenever 
 I saw anything I wanted to look at longer, she said it 
 was of no consequence ; and the tilings she looked at 
 most were just rubbish, and she would n t leave me 
 alone a minute, because she was afraid I would get 
 mixed with the crowd, or stepped on, she said, or car 
 ried off by Charley Ross; and I was just tired out 
 trying to keep up with her, and out of other people s 
 way. But I went to sleep as soon as I touched 
 the pillow, and this morning I feel like a god 
 rejuvenated." 
 
 " A what ? " queried Brunette, withdrawing the cup 
 which she was just about to send across the table for 
 more coffee, " a what, did you say ? " 
 144 
 
145 
 
 " I heard you say it, the other day, anyhow," mut 
 tered Bob, "when you took that little nap in the 
 evening after you d been down to the islands ; you 
 said you felt like a god rejuvenated. Afterward, I 
 asked mother what rejuvenated meant, and she said 
 it meant made younger, and she always felt rejuve 
 nated when she was rested, and I don t see " 
 
 " Why, Bob," laughed Brunette, " I remember now, 
 I said I felt like a giant refreshed, that was all 
 nothing ubout rejuvenated, or a god, or anything like 
 it, you misrepresentational boy ! " 
 
 " Well, I don t care," pouted Bob, somewhat cowed 
 by the ominous adjective, " whether it was god or 
 giant, it was something about somebody who got up 
 and felt better, anyhow, just as I have, this morning^ 
 And before I tell mother about the fair, I want to 
 know why they called part of it a lone exhibition ? 
 Was it because they never had those old-fashioned, 
 worn-out, faded, mouldy, cracked and spoiled old 
 things on exhibition before ? " 
 
 "It is because these same persons never intend to 
 exhibit them on another centennial occasion," ex 
 plained Brunette, smiling. 
 
 " Well, they were n t worth looking at, anyhow," 
 said irreverent Bob, "old cracked china dishes cov 
 ered with weeping-willows full of caterpillars and old 
 money that you could n t buy a top with and old 
 pewter platters and old Indian relicts and powder- 
 horns and sugar-tongs and canteens and spoons and 
 work-baskets and a weaving-machine and Lady Pep- 
 7 
 
146 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 perell s dishes with a red rooster on em and the 
 cradle that " 
 
 "Stop, stop, Bob," gasped his mother, "you are 
 smothering me with information. Don t talk so like 
 a mill-clapper, and don t mix things up so. One thing 
 at a time. Now what about the cradle ? " 
 
 " But we did n t see one thing at a time," persisted 
 Bob, "we saw em all together, and I could n t read 
 the libels, and all I could find out about the things 
 was by listening to people while they were stepping 
 on my toes, and bumping my head with their elbows. 
 The old cradle, a gentleman said, was the one that old 
 Parson Smith used to sleep in and when I asked 
 him politely who Parson Smith was, he said the Par 
 son was an old fuddy-duddy who died before I was 
 born several weeks before, he said ; and that before 
 he died he used to preach here and keep a dairy, and 
 there were some of his clothes and his bib, now, if I 
 did n t believe it. But I knew he was just fooling 
 me." 
 
 " The gentleman must have had a gift at imparting 
 information," laughed Brunette ; " did he have a 
 badge on his cap, saying, Questions answered here ? 
 That s the kind of officer I should like to see insti 
 tuted at all public gatherings, especially State and 
 county fairs. But what makes you think he was try 
 ing to fool you ? " 
 
 Bob gave an inarticulate groan of contempt and 
 disgust. " Do parsons wear bibs ? " exploded he. 
 " Do parsons sleep in a cradle just big enough for a 
 
PAKSON SMITH S BIB. 147 
 
 baby ? Parsons in old times must have been a good 
 deal smaller than they are now." 
 
 " But, Bob," interposed his mother, " I have up 
 stairs the first pair of shoes you ever wore. If you 
 should live to be Governor of Maine, and die a very 
 old man, and a hundred years or so after, those shoes 
 should be exhibited as a curiosity, would it prove that 
 you wore them when you were governor? Parson 
 Smith was old when he died, but nevertheless, he was 
 once a baby at least, so it is said." 
 
 "But how is it that they don t have some of his 
 full-grown clothes, and his razor, and his big boots, 
 and " 
 
 u Ah, me," said the mother, softly, " that, I fancy, is 
 because nobody whom he knew in his manhood ever 
 cared so much about him as his mother did. She pre 
 served even his old bibs, while the friends of his later 
 years probably sold his old clothes in exchange for 
 vases, and praying Samuels, and busts of Lord Byron, 
 or, possibly, gave them away to tramps." 
 
 " Tramps and plaster-casts and heads of Lord By 
 ron in Portland in Parson Smith s time ! " exclaimed 
 Brunette. " Why, Parson Smith was gathered to his 
 grandfathers before 1795 ended, when Byron was as 
 old as Bob, here, and as for tramps " 
 
 " Well, anyway," put in Bob, who had no interest 
 in chronology, "the gentleman said that parsons must 
 have been a good deal scarcer in old times than they 
 are now, or else people would n t have kept Mr. 
 Smith s bib all these years. And he told the lady 
 
148 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 who was with him that he did n t believe there was a 
 parson in Portland, to-day, who could lay his hand on 
 one of the bibs he wore when he was a baby. And 
 the lady laughed, and said if he was n t careful, some 
 body would hear him, as though I was n t some 
 body ! But they would n t have made game of me so 
 if Brunette had been by she was away off, walking 
 round a pewter dipper that somebody said came from 
 Scotland two hundred years ago. She was just all 
 wrapped up in that dipper, and I ve no doubt she 
 wrote " 
 
 " Some verses about it," said Brunette ; "and here 
 they are." 
 
 A PEWTER TANKARD. 
 
 William Goold, of Windham, exhibited in the Centennial 
 Department of the Maine State Fair, in 1876, a pewter beer-mug, 
 or tankard, " known to have been brought from Scotland two 
 hundred years ago." 
 
 Two hundred years! oh, grim and ghostly goblet, 
 Why thus torment the thirsty souls of moderns, 
 Moderns who live in times when pewter tankards 
 Linger superfluous ? 
 
 Torn from the land that flows with ale and oat-cake, 
 How in thine age art thou betrayed and stranded 
 Thus high and dry upon the thirsty shores of 
 Maine prohibition! 
 
 Who would deal out Sebago in a tankard ? 
 Or even milkman s milk, pieced out with pump-juice? 
 Pshaw! who would load a cannon with baked apples ? 
 Perish the notion ! 
 
PARSON SMITH S BIB. 149 
 
 What are the feeble tipples of the present, 
 Hop, pop, root, spruce, and such-like weak devices, 
 By those which, take the centuries together, 
 Thou hast surrounded! 
 
 Marvellous mug! how many casks and barrels, 
 Yea, more than that, how many hundred hogsheads, 
 Pipes, tuns and what not, hast thou held and carried, 
 Pale, brown, and home-brewed? 
 
 Surely they err, who say that drinks convivial 
 Shorten men s lives, and make them weak and shaky; 
 What devotee who pins his faith on water, 
 Beaches thy record ? 
 
 How many hands have grasped thy quaint old handle! 
 How many lips have pressed thy time-worn margin! 
 How many eyes, with foam-drops on their lashes, 
 Looked down thy distance ! 
 
 Thou hast outlived thy natural use and purpose ; 
 Ale is a myth, and beer an old tradition; 
 Thou art a phantom, and thine occupation 
 Gone, like Othello s. 
 
 What is our life ? Why do we boast and bluster 
 Even if we count a hundred paltry summers ? 
 What are they worth ? a trifling pewter tankard 
 Laughs at our utmost. 
 
 Granite and diamonds shame our short duration, 
 Fine gold outlasts us, and we never wonder, 
 But to be distanced thus by paltry pewter 
 Humbles the proudest. 
 
150 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Farewell, old tankard I on the next centennial, 
 Doubtless, some other bard will sing thy praises, 
 Greet thee with eyes and fingers reverential, 
 Even as I do, 
 
 Touch thy quaint handle, worn by phantom fingers, 
 Note the small dints along thy battered margin, 
 Then passing on, to die and be forgotten, 
 Leave thee immortal. 
 
XIV. 
 
 THE DOOR-MAT MAN. 
 
 " MOTHER," said Brunette one evening, "do you 
 remember that old blind man who generally stands 
 there near the Clapp house, on Congress street, beg 
 ging, with his wife ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the mother, " he has been a famil 
 iar figure there for years. He generally has a door 
 mat or two, ostensibly for sale, but nobody ever seems 
 to buy one, so it amounts to beggary, after all." 
 
 " Yes," said Brunette, " and when I tried to find 
 out something about them, I was told that the woman 
 married that blind man out of pure pity ; that she has 
 some children, men and women, with either of whom 
 she might live in comfort ; but she was angel enough 
 to marry him, out of benevolence, and take care of 
 him." 
 
 " She don t look one mite like the pictures of 
 angels," murmured Bob, who was busy mending a cat- 
 collar, " and she certainly is n t one of the angels 
 ever bright and fair, that you sing about, and 1 
 should n t want to be taken to her care, if the blind 
 man did." 
 
 " The commandment only says, * Thou shalt love 
 thy neighbor as thyself, " said the mother, not noti- 
 
 151 
 
152 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 cing Bob s remark. " It does n t say we should love 
 him better, or do for him what we would not do for 
 ourselves. If the woman does n t need to, and 
 would n t, beg for herself, she surely is n t called 
 upon to beg for him. There are other ways provided 
 for the support of poor blind people." 
 
 " I know it," rejoined Brunette, t; but I always feel 
 condemned when I have to pass by her without giving 
 her anything. The other day when I went down 
 town to buy a pair of boots these have kept my 
 feet wet for a week and saw her standing there in 
 the wind, with her faded calico dress whipping about 
 her, I pitied her so that I gave her half a dollar and 
 then I had n t money enough left for my boots, and 
 shall have to wait for them another week," and she 
 sighed gloomily. "But I always acknowledge superi 
 ority in anybody," she went on. " I don t know a 
 man in the world, no matter how many eyes he might 
 have, that I like well enough to make me bind myself 
 to be responsible for the punctual appearance of his 
 three meals a day on the table, even after he has paid 
 the grocer s bill ; and yet. that woman not only pre 
 pares that man s meals, but she probably begs most of 
 them beforehand, and, I dare say, feeds him with a 
 spoon afterward." 
 
 " Quite likely." responded her mother, " and while 
 you are going with wet feet for want of your half- 
 dollar, she is doubtless dry-shod. As for her superior 
 ity to you, I don t believe in the newspaper doctrine 
 that self-sacrifice and self-effacement are the crowning 
 
THE DOOR-MAT MAN. 153 
 
 glories of a woman. If that had been the Creator s 
 plan, woman would have been placed prostrate under 
 the feet of man, instead of upright by his side." 
 
 "It does look that way," said the girl, holding her 
 damp shoe to the fire, "and one other thing has 
 been borne in on me since -I began to help support 
 myself. It is my conviction that the poor people, like 
 this blind man and other beggars on the streets, 
 the women who go out choring and take in washing, 
 and those that are helped by charity, and such, really 
 do not suffer so much from poverty as do respectable 
 people of small means, especially women, who live in 
 decent houses, keep their place in society, and are 
 obliged to maintain an appearance of comfort, and 
 dress like ladies, no matter how little they may have 
 to do it with." 
 
 " My teacher says you must never end a sentence 
 with a proposition," whispered Bob to his mother. 
 She smiled and nodded at him, and said 
 
 " There is really much truth in that, although no 
 body says so aloud. I have often thought that 
 when my great-uncle comes back from the Indies, and 
 brings me a fortune of a hundred thousand lacs of 
 rupees, I shall bestow a great part of it, not on chari 
 table societies, and missionary enterprises not on 
 tramps, and beggars, and drunkards, but although 
 it will be a delicate business to do on those hun 
 dreds of unhappy people, mostly women, to whom self- 
 respect and independence are as the very breath of 
 life, who dread pity as much as they would charity, 
 7* 
 
154 THE THIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 and whose lives are an agonizing struggle to appear 
 comfortable, and make ends meet on an insufficient 
 income. The woman who sells berries and herbs at 
 back-doors, matches on the sidewalk, or apples at a 
 corner, and is helped by the Widow s Wood Society 
 in the winter, does not have half the anxieties and 
 penalties hanging over her, which embitter the lives 
 of many respectably dressed ladies. She is n t ex 
 pected to entertain people ; she is not sneered at by 
 her set if she wears a last-year s bonnet, or an old- 
 fashioned garment ; and not one of her acquaintances 
 would cut her if she should be turned out of her 
 shelter for non-payment of rent. But where would 
 you and I be, if we should fail to to be ready with our 
 rent, on the first day of every month ? The strictest 
 Bible rule only instructs us to love our neighbor as 
 ourselves," she concluded, returning to the original 
 topic, "and I think, my daughter, that when you 
 pinched yourself and endangered your health for that 
 comfortably-dressed beggar, you loved her not as 
 yourself, but better." 
 
 " I wish we would get real poor," said Bob, softly, 
 "and then I could sell papers, and support the family !" 
 
 "You re a jewel, Bob," said his sister, " and to pay 
 you for it, I 11 read you my poem about the blind 
 man s wife, after supper." 
 
 " There," exclaimed Bob, " I knew that was what it 
 would come to, when you began talking ! " 
 
THE DOOR-MAT MAN. 155 
 
 THE BLIND MAN S WIFE. 
 
 She leads him, when the day is fair, 
 
 Along the smoothest, sunniest street, 
 Choosing the way, with watchful care 
 
 Before his slow, uncertain feet. 
 
 She guards him deftly from the throng 
 
 That crowds before or hastes behind, 
 Guiding him tenderly along 
 
 Like a lost child for he is blind. 
 
 And day by day, and year by year, 
 She is his staff, his strength, his sight 
 
 The steady planet, shining near, 
 Which cheers and lights his lifelong night. 
 
 Because she loves him. What beside 
 
 Could keep her, all the weary days, 
 His helper, savior, slave and guide, 
 
 Who never thanks her nor repays ? 
 
 Nor slow strong force, nor sudden wrench, 
 
 Nor both, can such a love discrown, 
 Which many waters cannot quench, 
 
 Nor floods of hurrying billows drown. 
 
 He does not see her furrowed face, 
 
 Her crooked form, her faded hair 
 She is to him all bloom and grace, 
 
 But still more kind than she is fair. 
 
 Old, feeble, poor, and blind, his whole 
 
 Of life is darkness, want and pain, 
 Yet rich in that which many a soul 
 
 More strong and proud, would die to gain/ 
 
 Oh, with a power but faintly told 
 
 In sweetest tales of prose or rhyme, 
 Love s everlasting arms uphold 
 
 The heaviest loads of life and time I 
 
XY. 
 
 THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 
 
 " SOME day," said the mother, meditatively, as she 
 drew her Boston rocker near the table, to open a ses 
 sion of the Triangular Literary Society, "some day 
 after my ship comes in and I have plenty of time " 
 
 " Is your ship going to bring a cargo of time ? " 
 asked Bob, as he searched the pages of his scrap-book. 
 
 "My ship will bring money, and money means 
 leisure, and leisure means all the time I want to de 
 vote to the furthering of several plans which I have 
 had all my life. One of these is a plan to collect a 
 book of verse about animals. There are many prose 
 works about them, but I know of none in verse." 
 
 11 Brunette has written some poems to fit such a 
 book," said Bob, " I can count up " 
 
 "Hardly poems," replied Brunette, "I don t call 
 those nonsensical rhymes by so dignified a name." 
 
 " Yes, several of Brunette s would do," continued 
 the mother, " and I remember several from older au 
 thors and I occasionally find a more modern one, 
 floating about in the newspapers. Here is one, for in 
 stance, that I am going to read to you this evening. 
 It must have been written during or shortly after the 
 war, and it recalls the unpardonable custom in vogue 
 15G 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 157 
 
 at the time, of turning poor worn-out horses into the 
 streets to die to be abused by cruel boys, and to 
 starve to death. I remember very well how many 
 sins of this sort were committed in Washington at 
 that time I was there then and how my heart 
 used to ache at the sight of the poor creatures, who 
 received so sorry a reward for having helped to save 
 the Union like this one." 
 
 A CAVALRY PRIVATE. 
 In the green park the grass grows fair and tall, 
 
 The herbage drips with dew, 
 And from the untrodden places by the wall, 
 The clover lifts pink promise. Seeing all, 
 
 A starving horse looks through, 
 
 A poor gaunt animal, sharp-ribbed and lean, 
 
 A picture of distress 
 
 On his thin sides are marks where blows have been, 
 And on his shrunken shoulder may be seen 
 
 The branded signs " U. S." 
 
 Sadly he thinks of other summer-tides, 
 
 When, by the wide barn-doors, 
 The fearless children patted his sleek sides, 
 And chattering merrily of future rides 
 
 Fed him with apple-cores. 
 
 ]STo high ambition lured his thoughts away, 
 
 No dreams of trotting-parks ; 
 He only heard the blithesome children say 
 u Next winter he 11 be harnessed in the sleigh, 
 
 And then, oh, then, what larks I " 
 
158 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 His nerves were living steel; his frame replete 
 
 With lithesomeness and grace ; 
 
 His bright neck " clothed with thunder," and his feet- 
 The very tempest, sweeping fierce and fleet, 
 
 Could scarce outstrip his pace. 
 
 Green were the pastures where he used to browse, 
 
 In youth s elysian prime, 
 He nipped the pink buds from the apple-boughs 
 Shading some pleasant farm-yard, where the cows 
 
 Gathered at milking-tinie, : 
 
 Lowing responsive to the plaintive bleat 
 
 Of calves, which waited late, 
 Tethered in tender grass, unmown and sweet, 
 And clover which they had not learned to eat, 
 
 Inside the orchard gate 
 
 Each pulling wildly at the fettering rope, 
 
 Stretching his soft neck far, 
 And calling with a sort of piteous hope, 
 For the fair milkmaid s hand the gate to ope, 
 
 And give him his mamma. 
 
 There on alow bough hung the milking-stool 
 
 The throne of innocence; 
 
 There, when the summer day grew dusk and cool, 
 The hens repaired, and went to roost by rule, 
 
 In rows along the fence. 
 
 Oh, happiness! but on the saddest day 
 
 That ever gloomed the skies, 
 Some heartless Quarter Master s employs 
 Espied him as he chewed the fragrant hay, 
 
 And said " Behold a prize! 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 159 
 
 " This animal is sound in wind and limb, 
 
 With every nerve alive 
 Our Uncfe Samuel hath need of him; 
 I 11 give you, as he seems in extra trim, 
 
 One hundred twenty-five." 
 
 Wherefore he bought and took the horse along, 
 
 To come alas, no more 
 Leaving the children in a weeping throng, 
 Deploring audibly the bitter wrong, 
 
 Grouped round the stable door. 
 
 Gone with his last sweet wisp of home-made hay 
 
 Depending from his mouth 
 Unconscious, as he walks the grassy way, 
 How soon his feet will bruise in fiercest fray, 
 
 The red fields of the South. 
 
 Gone with the clover tangled in his mane, 
 
 To plough through Southern mud; 
 To make sharp hoof -prints on the battle-plain, 
 To trample madly on the bleeding slain, 
 
 And bathe his feet in blood. 
 
 But what a change and what a loss I oh, shame I 
 
 What has he gained therefor ? 
 Since in the heyday of his youth, he came, 
 His proud head high, his nostrils breathing flame, 
 
 Down to the seat of war ? 
 
 His bright, expressive eyes have lost their fire, 
 
 His humbled head hangs low; 
 His fair and nervous limbs have learned to tire 
 In wading wearily through swamps and mire, 
 
 Goaded by spur and blow. 
 
160 
 
 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Oh, battered limbs oh, dim and hollow eyes, 
 
 Oh, gaunt and wasted frame I 
 
 Youth, loved and honored age, which all despise 
 Is this the picture held before the eyes 
 
 Of military fame ? 
 
 " Eepublics are ungrateful "; when, oh, when, 
 
 Has this been proved a lie ? 
 Horses are heroes, too, as well as men 
 Why are they used, abused, neglected then 
 
 Turned in the street to die ? 
 
 The grass waves inaccessible, though near 
 
 Mocking his longing gaze 
 And from the fountain-basin he can hear 
 The tinkling water-drops plash cool and clear, 
 
 Misting in rainbow sprays. 
 
 Soon I shall see when breaks his patient heart 
 
 His gaunt form carried hence, 
 With rigid limbs aimed sky- ward, in a cart, 
 To some grim burial, from the town apart, 
 
 At government expense I 
 
 " How shameful it was ! " said Brunette, her eyes 
 sparkling with indignant tears. Do you really suppose 
 the government turned those faithful servants out to 
 die in that way ? " 
 
 " Not directly, perhaps. But the government, which 
 makes appropriations of millions to enrich swindlers, 
 perhaps saved a few dollars by selling its worn-out 
 horses to poor negroes and other irresponsible and 
 cruel persons, who had neither money enough to buy 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 1G1 
 
 food for the poor creatures, nor mercy enough to put 
 them oat of their misery. When the purchaser found 
 his poor victim utterly useless, he simply drove it 
 away from his door, and so shirked all responsibility. 
 In walking from my boarding-house to the post-office 
 I have seen half a dozen of those poor creatures. It 
 was vain to speak to a policeman he had nothing to 
 do with it ; it was vain to write to the municipal 
 authorities they paid no attention; and there was 
 no Saint Bergh society in Washington in those days. 
 Even after the animals died, I have known them to 
 lie three days in the street before being removed." 
 
 " What a lovely place for a summer residence ! " 
 said sarcastic Brunette, " and how you, of all people, 
 must have enjoyed living there ! " 
 
 " It made my life wretched," said the mother. 
 "Opposite my lodgings, at the corner, there was an 
 old-fashioned wooden pump, and I have seen a poor 
 old skeleton of a horse stand there for hours, begging 
 for water, until my heart ached. People would come 
 and fill their pails at the pump, without giving him a 
 drop of water, although they saw him dying for it. It 
 was vain to beg them to help him to a drink. Some 
 times a boy would come with a stable pail, and I could 
 hire him, for a quarter, to water the dying creature. 
 Sometimes, too, I would borrow a pail from my land 
 lady s kitchen, and go out and pump water for him 
 myself. But what was the little I could do ? The 
 poor things famished and died, all the same. But I 
 shall never forget it. And now, Brunette, read some 
 thing more cheerful." 
 
162 THE TKIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 "It seems to me," said Brunette, "that this is just 
 the time to bring forward an article that I wrote the 
 other day concerning a person whom I greatly rever 
 ence one who has spent years in patient and kindly 
 service, amid ridicule and detraction and criticism, for 
 creatures which are neither thankful for nor apprecia 
 tive of good offices. Now, Bob, guess whom I mean ?" 
 
 " Some school-ma am," said Bob, with a look of 
 conscious guilt. 
 
 Brunette laughed till her eyes were full of tears. 
 " You have convicted at least one pupil," she said, 
 "and I shall hereafter regard your unhappy teacher 
 with new sympathy. Guess again." 
 
 " Somebody who takes care* of deaf and dumb per 
 sons," said Bob, recovering himself. 
 
 " Not quite," said his sister, " perhaps mother can 
 tell." 
 
 " Some missionary to the cannibals," hazarded the 
 mother. 
 
 " Oh no," said Brunette, " they are always baked 
 before they have time to do much good ; and in that 
 case it certainly cannot be said that they are not appre 
 ciated. But I will read the article, and let you find 
 out for yourselves." 
 
 A HERO IN A GOOD CAUSE. 
 
 He prayeth best who loveth best 
 All things both great and small, 
 
 For the great God who loveth us, 
 He made and loveth all. 
 
 "When a man labors earnestly for the benefit of persons 
 less happily circumstanced than himself, not necessarily 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 163 
 
 by giving them money outright, which is not always ju 
 dicious charity, but perhaps by building tidy and com 
 fortable houses which they can rent, instead of living in 
 unclean, unwholesome and dilapidated tenements; per 
 haps by providing some cheap amusement which may be 
 within the reach of the humblest plodder; in cases like 
 this, even when the kind-hearted originator of the plan 
 actually recovers his outlay, really losing nothing, possi 
 bly gaining something in a financial way, by his transac 
 tion, we do not hesitate to call him a philanthropist; to 
 say that he has done a good work for humanity, and to 
 honor him accordingly. 
 
 And when, as rarely happens, he labors in the cause of 
 humanity without plan or hope of recompense ; when he 
 gives his time, his strength, his money and his sympathy 
 to suffering human beings, as did Elizabeth Gurney Fry 
 and John Howard, we have hardly words to express our 
 admiration and reverence for greatness of soul so un 
 usual, for tenderness and zeal so ardent and self-sacrific 
 ing. We do not hesitate to say that he is entirely disin 
 terested, that he works for others with no thought of 
 self-aggrandizement or reward, that his labor is with 
 out money and without price. And yet Elizabeth Fry 
 and John Howard, like all other kind and gentle-natured 
 persons who, as benefactors and friends, come in direct 
 contact with unfortunate and oppressed humanity, did 
 receive the sweetest of all earthly compensations for their 
 labors of love, the thanks and gratitude of thousands of 
 human hearts which threir kind ministrations, their un 
 selfish devotion, had touched and softened. If he is a 
 benefactor to the human race who makes two spears of 
 grass grow where one grew before, how much more a 
 benefactor is he who wins from the arid and unfruitful 
 
1G4 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 soil of human hearts, parched by neglect and hardened 
 by crime, the sweet and healing growth of undying grat 
 itude and tender remembrance ? And he who achieves 
 this, has, even in this life, his reward the eager thankful 
 ness of those for whom he has labored and suffered, and 
 the repaying love which not only sweetens all his days, 
 but after his generous heart has mouldered into dust, 
 keeps his memory fragrant among men forevermore. 
 
 But if we accord the qualities of unselfish generosity, 
 disinterested kindness, and real tenderness of heart to 
 those who receive for their good deeds the reward of pop 
 ularity, or praise, or the spontaneous gratitude of even 
 the lowest of the human race, for all these a-re recom 
 pense, and desirable, and labored for by many, what 
 name shall we find, what noun or adjective shall we bring 
 to describe fitly a man who, not for popularity, not for 
 praise, not for gratitude, deliberately takes up and makes 
 his own the cause of helpless, oppressed and abused 
 creatures, which not only cannot be grateful to him for 
 the merciful work which he does for them, but which, 
 alas, do not even know that he helps, saves, and protects 
 them? 
 
 Not for popularity, for his harvest has been contempt 
 and ridicule; not for praise, for his reward has been mis 
 representation and abuse; not for gratitude, for the suf 
 fering horse which he protects from an inhuman driver, 
 or the tortured dog which he rescues from cruel boys, 
 does not in the least distinguish him from its persecutors. 
 This man, who deserves doubly, if any man on earth can 
 deserve, the name of hero, is Henry Bergh. 
 
 This man, who has been alternately ridiculed as a mis 
 chievous fanatic, sneered at as a mild imbecile, perse 
 cuted as a determined trespasser on other men s rights, 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 165 
 
 and held up to public scorn as a foreigner who, unable to 
 achieve notoriety in any better way, conceived the idea 
 of making capital out of the alleged inhumanity of the 
 American people, was born in -New York, perhaps fifty 
 years ago. Any man of ordinary penetration, seeing him 
 and conversing with him, would be sure that Mr. Bergh 
 has no especial need to search out any novel means of 
 distinguishing himself from the common herd. Tall and 
 majestic, with a face whose gravity is almost melancholy, 
 excepting when infrequently it is illuminated and beauti 
 fied by the sweetest, kindest smile in the world, he im 
 presses the most casual observer as a man of rare pres 
 ence and dignity, and the slightest acquaintance or 
 conversation with him reveals gentle breeding and wide 
 culture. His sterling sincerity, earnestness, and perfect 
 freedom from self-seeking, are evident in his whole man 
 ner, speech and bearing; insomuch that persons who 
 soberly consider him "a little fanatical" are willing 
 enough to admit the strength, nobleness and kindness of 
 his nature. 
 
 So far is this man from having taken up his work from 
 a thirst for notoriety, as some of the Kew York papers 
 would have us believe, that he resigned for it an honor 
 able position that hinted at much more brilliant possibil 
 ities in the way of worldly honors than he will ever 
 achieve as the champion of the oppressed brute creation. 
 lie was at one time secretary of the American legation to 
 Eussia, and afterwards consul at St. Petersburg, and he 
 received unusual marks of honor from the Eussian gov 
 ernment. During the visit of the present Czar to this 
 country, a few years since, he took occasion to express 
 his consideration and respect for the founder and presi 
 dent of the most humane of societies. 
 
166 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Mr. Bergh is no "dilettante, delicate-handed priest" 
 of sentimentalism, preaching afar off against an evil 
 which he will not approach or soil his fingers with. In 
 the very beginning, he bestowed upon his Society property 
 which was earning an annual income of seven thousand 
 dollars, thus proving at once his thorough sincerity and 
 his generous liberality, for many a man will give his 
 voice, his influence, even a part of his time and labor, to 
 a worthy cause, when his heart is not sufficiently affected 
 to involve his pocket. The amount of hard and distaste 
 ful work which he has done in the service of dumb crea 
 tures, can hardly be computed. In the streets, amid 
 insolence and violence, in dirty slums, among the most 
 dangerous classes of New York, in dens devoted to dog- 
 fighting and cock-fighting, in stock-yards, in swill-milk 
 pens, and in loathsome slaughter-houses, he has spent 
 hours and days, shocked and sickened by scenes of dis 
 gusting cruelty, needless torture, revolting brutality, and 
 the previously unpitied and unmitigated suffering of the 
 poor creatures which have too long been considered as 
 having no rights which human beings are bound to 
 respect. ~Now that the attention of the public has been 
 aroused, and the Society in New York has gained power 
 and influence, and has the strong arm of the law behind 
 it, as a supporter and enforcer of its principles, much of 
 this unpleasant drudgery may safely be trusted to other 
 hands. But it is not even now an unusual sight in the 
 busier streets of the city, to see a noticeably tall gentle 
 man, with a grave and, under such circumstances, some 
 what severe countenance, step suddenly from the curb 
 stone, and seizing a lame, over-loaded, diseased or half- 
 crippled horse by the head, sternly command the angry 
 driver to dismount, and send the suffering animal to the 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 167 
 
 stable. The driver himself is promptly arrested and 
 fined. 
 
 The continual recurrence of these and similar scenes, 
 has made the name of Mr. Bergh, and the Society of 
 which he is the head and front, a positive and salutary 
 terror to evil-doers. In the absence of any better motive 
 for the merciful treatment of the helpless animals under 
 their charge, this dread which Mr. Bergh and his agents 
 inspire in the souls of savage and unfeeling men, has an 
 excellent effect. How pleasant it would be if all the poor 
 dumb creatures which his influence has helped and bene 
 fited, could know to whom they are indebted, and how 
 earnestly and self-forgetfully he has labored in their in 
 terests! 
 
 " Before undertaking this labor," he wrote, not long 
 ago, " I took a careful survey of all the consequences to 
 me personally, and I recognized the fact that I should 
 be much abused and ridiculed, and hence it was neces 
 sary for me to forget myself completely." But of one 
 thing more Mr. Bergh may also be sure; that however 
 generously he may forget himself, there are thousands of 
 gentle and appreciative hearts which will not forget him, 
 nor cease to honor him; and in many a household of ten 
 der souls, his name is cherished, and the shadow of his 
 kind and sensitive face pointed out by little children as 
 ""the dear, kind Mr. Bergh who takes care of the poor 
 dumb creatures which cannot cry or speak when they are 
 abused." Surely, not the least of his worthy achieve 
 ments is the good effect of his character and example on 
 the minds of the rising generation. Boys are proverbi 
 ally cruel; but it is to be charitably hoped that their cru 
 elty is generally the result of either thoughtlessness or 
 imitation. And it would be well if every mother in the 
 
168 THE TKI ANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 land, instead of drawing the attention of her sons to the 
 example of a successful politician, or a self-made million 
 aire, would place before them as an example, the earnest 
 benevolence, persistence in well-doing, and disinterested 
 tenderness of heart, of the patient and faithful Founder 
 and President of the American Society for the Preven 
 tion of Cruelty to Animals. 
 
 " I like that," said Bob, apparently relieved to find 
 that it contained no allusion to a " school-ma am." 
 
 "It is only a just tribute," said the mother, " but 
 I m afraid the editor will not publish it." 
 
 " We 11 see," said Brunette. " Here is a riddle, or 
 rebus, or charade, Bob, whichever you like, that I 
 have made on purpose for you. Guess it and I 11 give 
 it to you." 
 
 WHAT IS IT? 
 
 Though I love the charms 
 
 Of the home-fire bright, 
 I am under arms 
 
 Both by day and night, 
 
 Not upon my back 
 
 Do I bear my loads; 
 Legs I do not lack, 
 
 Yet avoid the roads. 
 
 Though I never shun 
 
 Duty s hard decree, 
 Yet some other one 
 
 Makes my rounds for me. 
 
THE FOURTH TKIANGULAR. 169 
 
 Kings may stand but yet 
 
 A seat is found for me, 
 Though I never sit; 
 
 How can these things be? 
 
 " It is some sort of a soldier, or a sentinel, or a 
 picket-guard, or an officer, or something military," said 
 Bob. 
 
 * But all these do sometimes sit down," said the 
 mother. 
 
 " Well, I shall study it out presently," said Bob. 
 " And now I m going to read something that I found 
 the other day. I like it, and if either of you knows 
 who wrote it, I wish you d tell me." 
 
 LITTLE LONESOME. 
 
 She was a timid little maid, 
 Of even harmless things afraid ; 
 A hasty word, a sudden stir, 
 A playful touch, would startle her; 
 She feared the lightning, and the rain, 
 The branch that swept against the pane, 
 The ocean s roar, the wind s sad moan, 
 And dreaded to be left alone. 
 
 And often in her bed at night, 
 She would awake in wild affright, 
 
 G 7 
 
 Entreating with appealing tone, 
 
 " Mamma, I cannot stay alone! 
 
 The shutters groan and rattle hark! 
 
 I hear a whisper in the dark 
 
 Oh, come and hold me close and near, 
 
 Mamma, I am so lonesome here! 
 
170 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 u The stars peer in and wink at me; 
 The moon looks ghastly through the tree 
 And shines by fits across the door; 
 The shadows move upon the floor 
 Like living things; the windows creak, 
 I feel a cold breath on my cheek; 
 The chimney howls, the wind is high, 
 I am so lonesome where I lie! " 
 And then the mother s tender heart 
 Would take the little sufferer s part; 
 Would haste, with reassuring kiss, 
 To soothe her back to quietness ; 
 To clasp her fluttering hands, and still 
 The shuddering sob, the nervous thrill, 
 Until her head found happy rest 
 Upon that kind, protecting breast. 
 
 But others blamed her tenderness, 
 And saicl, " Indulgence and caress 
 Will harm the child and do her wrong; 
 She never will be brave and strong, 
 If thus you pet her whims and freaks ; 
 You should not heed her when she speaks 
 Conquer her folly and your own, 
 And let her go to sleep alone." 
 
 And so when next she cried at night, 
 Calling in tremulous affright, 
 " Mamma, I hear the watch-dogs bark I 
 I am so lonesome in the dark! " 
 The mother heard, with tear-wet face, 
 But closed her lips and kept her place 
 Until the child, too tired to weep 
 Longer, had sobbed herself to sleep. 
 
THE FOUBTH TKIANGULAK. 171 
 
 To-night, the eddying snow-flakes whirl 
 Above the sleeping little girl; 
 Her room is dark, her bed is cold, 
 Love cannot warm the frozen mould; 
 Yet still her mother hears the plaint 
 Come through the midnight, far and faint, 
 Half lost amid the tempest s moan, 
 " Mamma, I cannot stay alone! 
 O mamma, come! the wild winds cry, 
 And I am lonesome where I lie! " 
 
 "Well!" said Brunette, stoutly, after a brief inter 
 view with her handkerchief, " where is the young per 
 son who accuses me of being melancholy ? It strikes 
 me, Bob, that your selection is about as melancholy as 
 any of my contributions. I have heard of people who 
 strain at a gate and swallow a saw-mill." 
 
 " I know," said Bob, dreamily, " but somehow I 
 liked it. Perhaps mother has something more 
 cheerful." 
 
 " Here s something that must have been written by 
 somebody s grandmother," said the mother, " long be 
 fore the days of conventional cat-tails and one-legged 
 storks. Just listen." 
 
 KNITTING-WORK. 
 
 I sing in praise of knitting-work a good old-fashioned 
 
 theme, 
 Unspoiled as yet by hackneyed phrase, or new-fledged 
 
 poet s dream 
 
 Neglected quite, and overlooked, in this progessive day 
 Of bead-work and embroidery, Macrame and crotchet. 
 
172 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 I grieve to know that young girls now despise the gentle 
 
 art 
 Which played in ancient housewifery so prominent a 
 
 part 
 
 I grieve that flimsy fancy-work, of just no use at all, 
 Usurps the place once occupied by knitting-work and ball. 
 
 Only some good old-fashioned dame, with wrinkled cheek 
 
 and brow, 
 And kerchief pinned across her breast, like one I m 
 
 watching now, 
 With dress of old-time bombazine, and high-crowned 
 
 muslin cap, 
 Dares flourish an incipient sock above her ancient lap. 
 
 I mind me of my childish daj^s the vanished heretofore, 
 When I longed to spend the livelong day in playing out- 
 of-door, 
 
 But, worshipping the practical, my mother made me sit 
 Demurely in my little chair beside her knee, and knit. 
 
 Knit, till the stated task was done and then my work 
 
 was hid 
 With eager joy and hurried hand, beneath my work-box 
 
 lid 
 And then how gladly forth I sped to join the childish 
 
 throng, 
 With keener relish for my sport, because deferred so long! 
 
 I mind me of the evenings since, in girlhood s happy age, 
 Which, knitting*\vork in hand, I ve passed above a favor 
 ite page 
 
 I almost hear the tinkling sound of needles keeping time 
 To thrilling words of old romance, or poet s ringing 
 rhyme ! 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 173 
 
 Once, knitting, thou wert tedious but since riper years 
 
 were mine, 
 I ve met with seamings every way more troublesome than 
 
 thine 
 
 Found more vexatious widenings of care and weariness, 
 And other, sadder, narrowings where hope grew less 
 
 and less ! 
 
 A plea for thee, O knitting-work a warm and earnest 
 
 plea, 
 
 For years of gentle intercourse have knit my heart to thee, 
 And often when dim shapes of ill before me darkly rise, 
 I find a sweet nepenthe in thy simple mysteries. 
 
 " That s comfortable and home-like," said Brunette, 
 " and brings back a summer evening in the cool sitting- 
 room at my dear old great-uncle s farmhouse, with the 
 smell of old-fashioned roses coming in at the windows, 
 and placid aunt Martha knitting round and round on 
 a sock for uncle or one of the boys. But we ve had 
 verse enough for to-night. Now for a local. " 
 
 A MODERN MINSTREL. 
 
 AND THE WAY HE CARRIED COALS TO NEWCASTLE. 
 
 The age of romance, they say, has passed away; the 
 days of chivalry, of troubadours, and plumed and bucklered 
 knights-errant, of greaves and gonfalons, portcullis and 
 drawbridge. But, sole survivor of all these old-time 
 glories, the troubadour, light-hearted wandering minstrel, 
 yet remains, a living link between the dignified past and 
 the upstart present. Xot alone in the old haunts of song 
 and romance which knew him of old ; he has left his rosy 
 
174 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 bowers for the city streets, and he even sometimes drifts 
 as far north as Portland, or " as far as the ice will per 
 mit," as the Bangor steamers say in their late autumn 
 advertisements. 
 
 But the tricks and manners of minstrels have changed 
 in the years, like those of most other people. Whereas 
 the minstrel used to go about with slashed doublet and a 
 feather in his hat, singing love-ditties under ladies win 
 dows, and accompanying himself with a guitar, in these 
 days he plays not, neither does he sing, but lets ladies do 
 their own warbling, feeling that it is enough for him to 
 furnish them songs of his own composition, which they 
 can set to such tunes as suit themselves. So, with a 
 handful of printed sheets on his arm, he tramps from 
 door to door, in a shabby coat and ragged cassimere 
 trowsers, soliciting purchases and rehearsing his needs, 
 accompanying himself, if the day be rainy, only with a 
 broken-ribbed umbrella. 
 
 Such, and so attended, was the peripatetic minstrel who 
 yesterday wandered through some of the uncongenial 
 up-town streets, peddling sundry printed sheets of rhyme, 
 headed "Choice Poems," probably from the fact that 
 by paying your money, you could have your choice among 
 em. He stopped ever and anon at the poorer-looking 
 houses, as if knowing where genius would be most warmly 
 appreciated, to urge his wares. 
 
 " Ko," said a worried-looking woman who answered 
 his ring, with a hammer in one hand and a saucer of car 
 pet-tacks in the other, "we don t want any vases or 
 cement or stove-polish or patent yeast or rubber type or 
 clothes-poles or stationery or " 
 
 "But, mebby," chipped in the minstrel, with a soft 
 Milesian accent that would wheedle a bird off a bush, 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 175 
 
 " mcbby ye d like some of me pomes made em mesilf 
 avery wan av ? em only five cints and it s a bad finger I 
 have a fellin loikely and can t wurruk tek wan thin av ye 
 plaze!" 
 
 The woman really turned pale as she closed the door, 
 "lie s actually trying to sell verses I " she exclaimed, 
 aghast at his temerity or his desperation. "Trying to 
 sell verses! Now that shows how hard the times are! " 
 
 Further along, a poor poet was leaning pensively from 
 a window. The window had a broken pane which the 
 poet could not afford to mend, and his landlord was one 
 of those who " never make any repairs." Now there is 
 a difference between a poet and a minstrel. The min 
 strel wanders up and down in the earth, and sometimes 
 gets a good meal and a cup of coffee at sentimental peo 
 ple s back doors, while the poet stays at home and starves. 
 The reason is because your poet feels instinctively the 
 necessity of keeping within easy reach of the almshouse, 
 while to the minstrel, all houses are almshouses. The 
 poet, on this occasion, was listening to a redbreast, which, 
 swinging on an elm bough that she had chosen for a 
 building-site, was singing rapturously, with no fear of 
 house-rent before her eyes, pouring out as rippling rou 
 lades and quivering cadenzas as though instead of having 
 no listener but a needy poet without a dollar in money, 
 credit or liabilities, she were trying to please a solid citi 
 zen who had just made fifty thousand dollars by a judicious 
 failure. 
 
 Absorbed in the music, the poet forgot to worry over 
 the facts that in one of the shops down-town he could get 
 a suit of whole clothes for five dollars, if he could only 
 command that sum, which, as he could not, might as 
 well be five hundred; that his breakfast was slim to-day, 
 
176 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 and would be slimmer to-morrow; and that his last poem 
 had been declined by the Atlantic, for no reason satisfac 
 tory to the author. Finally, the bird paused for a beak- 
 full of breath. 
 
 u Kobin," said the poet, for poets talk with birds and 
 sing to beasts, even in these days, " Robin, why does the 
 old northern legend call you a i breast-burned bird ? 
 Your breast is neither the color of fire, nor of scorched 
 feathers ; it is exactly the color f the red chalk which 
 mill-men use to make figures- on newly sawed lumber, 
 and farmers write accounts with, on the inside of barn 
 doors. But it would not do to say in a poem that a robin s 
 breast is the color of red chalk. And yet they tell us 
 that truth is the highest charm of poetry. Alas, this is a 
 world of paradoxes! " and he pulled a fringe of rag from 
 his worn sleeve, and hung it on the elm bough as a con 
 tribution to the proposed robin s-nest. u Even a shred of 
 worn-out shoddy has a value, 7 he said, smiling, " if it be 
 sanctified in the service of love and song ! " 
 
 Just then the minstrel came along; and the moment 
 he put his eye on the poet, thus smilingly dividing his 
 rags with his next of kin (for was n t he a robbin him 
 self ?) that moment the minstrel knew him for a custom 
 er, and u held him with his glittering eye." 
 
 Now, the minstrel s eye was not winning; it was blear 
 with dissipation, shifting with deceit, and full of the un 
 scrupulous cunning which comes of long experience at 
 the kitchen doors of an unfeeling world without much 
 taste for poetry; but it held, like the last nail in a win 
 dow-casing at house-cleaning time. And now his price 
 was ten cents. 
 
 The poet heard his tale. Listening and looking, he 
 forgot his rejected poem, which was lying in the Atlantic 
 
THE FOURTH TRIANGULAR. 177 
 
 office awaiting the transmission of eighteen inaccessible 
 cents for return postage for the poem was a long one, 
 and heavy, and Hannibal Hamlin insists that book manu 
 script and magazine manuscript are two things, and the 
 latter must pay letter postage; he forgot that fourteen 
 notes requesting his autograph were that moment in his 
 desk awaiting a reply, because he had not the necessary 
 twenty-eight coppers for the transmission of answers ; he 
 forgot everything but the claims of suffering genius, and 
 he fished the solitary dime from his pocket and gave it to 
 the minstrel, taking a sheet of songs in return. 
 
 " Verily," said he, " greater faith hath no man than to 
 think poetry a marketable commodity in Portland; I will 
 not destroy a trust at once so childlike and so sublime. 
 But,* he continued, glancing down the paper, " you are 
 unwise, my friend, to sell these original articles at ten 
 cents a thing-full ; one of them is an excellent English 
 poem which I have long known by heart, and for which 
 the Atlantic people would gladly pay you twenty-five 
 dollars, if you could make them believe you wrote it. 
 But unluckily, 
 
 "When the furze and when the broom 
 Glitter in their golden bloom 
 
 does not sound as though it grew in this country. Still, 
 the passage on the other page, where you make smile 
 rhyme with trial, is refreshingly original. Go, my 
 friend; this is the last ten-cent piece I have; but your 
 condition is sorrier than mine; your appreciation of truth 
 is not so good, and your rhymes are much worse. Go 
 down into the lawyers and brokers offices; tastes may 
 not be so difficult there, and money is certainly easier. 
 The idea of a peddler offering verses to a poet! " he con- 
 8* 
 
178 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 tinued, as the minstrel took a fresh quid of tobacco and 
 moved away; "there really are some people who would 
 not hesitate to carry ribbons to Coventry, or boots and 
 shoes to Lynn! " 
 
 " Brunette," said the mother, gravely, as the Society 
 rose to say good-night, " I don t believe the editor will 
 publish it ! " 
 
 " Mother," exclaimed Bob, rubbing his ankle where 
 it had struck against her chair, "I know now the 
 answer to the riddle it s your old Boston rocker." 
 
XVI. 
 
 A RAINY DAY. 
 
 " BRUNETTE, you d better take your umbrella this 
 morning," said the careful mother, as her daughter 
 was preparing for her daily departure. " It s sure to 
 rain to-day." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Brunette, " it can t rain to-day ; we 
 have had three rainy days already, and I will not 
 encourage the weather in such behavior. Besides, the 
 sky is brightening." 
 
 " But look at those driving clouds ! " 
 
 " Oh, pshaw, that s only flying scud." 
 
 " Very well," rejoined the mother, "but you 11 find 
 it will be a skying flood before dark." 
 
 " Well," laughed Brunette, " I 11 take my water-proof 
 along, as a sort of sop to Cerberus. Meanwhile," said 
 she, pausing at the door and rummaging in her pocket, 
 " here s my opinion of the weather for the last week. 
 I meant to have read it to you, last night, but you can 
 amuse yourself with it after I m gone." And she 
 departed, while her mother picked up the bit of paper 
 she had tossed back, and read : 
 
 A WET WEEK. 
 
 Rain and drizzle and fog and mist. 
 
 Fog and darkness and rain 
 Will the shadows lift from the soaking earth, 
 
 And the sun shine, ever asrain? 
 
 179 
 
180 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Day after day after day after day 
 
 The clouds roll in and across, 
 As though every mariner out of port 
 
 Had murdered an albatross. 
 
 Or as though some pious granger-man, 
 
 "With acres of thirsty grain, 
 Had prayed with too much earnestness 
 
 For the early and latter rain. 
 
 Tor the worst that can befall a man, 
 Be he reckoned with saints or knaves, 
 
 As has proved too true again and again 
 Is to give him all he craves. 
 
 If any one knows the blundering soul 
 Whose prayer was too long and wide, 
 
 Beg him to open his mouth once more, 
 And pray on the other side. 
 
 Or if any one knows the fateful bird 
 Who has brought the fog and mist, 
 
 In spite of Coleridge, or Mr. Bergh, 
 Or any who would resist, 
 
 Shoot him with rifle or good cross-bow, 
 
 Or smite him with fire and sword, 
 And hang him about the stubborn neck 
 
 Of the obstinate Weather Board I 
 
 " It is an extremely melancholy evening," said Bru 
 nette, coming in, just at dark, wet and draggled and 
 dripping. She had purposely entered the house by 
 the back door, and come up the back stairs, so as not 
 to take her dripping garments into the sitting-room 
 
A RAINY DAY. 181 
 
 and as she stood in the middle of the kitchen 
 floor, she looked like a modern Undine just emerged 
 from her fountain. The rain fringed her water-proof 
 with little streams which made a circular puddle on 
 the floor around her ; her hat, with its soaked plume, 
 looked, as Bob remarked, " like a wet hen " ; her hair, 
 escaped from its fastenings, lay in a wet, curly tangle 
 about her shoulders ; her sodden gloves stuck tight to 
 her hands, as she tried, with half-numb fingers, to pull 
 them off. Even her eyelashes were diamonded with 
 rain. But since Brunette began her daily pilgrimages 
 to the office, she had grown accustomed to all varieties 
 of weather, and did not much mind rain. 
 
 " It is rather odd," she laughed, " how my umbrella 
 always manages to keep dry, no matter how wet I am. 
 If I take it with me in the morning, the day always 
 turns out fine, and I have to drag it back in bright 
 sunshine, with perhaps a package or two, and my arm 
 full of books. When it rains, I have always left it 
 behind, either at the house or the office." 
 
 "I thought you foiled fate about that," said the 
 mother, taking off the dripping water-proof. " See 
 here, why don t you have a gutter built round the 
 bottom of this thing, with a spout leading off behind, 
 so as not to have the water it sheds poured directly 
 on your feet? I thought you arranged all that, by 
 getting a second umbrella, so you could have one here 
 and one at the office ? " 
 
 " Well, so I did ; and if you will open the hall-closet 
 yonder, you will see them both hanging there, dry 
 
182 THE TEIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 and comfortable doubtless hugging themselves with 
 delight at the thought that I am wet almost to the 
 skin. Umbrellas are gregarious. My two are always 
 together. The other morning when it rained so, as I 
 started down-town, those ingenious conveniences were 
 both high and dry at the office. That second umbrella 
 Avas a bad investment. If I had a dozen, it would be 
 just so," said Brunette, winding up her wet* hair. 
 But it s a peculiarly lonesome evening; the whole 
 out-door world seems full of the spirit of late autumn ; 
 you hear it, you see it, you tuste it in the air, you 
 smell it, and feel it it appeals to every sense, and 
 your soul too ; and it is so depressing and hopeless 
 that it is picturesque. I wish I could paint a picture 
 of it." 
 
 " Why don t you ? " asked peremptory Bob, who 
 generally found it hard to believe that people cannot 
 always do as they wish. 
 
 " Ah," said Brunette, " I could only make a pen-and- 
 ink sketch, and not a satisfactory one at that, I m 
 afraid." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Bob, going to the street window and 
 putting his head under the curtain, "you mean a 
 poem ; but I don t see anything very poetical in 
 foaming gutters and bare trees and dim gas-lamps and 
 little door-yards and wet roofs and Mrs. Brown s 
 dripping line of clothes and an old man in a cart 
 whipping a sopping-wet horse and umbrellas and mud 
 and people waiting at the corner and swearing about 
 the street-cars and " 
 
A RAINY DAY. 183 
 
 " Bob," said his sister, " you have the greatest knack 
 at inventories ; I never knew anybody so rapid and 
 comprehensive. And if I can remember all that you 
 have said, and all that I have seen, I will attempt the 
 picture, after supper." 
 
 And by being allowed to sit up a little later than 
 usual, Bob was enabled to hear the following verses, 
 which Brunette called a versified version of his in 
 ventory, and which he dignified as " a portrait of 
 Congress street on a rainy night in the dismallest time 
 of the year." 
 
 A DECEMBER NIGHT. 
 
 All day the sky has been one heavy cloud, 
 All day the drops have plashed against the panes, 
 
 The brimming eaves-spouts gurgled full and loud ; 
 And now the night has come, and still it rains. 
 
 The frosts and rifling winds, those treacherous thieves, 
 Have stripped the shivering branches stark and bare; 
 
 Beneath, the walks are thick with trodden leaves, 
 Which fill with woodsy odors all the air. 
 
 Yon street-lamp glows, a disk of luminous fog, 
 
 Lighting a little space of mud and rain, 
 Where hurrying wayfarer or homeless dog 
 
 Starts sudden into sight, and fades again. 
 
 Its faint gleam struggles with the dark, and shows 
 A lonesome door-yard, with its leafless vine, 
 
 And Monday s luckless washing, rows on rows 
 Of dripping garments hanging on the line. 
 
184 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Along the roadside gutters rush the streams 
 
 Like turbid rivers in a summer flood; 
 And at the crossings, drivers urge their teams 
 
 To splash the wroth pedestrian with mud. 
 
 From far across the harbor, low and faint, 
 A fog-horn s friendly bellow greets the ear; 
 
 Or some slow, cautious steamer s hoarse complaint, 
 "Warning its kindred not to come too near. 
 
 Small knots of draggled pilgrims stand and wait 
 Upon the muddy curb, and peering far 
 
 Up street and down in vain, find fault with fate, 
 And sharply blame the dilatory car; 
 
 Their grouped umbrellas, by the hazy light 
 Obscure and dim, show through the vapors dense 
 
 Like clumps of toad-stools, born of rain and night, 
 Huddled beside some roadside pasture fence. 
 
 One ray redeems the dreariness and blight, 
 The window-light which streams across the square ; 
 
 The light of home, the blessed, saving light 
 Which keeps the world from darkness and despair. 
 
 Ah, happy they who in its warmth abide! 
 
 Peace sits among them, with her fair wings furled; 
 "What care they for this wretched world outside, 
 
 This darksome, dismal, drear December world? 
 
XVII. 
 
 LOOKING OVER THE WALL. 
 
 " WHAT a lovely old place that lonesome garden is, 
 across the street," said Brunette, one day, approaching 
 the window where her mother stood looking out. 
 " How lush everything grows there, and how pretty it 
 is, although all summer so unpruned and neglected ! 
 I can even see the red of the currants, all this distance 
 away, there are so many of them." 
 
 " Yes," said Bob, " and earlier in the summer there 
 were so many Johnny-jtimp-ups in the grass-borders 
 that I could see em from that window all facing 
 this way, and all grinning together." 
 
 " How absurd ! " remarked his sister, " to talk about 
 those lovely pansies grinning ! " 
 
 Well, they do grin," persisted Bob. When I 
 asked mother what grin meant, she said it meant a 
 sort of fixed smile ; and those flowers never stop smil 
 ing, and they somehow always seem to have enormous 
 mouths, and arched eyebrows, like the clown in the 
 pantomime, for all they re so pretty. And I used to 
 long for a handful of em, they were so bright, and 
 nobody ever seemed to gather any ; but though all 
 the other boys climbed the wall and broke off great 
 branches of apple-blossoms, mother would n t let me 
 
 185 
 
186 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 go and get a single jump-up. And one day a man 
 came and mowed em all down with the grass, and 
 made hay of em. I never can do anything that other 
 boys do." 
 
 " No, my son," said his mother, " not when < other 
 boys go into private enclosures and steal what grows 
 there. You could do without the pansies, but you 
 could n t do at all well without a clear conscience." 
 
 " You call em pansies," said Bob, evading the point 
 he had raised, " and I Ve heard Brunette call em 
 heart s-ease ; and some of the girls at school call em 
 ladies -delights ; and the old German woman who used 
 to bring us milk, said they were step-mothers ; but I 
 like the name of Johnny-jump-ups best, because they 
 always look so bright and jolly, and seem to spring 
 up so lively, before there are many other flowers. And 
 last spring, when Brunette planted some seeds of that 
 same kind of flowers, out there in what she calls her 
 flower-bed (Jbelieve it s nothing in the world but 
 a plat of coal-ashes ) she put a little flat stick down 
 in the ground by them, like a grave-stone, and wrote 
 on it * Viola tricolor. And I guess it was their grave 
 stone, sure enough, for not one of em came up, and 
 so nobody had a chance to try their color, after 
 all." 
 
 For a wonder, Brunette did not reply. Her eyes 
 were fixed dreamily on the bosky greenness of the 
 lonesome garden. " Mother," she said, " the man is 
 dead who used to own that garden, and walk up and 
 down its shady paths. How pleasant it was to have 
 
LOOKING OVEE THE WALL. 187 
 
 that secluded spot in the midst of the town ! Did you 
 ever see him ? " 
 
 " Often," answered her mother. " He was a stately 
 gentleman, with a handsome, clear-cut face, and a fine 
 presence ; and he was, I believe, that rare being a 
 conscientious politician. I wonder how many persons 
 think of him as often as I do ? I never glance at the 
 garden, winter or summer, without remembering him ; 
 and there is not one of our rooms from which it is not 
 visible. And yet, that man probably never heard my 
 name, or saw my face, in his life. I wonder if any 
 stranger will remember me like that ? " 
 
 " I hope riot," said Brunette, " it seems a little 
 melancholy. But I never look over there at twilight 
 without half-fancying that I see a dim, tall shadow 
 passing slowly in and out amid the foliage. I suppose 
 it is the wind blowing the shrubbery and the low 
 apple-boughs." And Brunette went up stairs. 
 
 FESSENDEN S GARDEN. 
 
 From this high window, in the twilight dim, 
 
 I look beyond a lofty garden wall, 
 And see well-ordered walks, and borders trim, 
 
 With trellised vines and rows of fruit-trees tall. 
 
 Along the darkling shrubbery where most 
 The garden s olden lord at evening strayed, 
 
 I half-perceive a silent, stately ghost, 
 Taking dim shape against the denser shade. 
 
 His footstep makes no rustle in the grass, 
 
 Xor shakes the tenderest blossom on its stem; 
 
 The light leaves bend aside to let him pass, 
 Or is it but the wind that touches them? 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 A statesman, with a grave, reflective air, 
 Once used to walk there, in the shadows sweet; 
 
 Now the broad apple-trees, his pride and care, 
 Spread their pink carpet wide for alien feet. 
 
 Beneath those friendly boughs, with thoughts unbent, 
 He found sometimes a respite sweet and brief, 
 
 Threaded the wandering ways in pleased content, 
 And plucked a flower, or pulled a fragrant leaf; 
 
 Twined a stray tendril, lopped a straggling limb, 
 Or raised a spray that drooped across the walk; 
 
 Watched unscared birds that shared the shade with him, 
 Saw robins build, or heard the sparrows talk. 
 
 His native streets now hardly know his name, 
 
 And in the world of politics, wherein 
 lie toiled so long, and won an honored fame, 
 
 It is almost as though he had not been. 
 
 Amid the earnest councils of the land 
 His lofty form, his cold and clear-cut face, 
 
 His even voice and wise restraining hand 
 Are known no more, and others take his place. 
 
 Within this haunt of quietude and rest 
 Which for so many years he loved and knew, 
 
 The bird comes back to build its annual nest, 
 The months return with sun and snow and dew; 
 
 Nature lives on, though prince or statesman dies; 
 
 Thus mockingly these little lives of ours 
 So brief, so transient, seem to emphasize 
 
 The immortality of birds and flowers 1 
 
XVIII. 
 
 JOHN, THE FLY. 
 
 PERSONS who have an affectionate temperament, but 
 neither the time, the talent nor the fine clothes ne 
 cessary to enable them to have many friends, are very 
 likely to take kindly to pets. For this reason, or some 
 other, Brunette, who, one sharp morning, was diligent 
 ly dusting the picture frames with an old tissue veil, 
 which in this frugal household, did duty for a feather 
 duster, exclaimed with sudden animation, " Well, if 
 there is n t a live fly this awfully cold morning ! Do 
 you suppose he has just hatched, or has he been hiding 
 about, ever since his friends vanished ? There he 
 goes! how summery his wings sound! But, dear 
 me, one fly does n t make a summer, any more than 
 one swallow." 
 
 " One fly would be as many as I should care to 
 swallow at a time," observed the mother, " and doubt 
 less " 
 
 " What becomes of all the flies in the fall ? " ques 
 tioned Brunette, diving abruptly into entomology, as 
 she watched the solitary insect sailing across the 
 room; "and why, just before they disappear, do they 
 suddenly turn carnivorous, and bite so ? " 
 
 " And what makes em, when they feel sick, go and 
 
 189 
 
190 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 hang themselves up by one leg, and die, and turn blue- 
 mouldy?" queried Bob, who always had a question 
 ready. 
 
 "It s hard accounting for their disappearance," 
 replied the mother, who, like most heads of families, 
 hated to say " I don t know" to any question. U A 
 great many of them are eaten in soup during the 
 season ; blueberry-cake and pies offer great induce 
 ments to those who wish to commit suicide without 
 anybody s knowing it ; early mince turnovers are also 
 excellent places of concealment for them when they 
 are weary of the world ; some are drowned in milk- 
 pitchers, and some are killed by getting into the 
 mouths of sleeping church-goers; and the few who 
 remain until cold weather, go out of doors and freeze 
 up with the country. And naturalists say that the fly 
 which bites so in the fall is not the same kind of fly 
 at all, but only similar in appearance ; and he does n t 
 bite in July because he is n t born until September or 
 October which is fortunate for us. But we 11 let 
 this fly stay with us ; I like to hear him buzz," con 
 cluded she, wisely ignoring the other question. 
 
 And so the belated insect was domesticated in the 
 family; indeed, within a day or two, he was actually 
 named, and was familiar to all the household as 
 " John," and became a welcome and privileged guest 
 at the table and fireside. He seemed to appreciate 
 his popularity, being always looked after and pro 
 tected from all the dangers which beset his kind. 
 
 Of course, as the sole survivor of his race, he at 
 
JOHN, THE FLY. 191 
 
 once developed unusual excellencies. One said he was 
 uncommonly intelligent ; one thought his wings re 
 markably fine when seen through a magnifier ; and 
 Bob declared that he had uncommon speed and grace 
 of flight, and tremendous staying power on the wing. 
 Indeed, Bob was sure that this was the 
 
 " Fly like a youthful hart or roe," 
 
 which the hymn tells about ; and Brunette used to 
 take him on her finger and sing, 
 
 " Fly to the desert, fly, with me." 
 
 John used to visit the sugar-bowl quite regularly at 
 breakfast-time, and gradually developed a degree of 
 docility quite surprising. Even the mother, who was 
 generally greatly favored by the confidence and famil 
 iarity of dumb creatures, was astonished when, one 
 morning, as she playfully pretended to pat him on the 
 head, while he sat washing his face on the brim of the 
 spoonholder, he suddenly ceased ducking his head and 
 rubbing his hands together, crawled upon her finger, 
 walked up her hand and settled himself affectionately 
 on the edge of her wristband. 
 
 " He s getting tame," said Bob, delighted. " He s 
 getting stupid, more likely," said Brunette. " What 
 with old age and cold weather, he s actually so logy 
 that he does n t know enough to fly away when one 
 brushes him ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " said the mother (adding in parenthesis, 
 " I know nobody ever says alas out of print, but 
 here s a case where it applies) that s all the credit 
 
192 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 amiability ever gets, in this world! Because John, 
 subdued by misfortune, toned down by experience, and 
 forsaken by his own kind, turns to human beings for 
 sympathy, he is at once voted stupid, feeble, and what 
 is worse, logy. I maybe stupid; I shall probably 
 some day be feeble ; but I hope to mercy, nobody will 
 ever so far outrage my feelings as to call me lo^y. " 
 
 But whether John s docility was an outgrowth of 
 stupidity or amiability, and it is hard telling which is 
 the more disastrous attribute in this world, where pre 
 ternatural sharpness and severity are so necessary, 
 
 he persisted in it ; and would travel across people s 
 eyelids and along their lips with the utmost fearless 
 ness, so that it was almost necessary for the victim to 
 pick him off with thumb and finger. Once, to be sure, 
 when Bob was engaged in play, Jojin returned so per- 
 severingly to attack his left eye, that Bob, quite for 
 getting that flies were scarce, gave him an impatient 
 slap which sent him tumbling to the floor with a little 
 thud, where he lay prone on his back with his six 
 elbows sticking out in the deadest manner; but just as 
 Bobby cried out with sudden remorse at his thought 
 less deed, John suddenly recovered himself and flew 
 heavily to the window, where he spent the rest of the 
 morning in rubbing his bruised head and cleaning his 
 finger-nails, soothed and mollified by Bob s profuse 
 apologies and a long streak of molasses which the 
 latter drizzled across the window-sill as a peace- 
 offering and pledge of unabated affection. Indeed, 
 the heaps of sugar, the slops of milk, and the dabs of 
 
JOHN, THE FLY. 193 
 
 scraped apple which Bob deposited on the plant-stand, 
 the bureau and the window-shelf, for John s refresh 
 ment and support, would have been sufficient to keep 
 all the flies that ever plagued Egypt. 
 
 Many and blood-curdling were John s hair-breadth 
 escapes. More than once he was found, after a cold 
 night, senseless and torpid, on the wall of the kitchen, 
 when the fire had failed to keep over night. On such 
 occasions he was brought tenderly in and warmed by 
 the dining-room stove, and urged affectionately to stay 
 on the mantel-piece behind the stove-pipe, until the 
 kitchen temperature should rise a little. More than 
 once he was rescued from the steaming brink of the 
 soup-tureen, and removed from temptation ; more than 
 once he was found feebly struggling in the wash-bowl 
 and carefully dried on a soft towel ; and once, when 
 the mother was wiping the floor, she saw him, soaked 
 and wilted by warm water, rolling over and kicking 
 ineffectually under the edge of the mop-cloth. But 
 even that shock he survived triumphantly ; though it 
 was afterward hdf-suspected that a process of one of 
 his middle legs was injured in the struggle, since he 
 never seemed to have complete control of it afterward. 
 Thereafter, more caution was observed ; Brunette was 
 careful to see that he did not follow her into the cold 
 hall when she went up-stairs to bed ; and it was said 
 that the mother never closed a door without first look 
 ing to see if John were in the crack. 
 
 One day a neighbor, pretty Mrs. Brier, called. She 
 had not been seated five minutes when John flew into 
 9 
 
194 THE TKIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 the room, and perched directly on the tip of her little 
 white nose. She shook him off, but John returned 
 again,- and yet again, until she was on the point of 
 settling him with a sharp spat, when Brunette cried 
 out, " Don t kill him that s John, the only pet we 
 have." 
 
 "Pet?" exclaimed Mrs. Brier, merrily, "a fly? 
 Why, I had a dozen over at my house ; and I watched 
 until they alighted low enough for me to reach em, 
 and killed them all with the slap of a newspaper. Our 
 morning paper is first-rate for that. It comes down 
 solid, and they never know what hurts them. I wish 
 I had known you liked em you should have had 
 em every one." 
 
 " Oil, no," replied Brunette, " it is only John s soli 
 tariness that makes us prize him. He is the only one 
 of his race, and so we have a corner in flies." 
 
 " I should prefer to have my flies in a corner," ob 
 served pretty Mrs. Brier, good-naturedly defending her 
 nose against John s persistent forays, and forbearing 
 to punish him as he deserved. But all visitors could 
 not be depended on for such forbearance, and when 
 gentlemen-callers were expected, John was carefully 
 \\ afted out of the room with a handkerchief or an 
 apron, beforehand. 
 
 One time, Brunette, who had peculiar ideas of 
 amusement, took a fancy to have a candy-pull ; a style 
 of entertainment which may be relied on as the most 
 noisy, the most mussy, the most absurd, and altogether 
 the most ridiculous known to New England. The 
 
JOHN, THE FLY. 195 
 
 t 
 
 syrup was procured, the kettle scoured bright as gold, 
 and all things made ready. " Brunette," said the 
 mother, prophetically, " I feel certain that John s man 
 gled corpse will be boiled up in that candy and flies 
 legs are no improvement to taffy." 
 
 A strict watch was kept over the stove, although 
 John was supposed to be safely shut up in the china- 
 closet ; but when, after a minute s absence from the 
 room, the mother returned just in season to prevent 
 the overflow of the kettle, she descried John, with 
 despair s dark fires dull smouldering in his eye, and 
 evidently bent on suicide, resting on the kettle-bail, on 
 the very brink of the boiling gulf of molasses. It was 
 a delicate matter to remove him without sending him 
 headlong to his doom, but at last he was rescued, and 
 confined in the wardrobe, until safer times. 
 
 One morning when it was exceeding cold cold 
 enough to make the sleigh-runners squeak and groan 
 along the streets, cold enough, almost, to drive the 
 loafers away from the door of the Preble House, the 
 mother, on lifting the window-curtain, found the panes 
 thick with frost, and John hanging by three legs to 
 the curtain-cord. 
 
 " Gone at last," said she. " I thought we might keep 
 him over winter. Poor thing ! I wonder if he was 
 chilled to death, or only died of natural decay ? " 
 
 "Natural fiddlesticks," said Brunette. "He died 
 just because we tried to keep him alive. If we had 
 tried to kill him, he would have lived forever, and 
 
196 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 increased and multiplied until the house would n t hold 
 him." 
 
 " Is he blue-mouldy ? " inquired Bob, remembering the 
 f ungousy way in which some of John s predecessors had 
 been taken off. The mother was just about to place 
 him in Bob s hand for an autopsy, when the supposed 
 moribund, with a loud buzz, plunged heavily across 
 the room, and alighted on a gas-globe. 
 
 But one morning John was not at breakfast, neither 
 could he be found. For some days his flight had been 
 languid and lumbering, and his appetite poor. 
 
 Bob declared that the poor thing had not eaten 
 enough to keep a chicken alive, which was true 
 enough, but failed to convey the idea of extreme 
 abstinence which Bob intended to express. By and 
 by John was discovered, standing bolt upright on a 
 window-sash, with a rigidity of expression and a stiff 
 ness of legs which betokened him as dead as the late 
 lamented Julius Cesar. 
 
 " He is n t a bit blue-mouldy," exclaimed Bob. 
 " I m glad he died decently ; but it must have been 
 awful sudden, for he did n t even have time to shut 
 Ids eyes." Poor Bob was quite deeply affected, and 
 though it seemed impracticable to bury John in the 
 garden, on account of two or three feet of snow, and 
 frozen ground underneath, and the mother favored 
 cremation, still Bobby employed his immediate leisure 
 in composing an epitaph, which he wrote on a cedar 
 shingle, to b erected under the lilac-bushes next sum- 
 
JOHN, THE FLY. 197 
 
 mer in memory of John. Nearly every s in the epi 
 taph faced the wrong way, and every n was wrong- 
 side-to ; but the sentiment was right side out, so those 
 trifles were of no account. It ran as follows : 
 
 When other flies 
 
 Gets sick and dies 
 Nobody cares and nobody cries ; 
 
 33ut now our John 
 
 Is dead and gone, 
 Everybody s taking on, 
 For we was very fond of him, 
 Poor Jim! 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Brunette, with that 
 tone of peremptory criticism which, somehow, every 
 body feels at liberty to take when addressing a poet, 
 especially a poet who works for love, not money, 
 " Who s Jim ? John never was Jim, and you know 
 it." 
 
 " I know," explained Bob, biting his pencil in some 
 confusion, " but he never will know what is on his 
 gravestone, and you see yourself that John would n t 
 rhyme." 
 
XIX. 
 
 THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 
 
 "You would be surprised," said Brunette one 
 evening as the home Society gathered about the table, 
 " to know how large an acquaintance I have among 
 the babies and young children of this town. If I 
 should go out in the streets and summon them to 
 gether, I should have as large a following as the Pied 
 Piper." 
 
 " I don t see how you find time to make acquain 
 tances," observed the mother. 
 
 " I do not, with grown people," replied Brunette, 
 " but children are more open to conviction ; they are 
 won by good- behavior, you know, by a smile and a 
 pleasant word. I see them, as I pass, at the doors, at 
 the windows, going to school, or busy at play. I smile 
 at them, and, presently, speak to them ; and in a little 
 while, we are good friends. I am on excellent terms 
 with dozens of children whose parents I never saw." 
 
 " But you told me? said Bob, with an aggrieved 
 air, "that I must not make the acquaintance of 
 strangers in the street." 
 
 "It was very good advice," replied his sister, "but 
 a person who passes your door at regular hours three 
 hundred odd days in the year, can hardly be called a 
 198 
 
THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 199 
 
 stranger, in any dangerous sense. And, Bob, when 
 you have met, as many times as that, a nice, sensible, 
 distinguished-looking young woman, with a responsible 
 expression of countenance, and a load of books on her 
 arm, you need n t be afraid to make her acquaint 
 ance if she 11 allow it." 
 
 " Of course I sha n t," said Bob, rather sheepishly, 
 " I m too big a boy to be petted in the street." 
 
 " Yes, perhaps so," said Brunette, 4t you re about 
 as large as the bad boys who call me an old school- 
 ma am when I stop them from throwing stones at 
 dogs, or prevent them from bullying little children. 
 It s a very bad size for boys, the size that picks 
 cigar stumps out of the gutters, and goes along the 
 peaceable streets, yelling like a cat a-mountain, or like 
 a wild Indian at a war-dance." 
 
 " I m sure Bob does none of those things," said the 
 mother, quick to defend her youngest-born. 
 
 " Bob has more self-respect than half the young men, 
 to say nothing of the bad boys," said his sister. " I 
 was n t accusing Bob. Bob actually knows enough to 
 raise his hat when he meets his elders, and to remove 
 it altogether when he enters the presence of ladies or 
 gentlemen. Bob never walks four abreast and crowds 
 all comers off the sidewalk ; Bob never congregates 
 at the corners and stares people out of countenance ; 
 Bob never makes impertinent remarks about strangers 
 on purpose for them to hear ; Bob never smokes in 
 people s faces ; in short, I wish there were more of 
 Bob, and fewer of his inferiors. A neighborhood 
 
200 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 where all the boys were Bobs, would be a nice, quiet, 
 comfortable place to live in, with mischief enough 
 going to make it interesting, and racket enough for 
 cheerfulness." 
 
 Bob always looked more shamefaced when he was 
 commended then when he was blamed ; but praise was 
 very sweet to him, as to most boys, of all sizes ; and 
 although he pretended to be altogether preoccupied 
 with his scrap-book, he heard and appreciated every 
 word his sister uttered, and made up his mind to give 
 a favorable verdict on whatever she might read. 
 
 " But Bob is much older than the mass of my juve 
 nile friends," went on Brunette. " They are the little 
 fellows who flatten their noses against the window- 
 pane and crow at me as I go by, or play about the 
 door-step, or on the walk in sight of their mother s 
 window. I have no time for calls, or visits, or parties, 
 and I depend on these small men and women, mostly, 
 for outside society. And now I will read you what 
 they suggested to me." 
 
 THE BABY S SMILE. 
 
 As through the busy street I pass, 
 
 Often, in sun or rain, 
 I mark some pleasant household group 
 
 Behind a window-pane; 
 The mother is politely blind, 
 
 The father does not see, 
 But if a baby face is there, 
 
 The baby smiles at me. 
 
THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 201 
 
 Dear sinless soul of babyhood I 
 
 She does not coldly wait 
 To ask about my bank-account, 
 
 Or bonds, or real estate; 
 With small soft face against the pane, 
 
 And dove-like coo the while, 
 She beckons with her dainty hand, 
 
 And answers back my smile. 
 
 She does not scorn my glance because 
 
 She never heard my name, 
 Nor query of my social place, 
 
 Nor question whence I came; 
 No tedious rule of etiquette 
 
 Restrains her loving grace, 
 Or chills the winning smile that lights 
 
 Her lovely wild-flower face. 
 
 She knows me by that nameless sense, 
 
 That wisdom sweet and fine, 
 Which babies have, ere time has spoiled 
 
 Their innocence divine; 
 That strange, unerring magnetism 
 
 Which some kind angel sends, 
 By which all sinless things perceive 
 
 And recognize their friends ; 
 
 The silent sympathy which makes 
 
 The homeless dog I meet 
 Forget his hungry lonesomeness 
 
 To fawn about my feet; 
 Which draws the pigeons to my hand, 
 
 Fearless and trustful still, 
 And makes the social sparrows crowd 
 
 My friendly window-sill. 
 
 9* 
 
202 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Ah! though the world seems full, sometimes, 
 
 Of darkness and of dust, 
 The soul is not quite desolate 
 
 Which birds and babies trust; 
 Life is not all a wilderness, 
 
 Made up of grief and guile, 
 "While eyes so shadowless and sweet 
 
 Smile back to eyes that smile I 
 
 I like that," said Bob, heartily, and I love babies, 
 dearly. Billy Brown s baby-sister loves me better than 
 she does him, any day." 
 
 " That s because you tackle more kindly to her 
 perambulator," said his mother. " I see you chained to 
 her chariot very often. Yes, babies are good friends ; 
 they don t insist on form and ceremony, and they are 
 not punctilious respecters of persons. And children 
 do not always forget their friends, either," she con 
 tinued, " hear this." 
 
 A COUNTRY SCHOOL-HOUSE. 
 
 I see a picture in the air; 
 
 A country school-house, low and square, 
 "With plain pine desks and dusty floor, 
 And whittlings all about the door; 
 
 A boyish teacher, young but wise, 
 
 With gentle face and kindly eyes 
 And, faltering through her lessons there, 
 A little girl with yellow hair. 
 
 How shy she was! what real distress, 
 What conscious sense of awkwardness 
 Burned in quick color on her cheek, 
 When came her dreaded turn to speak! 
 
THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 203 
 
 How kind he was! his ready aid 
 Assured her timid soul, and made 
 
 The path of study plain and sweet 
 
 Before her hesitating feet. 
 
 How long, how long ago it seems I 
 Like some fair vision seen in dreams, 
 
 That cool bright autumn time of yore, 
 
 When he, a bashful sophomore, 
 With cheek that changed from pale to red, 
 Taught to a puzzled yellow head 
 
 His youngest pupil, in whose eyes 
 
 Xot Solomon was half so wise 
 Within that country school-room s walls, 
 The mysteries of decimals. 
 
 Alas, alas! to what intent 
 
 That labor over rate per cent., 
 And toil at compound interest, 
 By one with nothing to invest ? 
 
 Whose only venture, was, in truth, 
 . The vague, sweet hope, the faith of youth, 
 Which early dwindled to its end, 
 Kor paid a single dividend ? 
 
 "No school-girl now his peace disturbs 
 
 By tremulous tilts at nouns and verbs 
 Alas, how fast the years have flown! 
 Now he has children of his own, 
 
 Tall boys in college, girls in trains; 
 
 His busy heart no more retains 
 The features of that child of ten, 
 Who made a hero of him then, 
 
204 THE TKIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Than Sandy Kiver keeps, this hour, 
 The face of some wild meadow-flower, 
 
 Which grew and blossomed, shy and low, 
 
 Beside it, twenty years ago. 
 
 Yet it is more than many gain, 
 In this estate of change and pain, 
 
 To be forever set apart 
 
 The hero of a thankful heart, 
 Within that temple undefiled, 
 The grateful memory of a child ; 
 
 To hold, in spite of time and space, 
 
 So sacred and secure a place 
 As with a truth that naught can dim, 
 Her womanhood still keeps for him. 
 
 " I hope some of my little friends will remember 
 me as faithfully as that," said Brunette. "Perhaps 
 they would, if I were a school-teacher. Bob, do you 
 believe you will be as constant to the memory of any 
 one of your teachers ? " t 
 
 " It s a great deal more fun to go to school in the 
 country than in town," said Bob, dodging her ques 
 tion. "I went to school a few days once when I 
 was in the country, and it was n t half so tiresome. 
 The birds sang close to the school-house, and a big 
 butterfly came in at the window. No, I don t think 
 I like school much," said candid Bob, " and I think it s 
 all nonsense singing about how we love our teachers, 
 and we re glad vacation s over, and all that. I know 
 I *m never glad when vacation s over. But I had some- 
 
THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 205 
 
 tiling to read about a baby something I found in an 
 old newspaper." 
 
 THE SUNSHINE SONG. 
 A little child of three bright years 
 Undimmed by care, unstained by tears, 
 From whose pure soul was not yet riven 
 The music of its native heaven, 
 Implored and pleaded, oft and long. 
 " O mother, sing the sunshine song ! " 
 
 The mother sang full many an air, 
 The gay, the sad, the sweet, the rare, 
 But none could please the listening child, 
 Who shook her head, and sadly smiled, 
 As one who chides a grievous wrong, 
 
 O mother, sing the sunshine song I 
 
 " 
 
 " Alas! " the mother s voice replies, 
 While tears drop softly from her eyes, 
 " I know it not, I never heard 
 The sunshine song, my singing-bird! " 
 Yet still she pleaded, oft and long, 
 " O mother, sing the sunshine song! " 
 
 Spring came; and ere its reign was past, 
 The child s sweet life was ebbing fast; 
 And through her long delirious hours 
 Her lispings were of bees and flowers, 
 Mingled and saddened, all night long, 
 With pleadings for the sunshine song. 
 
206 THE TKIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 Hours passed; and on her mother s knee 
 
 The child lay dying; suddenly 
 
 She clasped her little faded hands, 
 
 " O mother, hear! those shining bands 
 
 The tune I ve waited for so long, 
 
 Mother, they sing the sunshine song! " 
 
 The lifted hands fell feebly down, 
 Death s white hand rested like a crown 
 Upon her brow; in holy grace 
 Her face was as an angel s face; 
 And she had joined the seraph-throng 
 Who sing, in heaven, the sunshine song. 
 
 " Bob, my Bob, that is n t a bit merry," said his 
 sister. " I 11 read you something funnier something 
 that happened to a nice young gentleman friend of ours 
 the other day at the islands. Every word true, too." 
 
 A MOONLIGHT EXCURSION. 
 
 Of all the disappointments in life, not one is so funny, 
 to lookers-on, as that which sometimes waits on a day s 
 attempt at harmless pleasure. If persons who do only 
 evil, and that continually, were so foiled and balked and 
 baffled in their vicious plans, as is the most respectable 
 citizen, sometimes, when he is trying to be innoxiously 
 happy, the criminal list of the country would be much 
 shorter. 
 
 A gentleman of this town, whom the chronicler will 
 designate as Jones, chiefly because no one else does, 
 lately formed a plan to join a so-called moonlight excur 
 sion on the Tourist, and enjoy a dance at Peak s Island. 
 
THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 207 
 
 From that moment the demon of ill-luck claimed him 
 for its sport. lie called on two young ladies to request 
 their company, but they were both absent. He made 
 another trial, but lady number three was also away from 
 home. A fourth attempt was successful, but as the invi 
 tation was necessarily somewhat late, the lady was not 
 ready, and her cavalier was obliged to wait a few 
 minutes. 
 
 A few minutes too long, as appeared when they 
 arrived at the Tourist s wharf, and dimly beheld her 
 steaming away into the distance, with a vigor and speed 
 which would have been much more satisfactory if the 
 tw observers had been on board. But Mr. Jones was 
 not one to be balked in this way. He had invited the 
 lady to a dance on Peak s Island, and to a dance on 
 Peak s Island she should go. It was discouragingly 
 dark ; all the u moonlight" of the excursion appeared to 
 have been expended in the advertisement. But moon 
 light or not, he was going. 
 
 Presently, by a lucky accident, or what seemed so at 
 the time, he descried two men just pushing off in a row- 
 boat, and in desperation, offered them " a silver pound " 
 or so, to row his select party to Peak s Island. " Money s 
 no object," they observed; "can you row?" No, he 
 could not row; he could catch crabs with the best, but 
 oars in the rough he knew little about. But finally, the 
 boatmen, who turned out to be a couple of campers-out 
 on Hog Island, about to return there, very kindly con 
 sented to take the pair on board, and went out of their 
 way, of course, to land them at their desired haven. 
 
 On arriving, Mr. Jones rose up in the darkness, for 
 sombre thunder-clouds were gathering, selected his lug 
 gage he had been wise enough to bring an overcoat, 
 
208 THE TBI ANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 and, of course, the lady had brought a waterproof, and 
 went ashore, with many thanks to the unsuspecting gen 
 tlemen who had shown him so much courtesy. 
 
 On reaching the halls of dazzling light where the fan 
 tastic toe was already in motion, what was Mr. Jones 
 surprise to find that the bundle which he had selected 
 as his lady companion s water-proof, was really not hers 
 at all, which she had at that minute on her shoulders. 
 On being unrolled, it proved to be an unfamiliar coat and 
 vest, and, oh, horror! in the pocket of the latter were a 
 fat pocket-book, a gold watch, and various other valua 
 bles. What had he done ? He had rewarded the kind 
 ness of the gentlemanly Hog Islanders by stealing theip 
 clothes, their chronometer, and their money ; he had 
 been guilty of a sort of aquatic highway robbery, a high 
 handed outrage on the high seas, which he at once 
 thought it high time to atone for. 
 
 Down to the wharf he went again, in the threatening 
 darkness, tugging the ill-starred bundle, and after some 
 delay and worry, succeeded in bargaining with two of 
 the salty veterans who seem to haunt wharves, like the 
 ghosts of wicked sailors doomed somehow never to get 
 away from port, to take him over to Hog Island, where 
 he could eat a suitable piece of humble-pie, and return 
 the confiscated property. Music might arise with its 
 voluptuous swell on Peak s Island, and eyes might look 
 love to eyes that spake again, but as for him, he must 
 lose the rosy hours in penitential pilgrimage. 
 
 Arriving at Hog Island, he was quite as much at sea as 
 ever, since he had no sort of notion as to the locality of 
 the persons he sought; but after a while, he managed to 
 descry a distant light in the darkness, and pursuing, find 
 it in the camp of his benefactors. Only to discover, how- 
 
THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 200 
 
 ever, that the irate owner of the bundle, stung by the 
 apparent ingratitude of his whilom passenger, had gone 
 to Peak s Island to overhaul him. 
 
 After a few minutes explanation, Mr. Jones re-em 
 barked for Peak s Island, gaining the wharf in time to 
 find the brilliant company of dancers, whose sport he 
 had hoped to join, merrily embarking in the steamer for 
 home. They had had a delightful dance, while he he 
 had only been dancing attendance on another man s 
 clothes, a victim to a keen sense of honor and honesty. 
 
 But he had learned two things: never to claim a bun 
 dle without examining it, and never to persist in a 
 pleasure-chase, after the first step has proved that Fate 
 has got her back up, and does n t intend to smile on the 
 undertaking. 
 
 " What dreadful luck ! " said the mother, laughing. 
 " It was really too bad for him to lose all his promised 
 sport, and have so miserable an evening, for no real 
 fault of his own," and she laughed again. " It does 
 seem odd that the stars in their courses so often seem 
 to put all manner of obstacles in the way of a harm 
 less pleasure, or a really good deed." 
 
 " Especially," said Brunette, " when the man who 
 starts to do an evil thing is apt to find everything 
 consenting and helpful. Probably if Mr. Jones had 
 started for the islands with intent to commit murder, 
 or set the hotel on fire, everything would have turned 
 to his assistance. He would have been in ample time 
 for the steamer ; there would n t have been a person 
 on board who knew him ; his purposed victim would 
 
210 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 have met him at the wharf, and proposed to accom 
 pany him on a lonesome walk along the most unfre 
 quented rocks. And he would have found a box of 
 matches in the path leading to the hotel, and a basket 
 of shavings on the back-door step, while the kerosene- 
 can would have been distinctly visible on the sill of 
 the open window in the kitchen. The deceiver of 
 souls generally looks out for his own. But I don t 
 think you are very sorry for Mr. Jones, bless him ! " 
 
 " I certainly don t rejoice in anybody s disappoint 
 ment," said the mother, " and for his sake I am sorry. 
 But on the other hand, I think other people s annoy 
 ances are sometimes a good thing for ourselves, in this 
 way. If that string of misfortunes had happened to 
 you or me. now, we should have said at once : Just 
 my luck ! nobody else is ever so badgered by fate ! 
 And yet you see that just such accidents happen to 
 others, others who are just as deserving, amiable and 
 good-looking as ourselves. By this light, it sometimes 
 does me good to reflect on other people s mis 
 fortunes." 
 
 " And speaking of the islands," remarked Brunette, 
 " I will read you a bit about Casco Bay, and then it 
 will be time to break up meeting." 
 
 TO CASCO BAY. 
 Beautiful bay! I gladly fly 
 
 Down to the shore where your waves beat high, 
 There s nobody here but you and me, 
 oSTobody here to hear or see, 
 
THE FIFTH TRIANGULAR. 211 
 
 Our only guests arc the birds and the wind, 
 The waves before and the cliff behind, 
 And the rocks are steep and hard to climb, 
 So none will intrude on our breathing-time, 
 And all to ourselves we will have the day, 
 Beautiful Casco Bay I 
 
 Tired of the town, with its selfish hearts, 
 Its vain pretences and ill-played parts, 
 The crush of streets and the strife of marts, 
 The roll of coaches and rattle of carts, 
 And stifled beneath a worldly crust, 
 Deafened with noise and choked with dust, 
 My heart is a bird in the fowler s trap, 
 Or a butterfly caught in a schoolboy s cap, 
 And I long to be free, as I am to-day, 
 Beautiful Casco Bay! 
 
 Come, tell me some of the tales you know, 
 The ocean legends of long ago, 
 The stories told by in-coming waves, 
 Of wrecking tempests and foamy graves, 
 Of booming billows and shattered ships, 
 And vain prayers strangled on ashy lips; 
 I. vc heard you echo them o er and o er, 
 With a mournful wail to the saddened shore, 
 Though now so gladly your waters play, 
 Beautiful Casco Bay I 
 
 I love your voice as I hear it come 
 
 Like a chorus grand, through the city s hum, 
 
 Thrilling the fine electric chain 
 
 That binds me to Nature s heart, again 
 
 That heart whose current flows wide and far, 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Whose ceaseless throbbings your billows are 
 
 And my truant soul comes back to me 
 When your leafless forest of masts I see, 
 And I fling my handful of cares away, 
 Beautiful Casco Bay! 
 
 Adieu! I go and beneath the roar 
 Of your headlong waves on the rocky shore, 
 In the surf-tossed sea-weed and broken shells, 
 I hear a murmur of soft farewells ; 
 I shall love you still with a worship true, 
 And this wide bright reach of tossing blue, 
 This sparkling plain, where the gazer sees 
 The snowy-white sails blossom out in the breeze, 
 Will live in my heart for many a day, 
 Beautiful Casco Bay I 
 
XX. 
 
 THE MINCE PIE. 
 
 NOT many months passed before the mother had 
 an excellent opportunity to corroborate her opinion as 
 to the difficulties which are so apt to environ the 
 attempt to do a kind action, especially when the 
 attempt is made privately. 
 
 " Bob," she whispered, one morning, after Brunette 
 had gone out, and there was no need of whispering, 
 " Bob, let s you and me go out quietly to-night, and 
 carry one of these nice mince pies to poor old Mrs. 
 Throckmorton. She told me that on Thanksgiving 
 day, she had nothing to eat but corn meal, and I dare 
 say she has n t tasted mince pie for months." 
 
 "But, mother, why can t I just carry it round there 
 to-day ? I don t know where she lives, but I believe 
 it is in one of those little lonesome streets running out 
 of Brackett. Any way, I can find it." 
 
 " But I don t want anybody to know it ; I don t 
 want even her to know where it comes from," said the 
 mother, who never added her name to public subscrip 
 tions, and had a fancy for doing her small good deeds 
 secretly. " If I should send you over there with a pie, 
 it would be all up and down the street before to- 
 
 213 
 
THE TKIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 " What, the pie ?" asked Bob, wonderingly. 
 And somebody would say that a mince pie was 
 not just the thing to give a woman who docs n t have 
 bread enough. And somebody else would remark that 
 before giving mince pies to troublesome old women, 
 I d better buy myself a new dress, or my little boy a 
 new jacket," said she, looking at a nice darn on his 
 sleeve, where he had torn it on a nail in the fence. 
 "And some one else would express the opinion that 
 as long as my daughter goes out to her work in all 
 sorts of weather, it does n t look well for me to give 
 away mince pies. And some other person would say 
 that I was trying to play Lady Bountiful, by way of 
 rebuke to my neighbors. And another person would 
 say that probably poor old Mrs. Throckmorton s hope 
 less claim against the city had been allowed, and I 
 was trying to make interest with her. No, my son 
 you and I will go together to-night to her house, as 
 late as we dare go out, and hurry away before she 
 recognizes us." 
 
 It is "sweet and proper" to invent a harmless 
 plan for somebody s pleasure, but the two conspirators 
 found that it was not easy to carry out even a harm 
 less pie. Brunette scented a plot as soon as she 
 entered the house that evening, and asked so many 
 leading questions, that her mother was obliged to tell 
 her that Bob and herself were going on a little errand, 
 a statement so unusual that the size and prominence 
 of Brunette s eyes were noticeably increased thereby, 
 and she took on an injured air, as though defrauded 
 
THE MINCE PIE. 215 
 
 
 
 of her inalienable rights. Then callers came in the 
 evening, and stayed later than usual. Then every 
 basket in the house was either too large or too small 
 to carry the pie in, and it was finally wrapped in a 
 napkin, and again in a new towel, and again in a 
 newspaper, in a vain attempt to make it into a square 
 parcel. 
 
 "How awfully round it looks!" said the mother, 
 as she and Bob held conclave in the kitchen. " I 
 should know that for a mince pie, if I should see it a 
 mile away. But it s just as well," she sighed, putting 
 on a dark wrap that covered her from head to foot, 
 " it s precisely as well, for if I should succeed in dis 
 guising it, it would no doubt find miraculous voice, as 
 Balaam s donkey did, and proclaim itself aloud to 
 everybody we meet." 
 
 " Let s wait till the next neighbors have gone to 
 bed," said Bob. " They never hear our door shut with 
 out running to look through the blinds, and what 
 would they say to see us going out so late ? " 
 
 The mother groaned. "My punishment is begun," 
 said she. " Do look and see if their light is out ; they 
 generally go to bed with the liens. What keeps them 
 up so late ? " Finally, she could wait no longer, and 
 they started, closing the street-door noiselessly. But 
 the vigilant neighbor heard their steps in the stillness, 
 and immediately appeared between her curtain and 
 the sash, and watched the suspected parties out of 
 sight. 
 
 " There ! " said the mother, " we have forgotten the 
 
216 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 latch-key, and I don t want to ring the bell when we 
 come back ; it will raise the whole street." 
 
 " You walk along slowly," said Bob, " and I 11 run 
 back and get it." 
 
 So the mother tried to walk slowly, but she dared 
 not go far from the place where Bob left her, because 
 her way led round a near corner, and Bob would lose 
 her if she kept on her route. Presently a man, really 
 or pretcndedly half-drunk, slouched near her and 
 inquired the time of night. She hurried round the 
 corner, and, concealed by the increased darkness, 
 there being no gas-lamp near, stood watching for Bob s 
 return. Presently she perceived on the other corner, 
 the dim, rigid figure of a policeman, who was evi 
 dently watching her movements. More terrified by 
 him than by the other, she turned and hurried toward 
 the distant patter of Bob s returning feet, met him, 
 and the two presently pursued their way. It had 
 grown every moment darker and cloudier, and they 
 found it nearly impossible to read the street-signs at 
 the corners. 
 
 I don t know this neighborhood at all," said the 
 tired mother. " It is one of these short streets, but 
 they are all alike dark and gruesome. I think I should 
 know the house, from her description." Up one 
 street and down the next they went, finding no house 
 which suited the mother s idea of Mrs. Throckmor- 
 ton s. " Now I wish that officious policeman would 
 appear," said she, " and we could inquire." 
 
 The gas-lights in these unfrequented streets were 
 
THE MINCE PIE. 217 
 
 few and dim. While the wanderers were peering 
 over gates and trying to read antiquated door-plates, 
 it began to rain. " And I Ve neither rubbers nor 
 waterproof, nor umbrella," murmured the wearied 
 woman, ** and you 11 spoil your nice new boots, Bob; 
 it s too, too bad ! I declare," said she, suddenly, 
 I m going to take the elephant by the tusks and 
 inquire ! " and she rang at a door which was flush 
 with the sidewalk, a door over which three panes 
 showed a glimmer of turned-down gas. A man in his 
 shirt-sleeves answered, after some rustling delay. 
 
 " Can you tell me if Mrs. Throckmorton lives near 
 here?" asked the mother, bravely. 
 
 " Don t know any such person," was the gruff reply, 
 and the door came to with unnecessary force. 
 
 Presently, as they plodded silently through the rain, 
 the mother saw a house that she said might be the 
 place. A faint light shone from a side window, of so 
 dreary and lonesome a character, that instead of cheer 
 ing the dripping darkness outside, it seemed to add a 
 new suggestion of discomfort, as proving that some 
 human being was still awake, and aware of the gen 
 eral poverty and miserableness, instead of having for 
 gotten all worries in merciful slumber. There was no 
 uell-pull at this door, and she knocked. No answer. 
 Another knock. A shuffling inside, and presently a 
 sound of whispered consultation, while a gaunt, tall, 
 starved-looking dog came round the house and snuffed, 
 with a blood-curdling sound, at the mother s shrinking 
 
 10 
 
218 THE TEIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 garments. Another knock, and then a trembling 
 voice from within, " Who s there ? " 
 
 " Does Mrs. Throckmorton live here f " asked the 
 mother, in a tone so extremely self-possessed that it 
 startled even herself. 
 
 " It s a woman ! " said a loud whisper, which 
 sounded as astonished and horrified as though it had 
 said, " It s a hippopotamus ! " 
 
 "No, she don t, she lives down the street, up a little 
 ways, a house or two to the right after you turn to 
 the left with a porch to it ! " was the not very per 
 spicuous reply. 
 
 The only clear idea which the seekers obtained from 
 this direction, was that the house they sought had " a 
 porch to it," and so they walked along the sloppy 
 bricks with an eye single to porches. By this time 
 most houses, porched and otherwise, were quite black 
 as to their windows ; and Bob at last stood still, and 
 said, " Mother, let s give it up. We are both wet 
 through ; your dress is draggled, and my boots are 
 soaked as well as yours. We have tried hard enough, 
 let s give it up ! " 
 
 " Bob," said his mother, wiping her rain-wet face 
 with a soppy pocket-handkerchief, " I Ve heard of a 
 tropical city that is paved with good intentions. I 
 suppose, I hope, it means those good intentions which 
 nobody ever tries to make fruitful ; the good inten 
 tions of people who content themselves with saying, 
 * Be ye warmed, and Be ye clothed, to poor unhappy 
 
THE MINCE PIE. 219 
 
 find needy wretches, without making the least effort 
 to help or comfort them. Now we have really tried 
 to do something more than say to Mrs. Throckmorton, 
 1 Be fed with mince pie, but yet we have failed to do 
 her any good. For no matter how small the gift is, 
 Bob," ("I am sure it s a big enough pie," said Bob, 
 parenthetically,) " the knowledge that somebody really 
 cares enough for the forlorn old soul to take this little 
 pains for her, would really do her good. Let us try 
 once or twice more before we acknowledge defeat. 
 We re about as wet as we can be, and we might as 
 well wade a little longer, as the song says. Now 
 here s a tumble-down tenement with what was once a 
 porch. Let s attempt this." 
 
 She knocked, and presently a voice demanded, 
 " Who s there ? " 
 
 " Does Mrs. Throckmorton live here ? " asked Bob, 
 in his manliest voice. 
 
 No yes that is who s there ? " said the 
 insider. " Yes, she lives here. What do you want? 
 Who is it?". 
 
 " That s never her voice," whispered the mother. 
 " Xow I remember, she told me that she had let part 
 of her house to some troublesome people who would 
 not pay their rent ; and she said that whenever they 
 knew she had any provisions, they were sure to be 
 out of food themselves, and so she never dares have 
 anything sent home when she is away. I must be 
 sure she is here." 
 
 " Who is it ? " again demanded the inside speaker. 
 
220 THE TllIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 Just at this instant, an enormous white cat, that 
 had been sitting on the porch under some ragged 
 vines, unseen by the two pilgrims, suddenly sprang 
 between them, and hastily scuttled away into the wet 
 bushes beside the house, startling Bob, who jumped 
 as though electrified, and ejaculated, "Christopher 
 Columbus ! " 
 
 " Who did you say ? " asked the party inside, in an 
 astonished tone. 
 
 " Only some friends," replied the mother, sweetly. 
 " "Will you tell Mrs. Throckmorton that a lady wants 
 to see her?" 
 
 Hereupon a suppressed, but perfectly audible dia 
 logue ensued between two very candid persons within. 
 
 " I don t believe it s a lady," said one, " they did n t 
 say so, the first time. Would you open the door ? " 
 
 " No," replied the other, " it s nobody for any good, 
 this time o night." 
 
 " I like to get at people s real opinions," whispered 
 the mother. Then she asked again, ""Will you call 
 Mrs. Throckmorton to the door ? Tell her a friend 
 is waiting, a friend who has brought her something." 
 
 After a pause the reply came. " She is n t at home, 
 she s gone to meeting." 
 
 " To meeting at eleven o clock ! " muttered Bob. 
 
 " But if you ve got anything for her, you can put 
 it on the step," continued the invisible. " The door 
 has got itself fastened so I can t open it." 
 
 "How late does she stay at meeting?" asked the 
 mother, who had no idea of leaving her pie on the 
 
THE MINCE PIE. 221 
 
 stop, either for the cat, or the mendacious party 
 within. 
 
 "O, she often stays all night," was the response. 
 " But if you have anything for her, just leave it there, 
 and I ]! take care of it." 
 
 " That settles it," said the mother. " We can t 
 wait here all night ; we can t get the pie to her by 
 leaving it on the step. We can t do anything but 
 sneak home to Brunette, and tell her that after all our 
 plotting, we have failed miserably in trying to do the 
 forlorn old creature a little wretched two-cent kind 
 ness, and have got tired out, and discouraged, and 
 draggled for our pains ! " 
 
 " And Brunette will laugh us all to shoe-strings," 
 said Bob, mournfully, " and say it s a righteous judg 
 ment upon us for not telling her where we were going. 
 And we shall have to eat that travelled pie, ourselves, 
 after all ! " 
 
 " I wonder," said the mother, half to herself, cast 
 ing an uneasy glance behind her as she hurried along, 
 her wet skirts swishing about her feet, " I wonder if 
 policemen keep as sharp a lookout on really bad and 
 mischievous persons, as they do on harmless and well- 
 meaning souls who happen accidentally to be out 
 later than usual ? If they do, I should n t suppose 
 the greatest villains in the world would ever find an 
 opportunity to do any mischief," continued she, still 
 hearing the thud, thud, thud, of the guardian s boots 
 as he kept along at a little distance behind. " I 
 remember, when we lived farther down town, I went 
 
222 THE TBIANGTJLAK SOCIETY. 
 
 early one evening to see a friend on Danforth street. 
 The time slipped away, and before I knew, it was 
 eleven o clock. She did not invite me to stay all 
 night; the cars had ceased running; I must walk the 
 whole way alone. And every policeman I met, eyed 
 me with such interest and suspicion that I was really 
 terrified, and began to feel as though I were really a 
 thief or a burglar, and for the last few blocks, I 
 actually ran every step. Easy, Bob, with the latch 
 key." 
 
 Brunette, who had been asleep on the lounge, arose 
 as they entered the sitting-room, and surveyed their 
 dripping garments with stern disapproval. 
 
 " It strikes me," said she, as her mother humbly 
 deposited her package on the table, "it strikes me 
 that you are a couple of mince-pious frauds." 
 
 "I ve heard of casting one s bread on the waters 
 and seeing it return, after many days," said Bob, tug 
 ging at his sodden boots, " but we ve got our pie 
 back the same night." 
 
 " I am half inclined to think," said the mother, next 
 morning at the breakfast-table, with a look as though 
 her opinion had been arrived at through pondering 
 when she should have been sleeping, " I am almost 
 convinced that the reason why there are not more 
 good deeds done, lies not in the hard-heartedness of 
 people, not in their real positive wickedness, but in 
 their indolence. The doing of a good deed, even a 
 small one, is generally hedged about with so many 
 difficulties, that the unregenerate heart shrinks from 
 
THE MINCE PIE. 223 
 
 taking the trouble to overcome them. Bid I ever tell 
 you how hard a woman friend of mine tried to do a 
 kindness, in secret, to a poor woman living in a miser 
 able shelter on one of the back streets ? " 
 
 "Did she go out in a drizzling rain to carry her 
 pensioner something to give her dyspepsia?" asked 
 Brunette. 
 
 " O no, her plan cost more than that," said the 
 unruffled mother. " She knew that the poor woman 
 had a hard struggle to support herself, her little child, 
 and her mother ; that they were poorly housed, poorly 
 clad, and insufficiently warmed. So she planned to 
 send them secretly a ton of coal. Of course this 
 made it necessary to know the poor woman s exact 
 address. Of course, again, if she asked the woman 
 herself, it would betray her purpose. So she spent 
 half a day hunting through the miserable neighbor 
 hood to find the place. Having found it, she went to 
 a coal-dealer, ordered the coal, and interviewed the 
 driver who was to deliver it, giving him careful 
 instructions. She was to call in again at evening, get 
 his report, and pay the bill, as she was determined to 
 be sure that the coal reached the right party. So at 
 night she went to the coal-yard again. 
 
 u And troth I did n t deliver the coal ye ordhered, 
 said the red-cheeked driver, for faith, whin I got 
 there, there was nowhere to dump it at all, at all, 
 savin the kitchen flure, and sure there was n t room 
 foreninst the bed and the ould table. What can the 
 
224 THE TKIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 likes o them do with a ton o coal ? They get it at 
 the grocery by the bucket-ful, the craythurs ! 
 
 " So my friend had to pay the driver for his wasted 
 time, satisfy the coal-dealer for his disappointment, 
 and pocket her own as well as she could, having, after 
 all her trouble, failed utterly to do any good." 
 
XXI. 
 
 THE TRAMP. 
 
 " MOTHEE," said Brunette, one sunny May morn 
 ing, as she rose from the breakfast-table, " there s a 
 tramp coming up the walk. Suppose we engage him 
 to make the garden ? " 
 
 " No objection in the world," rejoined her mother, 
 placidly drinking the last of her coffee. "I have 
 already engaged thirteen of those gentry to make the 
 garden. It s the surest way to get rid of them. Not 
 one of the thirteen will ever appear here again until 
 Christmas. Engage him, by all means, Brunette, 
 but don t give him a breakfast to bind the bargain." 
 
 " The flower-beds ought to be made," put in Bob, 
 anxiously. " Here s my list of seeds and plants all 
 made out, and " 
 
 " Where s Johnny Dunn ? " suddenly exclaimed 
 his sister, recollecting herself, " that good-looking fel 
 low with the Irish-blue eyes, who came here a month 
 ago, and got his breakfast on a promise to come and 
 work in the garden just as soon as the ground is fit 
 to work, Miss ? " And Brunette suddenly burst into 
 singing, to the air of " County Guy " " That April 
 day has fled away, the hours to weeks have run, the 
 skies are clear, the birds are here, but where is Johnny 
 10* 225 
 
226 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Dunn? The neighbors round, to till their ground, 
 have long ago begun, t is time to hoe, transplant and 
 sow, but where is Johnny Dunn ? T is time to make, 
 with spade and rake, the flower-beds, every one, for 
 everything proclaims the spring, O, where is Johnny 
 Dunn?" 
 
 " O Brunette ! " exclaimed Bob, out of all patience, 
 " do stop ! I believe you d fiddle if Rome was 
 burning ! Here s my list " 
 
 " I doubt if anything short of the conflagration of 
 the Eternal City will ever enable me to fiddle," 
 returned his sister, 4 and as for your list, is it like that 
 you sent to a florist when we lived down south, 
 wherein yo u ordered blue tulips, and Mr. Vick sent 
 you his own photograph, as the nearest thing he could 
 muster to anything so rare and unique ? " 
 
 Bob looked foolish, and she mercilessly continued : 
 
 " And what about the manual phlox, and the arrow- 
 fat peas, and the brainial poppies, and the high-bred 
 roses, and the purple masters with yellow middles, 
 and " 
 
 "But that was before I could read the catalogue 
 for myself," said poor Bob, half-crying, " and I heard 
 you say you meant to get some asters, and some 
 annual phlox, and some marrow-fat peas, and I 
 thought you said brainial, instead of perennial, 
 and " 
 
 " And I m sure the roses are high-bred as well as 
 hybrid," put in the mother. " Bob s mistake was not 
 uncomplimentary to the florist." 
 
THE TRAMP. 227 
 
 " I know what Brunette will say next," said Bob. 
 " She will ask me about the cock zinnias that I wanted 
 you to send for ; but how was I to know that coc- 
 cinnea was only another word for scarlet ? I thought 
 it meant a large kind of zinnias. I m sure there s 
 cockscomb, and henbane, and chick-weed, and she 
 was to blame, herself, for setting down the names just 
 as I said em, when she knew better. She is always 
 making fun of me. A boy don t have any kind of a 
 chance in this family," he grumbled, focusing the sun 
 shine on the back of Brunette s hand with his glass. 
 She sprang up, exclaiming, " Why, don t you know 
 that burns like a live coal ? I actually believe you 
 have raised a blister on my hand ! " 
 
 "Has it burned you?" asked Bob, innocently. 
 "Perhaps that s why it s called a magnifire." 
 
 Just then the mother returned from a brief trip to 
 the door. 
 
 " It s the very tramp who excited my sympathies 
 so in the winter, " she said. " I was quite pleased 
 with his appearance, then. He looked like a mechanic, 
 and did not betray any signs of whiskey ; he had a 
 most candid address, and an innocent and sorrowful 
 pair of eyes. He spoke in a civil way, using much 
 better language than is usual with tramps said he 
 served in the late war, and he had evidently been in 
 the South. He had just lost his wife and baby in 
 Nova Scotia, and, finding the place there so lonesome, 
 had concluded to go to Pennsylvania, where he heard 
 he could get work ; he had a twin-brother there, who 
 
228 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 had got a place for him. I gave him a comfortable 
 breakfast, which he ate thankfully, philosophizing 
 meanwhile on the effects of slavery on the South, the 
 difference between New England and Tennessee as 
 places of residence, and lastly discussing the question 
 of special providences, with considerable eloquence." 
 
 " Where did he do all this preaching ? " asked 
 Brunette. " I hope you did n t let the fellow into the 
 house ? When I find one of them at the door, I just 
 smile at him with all my might, and say, No, thank 
 you, with effusive politeness, and as a rule, they are 
 so astonished, that they turn and go away, without 
 knowing what hurt them, as Bob says. But I should 
 never let one into the house. He would probably 
 prefer entering unannounced at the cellar window." 
 
 " Well, I gave that one his breakfast in the kitchen," 
 admitted the mother. " His remarks were quite edi 
 fying, and he went away, after thanking me civilly, 
 with the same mournful expression in his eyes, 
 speaking a life-long sorrow, and an air of integrity 
 and respectable misfortune enveloping him like a 
 garment." 
 
 "That was because he made a habit of it," sug 
 gested Brunette, grimly. 
 
 " Well, he actually made me feel as though I had 
 sometimes been unjust to tramps, and perhaps sent 
 away more than one angel unaware. But alas ! just 
 now, I met at the door that same mournful pair of 
 eyes. This time their owner came from Philadelphia, 
 where he had just lost his wife and baby ; he had 
 
THE TEAMP. 229 
 
 given up his home there because of its lonesorneness, 
 and was trying to get to Nova Scotia, where he had a 
 twin-brother, who had procured a situation for him ! " 
 
 "There s no truer saying than that a liar needs a 
 good memory," observed Brunette. 
 
 "Yes, it surely proved true here. My mournful- 
 eyed caller had apparently forgotten the house he 
 either had a very short memory, or supposed I had. 
 I looked him full in the face. It was clearly impossi 
 ble, even for a man with a candid expression and a 
 mournful pair of eyes, to have achieved and dis 
 posed of two wives and two babies in the space of 
 three months, to say nothing of two twin-brothers, 
 one in Pennsylvania and one in Nova Scotia. I shut 
 the door without a word, and he went away, with an 
 injured and innocent air, and the same look of honest 
 misfortune and unimpeachable respectability clinging 
 to him like a garment." 
 
 "You arc always getting imposed upon through 
 your soft-heartedness," said. Brunette. " That fellow 
 is somewhere in the neighborhood now, looking some 
 gullible house-mother in the face with those mournful 
 dark eyes, hurting her feelings with another construct 
 ive wife and baby, which he has lost lately somewhere 
 else, and flourishing the twin-brother at her by way of 
 clinching his argument in favor of her giving him a 
 substantial breakfast. And what is more, he will 
 probably get it, too. How strange it is, that just as 
 long as one holds tight to self-respect, principle, and 
 independence, this world goes so hard with one ; but 
 
230 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 just as soon as one lets go all those precious things, 
 one may be fed and clothed for nothing, and have no 
 end of leisure and freedom! I wonder how many 
 times that fellow has lost his wife and baby, left the 
 scene of his lost happiness with a broken heart, and 
 hastened to the solace of fraternal assistance and sym 
 pathy, since last February ? " 
 
 "Tramps do worse things than that," said Bob. 
 " Last week a tramp killed a woman on Brackett 
 street, after she had just given him some breakfast, 
 too." 
 
 " Killed a woman ! why was n t it in the papers ? " 
 queried the horrified mother. " I have n t heard of 
 any such tragedy. Who told you ? " 
 
 "Anyway, he broke her spine," said unterrified 
 Bob, "and I heard Mrs. Brown telling one of the 
 neighbors about it." 
 
 O 
 
 " But did Mrs Brown really say that a tramp had 
 broken anybody s spine ? " 
 
 "I 11 tefl you just as near as I can, word after 
 word," said Bob, a little red in the face. "Mrs. 
 Brown said that a friend of hers, on Brackett street, 
 engaged a ill-looking tramp to dig her pansy bed. 
 She gave him his breakfast, and he was to work two 
 full hours. Mrs. Brown said he made the woman a 
 solemn promise ; and then the minute she turned her 
 back, he broke it, so there now ! " 
 
XXII. 
 
 THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 
 
 "SPEAKING of mice," said Brunette, at the next 
 Triangular, " since our failure with the trap, they have 
 been running in my head so " 
 
 " Perhaps we did n t set the trap in the right place," 
 said Bob, rather softly, with an extremely wise smile. 
 
 " Don t be severe, Bob," she replied, " and you may 
 read first, this time. I suppose you have looked up 
 your selections ? " 
 
 " Yes, but what about the mice, first ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, the mice will come later," said Brunette. 
 
 " Doubtless," replied Bob. " And now I am going 
 to read a riddle, and see if you can guess it. It took 
 me an hour to study it out, and I should n t have 
 thought of it at all, if I had n t taken a turn in the 
 flower-garden." 
 
 " Two beds of annuals and a sweet-pea trellis made 
 out of the wires of an old hoop-skirt that has out 
 lived its usefulness," commented Brunette, " and now 
 for the riddle." 
 
 " I think," said Bob, " it sounds larger to call it 
 
 A REBUS. " 
 My first soars gladly from the earth, 
 
 On dawning s dewy wings. 
 Viewing the morning s beamy birth, 
 The star s last glimmerings. 
 231 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 One of the few who sing for joy, 
 
 And are not taught by pain, 
 My first permits no sad alloy, 
 
 To mingle with his strain. 
 
 A horseman dashes o er the plain, 
 
 With mad and headlong speed; 
 With nostrils spread, and flying mane, 
 
 Sweeps on the noble steed; 
 As flies the tempest in its might, 
 
 As meteors cleave the sky; 
 My second prompts .his foaming flight, 
 
 And fires his flashing eye. 
 
 My whole lay trembling on my breast, 
 When summer s morn was bright, 
 
 But ere the sunset charmed the west, 
 The blue eyes lost their light. 
 
 I yielded it with fond regret, , 
 Ere I had loved it lono- 
 
 & 
 
 But ah, its spirit lingers yet, 
 In poet s sweetest song! 
 
 " I never should have guessed it if you had n t 
 spoken of the flower-garden," said Brunette, " but the 
 first thing I thought of was that great clump of blue 
 larkspur." 
 
 "Of course that s it," said Bob. "I ought not to 
 have reminded you of the garden. But to return to 
 our mice." Whereupon Brunette read as follows : 
 
 HAUNTED HOUSES. 
 All houses wherein rats and mice abide 
 
 Are haunted houses. Through the open doors 
 The cunning thieves upon their errands glide, 
 
 Making a hasty scratching on the floors. 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 233 
 
 We meet them in the chamber, on the stair, 
 Along the passages they come and go ; 
 
 Their twinkling eyes are peering everywhere, 
 As hurriedly they scamper to and fro. 
 
 The house has far more inmates than the hosts 
 
 Invited; cellar, pantry, kitchen, hall, 
 Are thronged with nibblers, which the scent of roasts 
 
 Has tempted from their strongholds in the wall. 
 
 The stranger at my fireside may not see 
 The forms I see and if strange sounds he hear, 
 
 Ascribes them to the wind but unto me 
 The real cause is visible and clear. 
 
 Among the cupboard s spoons and cruet-stands, 
 They keep the revels which the housewife hates 
 
 From holes unnoticed swarm in thievish bands, 
 And hold high jinks with teacups, bowls and plates. 
 
 The garret s dusty, dim circumference 
 Is where they most do congregate for there 
 
 Kubbish in piles, and cobwebs dark and dense 
 Shut out intruders and the daylight s glare. 
 
 Their little lives are kept in equipoise 
 
 By opposite incentives and desires 
 The struggle of the daring that destroys, 
 
 And the instinctive cowardice that fears. 
 
 The perturbations, the perpetual jar 
 
 Of scampering rodents, bent on robbery, 
 
 Come from the attic, where by moon and star, 
 They, undiscovered, plan it secretly ; 
 
234 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 And as the moon, from some dark, cavernous cloud, 
 Flings down to us a floating bridge of light, 
 
 Across whose trembling beams our fancies crowd, 
 Into the vague uncertainty and night 
 
 So, from the attic story, there descends 
 A flight of stairs, connecting it with this, 
 
 And racing up and down, my long-tailed friends 
 Affright the night with antics numberless. 
 
 " That s very well for the mice," said Bob. " Per 
 haps if you leave it in the pantry, they will accept it 
 as a notice to quit. But it seems to me I have seen it 
 somewhere before." 
 
 u Brunette," said the mother, putting on her eye 
 glasses in order to add severity to the gaze which she 
 bent on her daughter, " Brunette, I m afraid that s a 
 parody ; and parodies are forbidden by the by-laws of 
 our Society. The sacrilege of parodying the verse of 
 a great and good poet, ought to be considered an 
 indictable offence." 
 
 "I thought the glory of our Society was that it had 
 no constitution and by-laws," said Brunette. 
 
 " I think it has a pretty good constitution, or it 
 could n t have endured " the mother checked her 
 self, with a little gulp "I mean that every self- 
 respecting literary society has, or ought to have, an 
 unwritten law against parodies. In the first place, a 
 parody generally makes light of something that is 
 widely known, and held precious and sacred by many 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 235 
 
 persons. In the next place, if it is any way well 
 done, it at once associates itself with the original, and 
 can never thereafter be dissociated from it. I have 
 heard some parodies on old hymns (parodies made 
 years ago, in your great-grandfather s time, when 
 people were so much better, and more respectful to 
 sacred things than they are now) which I find it 
 impossible to forget, and which are sure to come into 
 my head if I hear one of the originals read in church, 
 and make it very hard for me to preserve decorum." 
 
 "And because some irreverent persons are wicked 
 enough to want to laugh in meeting, there must be no 
 more cakes and ale ? " queried unconvinced Brunette. 
 
 " Because," said the mother, laughing, but still in 
 earnest, "because after I have brought myself into 
 a Sunday frame of mind, befitting the time and place, 
 and am waiting to be soothed and refreshed by the 
 music of the choir, I don t want their first words to 
 remind me of 
 
 The hill of Zion yields 
 
 A thousand striped snakes 
 
 or, as happened a Sunday or two ago, to suggest 
 irresistibly, 
 
 4 Bless the oxen Buck and Bright, 
 
 And all the little steers; 
 I hope they 11 live to haul ships masts 
 These hundred thousand years. " 
 
 " Then we 11 consider that our Society has one by 
 law," said Brunette. " And now we 11 hear you read. 
 No parodies, mind ! " 
 
236 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 "Here is something," said the mother, turning a 
 few leaves, " which, although not exactly local, yet 
 alludes to a well-known citizen of the State. The 
 newspaper from which I took it, says it means a 
 gallant ex-governor of Maine, who was wounded in 
 the Battle of the Wilderness, and lay in hospital many 
 weary months. It was evidently written some time 
 ago." 
 
 " So was the Iliad." murmured Brunette. But her 
 mother did not hear, as she had begun reading. 
 
 WOUNDED. 
 
 June s loving presence fills these green-arched glooms ; 
 From broad-leaved branches, drooping cool and low, 
 Drop clown the purple-veined catalpa-blooms, 
 Chasing each other lightly to and fro, 
 As dainty as new snow. 
 
 The great ripe roses nodding by the way, 
 Drunken and drowsy with their own perfume, 
 
 Heed not that bee and butterfly all day 
 Make in their very hearts a banquet-room, 
 And rob their royal bloom. 
 
 The chestnut lights her mimic chandeliers, 
 
 The tulip-tree uplifts her goblets high, 
 The pine and fir shed balmy incense-tears, 
 
 And the magnolia s thick white petals lie 
 Expiring fragrantly. 
 
 The silver poplar s pearl-and-emerald sheen 
 Glimmers incessant, shadowing the eaves; 
 
 The willow s wide, fair fountain-fall of green 
 Whispers like rain ; a pulse of gladness heaves 
 The world of waving leaves. 
 
THE SIXTH TKI ANGULAR. 237 
 
 In yonder room that fronts the dusty street, 
 Hushed and white-bedded, curtained cool and dim, 
 
 There lies as brave a heart as ever beat, 
 Bound down and tortured by a shattered limb 
 Ah ! what is June to him ? 
 
 To him, poor homesick sufferer, how fair 
 Would be this wealth of bloom, this sunny sky, 
 
 These gushing sparrow-songs, this gracious air I 
 Yet he, with stronger right to all than I, 
 Pines in captivity. 
 
 With breath of cannon hot upon his brow, 
 In glorious strife it had been sweet to die ; 
 
 But no ennobling purpose fires him now; 
 His soul is nerved by no proud battle-cry 
 To this long agony. 
 
 What was the boldest charge, the bloodiest fight, 
 
 The wildest rally over heaps of slain, 
 To this unequal contest, day and night, 
 
 With the fierce legions of disease and pain, 
 Repulsed so oft in vain ? 
 
 Heroic was the bravery that inspired 
 
 His heart to daring deeds; but nobler still 
 
 This bravery of strong patience, which, untired, 
 Waits calmly, while the tedious months fulfil 
 Their work of good or ill. 
 
 Sacred we hold their names, who in the strife 
 Of righteous war our nation s noblest sons 
 
 Have done their work and given up their life 
 Amid the smoke and thunder of the guns, 
 Beloved and honored ones ! 
 
238 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 And thou, brave heart, although no trumpet breath 
 Proclaims thee martyr, yet thy name shall be 
 
 Hallowed as these ; for even more than death 
 O hero, hast thou suffered patiently 
 For right and liberty! 
 
 "What became of him? Say, did he die?" asked 
 Bob, with dilated eyes, as his mother finished reading. 
 
 "Die? no indeed," replied Brunette; "didn t she 
 tell you, before she began it, that in spite of the 
 verses, he lived to be governor of Maine ? " 
 
 " No, she did n t, she never said any such thing," 
 said Bob, with spirit. " And I like the poem very 
 well, and I only hope yours will be half as good." 
 
 "Very well," said Brunette, "here is one. which I 
 either wrote or picked up, some time since. Of course 
 you can both readily tell whether it is mine." 
 
 A DEMOLISHED HOMESTEAD. 
 
 We rail at Time for spoiling what we prize, 
 But mild and gradual is his strong control; 
 
 His rudest touch but charms and sanctifies, 
 His changes bring no shock to sense or soul. 
 
 Seldom by Time are razed the sacred shrines 
 Of local love and neighborhood renown; 
 
 Improvement blasts them with her new designs, 
 And Traffic s grasping talons dig them clown. 
 
 Fond, faithful hearts which will not understand 
 The change that wounds and wrongs their constant 
 truth, 
 
 Grieve that to-day, with sacrilegious hand, 
 Removes the ancient landmarks of their youth. 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 239 
 
 By Trade and Greed our idols are displaced; 
 
 Not one is safe from their destructive clutch; 
 Rudely they lay our pleasant places waste, 
 
 Blighting all beauty with their fatal touch. 
 
 Where once were murmuring depths of waving leaves, 
 A mossy roof, and household love and mirth, 
 
 The cable creaks, the derrick groans and heaves, 
 The pick-axe quarrels with the unwilling earth: 
 
 They ruin and uproot all olden grace, 
 
 All precious memories which our youth has known, 
 Old homes, old trees and give us in their place 
 
 Huge heaps of rectilinear brick and stone. 
 
 Surely the dim and unregarded ghosts 
 Of those who used these pleasant shades to range, 
 
 Come up at night out of their misty coasts, 
 And wring their spectral hands above the change! 
 
 " I know what that means," exclaimed Bob, before 
 his mother could speak. " It s that old house near 
 the First Parish church, a pleasant old place, with 
 trees about it. But they have n t pulled it down, 
 after all, they ve only drawn it back and made a board 
 ing-house of it." 
 
 " So much the worse," said the mother. " Desecra 
 tion is worse than destruction, it seems to me. And 
 yet, mournful as it is, the turning of an old homestead 
 into a boarding-house hardly commends itself as a 
 subject for a poem. But Bob, you are not doing your 
 share." 
 
240 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Thus reminded, Bob read gravely, as follows : 
 
 HER ANSWER. 
 
 " I think I have heard you rightly, 
 
 And this way the matter stands ; 
 You aim to become my master, 
 
 As you are of your gold and lands 
 You wish me to fawn and follow, 
 And serve you with fettered hands 
 
 " To flaunt in your flimsy finery, 
 To starve in your hollow state 
 
 To enter a life of falsehood 
 
 Through a false and lying gate 
 
 To dwarf my heart for diamonds, 
 And peril my soul for plate. 
 
 " A modest and generous offer, 
 Which only a man could make ! 
 
 So this is the burden of duties 
 You wish me to stoop and take ? 
 
 Nor fear that my strength might falter, 
 Nor dread that my heart might break ? 
 
 " Your wife! it were too much honor! 
 
 Pray, what is your wife to be ? 
 The slave of your whim and bounty, 
 
 The pet of your luxury 
 A careful, obsequious servant 
 
 Is the picture at all like me ? 
 
 " I know how you reckoned your chances 
 
 Your wooing has shown me that 
 She is poor I will make her wealthy 
 
 Oh, joy to be wondered at! 
 But you are a monstrous camel, 
 While poverty s only a gnat! 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 241 
 
 " If women are only insects 
 
 Poor, insignificant things, 
 I am not a cricket, that always 
 
 By the fire-place sits and sings, 
 But a chrysalis, unexpanded, 
 Impatient for promised wings. 
 
 " There are various minor trifles 
 "Not even your gold can gain 
 
 You cannot imprison the sunlight, 
 You cannot compel the rain 
 
 And I am more wilful than either 
 You flatter and sue in vain ! 
 
 " Away with your gilded fetters 
 They rattle, although they shine 
 
 The goblet of bliss you offer, 
 
 Smacks strongly of poisoned wine ; 
 
 Your ring is too small for my finger, 
 Your life is too narrow for mine! " 
 
 Brunette drew a long breath. " Bob s selections 
 are a standing marvel to me," said she. " Somehow 
 ho reminds me of a calf, who leaves the trough of 
 milk which is his natural diet, to munch dusty hay 
 with the oxen." 
 
 " I like the measure," said Bob, " and I don t care 
 if you do compare me to a calf." 
 
 " It seems to me." said the mother, " that that must 
 have been written by a young person who held a posi 
 tion in a newspaper office, and did n t care to exchange 
 it for housework. And after I read this solemn bit of 
 verse, Brunette, that I found in an old newspaper, 
 11 
 
242 THE TEIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 we 11 hear a prose article, if you please, and then it 
 will be tune to adjourn." 
 
 HE CAME TOO LATE. 
 He came too late ! The toast had dried 
 
 Before the fire too long, 
 The cakes were scorched upon the side, 
 
 And everything was wrong. 
 She scorned to wait till dark for one 
 
 Who lingered on his way , 
 And so she took her tea alone, 
 
 And cleared the things away. 
 
 He came too late ! At once he felt 
 
 The supper hour was o er; 
 Indifference in her calm smile dwelt 
 
 She closed the cupboard door! 
 The table-cloth was put away, 
 
 No dishes could he see ; 
 She met him and her words were gay, 
 
 She never spoke of tea! 
 
 He came too late ! the subtle cords 
 
 Of patience were unbound, 
 Not by offence of spoken words, 
 
 But by the slights that wound. 
 She knew he could say nothing now 
 
 That could the past repay, 
 She bade him go and milk the cow, 
 
 And coldly turned away ! 
 
 He came too late! The fragrant steam 
 
 Of tea had long since flown, 
 The flies had fallen in the cream, 
 
 The bread was cold as stone. 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 243 
 
 And when with word and smile he tried 
 
 His hungry state to prove, 
 She nerved her heart with woman s pride, 
 
 And never deined to move ! 
 
 
 Brunette had been with difficulty restraining her 
 laughter while her mother read, and as soon as the 
 lines were finished, she burst into a merry peal. 
 
 " I thought it was droll a little," said the mother, 
 " but it does n t seem so funny as all that." 
 
 " Mother, don t you know that s a parody ? " said 
 exultant Brunette, " and that you ve broken your own 
 precious, solitary by-law? Miss Bogart s ghost will 
 haunt you for countenancing such a travesty on her 
 sentimcntalism." 
 
 " Well," said the mother, after a pause, " all I can 
 do is to move an amendment of that by-law. Sup 
 pose we insert the words consciously and voluntarily 
 somewhere in it ? And now for your prose." 
 
 SOLEMN NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 SOME SMALL ARGUMENTS AGAINST A POPULAR FALLACY. 
 
 The traditional gravity and severity of New England 
 character has often been remarked, and frequently set 
 down in histories and biographies. But if New Eng- 
 landers are habitually grave, it is certainly not because 
 there are not a great many funny persons among them, 
 and a great many droll circumstances continually occur 
 ring within their territory and observation. A careful 
 collection of the odd incidents actually set down, with 
 all gravity, as facts, in the newspapers of the six eastern 
 
244 THE TBIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Stales, would be much funnier than any " funny column " 
 extant ; and probably the only reason why these things 
 are not utilized in this way by overworked humorists, is 
 simply that the popular -taste clamors for falsehood 
 instead of for truth ; for, of course, all the droll local 
 items so seriously recorded in the rural papers are true. 
 
 The gravity with which these stones are told, is per 
 haps one element of their funniness. A New Hampshire 
 paper soberly announces that a wood-snake was dis 
 lodged from the stomach of a man in Rochester, in that 
 State, a few days since. It is supposed to have been 
 swallowed twenty-five years ago. The idea that a wood- 
 snake, born under a cold rock in the forest, and dwelling 
 all its life in chilly, damp shadows, and under wet leaves, 
 could live for an hour in the unnatural heat and restraint 
 of a human stomach, is past belief. But that it could 
 not only do this, but actually keep alive years longer than 
 it would naturally do in its native wilds, is very funny. 
 But of course it is true. 
 
 The next funny thing happened in New Bedford, and 
 had to do with a funeral. It is a fact that some of the 
 drollest things in the world happen in connection with 
 funerals, and kindred sorrowful occurrences. And when 
 at the time, some unhappy person, perhaps a mourner, 
 but still unable to remain blind and deaf to the ridicu 
 lous, happens to laugh at them, it is counted as either 
 shockingly heartless, or clearly hysterical. At this New 
 Bedford funeral, a local paper says, the bearers took one 
 carriage, and some acquaintances of the bereaved family 
 filled the only other carriage. None of the occupants 
 would budge to make room for the only mourner, the 
 lonesome woman who had been left a widow by the man 
 in the coffin, and so the procession started off, leaving 
 
THE SIXTH TEIANGULAR. 245 
 
 her behind. Now is not this the most melancholy-funny 
 thing that could have happened? Leaving the corpse 
 behind, as has been done before now, if veracious 
 reporters can be trusted, is not droller. Fancy the feel 
 ings of the solitary mourner, left standing on the door 
 steps, while the procession went away without her I Of 
 course she laughed -decorously, behind her handker 
 chief, and concealed it by coughing. Doubtless the dead 
 man himself smiled, if he had any appreciation of the 
 humorous ; perhaps he even laughed in his coffin, as his 
 widow coughed in her laughing. 
 
 The next droll occurrence is also of a funereal charac 
 ter ; it happened in New Hampshire. Lots of droll 
 things happen in New Hampshire. A late resident of 
 Bristol was being mournfully lowered into his long home, 
 when it was found to be not long enough for him. " The 
 grave," it has been eloquently said, " conceals all short 
 comings." But this grave revealed them, and stood 
 itself convicted. The fact was pathetic enough. These 
 are hard times, and people must economize in nearly 
 everything; but when a man has been pinched and 
 worried and compressed and crowded through his allotted 
 term on earth, it does seem as though he ought, at last, 
 to have a big enough hole in the ground. But this poor 
 soul s last bedroom had been made so small that the 
 casket had to be taken out for the purpose of remedying 
 the defect. While it was being moved from the grave, a 
 portion of the earth caved in, causing one of the bearers 
 to fall into the grave, and the other three, being unable 
 to sustain the whole weight, fell in too, and the coffin 
 tumblecj on the lot of them, and bruised them black anfl. 
 blue; the only instance on record, perhaps, wherein one 
 dead man has managed to get the better of four living 
 
246 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 ones, and he cabined, cribbed, confined, coffined, and 
 laboring under every disadvantage of position and popular 
 prejudice, which last always goes against the chances 
 of a dead man in any contest. 
 
 A Concord paper recently announced, with all the dig 
 nity of a full-face heading, that " Mr. Blank s favorite cat 
 fell from a third-story window to the sidewalk, this fore 
 noon, and was killed. Around this statement clings 
 not only the sorrowful interest attaching to all fatal acci 
 dents, but all the novelty of a new departure in natural 
 history. Has it not always been proverbial that a cat, 
 falling from any height, will invariably alight on its feet ? 
 Have not wicked boys, without the fear of Mr. Bergh 
 or his disciples before their eyes, more than once tried 
 the experiment of dropping a defenceless pussy from a 
 high window, or from the great beams of the barn, just 
 to see how surely and inevitably she would alight right 
 side up, or more properly right side down ; at any rate 
 with her feet down, and, naturally enough, under the 
 outrageous provocation, with her back up ? Again, there 
 are few falls without assistance or provocation. Even 
 Eve was pushed; and Adam has been whining self- 
 extenuating excuses for his tumble, from that day to 
 this. Few human beings fall without being shoved by 
 something; cats never. Are we to believe that New 
 Hampshire cats are falling away from the traditions of 
 their forefathers ? If so, even Darwin could not lay the 
 blame to natural selection, for surely no cat would natu 
 rally be so foolish as to select for amusement, a fatal 
 flight from a third-story window. Under the circum- 
 ^tances, the great naturalist would perhaps be justified 
 in calling it a case of reversion. 
 
 A resident of Hopkinton, New Hampshire, again, was 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 247 
 
 irked by the sight of a big stone near his residence. 
 It was too big to be hauled away ; it could not be burned ; 
 he could not sell it, because in that State, the demand for 
 boulders is not brisk, the supply being still largely in 
 advance of the demand. So he bethought him to bury 
 it ; as though the earth in that locality were not already 
 sufficiently hard-hearted. Ingenious man! He dug a 
 big hole, and argued with the rock by means of ropes 
 and chains, and the muscle of grangers and oxen, and 
 perhaps hydraulic rams, to induce it to fall in with his 
 plans. 
 
 But the rock did not want to be planted ; it knew it 
 would never come up. And when its enemy insisted, 
 with renewed ropes and fresh chains and augmented 
 grangers and additional oxen and more and higher 
 draulic rams, and the rock found that its time had come 
 to go under, it determined, like Samson, to carry its 
 enemy with it. It not only fell in with his arrange 
 ments, but with him. And the chronicler adds, with a 
 circumstantiality only equalled by his pathos, "He had to 
 be dug out," an expression which somehow intimates 
 that his friends thought it was more than he was worth. 
 Now that he knows how unpleasant it is to lie not only 
 " in cold obstruction," but with a cold obstruction, per 
 haps he will not be so fast hereafter to perform the rite, 
 no, the wrong of sepulture on an unwilling victim. 
 
 Scarcely had the readers of Granite State locals recov 
 ered from the above recital, when it was announced in 
 the same journal that in Colebrook, a cow had been 
 killed by a hen. The instant question, " How could a 
 hen kill a cow ? " meets the as instant answer, " With an 
 axe." The cow was coming out of the stable, when a 
 hen flew down by the cow s head, at which the cow 
 
248 THE TRTANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 jumped and ran against a hatchet, the edge of which 
 entered between her ribs. Who was to blame ? The hen 
 was in her own domain; she had a right to fly down; 
 and had not the cow a right to fly up about having her 
 head brushed with a hen s wing? Nobody would like 
 it; even a steam hair-brush would be preferable. The 
 account adds sadly, that the cow died in three days. It 
 is further stated that she was the cow of a poor man, and 
 his only cow, at that. It is not on record that in that 
 whole three days, the hen made the least attempt at 
 apology or restitution. Doubtless she salved her con 
 science by mentally laying the blame on the party or 
 parties unknown, who made the axe; and condemned as 
 accessory before the fact, the blood-thirsty grindstone 
 which whetted it. 
 
 But notwithstanding her self-extenuation, who envies 
 that lien s frame of mind in the darkness of the haunted 
 autumn nights say about Thanksgiving time? Amid 
 the remorseful shapes which will haunt her rest, will she 
 not see again, as in a vision, the retributive axe ? 
 
 Again in New Hampshire, land of marvels, a farmer 
 of Chesterfield was annoyed by a " fly one day in hay 
 ing time. This is not an uncommon circumstance; but 
 mark you, u he has since had sixty or seventy Iarva3 
 extracted from his ear." Flies are not over fastidious in 
 their choice of nurseries, but the apparently unnatural 
 negligence of its progeny manifested by this insect, is 
 past precedent. How on earth could the fly know but 
 that the man might possibly wash himself before her eggs 
 had time to hatch ? 
 
 There were two remarkable qualities about that fly, 
 the perfect accuracy with which she knew her man and 
 his personal habits, so that she not only felt safe in mak- 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 249 
 
 ing his close acquaintance herself, but in introducing her 
 children, and the ingenuity which she displayed in dis 
 covering that a human head which could not be good for 
 much else, would answer an admirable purpose as a fly- 
 factory. 
 
 The sympathetic newspaper which records this occur 
 rence, says that the man "will probably escape with no 
 permanent injury." Sparrowgrass rural neighbor told 
 him that it was " good for young fruit-trees to be chawed 
 by cattle," and declared that he had his " chawed " every 
 spring; and possibly there may be a head so unoccupied 
 that even the buzzing of an alien insect within it, might 
 break the tiresome monotony of stupid hollowness, and 
 haply be mistaken by the unaccustomed proprietor for 
 the nidincation of an idea. 
 
 Yet again in New Hampshire, " an eccentric citizen of 
 Button," who died not long ago, bequeathed to his 
 daughter four hedgehogs, to his oldest son five dollars, to 
 the second son twenty thousand dollars, and to the third 
 thirty thousand dollars. Most fair-minded parents in 
 America feel that there is a cruel injustice in the English 
 notion of primogeniture. They fail to see why the fact 
 that a child happens to be the first-born of his parents, 
 a fact to which he is only an involuntary party, should 
 confer on him a position and privileges which are denied 
 his equally or more deserving brother, who, by no fault 
 of his, chances to be born later. But the fact that a boy 
 is the first-born of a group, if it be no virtue in him, is 
 as surely no sin; and why this man should cut his oldest 
 son off with five dollars, and bestow on his youngest the 
 snug sum of thirty thousand, is as unjust as the opposite 
 course would have been ; though not so unjust as the 
 cruelty of holding his one unhappy daughter up to ridi- 
 
250 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 cule by bequeathing to her four hedgehogs * the 
 finest," said this tender parent, "to be found in my 
 wood-lot." It would seem bad enough to be made the 
 inheritor of four hedgehogs, well caught, and easy to 
 come by; but human nature, even a woman s patient 
 nature, cries out against the unfairness of being made 
 the heir to four wild uncivilized hedgehogs, with the 
 necessity of doing her own catching. 
 
 The testator could have done only one worse thing by 
 his daughter; he might have bequeathed to her an undi 
 vided third of four hedgehogs, the remaining thirds to 
 belong to his sons, and then placed an executor over 
 the whole lot. Then the sons would have cheated and 
 coaxed the daughter out of her share in the hedgehogs, 
 and the executor would have humbugged and quibbled 
 them out of their share and hers too; and he and the 
 lawyers would have got the whole at last as they will 
 now, for that matter, only after a briefer fight. It is 
 astonishing to the normally selfish mind, by the way, to 
 notice how many men spend long laborious lives in pinch 
 ing, saving, contriving, and suffering, to earn and make 
 and gather and hoard money fo* the sole benefit and 
 advantage of that species of animal popularly known and 
 execrated as the executor. Everybody remembers the 
 titled Irishman who exclaimed with noble passion, 
 " What has posterity done for us, that we should do so 
 much for posterity ? " And one naturally inquires, what 
 have executors, as a species, done for wealthy men, that 
 the latter should wrong their own wives, cheat their own 
 children, and disgrace their own memories, as they so 
 often do, for no other apparent purpose but to enrich 
 executors ? 
 
 There is one comfort left for the deceased Suttonian s 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 251 
 
 daughter and eldest son. Their father is dead; and the 
 world can but seem much brighter to them without than 
 with such a parent. True, with the privilege popularly 
 accorded to spiteful dead men, he can reach out of his 
 grave to keep his money away from them; money which 
 they have doubtless, under his rule, suffered and labofed 
 enough to earn a fair share of; but that is the worst he 
 can do. The world is all before them where to choose, 
 just as it would have been had their father been a pau 
 per ; and they have more reason to rejoice in his removal, 
 since a father who could be so cruel a tyrant after his 
 death, must have been a still more cruel one in his life, 
 the recording of whose petty domineerings and exasper 
 ating small oppressions would probably have worn out 
 all the quills of all the porcupines in his wood-lot 
 aforesaid. 
 
 A young man of Farmingdale, in this State, thought 
 he could make a good haul by fishing from a seat on the 
 stern-wheel of a pleasure-steamer which lay at the wharf. 
 He must have been greatly absorbed in his fishing, for 
 he sat there until the boat started and knocked him into 
 the wheel, and he was carried round once or twice, being 
 very badly bruised anil hurt. He can now apply for a 
 pension on the ground that he is a hero of the revolution. 
 
 There has for years been a tradition of a woman who 
 accidentally opened her mouth so wide that she could not 
 shut it; and whenever the "silly season" has come 
 round, the story has come out afresh, with new and 
 witty comments. At last the shoe is on the other foot. 
 A man has really accomplished the feat so long ascribed 
 to a woman. While riding near Brookfield, Connecticut, 
 he opened his mouth so wide in yawning that he dislo 
 cated his jaw, and had to ride three miles to a doctor 
 
252 THE TRIANGULAE SOCIETY. 
 
 before he could get it replaced. Here is something tan 
 gible, since the item appeared in the newspaper of the 
 man who set it down that truth crushed to earth shall 
 rise again. 
 
 One more item, a melancholy one, recites how a fly, 
 a "busy, curious, thirsty fly," naturally busy, certainly 
 curious, and presumably thirsty flies always are > 
 actually dislocated a man s shoulder. This was in 
 Gloucester, Massachusetts, and the shoulder was dislo 
 cated by the man s wrathful efforts to kill the fly with a 
 towel. The moral is, keep your temper, and let flies 
 have their own way. The influence of bad example is 
 pernicious and damaging. If this impatient man had 
 not been put out, neither would his shoulder have been. 
 
 Alasl there is not room in this paper for all the 
 remainder of recent <md and droll incidents, New Hamp 
 shire and other; and the chapter must be closed without 
 any allusion to the sportive man in Sackville, in the 
 above State, who "accommodated" a friend to money 
 recently at the rate of one hundred and eighty per cent, 
 interest; or the Boscawen curiosity-hunter who has, in his 
 museum, a kitten with one eye in the middle of its face, 
 and a frog with six legs and a tail ; or to the " eminent 
 counsel " at Concord bar, who used the expression " we 
 submit " eighty times in an argument of an hour s dura 
 tion; or to his colleague, who in a late plea, repeated 
 " as for that matter " over a hundred times in two hours; 
 or to the depressing state of things about Newburyport, 
 where " a feeling of insecurity is creeping over the coun 
 try towns, and many farmers are arming themselves " 
 because one man s hen-roost has been robbed; or of the 
 man in New Hampshire who invented a way of catching 
 fish without bait, and put it in practice by stealing all 
 
THE SIXTH TRIANGULAR. 258 
 
 the salmon in the State hatching-house at Li verm ore ; or 
 of a Providence sportsman, who, attempting to get a 
 squirrel out of his hole in the stump of a tree by the 
 ingenious method of poking about with the butt of his 
 gun, while holding the weapon by the muzzle, was natu- 
 rallv shot in the leg by an accidental discharge, and will 
 die, while the squirrel still lives, and smiles as well as he 
 can with his cheeks full of acorns, and meditates on the 
 advantage of keeping at the biggest end of the gun. All 
 these things and more must be passed by in silence. But 
 who" believes that New Englanders are not funny? 
 
XXIII. 
 
 NEVER WRITE VERSES. 
 
 " MOTHER," said Brunette, one peaceful evening, as 
 they sat together, in that quiet hour so dear to house 
 keepers, the hour when "the last chore is done," 
 the house closed for the night, breakfast " calculated," 
 and the clock wound up, " Mother, you are young 
 yet, and have many years to live. Let me give you a 
 piece of advice, which it is too late for me to use 
 myself. It is this : be careful never to get up a name 
 for writing verses." 
 
 " Why, Brunette," said the astonished mother, " I 
 have heard I thought I have certainly heard some- 
 where, that the gift of poesy is its own reward. I 
 never could have invented that line, it sounds too 
 much like poetry," mused she, absently turning round 
 and round the well-worn wedding ring, now a mere 
 golden thread, which distinguished her penultimate 
 finger. " And it ought to be true, for your sake," she 
 added, " as your verses don t bid fair to declare any 
 more palpable dividend. Is that why you warn me 
 against being a poet ? " 
 
 " That was n t exactly what I meant," said Brunette, 
 smiling, "but one reason why you mustn t be known 
 as a verse-writer, is because if you are, everybody 
 254 
 
NEVER WRITE VERSES. 255 
 
 expects you always to be posing as a sentimentalist. 
 Now I hope I appreciate sentiment, in my small 
 degree, but I do abhor sentimentality. I detest, for 
 instance, those silliest of people, mostly mooney young 
 men just out of college, who, on a picnic, or a walk, 
 are always citing me to a withered flower, or a dead 
 leaf, or an old bird s-nest, with, * There s a subject for 
 your muse, Miss Smith ! 
 
 " But they only mean to make a good impression, 
 and give you the idea that they are kindred spirits," 
 said the charitable mother. 
 
 "Kindred fiddle-sticks! Is that the reason why, 
 the other day on the island excursion, when I was 
 starving, having eaten nothing from six o clock in the 
 morning until nearly four in the afternoon, and we 
 began to unpack our baskets, young Mr. Popeyes said 
 to me, Of course you 11 not eat anything, Miss Smith? 
 I believe poets food is love and fame? And when 
 I leaned against a damp tree-trunk, and got a neuralgic 
 pain in my arm, he said, with tremendous wit, that 
 he did n t know so etherial creatures as poets ever had 
 rheumatism. I wish somebody would set a mouse 
 trap for that fellow." 
 
 "What could one bait it with?" asked the literal 
 mother. 
 
 " Cloves," said Brunette, spitefully, " he appears 
 always to be nibbling them, whenever I see him." 
 
 "A bad sign in a young man, my child, don t 
 encourage his acquaintance," said the astute mother. 
 
 " And the other day, when the grocer gave me two 
 
256 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 cents too little change, and I insisted on my due, he 
 Bmiled a greasy smile, and said he didn t suppose 
 poets were so careful of coppers. The croping old 
 miscalculator ! " exclaimed Brunette, energetically, 
 " as though two cents were not of as much value to 
 me as to him ! " 
 
 " I have always said you are two centsitive, my 
 child," calmly commented the mother, " but where did 
 you find that word c croping ? I don t believe it s in 
 "Worcester." 
 
 " Got it from my great-grandmother," said Brunette. 
 " It s one of the best words, too, and never ought to 
 be lost. It means more than grasping, or close, or 
 near, or penurious, or covetous; it means, in short, just 
 croping, and nothing else, it is delightfully expressive. 
 And it just fits our grocer, who is always making mis 
 takes in change, but never one against himself. I 
 always distrust a man whose blunders are always in 
 his own favor. But why should n^t a poet (not that I 
 claim the name), be hungry, and thirsty, and tired, 
 and lame, and careful of money, as well as other peo 
 ple ? * Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not a poet 
 nerves, a stomach, common sense, and a need of post 
 age-stamps? Is she not fed with the same food, 
 hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same 
 diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and 
 cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian 
 is ?" 
 
 " You speak as though a poet can t be a Christian," 
 said the mother, failing to recognize the quotation. 
 
NEVER WRITE VERSES. 257 
 
 " Well, it is hard work," agreed Brunette. " Think 
 of the half-paid letters full of worthless manuscript, 
 which are sent to me by utter strangers, to be 
 criticised and corrected (that means praised), and 
 returned at my own expense ! Think of the people 
 who write to me to send them an autograph copy of 
 a poem fifty lines long ! Think of the applications for 
 a stanza from this, and a l verse from that, and a page 
 from the other, all to oblige people whom I never 
 saw -I How can they thus claim my time, which is 
 money, my labor, which is ditto, and my precious 
 postage-stamps ? " 
 
 " I suppose every one of them thinks he is the only 
 applicant, and supposes it a compliment to you," 
 explained the mother. " People have droll ideas of 
 com " 
 
 " And what is worse," broke in her indignant daugh 
 ter, growing voluble under her wrongs, " think of the 
 people who write to me asking me to write them a 
 personal poem about the death of a wife, or child, or 
 great-aunt, whom I never heard of. Last summer, 
 somebody sent me from Wyoming, a request that I 
 should write a poem about a captain in the army, who 
 had been killed by the abused and outraged Indians, 
 and I had never known, before, of his existence." 
 
 " I thought you used to reply to those tilings," said 
 her mother. 
 
 "I am ashamed to say that when I was younger 
 and more foolish, I did," she replied. "I wrote, once, 
 a long poem at the request of a heart-broken widower, 
 
258 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 lately bereft. Ills appeal was so touching that I 
 could n t refuse. Of course it was a matter of a little 
 delay, and when, at last, I sent the poem to him, he 
 returned it, saying that as he was just married, he no 
 longer felt the need of it, and was sorry he had 
 troubled me. Now I deposit all such applications 
 tenderly in the waste-basket. And I used always to 
 send my autograph, when it was requested, and the 
 request accompanied by a stamped envelope. But 
 never any more." 
 
 " Why not ? it is surely a little thing to write your 
 name for an admirer." 
 
 " Because I discovered, after awhile, that there are 
 numbers of men in the country, and out of it, who 
 make a regular business of soliciting autographs, 
 which they afterwards advertise for sale, driving quite 
 a profitable business. Thus for two postage-stamps, 
 they procure an autograph which they afterward sell 
 at anywhere from a quarter to five dollars; it depends, 
 of course, on the greatness of the name." 
 
 " That does make a difference," assented the mother, 
 who was always open to conviction, " but it is a great 
 pity that one can t distinguish a real, honest admirer 
 from such blood-suckers as those. Is n t it an ino-en- 
 
 i5 
 
 ious way of making money out of other people s repu 
 tations?" 
 
 " The other day," said Brunette, " when I was enter 
 ing the office door, I met the local editor, the best- 
 natured person alive, who smilingly assured me that 
 there was a gentleman waiting for me in the library, 
 
NEVER WRITE VERSES. 259 
 
 a friend who was very impatient to see me. I 
 hastened up stairs, thinking it might be my wealthy 
 great-uncle from Trincomalee, come home to make us 
 all happy and wealthy, when an utter stranger rose to 
 meet me, saying that he had been waiting some time 
 to secure my autograph in his book ; an enormous 
 volume, which he could hardly carry. I replied that 
 I never wrote in albums, and was in mucli haste, so if 
 he would excuse me, I would go on with my morn 
 ing s work. He persisted, and I politely declined, 
 though nettled by his importunity, and the additional 
 vexation of knowing that the smiling local editor was 
 at his desk, and could not help listening to the whole 
 conversation. At last my disagreeable visitor sat 
 down in the best chair, took a newspaper, composed 
 himself, and said, 4 AVeH, I Ve already lost one train 
 for Boston, for the sake of getting your autograph, 
 and I propose to lose another, rather than give up the 
 idea of having your name in my book. I am going to 
 remain until you write it. 
 
 " I replied instantly, O, if that is the case, I will 
 write it at once ! and I did, and so got rid of him." 
 
 "I never would have done it," said the usually 
 amiable mother, "he might have stayed there until 
 the owners of the building brought him a bill for rent. 
 I don t believe in paying people for impudence ; it can 
 be got cheaper." 
 
 "And then another reason why you must not be 
 known as a verse-writer, my dear young woman," 
 resumed Brunette, "is because if you are, and any 
 
260 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 letter-writer, book-reviewer, or editor, speaks of your 
 work in complimentary terms, half your good friends 
 will at once assume that in some way, you are yourself 
 responsible for the compliment ; in fact, they credit 
 you with everything that is said in your praise." 
 
 " I think you mistake, my child; no one would be so 
 unfair as that! How can you prevent comments on 
 published articles ? " 
 
 " I can t, more s the pity ; but I tell you truth. 
 The other week, a down-east journal was actually 
 guilty of saying that some poem of mine was superior 
 to Longfellow. I could have cried with mortification 
 and vexation, for I knew it was not true, and I knew, 
 also, that it would be ascribed to me. Sure enough, 
 the other day, on an island steamer, I heard a young 
 man behind me remarking in a loud whisper, What, 
 Miss Smith? the Miss Smith who thinks her poems 
 superior to Longfellow s ? You don t say ! said he, 
 evidently intending me to hear him. Was n t it pro 
 voking?" 
 
 "I call it extremely ill-bred," responded the mother, 
 " a thing which no gentleman or lady would do." 
 
 " And then," pursued Brunette, now fully aroused, 
 " when once I happened to write a poem that by some 
 whim or chance became suddenly popular, and was 
 quoted, garbled, murdered, sung, and stolen, up and 
 down the country, to my own amazement as much as 
 anybody s, I was presently complimented by being 
 called irrepressible in the newspapers! How was I 
 to blame? ./had never published the poem but once ; 
 
NEVEH WBITE VEKSES. 261 
 
 I newer asked anybody to republisb it, or procured 
 any allusion to it, in any way whatever. And yet I 
 have been more abused and ill-treated on account of 
 that unlucky poem, than many men are for murder, or 
 even for worse crimes. Talk about newspapers being 
 the voice of the people, and 4 vox populi vox Dei 
 it s nonsense and worse. And that brings me back 
 to my text if you write verses, don t let anybody 
 know it." 
 
 " But what s the use of writing if no one reads ? " 
 asked the puzzled mother. " What s the use of ex 
 pression if no one understands it ? You may as prof 
 itably allow the water to remain in the well, as to 
 draw it up with laborious patience, and let it evapo 
 rate in empty air without doing anybody any good." 
 
 " If you are inclined to write verse," said Brunette, 
 " it may do you good, as a means of relieving your 
 pent-up feelings and as for being understood, why, 
 you can read your poems out of the attic window, 
 after dark, when the world is still, and the trees are 
 in a listening mood, and the bats are sociably atten 
 tive, and the moths, and fire-flies, and June-bugs, and 
 all the pretty tilings that fly by night, draw near to 
 hearken and appreciate. They constitute as good- 
 natured and sympathetic a public as any conscientious 
 and self-respecting verse-writer is likely to find, dur 
 ing hizer life-time." 
 
 " What s the meaning of hizer?" asked the mother, 
 abandoning, for the moment, the subject of discussion. 
 Not an opinionated and conceited mother, this, but 
 
262 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 keeping herself " low and wise," and ready to receive 
 instruction from her own children, if need be. 
 
 "Hizer? O, that s one of the three stars in Grant 
 White s crown of glory," said Brunette. " He grew 
 tired of forever writing < he or she, his or hers, and 
 him or her, and so he attempted to supply a long- 
 felt want by inventing three pronouns, each of which 
 should include both sexes, hesh for he or she, 
 hizer for his or hers, and himer for ; him or her. 
 It was a grand achievement, and I honor him for it, 
 and if he could only have devised some means of 
 making people adopt the new words, he would have 
 deserved a silver statue, and I would have gone with 
 out a parasol all summer, and given the cost of one 
 toward his pedestal. There never was so labor- 
 saving " 
 
 " But it s asking rather too much, is n t it, to require 
 that a public benefactor who has invented a blessing, 
 shall oblige the world to take advantage of it ? " 
 
 " Quite likely ; but if ever I own a newspaper, I 
 will insist that those three blessed pronouns shall 
 be habitually used in it, instead of the clumsy phrase 
 which they displace. And another reason why you 
 must not be known as a verse-writer," persisted Bru 
 nette, who never left a subject until she had freed her 
 mind, " is because of the unaccountable notion, preva 
 lent everywhere, that persons, especially women, who 
 write verses, are wholly and utterly impractical. I 
 have learned some things by other people s experi 
 ences, and I assure you that, how hard soever you 
 
NEVER WETTE VEESES. 263 
 
 labor, how much soever you earn, how closely soever 
 you bind yourself down to the severe rules of self- 
 supporting industry and independence, still, if you 
 ever published a stanza in your life, people will say 
 O yes, harmless enough kind of woman, but vision 
 ary fanciful not practical and e very-day writes 
 verses, you know ! And then if you marry, and 
 your husband does n t make a fortune in two years, 
 people say < Of course he will always be poor, bis 
 wife is a poet, all imagination, of course, with no 
 economy, or knowledge of housekeeping! And you 
 might do all the household work, even to the washing 
 and scrubbing, and all the sewing for yourself and 
 children, and still you could not satisfy people that 
 you were practical or helpful." 
 
 "I am convinced," said the mother. "After I 
 become a poet, I will never marry, out of deference 
 to people s prejudices. And the array of reasons why 
 I must not write verse, is appalling. I resign all my 
 ambition that way I never will write poems." 
 
 " Because," went on Brunette, not quite satisfied 
 with her case, " if you do, your friends will always be 
 saying How delightful it must be to write ! If I 
 could write as you do, I would write all the time ! 
 I am so tired of it ! When we were boarding, a year 
 or so ago, and I sat opposite that red-faced Major, he 
 was always saying that. What a gormandizer he 
 was ! and how persistently he made that remark to 
 me!" 
 
 "Yes," responded the mother, " and I remember 
 
264 THE TEIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 with grief the impatient reply that you made, when 
 for the twentieth time he said My dear Miss 
 Smith, if I could write as you can, I would write all 
 the time ! You actually looked him in the face and 
 said (he had just sent for a third plate of pudding) 
 4 My dear Major, if I could eat as you can, I would 
 eat all the time ! " 
 
 Brunette laughed. " Well, perhaps it was a little 
 rude, but he deserved it. And again, your friends 
 are always asking you to write something specially 
 for them something not to publish, but to keep 
 and they will not be pleased, either, with any light, 
 personal thing which you can write in half an hour ; 
 they want something studied and elaborate, which 
 will take more time and pains than a two-page poem 
 for a magazine. And they think you can manage it 
 as easily as you would turn on the Sebago, and draw 
 a pitcher-full. And I will close this lecture by read 
 ing you a dimension-piece which I wrote on one of 
 these commissions, the other day, (and which I know 
 won t suit,) and then it will be bed-time. But, my 
 dear young friend, beware of getting a reputation as 
 a writer of verses. Even your own precious mother 
 will not appreciate them! " 
 
 WRITING TO ORDER. 
 
 " Dear friend, if I could only sing like you, 
 My life would be one dream of rare delight; 
 
 I would not cease my song the whole year through, 
 But keep the sweet verse flowing day and night; 
 
 Come, weave a poem just for me, to-day 
 
 Indeed, dear friend, you cannot say me nay! " 
 
NEVEB, WRITE VEBSES. 265 
 
 Write you a poem ? is there no escape ? 
 
 Must I sit down and spin a narrow verse 
 As one would measure off a yard of tape ? 
 
 Mark the result! no stanzas could be worse 
 Than these, to which laboriously I bend, 
 Only to pleasure my exacting friend. 
 
 Say, can you guide the spirits of the air, 
 
 Or have the rainbow come before the shower ? 
 
 Or tell the clouds what color they shall wear, 
 Or help the gradual budding of a flower ? 
 
 Or call the robins back before they choose, 
 
 Hurry the sunset, or bring down the dews ? 
 
 Can you command the planets where they roll, 
 Or speak a nebulous world to sudden prime ? 
 
 Or force the tides to own your small control, 
 Or bid a rosebud bloom before its time ? 
 
 Or make the brook run faster at your word, 
 
 Or regulate the warbling of a bird ? 
 
 Or make the morn unclose her golden bars 
 Before her hour, to let the daylight in ? 
 
 Haste the appointed rising of the stars, 
 Or show them when their annual rounds begin ? 
 
 Or cause the auroral lights to fade or glow, 
 
 Or tell the meteors which way to go ? 
 
 ! " is the wondering answer which you send 
 Back to my queries, with indignant flash 
 " Rule Nature ? no! " But I assure you, friend, 
 
 He who should dare all this, were not more rash 
 Than you, who would attempt to rule for me 
 The power whose shadowing forth is poesy. 
 12 
 
266 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 For he is wilful as the wandering air; 
 Ay, as capricious as the winds that blow; 
 
 Sometimes I seek him vainly everywhere 
 Anon he comes, and stays, and will not go; 
 
 Unwon by prayers, or tears, or love, or gold, 
 
 Both hard to drive away and hard to hold. 
 
 Sometimes he comes with airy retinue 
 
 Of rare conceits, and fancies sweet and strange, 
 
 And dainty dreamings ; and the long hours through, 
 He rings upon my heart their every change, 
 
 While I walk charmed and haunted all the day, 
 
 Until the fair enchantment fades away, 
 
 And he is gone, as lightning leaves the sky; 
 
 Whither, who knows ? I may not call him back, 
 Or if I call, he comes not; I might cry 
 
 And wring my hands, and drape myself in black, 
 But he would fling defiance from afar; 
 I might as well entreat a shooting star. 
 
 And days go by, but he is absent still, 
 Perhaps to visit other hearts than mine; 
 
 ]STo inspirations then my pulses thrill, 
 I cannot braid a verse, or weave a line, 
 
 Or catch the strain that charmed me while I slept; 
 
 My soul is silent as a harp unswept. 
 
 And so I wait. Not now with toil and pain 
 I try to win him back, and plead with him, 
 
 And blame myself, and bruise my barren brain 
 Against his lordly will or freakish whim, 
 
 For I have learned mute patience, knowing when 
 
 My master pleases, he will come again. 
 
NEVER WRITE VEESES. 267 
 
 So, friend, forgive this stubborn pen of mine, 
 
 It will not always yield to my behest; 
 The summer firefly can not always shine 
 
 The roses have the winter-time to rest 
 The sparrow does not warble all the year, 
 And why should I, who have so few to hear ? 
 
XXIY. 
 BROKEN BONES. 
 
 " BRUNETTE, Bessie Brier s broken her bones ! 
 cried Bob, rushing in, pale and hatless, from, his play. 
 
 "Well, if that isn t a pretty good specimen o 
 apt alliteration s artful aid " began his sister. 
 
 " No," said Bob, out of breath, " they did n t have 
 any litter two of the girls just took her by th( 
 elbows and helped her home, just as the men lif 
 about Mrs. Jarley s wax-works, and they ve sent fo] 
 the doctor, and " 
 
 " Do you mean to say you are in earnest ? " ex 
 claimed his sister, springing up, and sending he 
 sheets of manuscript flying over the floor. " I n 
 going to see what s the matter." And she flew dowi 
 stairs like the wind. 
 
 " There, she never waited to hear half the story, : 
 grumbled Bob, picking up one of the written sheets 
 and folding it carefully into the proper shape for th 
 wings of a " dart," for, having unburdened his sou 
 of its bad news, he felt relieved from responsibility 
 and went about his usual mischievous avocations un 
 troubled, and with even more than his customary fear 
 lessness, because of his restraining relative s ternpc 
 rary absence. 
 
 268 
 
BROKEN BONES. 269 
 
 " And I guess that s one thing she won t make 
 verses about," continued he, half-aloud, rummaging in 
 her work-box for a needle. " Mother said, the other 
 day, that there are some things which have n t any 
 poetical side, and I guess a broken leg is one of em," 
 concluded he, as he threw his new dart vigorously 
 against the wall. It struck directly in the right eye 
 of a little-girl chromo, entitled " The Village Pet," 
 which, on account of the dumpiness of the subject, 
 was known in the household as " the village chub." 
 It was too high for Bob to reach, and he knew that 
 his sister would be back before he could build a stag 
 ing of the table, a chair, and her desk, so he concluded 
 to look unconscious, and trust the future. 
 
 But when Brunette returned from her neighborly 
 inquiries, the dart was the first thing she saw. " Bob," 
 said she, -I think a great boy who is big enough to 
 make cento stanzas, and read poetry to his mother 
 and sister, is too large to play with paper darts in 
 that cruel way, at least," she continued, dislodging 
 the weapon with the aid of the yard-stick from the 
 closet. 
 
 " It did n t hurt her any," said he, regarding the 
 picture, "she never stopped smiling. And you can t 
 always judge a poet by his size," remarked he, philo 
 sophically, "or anybody else," he continued. "People 
 always tell boys that they re too big to do this or 
 that, or big enough to be better as though folks 
 were good in proportion to their size, and Daniel 
 Lambert the best man that ever lived. That s 
 
270 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 another thing that I don t believe in. But did n t I 
 tell you true about Bessie ? " 
 
 " Yes, the poor child will be kept in the house for 
 weeks," said the mother, coming in from the gate, 
 where a neighbor had told her the news. 
 
 " And I suppose Brunette will be writing it out for 
 her newspaper," said Bob, who always spoke of the 
 office in which Brunette was merely a humble assist 
 ant, as though it were a small part of her private 
 property. 
 
 " That s just what I am going to do," said she, as 
 she vanished up stairs ; " and I can do it better where 
 there is n t a boy small enough to do mischief, and 
 large enough to philosophize." 
 
 That evening, after the lamp was lighted, she read 
 them her account of the accident. 
 
 THE FACT AND THE REPORT. 
 A Portland Version of " the Ring and the Book." 
 
 Live fact deadened down, 
 Talked over, bruited abroad, whispered away. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE FACTS IN" THE CASE. 
 
 Bessie, little damsel fair, 
 
 Whom this truthful tale concerns, 
 With her blondest of blonde hair, 
 
 Always minding one of Burns 
 " Lassie wi the lint-white locks " 
 
 Bessie, by some oversight, 
 Had an accident, that shocks 
 
 Pen and paper to recite. 
 
BROKEN BONES. 271 
 
 One unlucky day last week, 
 
 She, in playing hide and seek. 
 Climbed the grape-vine lattice-work; 
 
 And, to run and reach the goal, 
 Jumped off with a dreadful jerk 
 
 Fit to sever sense and soul. 
 Landing on the frozen ground 
 
 In a little aching heap, 
 Presently poor Bessie found 
 
 She had made a costly leap; 
 Broken by that dreadful hurt, 
 One poor ankle hung inert: 
 
 Twisted somehow, both the bones 
 
 Snapped like pipe-stems; and her groans 
 Called her playmates, half afraid 
 And half doubtful, to her aid, 
 
 Two of whom, with careful tread, 
 
 Hopped her slowly home to bed. 
 
 II. 
 
 WHAT THE NEIGHBORS SAID. 
 
 " There! that child has got a bump! 
 She s a lively one to jump 
 
 Climbing wall and fence and roof, 
 
 Never scared, and tumble-proof; 
 Anybody would have said 
 
 T is a marvel, in its way, 
 That she did not break her head, 
 
 Or her neck, before to-day." 
 
272 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 III. 
 THE RESULTING CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 Bessie, though laid up in splints, 
 Dreaded much the public prints - 
 Did not wish this mournful tale 
 Carried up and down by mail; 
 " No," said Bessie, u how t would look! 
 Ho young lady in a book 
 
 Breaks her leg while romping no, 
 Do not have it published so 
 In the papers local news! " 
 So her friends, who shared her views, 
 Pitying her bashfulness, 
 Wrote the story out like this: 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE NEWSPAPER VERSION. 
 
 Pretty little Bessie B., 
 Sat one morning quietly 
 
 Hemming, by her mother s side, 
 
 Kitchen towels, long and wide, 
 Making labor do for sport, 
 Singing softly Ct Hold the fort." 
 
 Ah, t was an unlucky day! 
 "With no warning creak at all, 
 
 Suddenly her chair gave way, 
 And poor Bessie caught a fall. 
 
 Down she went, with dreadful jar, 
 And, alas, untoward fate! 
 
 Tibia and fibula 
 Cracked off short beneath her weight. 
 
BROKEN BONES. 273 
 
 Now poor Bessie lies and groans, 
 With no color in her cheeks, 
 
 Kept in bed by broken bones, 
 Caged for six or seven weeks. 
 
 V. 
 
 COMMENT OF THE READER. 
 
 Why should such a lovely child, 
 Meek, industrious, quiet, mild, 
 
 Sweet, domestic, musical, 
 
 Suffer from a dreadful fall ? 
 Had she been like some we meet, 
 Always romping in the street, 
 
 Like a tomboy wild and rude, 
 
 Never trying to be good 
 Been as many others are, 
 Less obedient to her ma, 
 
 Less deserving of esteem, 
 Less afraid of doing wrong, 
 
 Less industrious at her seam, 
 Less religious in her song, 
 
 Less fastidious in her verse, 
 
 Things could not have happened worse! 
 
 VI. 
 
 VERDICT OF THE PUBLIC. 
 
 Gentlest ways and blondest curls 
 
 Cannot alter Fate s intents, 
 And the nicest little girls 
 
 Meet, sometimes, with accidents. 
 
 " Brunette," said her mother, when she had finished 
 reading, "if you hope to pass that off as a local, I 
 think you mistake ; I don t believe the editor will 
 publish it." 
 
 12* 
 
XXV. 
 
 THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 
 
 "I AM going to delight you with some of your 
 favorite prose, this evening," said Brunette, at the 
 next Society meeting. " Whatever you can care for 
 those stupid prose articles on current topics, is more 
 than I can see. But first, I have a little bit of verse, 
 which may interest you because you know the locality 
 mentioned. It used to be a pretty place up there, 
 and I ve walked off many a fit of discouragement 
 there; but they re spoiling it now by allowing those 
 workshops and mills built down close to the water. 
 It s too bad." And she read the following : 
 
 MUNJOY HILL. 
 
 When, years ago, along the hill 
 
 I wandered, in the twilight still, 
 There, where the waters meet the land, 
 The waves ran lightly up the sand, 
 
 And old as time, but ever new, 
 
 Sang their soft song " Forever true! " 
 
 Again I pace, with footsteps slow, 
 
 The pleasant haunt of long ago, 
 And note how time has wrought its spell 
 On all the scenes beloved so well, 
 
 Where gradual growth, and loss, and change, 
 
 Make half the landscape new and strange. 
 274 
 
THE SEVENTH TBIANGTJLAR. 275 
 
 Remembered trees no more are seen, 
 New boundaries check the stretches green; 
 
 New roofs and chimneys sharply rise 
 
 Against the old familiar skies 
 And nothing, save the constant sea, 
 Remains as then it used to be. 
 
 The very faces in the street 
 
 Are changed from those I used to meet; 
 
 Only the fickle, varying sea 
 
 Has kept its vow of constancy, 
 And murmurs still, the gloaming through, 
 The same old vow " Forever true! " 
 
 "It seems to me," said the mother, "that your 
 genius is particularly local. You are always harping 
 on something in or about Portland." 
 
 "And why not?" said Brunette, with spirit. 
 " Where should I find a prettier place ? a place where 
 the sky is clearer, the air purer, the men fairer, or the 
 women braver? a place where you can walk longer 
 without being overtaken by a street-car, or work 
 harder for the money you earn ? And why should n t 
 I write about the scenes and things I know best? 
 Should I sit here in Maine and write about the glories 
 of the tropics ? " 
 
 " Moore sat in smudgy, foggy London, and wrote 
 about the splendors of the east," said the mother. 
 
 "And Dore sat in Paris and drew a picture of 
 heaven," rejoined Brunette, " and I think neither of 
 them caught much of the real spirit of his subject. 
 As for the east, Maine is east enough for me. And if 
 
276 THE TRIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 everybody would write about the place he knows 
 best," she continued, " if the poets of Portland, the 
 skalds of Scarborough, the singers of Saccarappa, the 
 warblers of Waldoboro, the bards of Biddeford, the 
 minstrels of Meddybemps, the versifiers of Vermont, 
 and the minnesingers of Massachusetts, would all 
 celebrate in verse whatever is worth celebrating in 
 their own localities, what a glorified gazetteer we 
 should have ! " 
 
 The mother took a long, long breath. " I m afraid 
 Longfellow s Poems of Places would occupy as 
 many volumes as the Encyclopaedia Britannica," said 
 she. " And who would read them through ? " 
 
 " Fortunately that is n t the poets lookout," replied 
 Brunette. " If the world does n t choose to read 
 what s written for it, that s the world s bad taste. 
 But now I 11 read you something that is n t especially 
 local." 
 
 THE COLORADO POTATO BUG, D. D. 
 
 HIS TRICKS AND MANNERS, AND WHAT THE 
 NEWSPAPERS SAY ABOUT HIM. 
 
 When, a generation or so ago, Mr. Say, the naturalist, 
 discovered, in some cranny of the Rock}^ Mountains, the 
 beetle, since grown infamous by the name of Dorypliora 
 Decemlineata, (by sundry exasperated farmers shortened 
 to the d cl bug, so surely does familiarity breed con 
 tempt,) he little knew what worry he was inflicting 
 on the cultivators and devourers of potatoes, nor how 
 heartily his discovery and himself would be execrated 
 by future grangers. Had the veil of the future been 
 
THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 277 
 
 rent before that gentleman s eyes for a moment, and he 
 enabled to see the torment which he was preparing for 
 others, perhaps instead of pluming himself on his dis 
 covery, and preparing a paper about it, to read before 
 the Academy of Science, he would have contented him 
 self with mashing his wretched specimen of an accursed 
 race, and turning over another stone in search of a bug 
 with less mischievous propensities, on which to write a 
 discourse. 
 
 But, in an evil hour, Mr. Say gave the bug to the 
 world, and now the world must make the best of him. 
 The extent of his popularity has only been equalled by 
 the rapidity of his increase; in fact, so widely have his 
 name and achievements spread, and so important a feat 
 ure has he become in the calculations and prospects of a 
 large class of people, so much space and thought are 
 given to him in the newspapers, that many of the rural 
 prints are hardly themselves without a potato-bug item 
 in every issue. The number and variety of printed com 
 ments which have been made upon him, and the best 
 method of murdering him, must certainly have highly 
 amused the object of them, if indeed the D. I), reads the 
 newspapers. 
 
 When the beetle, or rather the grub for the beetle 
 himself does not eat much in his grown-up state first 
 began his ravages, the farmers rushed into all manner 
 of experiments for destroying him. Soot, ashes, lime, 
 road-dust, soap-suds, kerosene, whale-oil soap, and lots 
 of other abominations were tried, to reduce his appetite 
 and numbers, with imperfect success. Some of these 
 things the bugs welcomed as a sort of relish, which 
 increased their appetites for potato salad ; some of them 
 killed the bugs and the potatoes too; and some were 
 
278 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 found to be so expensive as to make it cheaper for farm 
 ers to buy potatoes than to raise them. By-and-by some 
 body proposed to sprinkle the potato plants with Paris 
 green. 
 
 This drug, by the way, has peculiar properties. It is 
 surely one of the most virulent poisons in the world, 
 being that combination of arsenic and copper which is 
 used to color wall-paper green, and which, thus used, the 
 medical journals have so often spoken of as causing seri 
 ous illness and even death, in otherwise wholesome and 
 well-kept homes. If the minute exhalations from the 
 walls of a room may prove fatal, certainly it cannot be 
 very wholesome to handle the same poison by the peck, 
 or to inhale it, as one inevitably must, in strewing it 
 over a large field. But the papers say one must "keep 
 to the windward" of it. Alas! do not people generally 
 keep to the windward of their wall-paper and carpets ? 
 Physicians even go so far as to say that the small amount 
 of arsenical green which is used in coloring some sorts 
 of dress goods, has been known to have a fatal effect on 
 the wearers, no matter how much they keep to the 
 windward. 
 
 Paris green seems to kill exactly what it is desired not 
 to kill. It has been recommended as fatal to cock 
 roaches, but they grow fat on it. It is often prescribed 
 for rats and mice, but nobody ever knew them to grow 
 any less numerous from its effects. But the agricultural 
 papers say that u one pound of poison mixed with fifteen 
 pounds of damaged flour, and sifted on the vines," will 
 effectually settle the hash of the bugs. No directions, 
 however, are given as to the best method of damaging 
 the flour, and there are many people who have none 
 ready damaged. 
 
THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 279 
 
 Then again there are persons who declare that the 
 pestiferous bug will not die after eating the drug. A 
 man in Alburgh, Vermont, sprinkled his vines with a 
 mixture of two tablespoonfuls of the poison to a pail of 
 water, and the next morning he found the bugs as lively 
 at work as ever, and could find none of them dead. He 
 took some of the insects and put them in the settlings of 
 his pail, and left them over night. The next morning 
 they were alive, and eagerly devoured some potato-tops 
 which he put in the pail. On which occasion, probably, 
 he wrote the popular lyric beginning: 
 
 How doth the sweet potato-bug 
 
 Unruffled and serene, 
 Smile, as he nips the tender plant 
 
 And leaves the Paris green! 
 
 At the same time, word comes from Troy, New York, 
 that large quantities of dead fish are found floating on 
 the water and lying on the banks of the streams in Eens- 
 selaer and Washington counties. They have been 
 poisoned by Paris green, which the farmers in that 
 section have been using in their fields for the destruction 
 of the potato-bug. In New Hampshire, five cows, stray 
 ing into a potato-field, were said to have been killed by 
 eating the potato-tops which had been doctored with 
 Paris green for the benefit of the bugs. Pennsylvania 
 papers state that in Lancaster county, the potato-patches 
 are full of dead English sparrows. The theory of their 
 wholesale destruction is that the birds eat the Colorado 
 beetle which has been destroyed by Paris green, and are 
 thus poisoned. 
 
 As soon as this story is digested, a Vermont paper 
 comes out with a story of a wretched little boy in Wills- 
 boro, who, coming into the house with a very dirty face 
 
280 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 moustached with the legs and wings of insects, was asked 
 to explain himself, when he stated that he had been eat 
 ing potato-bugs, and so it proved. And yet the little 
 monster was not damaged, and if he felt any qualms of 
 the stomach, he never grumbled, nor did the bugs. This 
 seemed a good way out of the D. D. difficulty ; it hinted 
 at a useful and profitable employment for boys during 
 vacation, and suggested the propriety of turning them 
 out to pasture until potato-digging time, and so saving 
 their board, beside securing a little quiet for their mothers 
 and sisters. But somehow the bothersome bug does not 
 agree with all constitutions. An Irishman in Massachu 
 setts was lately poisoned fatally by treading on them 
 with his bare feet; and later, a man in Oxford county, 
 happening to touch an excoriated spot on his neck, with 
 fingers stained with bug-picking, died in consequence. 
 In Canton, New York, a farmer was quite badly poisoned 
 by the fumes of a mess of potato-bugs which he was 
 burning in a pan. His face, hands, and parts of his body 
 were badly affected, and it was with difficulty that the 
 trouble was checked. 
 
 More dreadful but less credible stories come up from 
 the South, that land of marvels. A number of deaths 
 have been reported as the result of bug-bites in Virginia, 
 a notable case being that of a child in Browneal, who 
 was bitten by one of the insects, and died in fifteen 
 minutes. These latter stories may, however, be better 
 taken with a slight saline admixture, as coming from a 
 State wherein more or less persons every year are said to 
 die from the bite of the common house-spider; where 
 children cry themselves to death; and where, within five 
 years, according to the local papers, the deceiver of souls 
 himself has appeared bodily, with a strong smell of 
 brimstone. 
 
THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 281 
 
 Some of these talcs of the beetle may be true. All of 
 them, surely, cannot be so, since they are flatly contra 
 dictory. Like most individuals whose fate it is to be much 
 watched and talked of, it is probable that the Doryph- 
 ora is somewhat misrepresented in short, that people 
 lie about him. It is not at all likely, for instance, that an 
 insect whose smoke when he is burned, or whose steam 
 when he is boiled, is fatal to grown men, would be harm 
 less when taken in quantities into the stomach of a young 
 child, although the masculine infant of the human spe 
 cies can swallow almost anything with impunity. And 
 Paris green cither kills the Doryphora or it does not kill 
 him. If it is fatal to him in Maine and Massachusetts, 
 he cannot fatten on it in Vermont. And when we read 
 that in one section, it is the grub alone that eats, the 
 grown-up beetles having something else to attend to in 
 the way of stealing their nests and laying eggs, while in 
 another State the papers declare that the adult bugs do 
 the mischief, we may be sure that somebody mistakes, 
 and it is n t the beetle. 
 
 After all is done and said, in fun and in earnest, the 
 Doryphora, which by any other name would smell quite 
 as sweet, call him Chrysomelaor Colorado beetle, or plain 
 potato-bug, as you please, appears to have somehow the 
 best of it; and it is rather a good joke, on the whole, to 
 see the lord of creation, as he is fond of styling himself, 
 after all his vaunted mastery of the powers of the earth 
 and air, after all his triumphs over the stubborn forces of 
 nature, thus utterly put to rout by a wretched little bug. 
 He may boast about compassing the oceans, but he can 
 not manage the curculio; he may prate about annihilat 
 ing distance by steam, but the unwinking eye of the 
 Western grasshopper disconcerts him; he may spout 
 
282 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 orations and drink toasts about girding the world with 
 telegraph lines, but the canker-worm outmeasures him, 
 and makes desolate his beautiful places; he may grow 
 eloquent about leaving his record on the ages, and then 
 stand nonplussed before a miserable little hard-shelled 
 beetle. He may boast that he "has power over all the 
 beasts of the field," but wise men lay their heads together 
 in vain council against the soft defenceless worm, and 
 governors of the Western States hold conventions to 
 declare ineffectual war on the brittle grasshopper. Per 
 haps the Doryphora, like the toad, bears a jewel in his 
 head, a lesson of humility to overweening conceit; and 
 if, as pay for his preaching, he eats up all the potatoes, 
 and worse comes to worst, people can live without them, 
 as they did before the fourteenth Louis tried to make the 
 tubers popular by wearing potato-blossoms in his button 
 hole. But in spite of all our boasted triumphs in science 
 and art, the grasshopper, the canker-worm, and the potato- 
 beetle put their thumbs to their noses and defy us as 
 utterly as the frogs did the ancient Egyptians. 
 
 " There s something practical about that, now," said 
 the matter-of-fact parent. " I Ve gained several new 
 ideas from it, and so, I dare say, has Bob." 
 
 "Well, I don t like it half so well as I did the arti 
 cle about the cockroach," said Bob. " I like to hear 
 something that has some of my own ideas in it, in 
 stead of new ones." 
 
 I dare say," said Brunette. "Most people are 
 delighted at finding in print some notion of their own 
 that they never would have taken the pains to set 
 down. It gives them a hazy idea that they might 
 
THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 283 
 
 be authors themselves, if they would only take the 
 trouble. Now it s our mother s turn." 
 
 " Here s something I found in a magazine," said 
 the latter. 
 
 AFTERGLOW. 
 
 To one abstruse conundrum much serious thought I give 
 Why is it that the good men die, and all the bad ones live ? 
 Or why is it we never know our neighbor s rare perfec 
 tions 
 Till his last will and testament is read to his connections ? 
 
 Ah, then the daily papers spread his virtues all abroad: 
 They say he was " an honest man the noblest work of 
 
 God;" 
 How good he was, how wise he was, how honest in his 
 
 dealing 
 What tenderness of heart he had, and what a depth of 
 
 feeling ! 
 
 Perhaps the man was one of those ah, would that they 
 were fewer ! 
 
 Who all his life ground hard and close the faces of the 
 poor; 
 
 Who drove his debtors to despair by premature fore 
 closure, 
 
 Then paid his pew-rent in advance, with infinite com 
 posure. 
 
 Perhaps he was the lordly " head " of some unhappy place 
 Called "home "by use and courtesy, but lacking all its 
 
 grace; 
 
 Who held his children criminals for every trifling error, 
 Who pinched his household half to death, and kept his 
 
 wife in terror. 
 
284 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Perhaps he was a lawyer deep, whose quibbling tricks 
 
 and words 
 
 Helped base executors to rob poor widows of their thirds ; 
 Perhaps a thrifty grocer-man, whose wheedling, false 
 
 palaver 
 
 Sold toughest steak for porter-house, and chicory for Java. 
 
 Perhaps he was a husband who, through all his married 
 
 life, 
 
 Kegardecl honor, faith and truth as duties of his wife 
 And strove his sidewise discipline beyond the grave to 
 
 carry, 
 By threats to leave her penniless if she should dare 
 
 remarry. 
 Any of these he might have been the types are nowise 
 
 rare 
 
 But when he dies, behold, we passed an angel unaware! 
 Since type and tongue proclaim his worth, what cynic 
 
 shall dispute them ? 
 " Many there be who meet the gods," we read, " but few 
 
 salute them ! " 
 
 Why don t the papers say fine things of men before they 
 
 die, 
 
 And indicate these saintly souls ere yet they soar on high ? 
 Then we might recognize them ere grim death and " cold 
 
 obstruction " 
 
 Have made it quite impossible to get an introduction. 
 Ah, well perhaps when I at last beneath my burden 
 
 faint, 
 
 I, too, shall win the title of a paragon and saint, 
 And be, when death s cold breath has blown aside life s 
 
 dust and soiling, 
 A grain of that superior salt which keeps the world from 
 
 spoiling 1 
 
THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 285 
 
 " Are n t you afraid of being considered too lo 
 cal ? " asked Brunette, roguishly. 
 
 "Local? no, indeed you don t mean to say that 
 there arc any such men as those in this town ? " said 
 the horrified mother. 
 
 " Surely not" rejoined Brunette ; " it only reminded 
 me of the eulogistic obituaries which I see occasion 
 ally. There is something droll in the fact that people 
 are not at all afraid to speak in the most unflattering 
 terms of a man during his life, even the careful and 
 conscientious newspaper magnate will not hesitate, 
 perhaps, to give a brutally frank estimate of his char 
 acter and his achievements ; but after he dies, and can 
 no longer be either hurt or helped by his fellow-creat 
 ures opinion, they gloze over all his sins, and say 
 nothing but good of him. I wonder if it is because 
 the obituary-writer has an uneasy sense that the sub 
 ject of this notice, disembodied and impalpable, is 
 standing unseen at his elbow, and watching every 
 word ? Or is it on the principle of a sentence I heard 
 in the street the other day, as I hurried past a con 
 versation which was being carried on between two 
 brainy-looking gentlemen, one of whom had a note 
 book, and the other a reporter s writing-pad, in his 
 hand; Well, we re rid of old Blank, at last, and 
 we may as well give him a good send-off ! " 
 
 "That was business," said the charitable mother. 
 "All professions have" their little technicalities, you 
 know. I don t suppose the man who said that, really 
 expected to convince any of Mr. Blank s acquaintances 
 
286 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 that he was a good man, or that heaven would accept 
 him on the recommendation or representation of a 
 newspaper reporter. I fancy people write flattering 
 obituaries of a questionable dead man just as the 
 Mutual Life Insurance Company pays his policy 
 for the benefit of his friends. And now Bob has the 
 floor." So Bob read as follows : 
 
 MADGE MILLER. 
 
 Madge Miller, on a summer day, 
 Walked, as usual, her pleasant way. 
 
 Her dress was tidy, her apron white; 
 Her face was sweet as the morning light. 
 
 She was a simple village maid 
 Learning a country milliner s trade. 
 
 Her hands were soft, and her dress was clean, 
 And little she knew what care might mean. 
 
 She said, " I 11 work at my pretty trade, 
 And live a happy and free old maid. 
 
 " Lovers may come and lovers may go, 
 I 11 have none of them, no, no, no ! " 
 
 But a suitor came with a tall silk hat; 
 He told her a story worth two of that 
 
 The same old story by lovers told 
 
 Since first the earth out of chaos rolled 
 
 (Let us kindly hope, who are old and wise, 
 He did not know he was telling lies.) 
 
THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 287 
 
 " Marry me, darling, and you shall be 
 The happiest woman on land or sea. 
 
 " !N"o longer then will you have to go 
 To your daily labor through heat or snow. 
 
 " It shall be my pleasure, my law, my life, 
 To make you a blest and happy wife. 
 
 " Marry me, and you never shall know 
 A sorrow or hardship, a care or woe! " 
 
 She heard the story of promised bliss 
 She waited, wavered, and answered " Yes 1" 
 
 Bright and big was the honey-moon, 
 But clouded by worldly care too soon. 
 
 For housework led her its weary round 
 Her feet were tethered, her hands were bound. 
 
 And children came with their shrill demands, 
 And fettered closer her burdened hands. 
 
 In her husband s house she came to be 
 A servant in all but salary. 
 
 All her days, whether foul or fair, 
 Were endless circles of work and care ; 
 
 And half her nights as up and down 
 She walked the floor in her dressing-gown, 
 
 Hushing an ailing infant s screams, 
 Lest it should break its father s dreams; 
 
 Or coaxed and doctored a sobbing child, 
 By the pangs of ear-ache driven wild 
 
288 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Were seasons of wakeful, nervous dread 
 So if at last o er her achiug head 
 
 The angel of slumber chanced to stoop, 
 lie brought her visions of mumps or croup; 
 
 And she rose unrested, and went once more 
 Through the dull routine of the day before. 
 
 Week by week did she drudge and toil 
 And stew and pickle, and roast and boil, 
 
 And wash the dishes, and rub the knives 
 The lofty mission of duteous wives 
 
 And scrub, and iron, and sweep, and cook, 
 Her only reading a recipe-book, 
 
 And bathe the children, and brush their locks, 
 J3utton their aprons and pin their frocks, 
 
 And patch old garments, and darn and mend 
 Oh! weary worry that has no end! 
 
 She lost her airy and sportive ways, 
 The pretty charm of her girlish days 
 
 For how can a playful fancy rove 
 
 When one is chained to a cooking-stove ? 
 
 Her face was old ere she reached her prime, 
 Faded and care-worn before its time. 
 
 Sometimes would her well-kept husband look 
 Up from the page of his paper or book, 
 
 And note how the bloom had left her face, 
 And a pallid thinness won its place 
 
THE SEVENTH TRIANGULAR. 289 
 
 How gray had mixed with her locks of brown, 
 And her forehead gained a growing frown, 
 
 And say, " She is ugly, I declare 
 I wonder I ever could think her fair! " 
 
 Season by season, year by year, 
 
 Did she follow the round of " woman s sphere," 
 
 Nor vexed her husband s days or nights, 
 By any mention of woman s rights, 
 
 Till she did at last too sorely tried 
 Her life s one selfish deed she died. 
 
 Proud and happy and quite content 
 
 With the slavish way her days were spent ? 
 
 Feeling, of course, that her life was lost 
 Nobly, in saving a servant s cost ? 
 
 Once, he fancied, her dim ghost spoke 
 Out of its cloud of kitchen smoke 
 
 " Why did I leave my girlish life 
 To be a dowdy and drudging wife ? 
 
 " I might have followed my tasteful trade, 
 And lived a happy and free old maid 
 
 " Or taught a school, as I had before, 
 Or been a clerk in a dry-goods store 
 
 " Or reigned a trim, white-handed queen, 
 Over a dutiful sewing-machine 
 
 " And earned my living, and some small praise, 
 In any one of these easier ways. 
 
 13 
 
290 THE THIANGULAK, SOCIETY. 
 
 " No other servants than wives, I think, 
 Work for nothing but food and drink, 
 
 " A prisoning home like this I know, 
 And a semi-annual calico. 
 
 " No other employer, dame or man, 
 Makes life so hard as a husband can. 
 
 " Ah, me ! what curses are on his head 
 Who wooes a woman and does not wed! 
 
 " O mourning damsels, who pine and cry 
 For fickle lovers, who vow and fly, 
 
 " Heal your heart-aches, and soothe your woes 
 With the hard-earned wisdom of one who knows : 
 
 " Small reason have you to blame or rue 
 The lover who does not marry you! 
 
 "Ah! of all sad thoughts of women or men 
 The saddest is this, It need n^t have been! : 
 
 "Well, I must say Bob makes the drollest selec 
 tions for a boy," said his sister. 
 
 " Well, I found it in a New York daily," said Bob. 
 " And I don t like the namby-pamby things that most 
 people write for boys, any way, and I get as far from 
 them as I can, in my selections." 
 
 "You certainly kept a safe distance there," ob 
 served his mother. "And I m afraid there s a good 
 deal more truth than poetry in what you read. Now 
 hear this little song. It is set to an old tune called 
 * The Downhill of Life. " 
 
THE SEVENTH TKIANGTJLAK. 291 
 
 TO-MORROW. 
 
 Oh, when shall we welcome that era of glory 
 
 Foreshadowed since ages of old, 
 That season so fondly in vision and story 
 
 By prophet and siren foretold ? 
 Our hearts, when with gloomy forebodings grown cold, 
 
 New hope from the prophecy borrow, 
 For pain shall be solaced and grief be consoled, 
 
 And life be enjoyment to-morrow I 
 To-morrow ! to-morrow ! 
 
 Hope s burden is ever " To-morrow! " 
 
 That wonderful dawning, oh, when shall we know it? 
 
 Which dreamers have looked for so long ? 
 That jubilee morning by preacher and poet 
 
 So lauded in sermon and song ? 
 When labor and care, with their wearisome throng, 
 
 Shall vanish with trouble and sorrow, 
 When love shall reign ruler, and right shall be strong, 
 
 And youth be immortal to-morrow! 
 To-morrow ! to-morrow ! 
 
 Hope s burden is ever " To-morrow! " 
 
 " That would sing well, because it has o in it so 
 many times," said Brunette. "And speaking of to 
 morrow reminds me that it is bed-time," 
 
XXY1. 
 
 TROUBLE WITH TYPE. 
 
 " MOTHER," said Brunette, producing as usual a 
 crumple of paper from her pocket, " I have some rid 
 dles for you, and you must guess every one." 
 
 "Riddles? where did you find them?" asked her 
 mother. 
 
 " O, in the proof, for the last few weeks," responded 
 Brunette, " there has been a sort of epidemic of blun 
 ders lately. For instance Chili s arms and feet 
 will at last have a chance to show their mettle. 
 What does that mean ? " 
 
 "I give it up," said the mother. 
 
 " It means army and fleet" said Brunette. " And 
 here, immediately following an article on trichinaB, is 
 the statement that New York is to be congratulated 
 on a lot of new animals in the pork." 
 
 "Well, perhaps that means the park," said the 
 mother. " I saw a telegram in the paper, that was 
 dated at New Pork, the other day. At first I thought 
 it meant Cincinnati," said she, musingly. 
 
 "Very well," said Brunette. "Now how about 
 this The children sat stringing easy-chairs for 
 necklaces. " 
 
 "Well, I really can t interpret that," replied her 
 292 
 
TROUBLE WITH TYPE. 293 
 
 mother. " I can t think of anything that would make 
 sense of it." 
 
 " They were only stringing daisy-chains," said Bru 
 nette. " And the other day, in the advertising col 
 umns, somebody wanted to dispose of a valuable 
 grinning dog." 
 
 " I don t wonder," said Bob, heartily ; " I think if I 
 had a grinning dog I should want to sell it. Fond as 
 I am of pets, I never thought I should like to own a 
 Cheshire cat." 
 
 "But this meant a gunning dog," explained Bru 
 nette. 
 
 " I did n t know that dogs ever went gunning," said 
 Bob, " and I should think that kind of dog would be 
 more dangerous than the other." 
 
 " Either would be unpleasant," said the mother, 
 from the depths of the Boston rocker, " and each for 
 a different reason. A gun is objectionable because it 
 sometimes goes off unexpectedly a grin, because it 
 never goes off at all. Nothing is so tiresome as a 
 chronic smile." 
 
 " There is no danger that I shall acquire one, while 
 I am represented as stating to the world that at a late 
 masked ball, several persons were dressed like pea 
 nuts," said Brunette, mournfully; "or that the cruelty 
 agent lately overhauled a man at the Cape for having 
 a starving cow in his brain. Who would ever guess 
 that I wrote peasants ? or that the cow was in the 
 * barn ? And when I gave out, in good plain print, 
 a new way of cooking potatoes, what did I read? 
 
294 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 * Slice your potatoes into a dish of water, piping the 
 same day in a towel ! " 
 
 " Piping in a towel ! " exclaimed Bob, " what does 
 that mean?" 
 
 "The copy said, * wiping the same dry in a towel, " 
 explained his aggrieved sister. " And when it is 
 printed that Pope Leo was drowned in the Sistine 
 chapel, who is to know that it means he was crowned ? 
 And when the paper gravely announces that the 
 friends of Colby University have been placed in the 
 Portland Safety Deposit vault for safe keeping " 
 
 "Friends are very precious property," said the 
 mother, with an air of conviction ; " but I should call 
 that a rash way of trying to keep them. And you 
 can t invest them, nor put them out at interest, nor 
 frame them and hang them up, nor " 
 
 " There is only one way," said Brunette, " and that 
 is, to bury them. They never prove false, or get lost, 
 after that, and nobody coaxes them away from you. 
 But what about this culprit that was * launched into 
 spice ?" 
 
 " Perhaps he was embalmed," suggested the mother ; 
 " but probably it means space. * Launched into space 
 is always the reporter s way of saying that a man was 
 hanged." 
 
 " Here s another bit of news," said Brunette, read 
 ing. " General Howard telegraphed to General Sher 
 idan some days ago, a long report covering his cam 
 paign against the NQZ Perces. But instead of recog 
 nizing it, Sheridan judge-whaled it on the ground that 
 
TKOUBLE WITH TYPE. 295 
 
 no officer except McDowell was entitled to telegraph 
 reports. " 
 
 " I can never guess what judge-whaled means," 
 said the mother, after a puzzled pause. " I can t think 
 of any English word that resembles it in any wise. 
 What does it mean ? " 
 
 " Pigeon-holed," replied Brunette, sadly ; " and 
 though you laugh, it does n t seem funny to me. 
 And here it tells of some contractor who has made 
 some straw beds for carrying the mails. " 
 
 The mother laughed again. " That s almost equal 
 to the contract for furnishing the army with umbrel 
 las," she said. " It means straw bids, of course." 
 
 "And verse doesn t fare much better," went on 
 Brunette. " Here are Logan s sweet old lines to the 
 cuckoo, saying 
 
 Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, 
 And toads thy welcome sing. " 
 
 "Any way, toads do sing in the spring or frogs," 
 amended Bob, catching a glint from his sister s eye ; 
 but at once recovering his assurance, he said, " Tree- 
 toads sing, anyhow. And there s no sense in saying 
 that the woods sing, or in calling them a rural 
 seat. What does a cuckoo, or any other bird, want 
 with a seat, I wonder? I just think that poem is as 
 nonsensical as as some of yours," he ended, in a 
 lower voice. 
 
 " Very well," assented Brunette ; " and in one of 
 mine, when I said Your loving fingers seek for mine, 
 it appeared l Four loving fingers. " 
 
296 THE TRIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 "Wonder what became of the thumb?" queried 
 Bob. 
 
 "Ask the intelligent compositor," said Brunette. 
 "And in the article I wrote about an economical 
 cook, what did he mean by saying She used to chew 
 the left-over potatoes and cold meat into new and pal 
 atable forms ? ask him that" added she, sharply. " I 
 believe they do these things on purpose, sometimes. 
 For instance : 4 The thief stole an overcoat, and left 
 for pants unknown. Now do you believe that was 
 accidental ? " 
 
 " There does seem .to be some method in such mad 
 ness as that," mildly remarked the mother, " but what 
 was meant for chew ? " 
 
 " Why, c charm, of* course," replied Brunette. " And 
 here k Twenty years since, when I was a child or 
 two is n t that rational ? All by putting it or 
 instead of, as it should have been, of. And again, 
 in a sentimental story, He had had but one great 
 love in his life ; at present he had nine. : 
 
 "That must allude to ex-Congressman Cannon," 
 mused the mother. 
 
 "No," answered Brunette, "it should read none. 
 One letter makes all that difference. And what do 
 you think of a veteran actor who is biled for a short 
 engagement ? " 
 
 " Nobody whose orthography is based on a good 
 solid sub-structure of spelling-book, could mistake 
 that," said the mother. 
 
 " When you have been in a newspaper office as long 
 
TROUBLE WITH TYPE. 297 
 
 as I have, mother," uttered Brunette, with deep feel 
 ing, "you will have discovered that people can make 
 a very good appearance in this world, and dress well, 
 and talk eloquently, who yet are not able to spell 
 properly. I could tell you things about that, now, 
 which would make your hair stand up," she continued, 
 with an air of awful conviction. 
 
 "Don t, Brunette," pleaded her mother, involunta 
 rily smoothing down her own obedient locks. 
 
 " Does people s hair rise, really, when they are sur 
 prised ? " asked Bob, " and was that how Absalom s 
 hair happened to catch in the tree, in the Bible 
 picture? No wonder he was surprised when the 
 donkey went out from under him. I never saw a 
 donkey go so fast as that. When I tried to ride on a 
 donkey, I never could get him even to trot. It 
 must have been a different kind of donkey that they 
 had in old times," he went on dreamily, " now-a-days 
 donkeys never go fast enough to leave their riders in 
 the air." 
 
 "Who said he was riding on a donkey?" asked 
 Brunette, turning a flash upon him; "and do you 
 suppose the donkey, if it was one, went out from 
 under Absalom before his hair caught and held him ? 
 What a boy ! " 
 
 " Well, it was a donkey in the picture," said hum 
 bled Bob, trying to pluck up a spirit, and then sud 
 denly collapsing to "or a rabbit, so now. I know 
 it had awful ears, any way." 
 
 Brunette looked at him reproachfully, and read from 
 13* 
 
298 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 her notes, " The prisoner held up his hand, during the 
 reading ot the indictment, which contained three 
 cents." 
 
 " Perhaps the cents were for the lawyers," ventured 
 Bob. 
 
 " Perhaps the word cents means counts" said Bru 
 nette. " But what does * children of foreign percent 
 age mean ? " asked she, addressing her mother. 
 
 " Well, perhaps parentage ? " 
 
 "And what does this mean, about Leigh Hunt, 
 when it says that he published law poems against his 
 friends ? " demanded Brunette, with asperity. 
 
 " I can t guess," said her mother, " ask me something 
 easier." 
 
 " Lampoons," said Brunette; "and next, in speak 
 ing of a popular volume, it says here that the editors 
 of the book were sold almost immediately in Paris, 
 instead of * three editions. And in New York they 
 have been exhibiting a portrait of a lady which is 
 evidently the work of one of the old mashers. I 
 notice, too, that Lord Bacon was insolent when he 
 died ; that a ship from Liverpool was badly buttered 
 by a storm ; that there has been a charge of revenue 
 in a prominent law-case, instead of a change of venue ; 
 that a man in Saccarappa lately lost a voluble horse ; 
 and that after a recent- robbery in this town, the thief 
 was arrested on the train with several travelling 
 bugs-" 
 
 "Most likely roaches," commented Bob, "they 
 travel fastest of any kind I know." 
 
TROUBLE WITH TYPE. 299 
 
 "And that the roots of some strange vegetable 
 lately sent to the Natural History Society, looked 
 like the dried feelings of a potato," went on Brunette 
 desperately. " But if I misspell a word purposely, if 
 the whole gist and meaning of a sentence depend on 
 such misspelling, no critic has a nose so sharp to hunt 
 it out, and a hand so determined to correct it, as this 
 same avenging sprite, the compositor. When, the 
 other day it came out in a New York law-suit, that a 
 wealthy man of that city had been long in the habit 
 of keeping large amounts of money in an old boot in 
 his cellar, as he had no faith in banks, and I suggested 
 that it was because he thought corporations had no 
 soles, with what merciless accuracy did the rebuking 
 type-setter change it to * souls ! pitying me, doubt 
 less, all the while, for my ignorance about so easy a 
 word." 
 
 "Of course, everybody delights to catch a critic 
 napping. It must be especially gratifying to a com 
 positor who spends so much of his valuable time in 
 picking out his own mistakes at the instance of editor 
 or proof-reader, to find them guilty of a blunder. I 
 think if I were a type-setter, I should really enjoy it." 
 
 " There s no question about it. The other day, in 
 copying an item about the multitudes of fish said to 
 be dying in the Passaic river, supposed to have been 
 killed by the refuse from the Paterson dye-works, I 
 unnecessarily remarked that * fish are not so unsym 
 pathetic, after all, since, though cold-blooded and 
 generally considered devoid of affection, they seem in 
 
300 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 this case to be dying by thousands, simply because 
 their human friends on shore have dyed, and the 
 sentence was made not only pointless, but false, by 
 the correction of the last word to died. " 
 
 " People who make puns deserve punishment ; 
 you 11 get no sympathy from me in that grievance," 
 said the hard-hearted parent. 
 
 " Then I 11 recite a more agonizing wrong. If you 
 had gravely written out the account of a slight acci 
 dent, without desiring in the least to be funny, how 
 would you like to appear in print as stating that an 
 estimable citizen had fallen on the ice and badly 
 sprained his uncle ? What would you say to that, 
 now?" 
 
 " Well," laughed the mother, " I suppose I should 
 explain it by saying that it must have happened in 
 consequence of the old gentleman s relative position." 
 
 "Very good ; and how would you like to be under 
 stood as saying that a certain large new business block 
 in town, lately finished, is now entirely occupied by 
 ten ants ? " 
 
 " I should expect to be sued for libel. But what a 
 droll contradiction ! In the very act of saying that 
 the building is entirely occupied, it proves that there 
 are too many spaces between the tenants J " 
 
 " And how would it affect you to be credited with 
 saying, in writing up the story of a destructive fire, 
 where several acts of great bravery were performed, 
 that a well-known and excellent citizen was the nero 
 of the occasion ? " 
 
TROUBLE WITH TYPE. 301 
 
 " People would suppose he did the fiddling," said 
 Bob. " You need n t sparkle at me, Brunette, why 
 should n t he accompany the hose company, who 
 always play on the flames ? " 
 
 " And on the occasion of a tremendous snow-storm," 
 went on Brunette, ignoring his remark, " a snow 
 storm that buried everything, and made travel tem 
 porarily impossible, the paper stated gravely, Up 
 to the time of going to press, there have been one 
 hundred and ten trains on the Ogdensburgh, to-day. 
 But that was easily explained. The copy said no 
 trains, the word no being slightly blurred, so that 
 it appeared to the preoccupied compositor, to be two 
 straight lines and a cipher, 110 which he spelled 
 out. I wish he always had as good an excuse." 
 
 "I was reading lately," said the mother, "in an 
 article on the weather, where it spoke of dry winds as 
 4 air currants which have lost their humidity. " 
 
 " Dried currants, then," said Brunette. " Arid not 
 long ago, in quoting from Macready s American diary, 
 where he wrote a melancholy line about his failure in 
 a city in New York * Played to a poor house. O 
 Buffalo ! it was changed to Played to a poor-house, 
 one buffalo. But one of the worst things in this line 
 which has chanced lately, occurred in a clergyman s 
 recital of his remonstrances with a poor woman of 
 his parish, who spent her money foolishly. The 
 patient pastor adjured her to buy food instead of 
 finery. Let me beg you, madam, for your husband s 
 sake, said he, according to his own story. But the 
 
302 THE TEIANGULAH SOCIETY. 
 
 compositor knew better, and in the proof, the sentence 
 appeared, Let me hug you, madam, for your hus 
 band s sake. " 
 
 " Rather a singular proposition to make, out of 
 regard to a husband," observed the mamma, " almost 
 equal to kissing a dead soldier-boy for his mother, 
 when his mother could never by any possibility know 
 anything about it." 
 
 " And here a man is represented as complimenting 
 his friend by calling him a turnip instead of a 
 trump ; and here we are informed that the congress 
 ional committee on shipbuilding met yesterday and 
 agreed upon a ball, instead of a bill, which would 
 have been much more business-like ; and that there is 
 a strong probability that the suffering will be 
 extended in England, which seems needless ; that Rev. 
 Mr. So-and-so, a well Congregational preacher, lately 
 died in Bangor " 
 
 " If he was well, how did he nappen to die ? " 
 asked inquisitive Bob. 
 
 " It ought to be well-known, " said Brunette, with 
 out raising her eyes from her list. " And here it 
 speaks of an Augusta man, recently deceased, who 
 * was a man of strict integrity after the great fire of 
 1865. " 
 
 " Do you suppose the fire scared him into being an 
 honest man?" asked Bob, who liked to understand 
 things. 
 
 "I doubt it," replied the mother. "Such a refor 
 mation would n t last long. I think there should have 
 
. TEOUBLE WITH TYPE. 303 
 
 been a period after integrity, and the rest is part of 
 another sentence." 
 
 "Right, as usual," said Brunette. "And here we 
 read that an excursion party had their camp in < a 
 beautiful grave ; and of something that happened to 
 a New York man just as he was * about to lease the 
 city. " 
 
 " I ve heard of a rich countryman who went to 
 New York intending to buy the city if he liked it," 
 mused the mother, " but I never heard of leasing it. 
 It must mean leave. " 
 
 "Right again; and here somebody won 4 a prize 
 cub at a cattle show " 
 
 " I noticed plenty of cubs at the Fair grounds, when 
 I was there," said the mother, " but I did n t sup 
 pose they were considered prizes. I m glad I did n t 
 compete." 
 
 " So am I," said Brunette, heartily. " And here it 
 speaks of the Russian changed officials, instead of 
 charge d affaires ; and says that a prominent citi 
 zen cannot long survive, as he is l singing fast. " 
 
 "Perhaps he is like a swan, and sings before he 
 dies," suggested Bob. 
 
 " I think it means sinking, " said the practical 
 mother. " I read the other day, that a popular physi 
 cian had been elected professor of singing in a 
 medical college ; but there it meant surgery. " 
 
 " And it tells here," pursued Brunette, " about a 
 man who made a fortune in college groves in Florida." 
 
 " Groves of Academe," murmured the mother, 
 " what does that mean ? " 
 
304 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 " O, orange groves," replied Brunette. " And here 
 it states that c the well-known poem describing Sheri 
 dan s ride to Winchester, is said by a friend of the 
 hatter to have become the bane of his life. " 
 
 " Why, Sheridan was n t a hatter," said Bob. 
 
 "Neither was Buchanan Read, who wrote the 
 poem," said the mother. " In order to know who was 
 a friend of the hatter, we must first find out who the 
 hatter w T as." 
 
 " There was n t any hatter, excepting in the ingen 
 ious brain of the intelligent compositor," explained 
 Brunette. " It means * a friend of the latter. And 
 here next it speaks of somebody who was dressed in 
 a * tail-cart, instead of a tail-coat. How provoking ! " 
 
 "From your indignation, I judge that the last two 
 blunders were in some of your own articles," said the 
 observant mother. 
 
 "Yes, they were," replied Brunette, "and I can 
 show you a worse one. I quoted the other day, a 
 poem which had in it the line How patiently you 
 trod the weary way, and now how do you guess the 
 whole line was made absurd by the change of a single 
 
 w O O 
 
 letter? By just altering the word trod to trot, " 
 said poor Brunette, crimsoning with vexation, "and 
 you sit there and laugh at my sufferings ! For my 
 part, I don t see anything funny in a thing which 
 makes one ridiculous and miserable." 
 
 " I noticed the other day in a New Hampshire 
 paper," said the mother, trying to divert Brunette s 
 mind from her woes, " that on Decoration day at Bel- 
 mont, in that State, the Belmont cornet band and a 
 
TROUBLE WITH TYPE. 305 
 
 drum corpse from Laconia played appropriate airs in 
 an inspiriting manner. " 
 
 " It must have been a cheerful occasion," said Bru 
 nette. " I don t know whether the dead march in 
 Saul, or Down among the dead men, would be con 
 sidered an appropriate air for a drum corpse." 
 
 " I suppose the appropriate heirs of a drum corpse 
 would be named in his will," said Bob, gravely. " But 
 I would like to know what this paper means when it 
 declares that agriculture is the art of ants. " 
 
 The mother meditated. "Moles have often been 
 called agriculturists, and there is a tropical bird that 
 makes gardens, but ants have not heretofore been 
 accused of farming, excepting that some of them are 
 said to keep dairies," she said, presently. 
 
 Brunette took the paper from Bob s hand, looked at 
 the item, and smiled as she said, " Well, as the paper 
 goes on to say that without agriculture, man would 
 be a savage, and the world a wilderness, one may con 
 clude that it meant to say the art of arts. " 
 
 " That reminds me," said the mother, " that the 
 other day, in a newspaper, I saw the art of printing 
 alluded to as f the art preservative of all ants. v 
 
 " According to Brunette s idea that a printing-office 
 is a favorite haunt of cockroaches," said Bob, " it 
 seems to me that they made a mistake in the name of 
 the insect, that s all." 
 
 " Here," said Brunette, " is an item which tells how 
 a veteran farmer outwits the potato-rot. It says, he 
 plants in the latter part of April or early in May, and 
 
306 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 when six inches high he uses plaster. When blossom 
 ing, he mixes two parts plaster with one part fine salt, 
 and puts a teaspoonful of the compound in each hill. 
 To persons unaccustomed to farming, it would seem 
 that it is rather early for a farmer to begin agricul 
 tural pursuits when six inches high. " 
 
 " But," said the mother, " it seems to me that even 
 this is not so surprising as his course when blossom 
 ing. When may the average farmer be considered 
 in blossom ? Does he bloom like the dandelion, early 
 in the spring of life, or wait, like the great American 
 Aloe, a hundred years ? " 
 
 " That s a question for the next meeting of the 
 State grange," said Brunette. " But here s an item 
 which tells how a silly young man killed his sister with 
 a gun which he supposed to be unloaded; and the 
 chronicler adds that before guns are put away, they 
 should always be discouraged. " 
 
 " I suppose he meant discharged, " said Bob. 
 " But that does n t always make things safe," he added, 
 oracularly. 
 
 " I don t see how a discharged gun can help being 
 safe," said Brunette. 
 
 " Well, everything is n t," replied Bob, positively. 
 " In this very paper, it tells of an Ohio man who was 
 killed by a discharged negro ! " 
 
XXVII. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 IT was in the last of May, and an exceptionally 
 lovely morning. All the family were in the garden ; 
 the mother, in a white sunbonnet, was trying to cut 
 the dead branches from a climbing rose-bush ; Bru 
 nette, with her hat covered with cobwebs, from a 
 recent rummage in the cellar after the last summer s 
 hoe, stood trying to tighten it on the handle by pound 
 ing it with a half-brick ; and Bob, with no head cover 
 ing but his yellow hair, was kneeling beside his special 
 flower-bed, dibbling little holes, in a row, with a slate- 
 pencil. The air was full of the very spirit of summer, 
 and sweet with the odor of new fruit blossoms, and 
 springing grass, and the wild, woodsy, delicious smell 
 of freshly-dug earth, while the birds seemed holding a 
 very jubilee of rejoicing song. 
 
 " How lovely it is," said Brunette, pausing in her 
 labor to pet her pounded thumb, " and how many fra 
 grances there are ! I smell the moist ground, and the 
 fresh sods, and the buds on the trees, yes, the very 
 bark of the twigs and trunks, I believe, and beside 
 all these, and the scent of the fruit-blossoms, there is 
 still something nameless, and sweeter than any or all. 
 I wonder if it is the breath of bird-songs ? How 
 
 307 
 
308 THE TEI ANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 much finer is that red-breast s carol than the bubble- 
 and-squeak of the ordinary caged canary-bird ! " 
 
 " I don t know that I ever heard of smelling the 
 breath of bird-songs," said the mother, picking a cruel 
 thorn out of her fore-finger, " but " 
 
 " Why not ? " queried Bob. ; I remember a great 
 while ago, when I went into Mrs. Brown s, and the 
 girls music-teacher called there with his wife ; he was 
 a German. I believe, and I guess she was a Gerwoman ; 
 anyhow, she was real kind, and took me on her lap, as 
 she sat close by him ; and he sang a song for the girls, 
 and I remember to this day how Ms voice smelt of 
 garlic." 
 
 "Your testimony is on my side," said Brunette, 
 dropping the hoe, after another clip at her thumb with 
 the brick, " but what on earth are you making those 
 holes for?" 
 
 "These? these are bachelor s button-holes," said 
 Bob, " to put bachelor s button seeds in, you know. 
 It says on the paper, Centaurea cyanus? but I never 
 can remember that, and I like the name of bachelor s 
 buttons better. Mother says they are called so 
 because in foreign countries, where they grow in the 
 wheat, like weeds, the young men wear bunches of 
 them in their coats when they go to market or to a 
 fair. And in Germany they call them kaiser-blooms, 
 because the old emperor liked them ; and I ve heard 
 them called thistle-pinks ; they have names enough," 
 said Bob, preparing to plant the seeds. 
 
 " But you must n t plant them so deep, Bob, they 11 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 309 
 
 never come up if you do ; at least, not on this side of 
 the globe. I presume you want your flowers here, and 
 not in China? These holes are deep enough for 
 sweet-peas ; you must plant them deep, or else they 
 will dry up under the hot sun, you know." 
 
 After some small demur, Bob took his sister s 
 advice, and planted sweet-peas in his " bachelor s but 
 ton-holes," where they did admirably, flowering pro 
 fusely during the summer, a circumstance which he 
 ascribed entirely to the method of planting, and so 
 set down in his garden memoranda, " Always to plant 
 sweet-peas in holes made with a slate-pencil." 
 
 "Mother," said he presently, " do oysters grow in 
 gardens ? " 
 
 "Certainly not, Bob, how can you ask such a 
 question ? " 
 
 " Why, I read in Brunette s paper, the other night, 
 about oyster beds ; and if oysters don t grow in gar 
 dens in this country, I m sure they do in China, 
 because that good-natured woman that brings home 
 the washing, asked me yesterday if I had any China 
 oysters in my garden ; and when I said no, she told 
 me that she had lots of em, and would give me some 
 plants if I d come up to her house. And it tells 
 about oyster plants in my catalogue, too." 
 
 "Bob s array of circumstantial evidence is over 
 whelming," said Brunette, "many a Salem woman 
 was hanged on less." 
 
 The mother laughed outright, although a falling 
 branch of the climbing rose had clawed off her sun- 
 
310 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 bonnet, and tangled itself in her hair. " China oys 
 ters ! " said she, struggling with the many-handed 
 enemy, "I have n t thought of that name for years, 
 but when I was a child, it was common enough. But 
 I can t unravel Bob s difficulty until I get out of 
 my own. Do help me, Brunette. I am in a worse 
 plight than Absalom." 
 
 " I believe," said Brunette, " that the cheapest way 
 will be to cut your hair off and leave it in the rose 
 bush for a bird s nest." 
 
 But after a season of diligent work, amid groans 
 and laughter, the poor mother was liberated, with her 
 hair quite wild, her collar torn, her hands bleeding, 
 and her cheek badly scratched. 
 
 u I don t want to be disrespectful," said Brunette, 
 "but if Bob were in that condition, "I should say he 
 looked like the survivor of a cat-fight. c No rose 
 without a thorn, indeed! If you should count the 
 thorns on that bloodthirsty rose-bush, and divide them 
 by the number of roses it bears, there would be 
 thousands of thorns to every rose of em." 
 
 " Now, mother," urged Bob, " tell me about the 
 China oysters before you forget it." 
 
 The mother had seated herself on the doorstep, and, 
 with sundry little touches and smoothings, was trying 
 to compose her ruffled plumage, very much after the 
 fashion of a dishevelled bird. "The name means 
 China-asters," she said, " the aster being supposed to 
 have come from China. The old-fashioned China- 
 asters were single flowers, as single as an ox-eye daisy, 
 
IN THE GAEDEN. 311 
 
 but of various colors, with a yellow middle. Nowa 
 days most asters are double, and nobody credits them 
 to China. I can t see how aster was ever tortured 
 into oyster. But I remember once asking a market- 
 woman in New York, the name of a plant which she 
 had for sale, and she surprised me by saying that it 
 was the Road to Dan. I was a long time in discov 
 ering that she meant rhododendron. When I was a 
 child, I used to hear the heliotrope mentioned as 
 4 heal-your-throat, and from that name, it was sup 
 posed by some people to possess medical virtues. As 
 for oyster-plant, Bob, that s a kitchen vegetable, 
 something like a parsnip ; so called because it does n t 
 have a taste at all like oysters, I suppose." 
 
 " When I was in New York," said Brunette, Avhose 
 foreign travels had only extended thus far, " a lady 
 told me that in her youth she used to hear the com 
 mon Rmlbeckia hirta of the fields, called the three- 
 lobed Rebecca. How do you suppose that came 
 about?" 
 
 "Who can guess? There s no accounting for the 
 freaks of the rural imagination, when it lets itself 
 loose among botanical names. Why do so many 
 persons tell about cowcumbers, and * crambry beans, 
 and sparrow-grass ? And worse still a woman 
 from northern New York, whom I knew in Wash 
 ington, happening to meet me one day when I 
 had my hands full of May-flowers, said O where did 
 you get those pinstry flowers ? When I expressed 
 my surprise at the name, she said she had always 
 heard them called pinstry-blossoms. After much 
 
312 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 search, I found out that she meant pinxter-blossoms, 
 or pinkster, which, in the locality where she was 
 born, means Whitsuntide; the Dutch call it ping- 
 ster. It is a sort of survival of the old Knickerbock 
 ers, I fancy." 
 
 " Not a survival of the fittest," said Brunette ; 
 " there s no name so sweet as May-flower for those 
 blossoms. I don t even like arbutus so well. The 
 name May-flower just suits them." 
 
 " And now I m going to have a pillar of morning- 
 glories," said Bob. " Brunette, won t you help me 
 set up this long bean-pole, and then I 11 have strings 
 from the top of it, all coming down in a circle, like 
 this, and the morning-glories will run up " 
 
 " A pillar, indeed ! " exclaimed the mother. " Bob, 
 a circle of vines as wide as that, running up to a 
 point, will be a wigwam, and not a pillar." 
 
 " Well, a wigwarm will be a good place to camp out 
 in, when there comes a cool night," said Bob. 
 
 " I think the nights will be pretty cool before your 
 vines reach the top of that pole," ventured his sister ; 
 " and your pillar will take up half your room, beside ; 
 your bed is no place for that." 
 
 " Well, ./should think a bed is just the place for a 
 pillar," persisted Bob. 
 
 " I accept your apology, Bob, but how on earth are 
 you going to get up to the top of this pole to fasten 
 your strings to it ? " 
 
 " I m going to have gumption enough to tie the 
 strings on first," said Bob. 
 
 "And how pretty that great bean-pole will look, 
 
IN THE GAKDEN. 313 
 
 stuck up here in the door-yard for two months, while 
 your morning-glories are beginning to grow ! Like 
 the ghost of a gigantic umbrella, with white twine for 
 ribs," said Brunette. " And when people pass by here 
 after dark, they will think it is a phantom camp of the 
 aborigines. Besides, how am I going to set up this 
 great pole ? You ought to have a crow-bar." 
 
 "What do I want of a crow-bar?" asked Bob, 
 aghast. " Crows never come here ; there s nothing 
 for them to steal. By and by, I suppose, I shall have 
 to put some sort of scare-robin out by my strawberry- 
 bed ; but I m not afraid of crows." 
 
 After some argument, Bob was reasoned out of his 
 plan for a morning-glory pillar, and induced to plant 
 his seeds close to the house, so that the vines would 
 curtain the kitchen window, and a part of the back 
 area. 
 
 " It lightens house- work wonderfully, to have morn 
 ing-glories look on while you re doing it," said the 
 sentimental mother. " They even lend a sort of gla 
 mour to dish-washing. House-work would not be the 
 cramping, belittling drudgery that it is at present, if 
 it could be done, like ploughing and harvesting, out- 
 of-doors. But since it can t, the only way is to have 
 a little of out-of-doors within sight of the kitchen." 
 
 It may be mentioned that the morning-glories grew 
 so rapidly that they soon curtained the window com 
 pletely, and multitudes of their graceful blossoms, 
 pink, white, blue, purple, and lavender-color, looked in 
 every morning. Bob declared that they were so will- 
 14 
 
314 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 ing and anxious to " lend a glamour " that they grew 
 through the lattice-work into the area, and twined 
 about the handle of the broom, and the gridiron, and 
 everything else that happened to hang in the vicinity. 
 
 " And now I in going to plant some larkspurs, and 
 marvel-of-Peru, and scarlet salvia, and zinnias, and 
 prince s feather, and coreopsis, and gauze-flowers, " 
 
 "And here are ever so many more seed-papers," 
 said Brunette, investigating Bob s pan of packages, 
 which was waiting on the door-step. "You never 
 can plant them all in that small space ; you 11 have a 
 perfect jungle, Bob. Here are poppy-seeds, and 
 phlox, and flax, and mignonette, and candy-tuft, and 
 velvet marigolds, and meteor marigolds, and what 
 not." 
 
 " I can t see why they re any meatier than the 
 other sort," said Bob, busy with his nasturtiums and 
 scarlet-runners; "and I know I have n t room enough 
 to plant em all in regular rows, and I m pretty 
 tired, too ; and so after I vc sowed a few more of the 
 prettiest, I m going to mix the rest together, and 
 scatter em all about, for a wild garden ; it tells all 
 about it in my catalogue, and it saves lots of work." 
 
 Brunette said it must have been a very indolent 
 person who invented the plan of a wild garden. " A 
 garden of wild plants and flowers would be delight 
 ful," said she, " but a garden whose wildness consists 
 simply in looking as though it were planted by a 
 maniac, is another thing." 
 
 " It s lots of other things," said Bob, who by this 
 
IN THE GAKDEN. 315 
 
 time was recklessly emptying all his remaining seed- 
 papers into the pan together, " only I can t put in these 
 balloon-vine seeds, because if I do, they 11 twist about 
 everything else, and go squandering all over the walk." 
 
 Bob had a habit of wrenching words away from 
 their popular meaning, and forcing them into aiien 
 service, which his sister often found very entertaining. 
 
 " Bob," she said, u you remind me of one of our old 
 neighbors, who said that she generally made her 
 doughnuts without sweetening, because her husband 
 liked them better so, but sometimes she put in 
 molasses, as she thought it made them more amusing 
 for the children. " 
 
 The mother laughed from her door-step, where, 
 having finished her work, she sat resting. " And the 
 other day," she said, " when we were walking round 
 Bramhall, he called me to look away down on a dis 
 tant meadow, where he said he could see a drove of 
 cattle slow mouldering o er the plain. " 
 
 " Well, that word mouldering always does seem to 
 me to mean moving slowly," said Bob. "When I 
 make my dictionary, I m going to have it so." 
 
 When Bob s wild garden began to grow, it was, as 
 Brunette said, a sight to behold. Coreopsis, larkspur, 
 ambrosia, asters, pansies, marigolds, petunias and 
 everlastings elbowed each other amicably in the most 
 altogethery confusion, protecting the weeds with their 
 own lives, since not a weed could be pulled out with 
 out bringing with it half-a-dozen plants. But he was 
 pleased with his success, and during the summer, 
 gathered from it many a breakfast-table bouquet, and 
 
316 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 supplied his sister whenever she wanted a bright 
 flower for her hair. And in return she made him this 
 song in praise of his morning-glories. 
 
 MORNING-GLORIES. 
 
 O dainty daughters of the dawn most delicate of flowers, 
 How fitly do ye come to deck day s most delicious hours! 
 Evoked by morning s earliest breath, your fragile cups 
 
 unfold 
 Before the light has cleft the sky, or edged the world 
 
 with gold , 
 
 Before luxurious butterflies and moths are yet astir, 
 
 Before the heedless breeze has snapped the leaf-hung 
 gossamer, 
 
 While sphered dew-drops, yetunquaffed by thirsty insect- 
 thieves, 
 
 Broider with rows of diamonds the edges of the leaves. 
 
 Ye drink from day s o erflowing brim, nor ever dream of 
 
 noon; 
 
 With bashful nod ye greet the sun, whose flattery scorches 
 
 soon; 
 Your trumpets trembling to the touch of humming-bird 
 
 and bee, 
 In tender trepidation sweet, and fair timidity. 
 
 No flowers in all the garden have so wide a choice of hue, 
 
 The deepest purple dyes are yours the tenderest tints 
 of blue 
 
 While some are colorless as light some flushed incar 
 nadine, 
 
 And some are clouded crimson, Lie a goblet stained with 
 wine. 
 
IN THE GARDEN. 317 
 
 Ye hold not in your calm cool hearts the passion of the 
 
 rose, 
 
 Ye do not own the haughty pride the regal lily knows, 
 But ah, no blossom has the charm, the purity of this, 
 Which shrinks before the tenderest love, and dies beneath 
 
 a kiss. 
 
 In this wide garden of the world, where he is wise who 
 
 knows 
 The bramble from the sweet-brier, the nettle from the 
 
 rose, 
 Some lives there are which seem like these, as sensitive 
 
 and fair, 
 As far from thought of sin and shame, as free from soil 
 
 of care. 
 
 We find sometimes these splendid souls, when all our 
 world is young, 
 
 When life is crisp with freshness, with unshaken dew- 
 drops hung; 
 
 They blossom in the cool dim hours, when all is still and 
 fair, 
 
 But cease and vanish long before the noonday s heat and 
 glare. 
 
 And if in manhood s dusty time, fatigued with toil and 
 
 glow, 
 We crave the fresh, young morning-heart which charmed 
 
 us long ago, 
 We seek in vain the olden ways, the shadows moist and 
 
 fair, 
 The heart-shaped leaves may linger, but the blossom is 
 
 not there. 
 
318 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 The fairest are most fragile still, the world of being 
 
 through ; 
 The finest spirits faint before they lose life s morning 
 
 dew; 
 The trials and the toils of time touch not their tender 
 
 truth, 
 For ere the world can stain them, they achieve immortal 
 
 youth I 
 
XXVIII. 
 THE MALIGNED COMPOSITOR. 
 
 " IT is all very well for Brunette to make every 
 body laugh at the blunders of the poor hard-worked 
 compositors," said the charitable mother, one evening, 
 when a circle of merry young people had been edified 
 and amused in the sitting-room, by that young lady s 
 reading of sundry fragments of paper taken from her 
 dress-pocket. " I saw it stated the other day that in a 
 newspaper the size of the Adviser, the actual number 
 of bits of metal which must be arranged for every 
 issue, is not far from six hundred thousand. The 
 journal which made this statement went on to say : 
 
 "We read sometimes of a wonderful piece of mosaic 
 work, containing, perhaps, fifty thousand pieces, the 
 maker of which has spent months or even years of 
 labor in producing it, and people go to see it as a 
 curiosity; but the most elaborate and carefully-fitted 
 piece of work of this kind ever made, does not com 
 pare with that which the printer does every day, for 
 minuteness of detail and accuracy of fitting. The 
 man who does the first, is looked upon as a marvel of 
 skill. If a hundred of his pieces are* put in wrong 
 side up, or turned the wrong way, it is not noticed in 
 the general effect ; but if the printer, in fitting ten 
 
 319 
 
320 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 times as many pieces together in a single day, puts 
 one where another should be, or turns one the wrong 
 way, everybody sees it, and is amazed at the " stupid 
 carelessness of printers." " 
 
 " I don t wish to underrate the craft," said Brunette, 
 laughing. " I am only trying to prove that printers 
 have a great deal more humor than is generally cred 
 ited to them, that s all." 
 
 " Would you like to hear about a little blunder that 
 Brunette herself made once?" asked the mother, 
 mischievously. " Notwithstanding she has so sharp a 
 nose for the blunders of others, I once heard her not 
 only make a very embarrassing blunder, but persist in 
 it for a whole evening. It cost me the acquaintance 
 of a very nice young man, too," said the mother, 
 regretfully. 
 
 Brunette looked conscious. "Well, tell it if you 
 like," she said, " since they all want to hear it, espe 
 cially Bob," she added, perceiving that individual s 
 face shining with pleased expectancy. "I know he 
 is thinking, Anything to beat Brunette ! But how 
 I happened to do that, I shall never understand. It 
 was a clear case of possession. 
 
 " It was while we lived in the South," began the 
 mother. " We had a little evening party, and among 
 the guests was a young man whose strong point, like 
 that of many other Virginians, was his boast that he 
 was descended from Pocahontas." 
 
 " Yes," put in Brunette, " it is noticeable that the 
 average Virginian is always descended either from 
 
THE MALIGNED COMPOSITOE. 321 
 
 Pocahontas, Patrick Henry, John Randolph, or the 
 Lee or Washington family. I don t know how many 
 of the latter I saw while I lived there. For a man 
 who never had any children, I must say that Wash 
 ington beats the world for descendants." 
 
 "I am not going to be led off the track of my 
 story," persisted the mother. "This young man s 
 name was Perkins, and he was always preaching 
 Pocahontas. Brunette knew this, and thought it 
 would be only good-natured to lead him up to his 
 favorite topic, especially as he had yawned while she 
 was singing. So she said : 
 
 " Mr. Pokins, I hear you are a descendant of the 
 Indian princess, Perkyhontas ? 
 
 " She had been meditating this sentence so long 
 that she had accidentally mixed the gentleman s name 
 with that of his renowned ancestor. He winced a 
 little, and replied, proudly, but not at his usual length, 
 while Brunette, ashamed of her blunder, determined 
 to try again. 
 
 " Do you have any idea that the historical account 
 of Perkyhontas is true, Mr. Pokins? she asked, 
 again unwittingly falling into the same trap, through 
 her very eagerness to keep out. 
 
 " Mr. Perkins looked at her with rising choler, evi 
 dently suspecting her of making fun of him; but 
 seeing her seriousness and evident confusion, con 
 tented himself with a brief reply, the subject, for once, 
 being distasteful to him. It was dropped for the 
 14* 
 
322 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 time ; but poor Brunette could not bear to be set 
 down as ill-bred, and she planned to right herself by 
 recurring again to his favorite topic, and at last pro 
 nouncing the name of his famous progenitor aright. 
 So, later in the evening, she with some misgiving, 
 approached the matter. But the fiend who on such 
 occasions seems to take charge of people s tongues, 
 made her say, in the briskest and most engaging man 
 ner, calculated to disarm and conciliate her half- 
 offended listener : 
 
 " It seems to me, Mr. Pokins, that you are 
 extremely unwilling to-night, to tell us about Perky- 
 hontas ! 
 
 " He gave her a glance that ought to have broken 
 her bones, and it is needless to add that the young 
 man never called again ! " 
 
 Everybody laughed but Brunette, who declared 
 that the result of her mispronunciation was so melan 
 choly, that she never could see any fun in it. And 
 Bob exclaimed stoutly : 
 
 " Well, I hope you 11 think of that, the next time I 
 make a mistake, and not hold me up to public execu 
 tion as you generally do ! " 
 
 Brunette smiled at her mother, and evidently obeyed 
 Bob s suggestion, for she neither laughed at nor cor 
 rected him. 
 
 " Bob mistakes a little, sometimes, too," said the 
 mother, " but that mostly comes from his reading so 
 much to himself, and not pronouncing the words aloud. 
 
THE MALIGNED COMPOSITOR. 323 
 
 Do you remember a great, great while ago, when you 
 told me you had been reading about an elephant of 
 giantic preparations ? " 
 
 " I meant gigantic proportions," said Bob. " Of 
 course it was wrong, but, to this day, I think that word 
 ought to be l giantic, it means like a giant, don t it?" 
 
 "People taller than you make that same sort of 
 blunder," said the mother. " I remember a gentleman 
 who was a successful lawyer, and who attained a high 
 political position in a southern State after the war, 
 who once talked half an hour to me about the Mil- 
 kado of Japan. I supposed him in sport, and laughed, 
 and when he insisted that I explain myself, it appeared 
 that he had always read and pronounced the word 
 * Mikado with an 1 in it. And he was so hard to con 
 vince, that he flatly contradicted not only my evidence, 
 but that of a newspaper at hand ; and it was only by 
 hunting up the word in various books and magazines, 
 that I succeeded in assuring him of the correct 
 spelling." 
 
 " Speaking of persistence in a blunder of speech," 
 said Brunette, " the power of precedent is astonishing. 
 A lady friend of mine, who really knows better, when 
 ever she speaks of an anemone, always calls it an 
 enemy ; and not long ago, I heard a very scholarly 
 gentleman i in telling a story about a great snow 
 storm, speak repeatedly about * snovelling show. He 
 was not content with making the blunder once, but 
 kept it up all through his story. And not long since, 
 
324 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 at an evening party, a young man was telling the his 
 tory of a robbery, in which a certain seal ring played 
 a very conspicuous part I believe the thief was 
 identified by means of the ring. But every time that 
 excellent and generally accurate young man mentioned 
 it, he called it a seal-skin ring, to his own infinite 
 confusion, and the bewilderment of every hearer who 
 did not understand that a vexatious sprite had tempo 
 rary possession of his tongue." 
 
 " The other day,", said the mother, " a lady was 
 telling me about her father s family, of which all the 
 boys were dark-eyed. * But, said she, looking me 
 gravely in the face, we blue girls all had three eyes. 
 It is odd how, when one mistakes in the first part of 
 a sentence, one is so sure to make an involuntary 
 attempt to restore the balance by another blunder at 
 the end. One seems full of the insane notion that 
 two wrongs will somehow make a right, and restore 
 harmony." 
 
 "I was in a dry-goods store down-town, the other 
 day," said one of the visitors, " and the proprietor 
 assured me that his business was * both wholetail and 
 resale ! But I came out before he had time to repeat 
 it." 
 
 " It is useless to try to mend such a thing by going 
 back," said the mother, " as may be proved by the 
 mischance of an excellent man whom I knew in the 
 South. He was one of the most sincere and hard 
 working of clergymen, and was pastor of a little 
 
THE MALIGNED COMPOSITOK. 325 
 
 church near Richmond. He had, with all his goodness 
 and sincerity, a severe affliction in an uncommon 
 thickness and unmanageability of tongue. He was 
 always making the most absurd blunders in pronuncia 
 tion, transposing words, or misplacing syllables and 
 letters. Painfully aware of his weakness, he, in his 
 very anxiety to avoid mistakes, seemed to multiply 
 them ; and if he began his Sunday s work by a blun 
 der, he was pretty sure, in his nervous worry, to 
 blunder on and on, through all the services of the 
 day. 
 
 " One morning he arose in the pulpit, and said, with 
 much feeling : My friends, we do not gather grapes 
 of thorns, nor thigs of fistles. Horrified at this mis 
 take, it occurred to him that his best way would be 
 simply to ignore it, and repeat th$ sentence correctly. 
 4 1 wish to impress it upon your minds, my hearers, 
 he urged, that we can never gather grapes of thorns, 
 nor from fistles can we expect thigs ! 
 
 " Recovering partially from this accident, he under 
 took to give out the beautiful hymn : 
 
 " While shepherds watched their flocks by night. 
 
 "It was Christmas-time, and the sermon that he 
 had prepared, dwelt largely on the song of the angels 
 at Bethlehem, and his mind was full of angels. He 
 arose and read in a strong, full voice : 
 
 " * While angels watched their flocks by night, 
 
 All seated on the ground, 
 The angel of the Lord 
 
326 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 " Here he became aware of too many angels, and a 
 lack of shepherds, and he hurriedly cleared his throat 
 and began anew : 
 
 " While angels watched their flocks by night, 
 
 All seated on the ground, 
 The shepherd of the Lord 
 
 " This would not do ; the shepherd was in the 
 wrong place. The poor clergyman saw it, and 
 thought, in his extremity, that he would not go back 
 again, but would read the hymn through, and then, 
 seizing the opportunity of repeating the first line 
 again, a practice with many pastors, would rectify 
 his error once for all. But this man was one of those 
 more prone to follow precedent than to learn from 
 experience, and, after finishing the hymn, he returned, 
 like a moth to the candle, and with a powerful and 
 impressive voice and manner, read, for the third time : 
 
 " While angels watched their flocks by night, 
 
 and then suddenly retreated to the small room behind 
 the pulpit, to recover his color during the singing, 
 
 "Another unlucky Sunday, when he had repeatedly 
 been made the sport of misfortune, and was somewhat 
 nervous from a recent failure, he said earnestly : 
 
 " My friends, lay up for yourselves treasures in 
 heaven, where neither moth nor rutht doth corrupt, 
 nor thievth break through and thteal. 
 
 " Normally, the man did not lisp in the least ; but 
 the abundance of aspirates in the difficult sentence, 
 completely demoralized him. He took a drink of 
 
THE MALIGNED COMPOSITOR. 327 
 
 water, and began again, very red, and very much dis 
 tressed, but determined to have the proper number of 
 sibilants this time. 
 
 " Where neiser moss nor rust dost corrupt, nor 
 sieves break srough and steal, pronounced he, with 
 emphasis. He had left out all the aspirates ; and in a 
 sort of frenzy, he exclaimed : 
 
 " I would thay, lay up for yourthelvth treathureth 
 in heaven, where neiser moss nor rutht dost corrupt, 
 nor sieves break srough and thteal, thus displacing 
 every th and every s, with an unconscious ingenuity 
 born of utter desperation." 
 
XXIX. 
 
 THE EIGHTH TRIANGULAR. 
 
 " I WILL read first," said the mother, at the next 
 Society meeting, " a few stanzas about a little girl, 
 somebody s namesake, evidently, and a very charming 
 and much beloved child. Perhaps one of you will be 
 pleased with them." 
 
 LIZZIE. 
 Dear little dark-eyed namesake ! 
 
 The summers are all too few 
 Since she brightened with graceful wearing 
 
 The name that my childhood knew. 
 I hoped it would crown her with sunshine 
 
 Fairer than ever smiled; 
 I said it should bring her a blessing 
 
 Dear little dark-eyed child! 
 
 I said it should bring her a blessing 
 
 Was I wiser than I guessed ? 
 Was the blessing a long sweet childhood, 
 
 And an early and happy rest ? 
 For the loving circle that held her 
 
 Is robbed of its precious pearl; 
 The youngest, the fairest, the darling; 
 
 Dear little dark-eyed girl! 
 328 
 
THE EIGHTH TRIANGULAR. 329 
 
 She stood where the path of childhood 
 
 A lane through .a flowery wood 
 Led out to the wide, dim distance 
 
 Of .perilous womanhood; 
 Woman or angel ? The future 
 
 Like a question before her lay; 
 What wonder she paused and faltered, 
 
 And chose the easier way V 
 
 Not for her are the crosses 
 
 And bonds of a woman s life, 
 Nor the burdens and costly blessings 
 
 Which cling to the name of wife ; 
 Nor labor, nor doubt, nor anguish, 
 
 Nor the great world s dusty whirl; 
 Not one of them touched her garment 
 
 Dear little dark-eyed girl! 
 
 Timidly leaning always 
 
 On the hearts which loved her best, 
 Sheltered from every sorrow, 
 
 She dwelt in the warm home nest; 
 Never a grief came near her, 
 
 Nor trial nor loss she bore, 
 And none in the home that holds her, 
 
 Shall find her forevermore! 
 
 O fair and fetterless spirit! 
 
 The name that my childhood knew, 
 Though rarely I hear it spoken, 
 
 Is sweeter because of you! 
 What matter how little value 
 
 On earth to the name be given, 
 Since now it is worn by an angel, 
 
 T is tenderly breathed in heaven ? 
 
330 THE TBI ANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 " I missed one of my small friends last week," said 
 Brunette, "one who always had a smile for me when 
 I passed along on my way up or down town. I 
 thought perhaps he had gone away temporarily, for 
 he always seemed so rosy and well that a thought of 
 illness never occurred to me. But J presently noticed 
 in the paper that he was dead. And I have written a 
 few lines to his memory, which I will read you." 
 
 BERTIE. 
 All winter, walking up and down, 
 
 I met him every day, 
 And watched his beauty with delight 
 
 A merry boy at play. 
 His tender face was rosy fair, 
 
 A winsome face to kiss ; 
 " A happy mother she," I said, 
 
 " Who owns a child like this! " 
 
 I was a stranger still he learned 
 
 To know my face at last. 
 And met my greeting with a smile 
 
 Of welcome as I passed. 
 His curls danced brightly in the wind, 
 
 His laugh rang sweet and far, 
 His soft brown eyes were frank and clear 
 
 As babes or angels are. 
 
 One day I did not hear his voice 
 
 In the accustomed place ; 
 I sought in vain his dancing curls 
 
 I missed his happy face ; 
 And yesterday the cruel words 
 
 I read with bitter pain, 
 
THE EIGHTH TRIANGULAR. 331 
 
 Which told me I should never see 
 His lovely eyes again. 
 
 The street is full of children still 
 
 They run and laugh and call, 
 But yet I miss the shy sweet face 
 
 I prized above them all ; 
 And I shall walk my morning way 
 
 Alas, a weary while, 
 Ere I forget the lovely boy 
 
 "Who gave me smile for smile. 
 
 " I have some verses here about a little child, too," 
 said Bob, " but they are not sorrowful. I 11 read 
 them next." 
 
 GRACIE WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR. 
 Is she not exceeding fair, 
 Gracie with the golden hair 
 Floating round her, like the haze 
 Of the Indian summer days ? 
 Just a baby undefiled, 
 Dancing, dimpled, darling child! 
 Is she not exceeding fair, 
 Gracie with the golden hair? 
 
 Two short years hath Gracie stayed 
 In this world of shine and shade, 
 And her life has been as blest 
 As a young bird s in its nest, 
 Shielded safe from want and fear, 
 By the hearts which hold her dear, 
 Wholly happy, unaware, 
 Gracie with the golden hair. 
 
332 THE TEIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 Never to herself she saith, 
 
 " Wherefore life ? " or " Wherefore - death ? " 
 
 Gracie leaves these queries dread 
 
 To some graver, older head; 
 
 Longing for no morrow s rays, 
 
 Mourning for no yesterdays, 
 
 She hath neither doubt nor care, 
 
 Gracie with the golden hair. 
 
 Yet sometimes a thoughtful shade 
 Falls athwart the little maid, 
 And a tender sadness lies, 
 Deep within her gentle eyes; 
 But she smiles ao:ain ere Ions:, 
 
 3 O / 
 
 Carolling her merriest song, 
 Like a sparrow in the air, 
 Gracie with the golden hair. 
 
 Gracie hath a cherub face, 
 Full of sweet, unworldly grace; 
 Gracie s eyes are tenderest blue, 
 Limpid as a drop of dew; 
 And her cheek, so pure it shows, 
 Seemeth like a fresh white rose. 
 Is she not exceeding fair, 
 Gracie with the golden hair? 
 
 And if Gracie, though she seems 
 Like the shapes in holy dreams, 
 Be not quite an angel yet, 
 Wherefore should we feel regret? 
 For our hearts would all be riven, 
 Should she fly away to heaven; 
 Ah, our souls could never spare 
 Gracie with the golden hair ! 
 
THE EIGHTH TKIANGULAR. 333 
 
 " It seems to me that you are specially fond of that 
 name," said Brunette. "Is there a school-mate called 
 Gracie, perhaps ? " 
 
 " Two or three ; and beside, if there was n t any, I 
 should always be fond of the name, and whenever I 
 find a poem about a Gracie, I always save it for my 
 scrap-book." 
 
 " You and Brunette have both read about children," 
 said the mother, " and I have something here about a 
 poor little colored boy who died down South of chills 
 and fever, as hundreds of them do every year. And 
 no wonder; they have no intelligent care nor nursing, 
 and are doctored to death with unfit medicines as soon 
 as they are a little ill. But here is the little history." 
 
 NED. 
 
 Who knew of little Ned ? 
 Who cared a straw for him, alive or dead? 
 
 Ned, with his ebon face, 
 A wretched scion of a wretched race, 
 
 A worthless life gone down 
 Unnoticed, in an over-crowded town. 
 
 Scanty and poor the food 
 His mother s labor gave her hungry brood, 
 
 Windowless, dingy, dim, 
 Was the poor hovel which was home to him ; 
 
 Improvidence and chance 
 Buled there, with poverty and ignorance. 
 
334 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Often, as he passed by, 
 I smiled again into his smiling eye, 
 
 Or gave, to his delight, 
 String for his ball, or paper for his kite, 
 
 And oftentimes, poor Ned! 
 That which he needed more than playthings, bread. 
 
 His poor pretence of dress 
 Was worn and rent to utter raggedness, 
 
 Yet in the summer street, 
 He played with children gaily dressed and neat, 
 
 Who did not keep in sight 
 The bridgeless gulf dividing black and white. 
 
 They shared the self -same plays, 
 Bounding and shouting through the sunny days, 
 
 Nor ever seemed to care 
 Which dingy hand, if washed, would be most fair; 
 
 Until the fall of night 
 Ended the games which only ceased with light. 
 
 They used to find their rest 
 In pleasant homes, with love and plenty blest, 
 
 Where, all refreshed and soothed, 
 Their tired limbs bathed, their tangled tresses 
 smoothed, 
 
 They nestled, all the night, 
 In cool, soft beds, with pillows dainty white. 
 
 But he, poor little Ned, 
 A heap of tattered rags was all his bed; 
 
 And want and squalor kept 
 Watch in the crowded chamber while he slept, 
 
 The atmosphere defiled 
 Poisoning the slumbers of the hapless child. 
 
THE EIGHTH TKIANGULAE. 335 
 
 He played the summer through, 
 And autumn came; November rain-storms blew, 
 
 And in the blasts unkind, 
 Shivering, half -clad, the child grew ill and pined, 
 
 Forgot his wonted mirth, 
 And cowered all day beside the cheerless hearth. 
 
 Roundness and smiles forsook 
 His thinning cheek; a suffering, patient look 
 
 Touched with a piteous grace 
 His wide and wistful eyes, his small, dark face; 
 
 As ever asking, " Why ? 
 Does life mean only to endure and die V " 
 
 Days passed ; and now no more 
 He joined the noisy group around the door, 
 
 Yet ever kept in sight 
 His sorry playthings ball and hoop and kite 
 
 Sighing, " Another day 
 I shall be well enough to go and play." 
 
 Alas, poor stricken Ned! 
 All night he shivered in his meagre bed, 
 
 And weary day by day 
 The fever came and burned his strength away; 
 
 Fate left him naught to choose ; 
 A life so wretched was not much to lose. 
 
 Even at his poor life s end, 
 He asked for me, for I had been his friend; 
 
 And with the uttered name, 
 
 His trembling soul went .whither ? whence it 
 came; 
 
 Some happier sphere to find, 
 Where angels, let us hope, are color-blind. 
 
336 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Small is the meed I claim 
 Of worldly gratitude, or praise, or fame, 
 
 Yet it is something worth, 
 That he, the poorest, humblest of the earth, 
 
 Passed through death s brief eclipse, 
 Bearing my name upon his grateful lips. 
 
 Ah, well, what mattered it ? 
 This poor, pinched soul which no one prized a whit ? 
 
 One more small life gone down 
 Uncounted, in a sickly southern town; 
 
 Ah, me! I wonder why 
 A being so forlorn should live and die ? 
 
 " Now that s altogether too melancholy," said Bob, 
 with a suspicious huskiness in his voice. " What s 
 the use to read things that make us feel miserable ?" 
 
 " A little melancholy, occasionally, does no harm," 
 said the mother. " We should grow very selfish and 
 unfeeling if we were never reminded of the sufferings 
 of others. When I hear a young woman longing to 
 go to Squirrel Island, or the mountains, or Moosehead 
 L;ike, or Old Orchard, to stay all summer long with 
 out a thing to do, or a younger boy pining to live 
 in a big house with a long picture-gallery, and a large 
 library, and a peacock sunning himself outside, it 
 seems to me that it would do them no harm to be 
 reminded of the thousands and thousands of poor 
 souls who are worse off than themselves." 
 
 Silence reigned for a few minutes; probably a 
 period of wholesome reflection. Brunette spoke first. 
 So long as this session seems to be devoted to 
 
 " 
 
THE EIGHTH TRIANGULAR. 837 
 
 children," she said, "I will read some verses which I 
 wrote some time ago about a lovely little boy whom I 
 knew." 
 
 " I hope it does n t turn out that he died," said Bob. 
 " It seems to me that all the pretty and lovely children 
 die while they are little." 
 
 "My brother Bob is not in the least conceited," 
 commented Brunette. 
 
 " Nor specially complimentary to his sister," said 
 the mother. " But I don t agree with Bob that all the 
 lovely and beautiful children die ; a great many of 
 them grow up, and become selfish, and naughty, and 
 common-looking ; and then people forget how sweet 
 and charming they used to be, and presently come to 
 believe that all the pretty and angelic ones die young. 
 The dear little creatures who die while they are 
 babies, or very little children," continued she softly, 
 "remain in our memories unchanged; sweet and inno 
 cent, pure, and tender, and loving, forevermore." 
 
 After a little, Brunette said, " This little boy was 
 as sound, healthy, and vigorous as possible. He had 
 long yellow hair, and his eyes were clear as the sky in 
 June. And see how happy he was ! " 
 
 WINNIE. 
 
 In a home-nest of peace and joy, 
 Bright and pleasant as home can be, 
 
 Lives a merry and sweet-faced boy, 
 Under a broad old apple tree ; 
 
 15 
 
338 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Searching wide, you will seldom meet 
 Child so blithesome and fair as he, 
 
 How can he help being pretty and sweet, 
 Dwelling under an apple tree ? 
 
 In the spring when the child goes out, 
 
 Glad as a bird that winter s past, 
 Making his flower-beds all about, 
 
 Liking best what he finished last; 
 Then the tree from each blossomy limb, 
 
 Heaps its petals about his feet, 
 And like a benison over him 
 
 Scatters its fragrances, sweet to sweet. 
 
 He has only to smile and win ; 
 
 Face more lovely was never kissed; 
 Dear blue eyes and a dimpled chin, 
 
 Curls that dance in a golden mist; 
 Circled ever by tenderest care, 
 
 Taught and guided by love s decree. 
 How can he help being good and fair, 
 
 Dwelling under an apple tree ? 
 
 In the summer the dear old tree 
 
 Spreads above him its cooling shade, 
 Keeping the heat from his cheek while he 
 
 Playing at toil with rake and spade, 
 Chasing the humming-birds gleam and dart, 
 
 Watching the honey-bees drink and doze, 
 Gathers in body and soul and heart, 
 
 Beauty and health, like an opening rose. 
 
THE EIGHTH TRIANGULAR. 339 
 
 In the autumn, before the leaves 
 
 Lose their greenness, the apples fall, 
 Roll on the roof and bounce from the eaves, 
 
 Pile on the porch, and rest on the wall; 
 Then he heaps on the grassy ground 
 
 Rosy pyramids brave to see; 
 How can he help being ruddy and sound, 
 
 Dwelling under an apple tree ? 
 
 In the winter, when winds are wild, 
 
 Then, still faithful, the sturdy tree 
 Keeps its watch o er the darling child, 
 
 Telling him tales of the May to be; 
 Teaching him faith under stormy skies, 
 
 Bidding him trust when he cannot see; 
 IIow can he help being happy and wise, 
 
 Dwelling under an apple tree ? 
 
XXX. 
 
 CREEPING THINGS. 
 
 " BEUNETTE, are you afraid of worms ? " asked Bob, 
 one day, as his sister came in, at supper-time. 
 
 " Afraid of worms ? no ; why should I be ? Worms 
 don t often attack human beings. What kind of 
 worms ? " asked she, as she drew off her gloves. " I 
 believe a wild worm was the cause of King Arthur s 
 death, but not by biting him. What kind of worms 
 do you mean?" 
 
 " O, the kind that doubles up and straightens out 
 again, sort of humps itself when it walks," explained 
 Bob ; " the kind that s crawling over your shoulders, 
 and along your skirt, and up your back hair." 
 
 " Take em off, take em off," cried Brunette, dan 
 cing about in anguish. " I m not afraid of worms, 
 but I don t like to be crawled on. Take em off, 
 that s a dear boy," she pleaded, stooping down so 
 that he could reach her head. " They re those mis 
 chievous span-worms, which are eating the lovely elm 
 trees all bare, and I suppose there s a dozen down my 
 neck and up my sleeves ugh ! " 
 
 " I don t see why you call them span-worms," said 
 Bob. " I should call em spin-worms ; any way, every 
 one has a string to him, like a spider, only he never 
 340 
 
CREEPING THINGS. 341 
 
 seems to catch any flies. Here are five of em, Bru 
 nette, hold your hand, and you can carry em up-stairs, 
 and make some verses about em," continued Bob, 
 with sarcastic meaning. He had never quite forgiven 
 Brunette for her strictures on the epitaph that he had 
 long ago written about John, and had since been apt 
 to criticise rather sharply the verses, which from time 
 to time she read to her mother, for comment and 
 approval, before offering them for publication. But 
 she took his present suggestion with the utmost do 
 cility. 
 
 " I never saw so many creeping things about, as 
 there are this summer," exclaimed she, presently, dis 
 entangling a big June-beetle from the lace at her 
 wrist. " These great blundering things are every 
 where. The currant-bushes are full of green worms, 
 my ivy is covered with mealy-bugs, and my oleander 
 crusted with scale-bugs " 
 
 " I don t call mealy-bugs or scale-bugs * creeping 
 things, " demurred Bob. "I ve watched them by 
 the hour with a magnifier, and they never move." 
 
 "Well any way, they are vermin," amended his 
 sister, " and the rose-leaves are being skeletonized by 
 a vicious little worm that gnaws the under side of 
 them, and bores into the buds like a gimlet ; and 
 goodness! here arc two weevils in the sugar-bowl! 
 What shall we do ? " 
 
 " Of two weevils, always choose the least," sug 
 gested Bob. " I heard mother tell you that, the other 
 day, when you said you believed you d rather get 
 wet through, than to carry a broken-ribbed umbrella." 
 
342 THE TKIANGTJLAR SOCIETY. 
 
 " I believe those little creatures come from the gro 
 cer s," said the mother. " I often find them in the 
 rice, and lately, sometimes in the sugar, but nowhere 
 else. I must speak to Mr. Middleman, or his clerk, 
 about them." 
 
 "I wish there were some Mr. Middleman to w T hom 
 you could remonstrate about the beetles, and the rose- 
 slugs, and the mealy-bugs, and the scale-bugs, and 
 the caterpillars!" almost screamed she, suddenly 
 brushing one off the side of her neck. " O Bob, see 
 if there are any more of em about me ! " 
 
 c; I don t see any," replied Bob, " and I wonder why 
 they are called caterpillows ? Is it because they are 
 soft ? I ve seen those hard cases that they go into 
 when they want to be butterflies," continued he. " I 
 suppose those are caterpillow-cases, are n t they ? " 
 
 " I think you are one of the hardest cases I ever 
 saw," said his sister, " and you d better put that cater- 
 pillow out to air." 
 
 " I thought," said Bob, " that he would be a nice 
 soft subject for a poem." He spoke with dreadful 
 satire. But Brunette smiled superior, and an evening 
 or two after, she read to him and his mother the 
 following : 
 
 THE SPAN-WORM. 
 
 A MELANCHOLY MEASURE. 
 
 Just at the dawn of the heated term, 
 Begins the reign of the measuring worm; 
 From the roadside branches he spins and swings, 
 Hanging and wriggling on gossamer strings ; 
 
CREEPING THINGS. 343 
 
 Lengthening slowly the swaying threads, 
 
 He drops and clings on the passers heads, 
 
 And, happy as in his native leaves, 
 
 Crawls under their collars and up their sleeves, 
 
 Or, reaching the ground with a sudden jerk, 
 
 Collects his wits and begins his work. 
 
 A singular fondness the creature shows 
 Eor measuring every step he goes; 
 Stretching at length, he halts and dreams, 
 Then brings together his two extremes, 
 (Like a withered tendril curled and brown, 
 Or a letter U turned upside down,) 
 Then reaching forward his length once more, 
 And doubling up as he did before, 
 He measures the fences, the ground, the wall, 
 \V Herevcr he happens to swing or fall, 
 And seems to add up the distance sped, 
 And keep the reckoning in his head. 
 
 Think of the labor to count and count, 
 Add all together and keep the amount ! 
 Think of his rage, when a footstep s fall 
 Startles and makes him forget it all. 
 And he with wearisome toil and pain, 
 Must measure the space all over again ! 
 
 Most uncivil of engineers, 
 
 What do you care for tar or tears ? 
 
 In every curtain of leaves you lurk, 
 
 And ply your dreadful dimension- work; 
 
 Credulous folly it is to think 
 
 Of barring your progress with printer s ink; 
 
 How shall we check, evade or flee 
 
 Your geometrical industry ? 
 
344 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 When island parties go clown the bay, 
 You vex and trouble the happy day; 
 When thirst distresses or hunger mocks 
 The seeker of shells and sealer of rocks, 
 You twist and wriggle and squirm and roll 
 In the tempting midst of his chowder-bowl; 
 Happy he, if its lowest dregs 
 Be not made up of your skin and legs. 
 
 Geometric!, perform your will; 
 
 Compass the width of the window-sill, 
 
 Crawl on the table, if you wish, 
 
 In butter-cooler and sugar-dish; 
 
 Measure the pillow-case at night, 
 
 But keep from the elms your gnawing blight; 
 
 In the words by George P. Morris sung 
 
 To the man with a hatchet, when time was young, 
 
 O worm of the genus Phalcenidce, 
 
 Inch-worm insatiate, spare that tree I 
 
 "I like that pretty well," said Bob, patronizingly, 
 "only I don t believe they ever keep any reckoning." 
 
 " And I m afraid you will be thrown out of your 
 reckoning, Brunette," said the mother, " if you expect 
 any editor in town to accept that. The Portland 
 papers are eminently sedate and sensible ; they rarely 
 admit anything trifling to their columns. In a State 
 which produces so many great men, life is a serious 
 matter." 
 
 44 Very well," said Brunette, " if they don t like 
 that, I 11 try them with this." 
 
CREEPING THINGS. 345 
 
 THE CATERPILLAR. 
 The caterpillar gnaws his way 
 
 The mellow summer through, 
 And though he spoils the cabbage-plants, 
 
 And rasps the rose-buds, too, 
 He has some small redeeming traits, 
 
 Albeit but a few. 
 
 "With numerous acquaintances, 
 
 He is not rich in friends; 
 No personal attractiveness 
 
 To him its glamour lends; 
 About the middle he is brown, 
 
 And black at both the ends. 
 
 So, though his foes, the gardeners, 
 
 May swear about his sins, 
 One beauty of his character 
 
 Our approbation wins, 
 The virtue of consistency 
 
 He ends as he begins I 
 
 Should lifted foot or hoe approach, 
 
 To crush him for his crimes, 
 Or should a sudden shower o- 
 
 vertake him where he climbs, 
 He rolls himself into a ball, 
 
 And waits for better times. 
 
 How fortunate, could larger lives 
 
 But learn this simple feat 
 Could we achieve, when on our heads 
 
 Financial tempests beat, 
 The grace and skill which he displays 
 
 In making both ends meet I 
 15* 
 
346 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 He wears his furs all through dog-days, 
 
 Despite the sultriness, 
 But when the frosty weather comes 
 
 Strange metamorphosis ! 
 He throws his fuzzy coat aside, 
 
 A naked chrysalis. 
 
 Because his favorite leaves have lost 
 
 Their juice and flavoring, 
 He leaves off eating, in a huff, 
 
 Eschewing everything 
 Gives over crawling, goes to bed, 
 
 And snoozes there till spring ! 
 
 When Panic fills the stoutest heart 
 
 With bodings dark and dire, 
 How cheap and pleasant it would be, 
 
 If we could thus retire 
 And pass the winter, with no need 
 
 Of food, or clothes, or fire 1 
 
 But while he keeps his humble place 
 
 Among the creeping things, 
 Threatened by every passer-by 
 
 With being crushed to strings, 
 Do you suppose the creature dreams 
 
 About his future wings ? 
 
 And when he spins his snug cocoon, 
 
 And bids his legs good by, 
 Does he make peace with all the world, 
 
 And tuck him up to die ? 
 Or just intend to sleep awhile, 
 
 And wake a butterfly ? 
 
 " Now I like that," said Bob ; " but it s late, and 
 I m afraid that I shall neither wake a butterfly, nor 
 anything else in season, if we don t adjourn." 
 
XXXI. 
 
 ENVY AND AMBITION. 
 
 " MOTHER ! " said Brunette, as she came up into the 
 sitting-room, and threw herself on a hassock at her 
 mother s feet. She was tired with her day s confined 
 work, and warm with her long walk since. She looked 
 flushed and weary, her crimps had " gone crazy," as 
 Bob said, and her back hair had broken loose from its 
 pins. 
 
 " Mother, I believe there are more jealousies and 
 envyings in a newspaper-office, than in any other place 
 of the size in the world, or among the same number 
 of people anywhere." 
 
 " Brunette," said her mother, aghast, " whom do 
 you envy, pray ? and of whom is my usually contented 
 daughter jealous?" 
 
 " I envy no one but you, mother," said Brunette, re 
 covering her good-nature. " I have sometimes reflected 
 on your happiness in possessing so sweet-tempered, 
 accomplished and every way dutiful a child as I am. 
 But I was n t reckoning myself in my estimate. I am 
 not in the regular line of descent, or ascent, in the 
 office. The astute foreman long ago decided, and 
 whispered it about among the others, that no woman 
 ought to have a place of so much importance as 
 
348 THE TKIANGTJLAR SOCIETY. 
 
 mine, although my wages are smaller than his. I am 
 a sort of interloper, and out of the succession. But 
 in every newspaper office, the office-boy who runs 
 errands and sweeps, thinks he ought to be an appren 
 tice in the composing-room ; the apprentice, after a 
 few weeks, is sure that he can * set as well as a jour 
 neyman, and ought to be promoted and have regular 
 wages ; the oldest c hand knows he is quite competent 
 to take the foreman s place, and is not slow to hint 
 that he deserves it ; the foreman is confident that he 
 would make an excellent local editor, and thinks it s 
 about time he had a lift; the local editor fancies it 
 would be much pleasanter sitting at the news editor s 
 desk all day, dry and comfortable, than racing all 
 about town in the rain or snow, chasing the elusive 
 item ; and the news editor feels himself to be fully 
 capable of taking entire charge, running the paper, 
 and being chief editor. You see this feeling in all of 
 them, but the women-compositors they know there 
 is no promotion for them, and they do their work will 
 ingly and quietly, and mind their own affairs." 
 
 "And whom does the chief editor envy?" asked 
 the mother. 
 
 " Nobody can guess what flights his ambition may 
 take," replied Brunette, "if he ever finds time to fly 
 it at all. Perhaps he completes the circle, and wishes 
 he were the errand-boy, with no responsibility, and 
 sure pay every Saturday night. Perhaps he would 
 like to be the mayor and aldermen, and decide how to 
 spend the money that other people have earned, and 
 
ENVY AND AMBITION. 349 
 
 sit in a barouche and look handsome, in the Fourth of 
 July parades ; perhaps he dreams how nice it would 
 be to be city marshal, and ride a high-stepping horse, 
 that always goes sideways in all the processions " 
 
 "What makes em do that?" asked Bob, looking 
 up from his water-colors. "Last time there was a 
 parade, I saw one of those great horses prance back 
 ward, all the way from City Hall to the First Parish 
 church, in spite of all his rider could do. O, how red 
 he was in the face ! " 
 
 " Which, the horse or his rider ? " asked his sister, 
 who did not like to be interrupted, looking sharply at 
 him. " Perhaps, I was going to say, the chief editor 
 would like to be a small boy, with blue eyes and fair 
 hair, relieved by a stripe of Venetian red across his 
 forehead, and a patch of chrome green on his left 
 cheek, with all his things bought for him, and all his 
 work done, and nothing to do himself but smudge his 
 clothes with paint, and waste his sister s drawing- 
 paper." 
 
 u Well, any way," began Bob, proceeding sheepishly 
 to gather up his pencils, and accidentally knocking his 
 box of paints off the table, and scattering its contents 
 on the carpet, " any way " 
 
 "There, Bob," said his sister, "you Ve struck your 
 colors, and now you d better go below, and relieve 
 your obscured complexion at the wash-bowl." 
 
 "Any way," persisted Bob, with only his head visi 
 ble at the closing door, " the horse was red in the 
 face, too, because he was a red-all-over horse, so 
 there now ! n 
 
XXXII. 
 
 A PLUMBERS RECEPTION. 
 
 " MOTHER," said Brunette, as the family sat down 
 to supper one evening, " you look dreadfully tired. 
 lias anything happened to you since I went away this 
 
 morning?" 
 
 Bob had been out playing ever since he came home 
 from school, and had hardly seen his mother. But 
 now he looked up and remarked, " Why, you look as 
 though you had been crying." 
 
 "Crying? no indeed. On the contrary,! have been 
 holding a reception." 
 
 " A reception ? " repeated Brunette, in amazement. 
 " Why was n t I invited ? " 
 
 " Because you re not a plumber. It was a plumb 
 ers reception." 
 
 " O, I see; you ve been calling in medical aid for 
 that gasping and wheezing pump in the kitchen," said 
 Brunette, brightening. " Well, I m glad of that. 
 But how did it tire you out so ? " 
 
 " I 11 tell you the day s history just as accurately as 
 I can," said the mother, " and not exaggerate a single 
 statement, though it is quite possible that I may leave 
 out something, among so many details. You know 
 that with two pumps in the house, I had for weeks 
 350 
 
A PLUMBERS RECEPTION. 351 
 
 been obliged to pump ten minutes, pouring water 
 down at intervals, every time I wanted a dipper-full 
 of water." 
 
 . We ought to move into a house where there s 
 Sebago water," suggested Bob. 
 
 "Well, human patience gave out, at last, and last 
 week I had a conference with a plumber, who prom 
 ised to be on hand bright and early Monday morn 
 ing. The heater in the dining-room needed over 
 hauling, and it was agreed that the plumber should do 
 both jobs. 
 
 " Now, said I, as impressively as I could, I don t 
 want you to say you 11 come unless you are sure, 
 because I don t want to take up my carpets until you 
 can do the work. Yes, he was sure. 
 
 " So, as you know, I was up before day, yesterday, 
 got the curtains down, had the carpet taken up, and 
 waited, and waited, and kept waiting ; no sign of a 
 man. Noon and night came, but he did n t; one day 
 lost." 
 
 "I never in my life," said Brunette, "knew a case 
 in which a plumber, or a glazier, or a painter, or a 
 locksmith, or a gardener, or a stove-man, kept an 
 appointment." 
 
 " Or a paper-hanger, or a white-washer, or a carpet-, 
 beater, or a man to carry away the ashes " 
 
 " Or anybody else," said Bob, " and when I get to 
 be a man, I in going to learn all those trades, and 
 make it a rule to keep every appointment I make ; 
 and you see if I don t get everybody s custom." 
 
352 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 "You ll have your hands full, and be a general 
 favorite," said the mother. Well, this morning, 
 about nine o clock, my plumber came, three of him. 
 Two large men and a large boy. The boy, I suppose, 
 was what they call a helper, but he was a great hin 
 drance to me. The large boy and the larger man 
 calied the smaller man boss. The boss sat down on 
 the floor before the heater, and asked me if the young 
 lady that he saw passing his place every day, was my 
 daughter. Then I said it was quite possible, and 
 asked him if there was any very serious trouble with 
 the heater. Then he looked into the ash-pan, and 
 asked me if the young lady and the little boy were 
 my only children. I admitted that they were, and 
 inquired how long it would take to regulate the 
 heater. Then he remarked that it was n t common to 
 see two children in the same family with so much dif 
 ference between their ages, and was going on to ask 
 me if I was step-mother to the elder one, when I 
 remarked that it was a fine day, and I hoped the job 
 could be finished so that I could go down town in the 
 afternoon. Then he opened the heater door and 
 remarked that I seemed to have a great many nice 
 i flowers about. Then he drew out a damper and 
 observed that he had two children who were fond 
 of flowers, and one of them was extremely smart at 
 school, and he had six children in all, and was very 
 fond of em. That mollified me a little, and I 
 remarked that it was happier for children to have 
 brothers and sisters than to be brought up alone. 
 
A PLUMBERS RECEPTION. 353 
 
 Then he said he did n t know ; among so many, Avar 
 was declared rather too often. 
 
 " Then I left him and went to the kitchen, where the 
 other man wanted a screw-driver, and a pail of water 
 and a piece of sand-paper, and a hammer if I had 
 one. Then the first man called me back perempto 
 rily, and said he must have a shovel, and a coal-hod ? 
 and some newspapers, and kindling-wood, and a brush 
 and dust-pan. Then the large boy called me into the 
 kitchen, and wanted a hatchet and some old news 
 papers, and a dipper, and a jackknife to whittle some 
 thing for the boss. 
 
 " Then the second man discovered that he had no 
 valves of the right size for a small pump, and wanted 
 a piece of leather to make one. ThSn I told him I 
 did not keep sole-leather in stock, and he said he 
 should have to charge me for his time if he went down 
 town to get leather. Then I happened to remember 
 that I bought an extra valve the last time the pump 
 was repaired, and after some search I found it, and he 
 fitted it in the pump. 
 
 " Then the first man wanted a saw and the stove- 
 cleaner and a piece of barrel-hoop. By this time the 
 large boy wanted a little grease in a cup for the second 
 man, who also wanted a piece of rag to clean a solder 
 ing iron, and a pail and a match and a nail or two ; 
 and he said the old valve was as trood as ever, and so 
 
 O 
 
 he pocketed the new one ; at any rate it disappeared. 
 
 " Finally the first man concluded that nothing ailed 
 the heater but ashes in the flue, and made the large 
 
354 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 boy get down on the whites of his eyes and pull 
 ashes all over the room. Then the second man went 
 down cellar to lengthen the waste-pipe, and wanted a 
 piece of lead pipe to do it with. Then I remembered 
 about three fqet of lead pipe which was left when I 
 had the bath-tub set, and I got it for him. Then he 
 said he wanted a shorter piece, and sent the large boy 
 down town for it, while he and the boss sat around 
 and conversed on general topics until the large boy 
 and the small piece of pipe returned, asking me ques 
 tions whenever I came within reach. Just then the 
 landlord arrived, and I asked him if he had come to 
 the party. He said he was fond of a frolic, and I told 
 him he might go in and sit on the dining-table and 
 preside at the meeting. 
 
 " The men had another job at the next house, and so 
 kept going and coming, and every time they went out 
 or in, they left the gate open for the dogs to come in 
 and bury bones in the flower-beds ; and I went out 
 fifteen times and closed it. 
 
 " When the large boy returned, business recom 
 menced. The first man told me patronizingly, that I 
 could clean up the ashes a great deal better than he 
 could, and after I had done it, he would replace the 
 bolts in the heater. After three hours of this sort of 
 exercise, they picked up their tools and left, and I 
 was glad to see the last of them, although they carried 
 off the new pump-valve, which I shall have to replace 
 presently, and in some way that I can t understand, 
 actually spirited away also the three feet of new lead 
 
RECEPTION. 355 
 
 pipe which they refused to use down-stairs. And such 
 a plight as these rooms were in! The dining-room 
 was full of ashes, the kitchen slopped and littered 
 from end to end, and on trying the kitchen pump I 
 found th.it it ran down just the same as before. 
 Never, while I live, will I have another plumbers 
 reception. If a plumber must come, I will make it 
 convenient to go visiting that day." 
 
 I don t wonder you re tired," said Brunette, with 
 a long breath. " See what I escape by being a sala 
 ried servant ! " 
 
 "Lucky they did n t set the house afire," said Bob. 
 " I heard Mr. Brier say, the other day, when his office 
 came near burning, that a plumber always sets a house 
 on fire." 
 
 "No," said the mother, "not when he puts the 
 heater fire out, and keeps the kitchen under water, as 
 this one did." 
 
 " And you re not done with your plumber yet," 
 said Brunette, reassuringly. " I suppose he did n t 
 leave his bill?" 
 
 " I forgot to say," replied the mother, " that I asked 
 him to send his bill straight back to me as soon as he 
 reached home, as I don t like these little affairs to 
 wait. Sure enough, the boy brought it back a 
 detailed account and do you believe that the 
 plumber had actually charged me for the new pump- 
 valve, and a number of pounds of lead pipe ? " 
 
 It had been a very tiresome day for all the family ; 
 
356 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 the reception of the governor s address had made 
 extra work at the office ; Bob had had his afflictions 
 at school in the shape of preliminary examinations ; 
 and the mother, as she had said, was quite fatigued by 
 the day s experiences. After supper was over, Bob 
 remarked : 
 
 " We are all so tired to-night that I suppose we 11 
 have to put off the Society meeting until to-morrow 
 evening, and so I m going to read you a riddle, and 
 then go to bed, and leave you to guess it." 
 
 A FAMILIAR ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 I speak without a vocal sound, 
 
 I fly without a wing; 
 I roam the world s wide regions round, 
 
 And visit clown and king. 
 I in welcomed by the good and great ; 
 
 I m trodden in the mire; 
 I kindle high and wise debate, 
 
 Likewise the kitchen fire. 
 
 I have more heads than hydras boast, 
 
 More points than they have scales ; 
 More letters than the gray-clad ghost 
 
 Who carries round the mails ; 
 I hold the eye of sage and fop, 
 
 Of joy and misery, 
 And often, in the grocer s shop, 
 
 His dabs of starch and tea. 
 
A PLUMBERS RECEPTION. 357 
 
 I whisper all that may be told, 
 
 To all who will attend; 
 I point the path to fame and gold 
 
 As soon to foe as friend ; 
 And "often with remorseless might 
 
 I bring to beggary 
 The struggling and too sanguine wight 
 
 "Who made and fostered me. 
 
 " If Brunette does n t guess that," said Bob, as he 
 shut himself out, " it will be because she does n t 
 understand her business." 
 
XXXIII. 
 
 COLEUS. 
 
 BRUNETTE had a great fondness for animals ; she 
 had a speaking acquaintance with every dog and cat 
 which resided between her home and the office ; and 
 she could hardly refrain from patting the nose of every 
 horse which stood waiting by the curb-stone, as she 
 passed up and down on her daily walk. She was the 
 patron saint of vagabond cats and dogs ; indeed, so 
 often did she stop on her morning s walk down-town, 
 to divide her frugal lunch with some hungry-looking 
 quadruped that slunk along the sidewalk, or skulked 
 in the shadows of the fences, that she rarely found 
 anything more than half a cracker in her basket at 
 noon. 
 
 Bob declared that the more miserable a cat was, the 
 better she liked it. She admitted every feline tramp 
 that came into the yard ; and so often had she brought 
 home a starved and perishing kitten in her handker 
 chief, that her mother dreaded the sight of a small 
 white bundle, and frankly said so. So Brunette varied 
 the matter by doing her cats up in a piece of news 
 paper; and when the novelty was worn off this 
 method, she unblushingly brought them home in a 
 grocer s paper bag. Some of these pensioners were so 
 358 
 
COLEUS. 359 
 
 far gone, before Brunette s providence smiled on them, 
 that they died, despite her care ; some of them were 
 of so thoroughly vagabond blood, that they ran away 
 thanklessly as soon as they were strong enough, and 
 never appeared again. 
 
 The mother bore these deaths and disappearances 
 witli fortitude, remarking that but for them, the house 
 would be simply one vast asylum for decayed cats. 
 As it was, there was never a dearth of feline society. 
 Bob generally claimed the privilege of naming these 
 pensioners ; and Brunette never knew which puzzled 
 her most, the ingenuity with which he hunted up 
 botanical names for them, or the facility with which 
 he taught them to respond to their high-sounding 
 titles. 
 
 At one time, the household possessed four cats. 
 One of them, a large old tortoise-shell, beautifully 
 marked with yellow and black, which had been 
 mature in wickedness long before she came into 
 Bob s hands, came readily to the name of Coleus 
 Verschaffeltii ; a younger and more amiable specimen 
 answered to the call for Amaranthus Tricolor, (she 
 was black, white, and yellow) ; a third, chiefly yellow, 
 was known as Aureus Superbus ; and a smaller spot 
 ted one was happy in the name of Nemophila Macti- 
 lata. These elaborate names were sometimes, for 
 convenience, shortened respectively to Colic, Ammie, 
 Aurie, and Nemmie ; and when they were uttered 
 rapidly in Bob s brisk and exigent voice, the owners 
 would break all barriers, and hasten from all distances 
 to respond. 
 
360 THE TKIANGTJLAE, SOCIETY. 
 
 Coleus was a very unusual type of cat. She was 
 evidently very well stricken in years when she 
 appeared at the back door of this unlucky family, and 
 insisted on being recognized as a member. Brunette, 
 for once, declared that the animal was too old to be 
 adopted ; that she would as soon think of adopting a 
 hero of the Revolution, or one of the twenty nice old 
 gentlemen who are each " the oldest Mason in tJie 
 United States." But the cat smiled superior to all 
 the darts of sarcasm, and was presently the tyrant of 
 the establishment. She took a fancy to a certain 
 cushioned sewing-chair, which had been the special 
 property of the mother ; and thereafter, if the owner 
 accidentally sat down in it when the cat was in the 
 house, Coleus would go and stand squarely before her, 
 with eyes flashing yellow displeasure, and her tail 
 lashing violently to and fro, so swiftly and angrily that 
 Bob declared he could "actually hear the swish of 
 it." And the mother would gather up her spools and 
 scissors, and move meekly into another chair. If 
 Coleus obtained the chair first, and any one of the 
 family paused before it, as though meditating taking a 
 seat, Coleus would raise her head and growl like a dis 
 tant thunder-storm. Bob declared that she was a 
 regular watch-cat, and answered every purpose of a 
 mastiff. Being accustomed to this household, which 
 boasted no masculinity but fair-cheeked Bob, the cat 
 soon looked upon all men as natural enemies, and 
 whenever a tramp, a grocer s man, or any individual 
 of the unpopular sex, approached the door, she would 
 
COLEUS. 3G1 
 
 advance, growling, to meet him, with her tail like the 
 brush of a carpet-sweeper. 
 
 Nor was Coleus over amiable to her best friends. 
 She had occasional periods -of ill-temper, when nothing 
 would conciliate her; when she would, without the 
 least provocation, scratch or bite the kind hand that 
 was patting her head, or smoothing her mottled sides. 
 Then she would retreat under a chair, and every time 
 her benefactors passed by her, would reach out and 
 scratch at their garments. Brunette declared that it 
 was like walking though a brier patch, to go by her 
 when she was in this frame of mind. 
 
 Coleus also departed so far from the traditions of her 
 kind, as to refuse to recognize catnip, while she showed 
 a marvellous taste for sweets. In vain, when she 
 seemed a little dumpish and under the weather, did 
 Bob " exhibit " fresh green leaves of the mystic herb, 
 gathered from a solitary plant which he kept growing 
 in the back yard, by dint of building round it a solid 
 palisade of broken curtain-sticks and all the suitable 
 slivers of kindling-wood which he could find. Coleus 
 sniffed disdainfully at the fragrant offering, and then 
 looked absently toward the Sandwich Islands. Bob 
 asserted that she was fond of cookies, and would not 
 drink fresh milk unless it was sweetened. Which 
 when Brunette doubted, the mother came to Bob s 
 assistance. Any time," said she, Coleus will turn 
 from a saucer-full of the rich creamy fluid for which 
 the groceries and milk-carts of Portland are so justly 
 
 16 
 
362 THE TKIANGULAB SOCIETY. 
 
 celebrated, to lap eagerly at a dissolved spoonful of 
 the condensed lacteal fluid, patented and put up in tin 
 cans by Gail Ham I mean Gail Borden." 
 
 " No doubt," said Brunette ; " even the cat has sense 
 enough to prefer condensed milk to extended. It 
 is n t the sugar she cares for, it s the milk. Why, the 
 other day when I called on Mrs. Naylor, she told me 
 that that very morning, in the bottom of her milk- 
 measure, she found a nice little mucilaginous mass of 
 frog s eggs ! " 
 
 " Her milkman s cows must feed in a very swampy 
 pasture," replied the mother. " But the cat really 
 does like sweets, because the other evening, she jumped 
 on the table and stole a generous lump of Bob s 
 molasses candy, and carried it under the stove and ate 
 it, to the great embarrassment and confusion of her 
 whiskers, I noticed." 
 
 " Whiskers and molasses candy dorft seem to be 
 made for each other," said Brunette, musingly. " Do 
 you remember when I had that candy-pull, how that 
 sentimental youth with the light moustache " 
 
 "Don t revive unpleasant memories, Brunette. 
 What are you scolding about, Bob ? " 
 
 " I was only saying," said Bob, with an injured air, 
 " that when the cat ate the molasses candy, she got 
 her paws all stuck up with it, and then she tried to 1 
 run away from ern, and jumped up on the sofa, and 
 when Brunette sat down there, she just accused me 
 of mussing the cushion with my candy, and when I 
 
COLEUS. 363 
 
 told her it was the cat, she was vexed, and called both 
 of us fictitious names. A boy has a hard time of it, 
 in this family," muttered Bob. 
 
 " Called you fictitious names ! " echoed the mother, 
 " what did she call you ? " 
 
 " She said I was a humbug, and the cat was a scape 
 goat," said Bob, his bosom swelling with the remem 
 brance of his wrongs. "I Ve been called a humbug 
 too many times not to know what that means," he 
 went on, gloomily, " but I d like to know what like 
 ness there is between a cat and a goat." 
 
 A few mornings after, Brunette had reason, she 
 admitted, to change her mind with regard to the cat s 
 liking for sweet things. While Brunette was engaged 
 in setting the table for breakfast, she discovered a 
 couple of diminutive rodents in the milk-pitcher, 
 drowned as dead as the traditional door-nail. Pres. 
 ently she summoned her mother and Bob to witness 
 her change of opinion. 
 
 " I said I did n t believe Coleus cared for sweets," 
 said she, but I take it all back. There she is, before 
 breakfast, actually partaking, with evident relish, of 
 some mice-cream ! " 
 
XXXIV. 
 
 A GOOD FRIEND. 
 
 OF course, when Toby ceased to be a vagabond, 
 came into the fold of respectability, and was duly 
 accredited with a master, a local habitation, and a 
 name, it was necessary that he be invested with a 
 collar and a tax bill, and recognized as one of the 
 Solid dogs of Portland. Toby made no apparent 
 objection to the tax-certificate, which Brunette carefully 
 hung on the wall above his bed, in the office library, 
 excepting to sniff at the misspelling of his name in it, 
 and several other little eccentricities of orthography, 
 to which she called his attention. "Although the 
 city of Portland may sanction the spelling of your 
 name with an e in the last syllable, it fortunately hap 
 pens that it has no jurisdiction over the orthography 
 of the Adviser office," she said, " and do you see to 
 it, Toby, that you never authorize such an inno 
 vation." 
 
 But Toby strenuously objected to wearing a collar, 
 offering no violence when he perceived what was 
 intended, but expressing the most decided repugnance 
 to the new decoration. When at last it was locked 
 around his neck, and he was taken out to walk, by a 
 select party of his friends, to exhibit his adornment, 
 364 
 
A GOOD FRIEND. 3C5 
 
 he went in the most sheepish manner, as one who 
 should say, " I protest against this jingling thing, and 
 I wish it understood that I consider it a great draw 
 back to my personal appearance." He shook his head 
 violently to dislodge it; he scraped at it furiously 
 with his hind leg ; he turned round and round in try 
 ing to reach it with his mouth ; and failing in every 
 attempt, he started to run away from it, and ran until 
 he was quite blown and breathless. After trying this 
 a few times, he had a bright thought ; he sat down 
 solidly on the sidewalk, expressing in every line of his 
 body that he was waiting for the collar to go by with 
 the rest of the party, and leave him. 
 
 Toby was an unusually amiable and tractable dog. 
 He learned easily, and never forgot what he once 
 learned. It was a pleasure to teach him, because as 
 soon as he really understood what he was desired to 
 do, he did it, not only with cheerfulness, but with evi 
 dent delight. If he had enjoyed the benefits of a 
 liberal education in his youth, he would doubtless 
 have made his mark upon his times. No one knew 
 how old he was when Brunette found him, a wretched, 
 friendless outcast, shivering in the street ; but he then 
 appeared to have no accomplishments whatever, 
 although he was extremely quick to understand what 
 was said to him. 
 
 When his master was out of town, Brunette fre 
 quently took Toby home with her to remain over 
 night, or over Sunday, and on these occasions, used 
 sometimes to devote a little time in the evening to his 
 
366 THE TEIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 education. First, she taught him to speak when he 
 wanted food or water. Taking a small lump of sugar 
 in her fingers, she held it over his head, saying, ener 
 getically, " Speak, Toby ! speak ! and you shall have 
 it ! " Over and over she repeated this exhortation, 
 while Toby, utterly unconscious of her meaning, sat 
 attentively regarding the sugar, fully expecting that 
 when she had finished her monotonous remarks, she 
 would drop it into his mouth. Nobody counted the 
 number of times this was done ; until finally, a grain 
 of sugar crumbled from the lump and fell directly 
 into one of Toby s nostrils. At once he sneezed. 
 Brunette immediately gave him the lump, and praised 
 him without stint ; and when another lump was held 
 up, he sneezed vociferously, and obtained that also. 
 His feigned sneezes were extremely funny, and cost 
 him very evident effort ; and after awhile, he either 
 barked accidentally in his endeavors to sneeze, or con 
 cluded that it was easier to bark than to sneeze ; and 
 never failed thereafter to " speak " with a clear, sharp 
 bark, whenever he desired food or drink. At the 
 office, he would " speak " to the Sebago faucet, until he 
 attracted attention ; at the house, he would sit and 
 converse with the kitchen pump until some one came 
 to his assistance. He had a great fancy for sitting 
 on a chair like other people ; and always in the even 
 ing, would walk about, restless and dissatisfied, until 
 a chair was placed for him in the family circle, when 
 he would immediately occupy it, and listen with evi 
 dent interest to the conversation of his friends. 
 
A GOOD FEIEND. 367 
 
 Whenever he was at the house over Sunday, or at 
 any meal-time, a chair and plate were always placed 
 for him at the dining-table. He sat up in his chair 
 gravely, when the rest of the family gathered about 
 the table, and ate, neatly and with perfectly good 
 manners, whatever was placed upon his plate. He 
 never put his knife in his mouth, or used it to help 
 himself to butter. He never talked with his mouth 
 full. He never found fault with the preparation or 
 temperature of the various dishes, or made significant 
 remarks about his mother s style of cookery. Some 
 times, if his plate remained empty too long, he would 
 speak up sharply to remind his hostess of his pres 
 ence ; but he never trespassed on the other plates, or 
 tried to obtain anything which was not distinctly 
 given him. His great delight was a saucer of milk 
 for dessert, which he would drink very tidily, without 
 spilling a drop ; and if at any time he caught sight of 
 the sugar-bowl, he would " speak " for a spoonful of 
 sugar, which he devoured with evident relish. He 
 learned, also, to shake hands with propriety, and fre 
 quently surprised acquaintances who stooped to pat 
 his head, by cordially offering them his paw. 
 
 It often happened, after these little visits home with 
 Brunette, that when he went with her to the office in 
 the morning, he found, to his surprise, his master 
 already established at his desk. After a time, he 
 seemed to reason from this fact, that his master prob 
 ably arrived home by a midnight train, and that lie, 
 Toby, ought to have been there to meet and welcome 
 
368 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 him. So thereafter, Toby refused to go home with 
 Brunette during his master s absences, but would excuse 
 himself amiably, and insist on remaining in the count 
 ing-room ; or, if Brunette succeeded in coaxing him a 
 little way, he would return and take up his position on 
 the office door-step. He was strengthened in this 
 habit by the fact that his master did sometimes come 
 on a midnight train, and so reward his loving faith. 
 Often, during these watches, Toby would join the 
 Federal street policeman in a friendly way, and accom 
 pany him on his lonely beat in a sort of sociable 
 silence which was pleasanter to both than utter soli 
 tude. Especially would he do this when the midnight 
 train failed to bring him his beloved friend ; and the 
 poor faithful doggie, his long vigil ail in vain, was 
 found shivering and crest-fallen on the door-step 
 when the early boy came to start the fire in the 
 engine-room. 
 
 Toby soon learned that a certain leather satchel 
 always accompanied his master s journeys ; whenever 
 that satchel appeared, Toby knew that he was to be 
 left alone ; his head and tail drooped, and he went into 
 silent and sorrowful retirement. One day his master 
 returned from a journey when Toby was out, and, 
 hearing the dog coming up stairs, concealed himself 
 behind a book-case. Toby, unsuspecting, came into 
 the room and prepared for a nap ; but happening to 
 catch sight of the satchel on the table, he sprang upon 
 his hind feet, snuffed at it, barked joyfully, and pres 
 ently discovered the arrival. 
 
A GOOD FRIEND. 369 
 
 Although Toby was not above the average size of 
 his breed, he appeared to imagine that he weighed a 
 ton. In the first months of his adoption, he would 
 tremble with apprehension if he were placed on a 
 table, evidently fearing that it would break down 
 under him. And he steadfastly refused, for a long 
 time, to trust himself on the railed bridge which led 
 from the counting-room across the basement press 
 room to the rear door of the office, and which was 
 amply able to sustain the weight of a rhinoceros. 
 But if this exaggerated notion of his own ponderosity 
 made him thus " afraid of that which is high," it 
 appeared to augment his courage in other directions, 
 for no dog, even were he as large as a calf, was too 
 large for Toby to tackle, if he caught it intruding 
 within the sacred precincts of the office. Toby spe 
 cially detested large black dogs ; their size and their 
 color seemed to offend him, and he would hurl himself 
 against a black dog four times his size, with impetu 
 osity and fearlessness enougli for an elephant. He 
 objected, also, to a rapidly-moving carriage, or to a 
 horse urged to his best speed ; and never failed to 
 rush out and bark at any passing vehicle or equestrian 
 that exceeded his notions of proper dignity of move 
 ment. All the entreaty, instruction, discipline and 
 threatening in the world, could never cure Toby of 
 this bad habit, which was deplored by all his friends, 
 both because it was annoying to passers-by, and 
 because it was feared that some justly-offended trav 
 eller might sometime revenge himself on poor Toby, 
 
370 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 whose moral character was otherwise excellent, these 
 two antipathies being his only failings. 
 
 Instead of being overrated, as pets are apt to be, 
 there is reason to think that Toby knew a good deal 
 more than he had credit for. His exhibitions of sense 
 and sagacity sometimes astonished even his most appre 
 ciative friends. One morning when Brunette, by reason 
 of guests or errands, was somewhat belated, and did 
 not reach the office at the usual time, a lady who had 
 sometimes called on her at her home, and had there a 
 speaking acquaintance with Toby, although she did 
 not suppose he would recognize her anywhere else, 
 came to the office with some message for Brunette. 
 She had never been there previously, and was puzzling 
 between the two street-doors, one of which led to the 
 counting-room, and the other up stairs to the editorial 
 rooms. Toby, who had come to the door to meet 
 Brunette, as was his custom, at once recognized the 
 visitor, and apparently knew whom she was seeking, 
 and understood her dilemma. lie led her to the stair 
 way door, and as she opened it, he ran up stairs, paus 
 ing and looking back to induce her to follow. She did 
 so, and he piloted her through the composing-room 
 and the large editorial room to the library where were 
 Brunette s desk and chair, and, by a lively pantomime, 
 indicated to her that she should sit down and wait. He 
 made his meaning so plain that she understood him 
 perfectly, and seated herself at his invitation to wait 
 for Brunette, who presently arrived, "just as Toby said 
 she would," declared the admiring visitor ; while he, 
 
A GOOD FRIEND. 371 
 
 wagging his tail and smiling at the success of his plan, 
 left the two to their conversation, and went down to 
 attend to his duties in the counting-room. 
 
 It was quite evident that Toby, up to the time of 
 his adoption into the Adviser office, had never seen a 
 street-car ; and his first introduction to one was 
 extremely funny. He was accompanying his master 
 one day on a long tramp up-town, when that gentle 
 man chanced to fall once more into the oft-repeated 
 error of fancying that to ride on the horse-railway 
 might save time. So he hailed a car, which Toby did 
 not seem to notice, until just as his master was step 
 ping in, when he prepared to follow, but was peremp 
 torily shut out. This did not much surprise Toby, as 
 he took the car for a house, where he supposed his 
 master was making a call ; and under such circum 
 stances, Toby had been frequently requested to 
 remain outside, on the steps, on account of the unrea 
 sonable prejudices of persons who objected to four- 
 toed tracks on the hall carpet, and ginger-colored 
 dog s-hairs on the parlor hearth-rug. Remembering 
 these things, Toby sat himself resignedly down on the 
 steps of this small house also, to wait until his master 
 should come out. He was considerably astonished 
 when he was kicked off by a loud-voiced and unpleas 
 ant young man who was busy with a couple of feeble- 
 looking horses in the front yard ; so busy, indeed, 
 that he paid not the slightest attention to two women, 
 who were hurrying and shaking their umbrellas 
 toward him from a side street, in the hope of attract 
 ing his notice. 
 
372 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 But while Toby stood looking anxiously up at the 
 window, against which he could see the back of his 
 beloved master s head, he was thunder-struck to see 
 the house suddenly moving along up the street. Toby 
 could not believe his eyes ; the house, with his friend 
 in it, was actually moving away from him ! Toby felt 
 weak in his knees. He sat down, despite the mud 
 and the multitude, in the middle of the street, and 
 watched the receding edifice. He did not attempt to 
 follow it ; he would as soon have thought of following 
 a whirlwind or an earthquake. Roused at last from 
 his trance of painful amazement by a four-horse team 
 which threatened to trample him into sausage-meat, 
 poor Toby pulled himself together, and went slowly 
 and dejectedly back to the office, thinking, probably, 
 that his master had been translated, if not by means 
 of " a chariot of fire and horses of fire," at least by as 
 near an approach to them as Portland and the nine 
 teenth century could furnish, and in a manner quite 
 as inexplicable to him. He gave up his customary 
 business-like interest and oversight, and betook him 
 self to the darkest corner of the library, where, in 
 company with a dusty pair of rubbers, the Indian 
 clubs with which his master was wont to keep his 
 muscle on a war footing, and an old umbrella retired 
 on half-pay, he lay with his mouth in the dust, reject 
 ing all consolation, and utterly refusing to explain 
 himself. Great was his amazement, and exuberant 
 his joy, when his master returned. Toby evidently 
 regarded him as a returner from another world, whom 
 he had never expected to behold again. 
 
A GOOD FRIEND. 373 
 
 It took several trials to teach Toby the ins and outs 
 of the street-cars ; but presently he understood the 
 matter, and would wait obediently while his master 
 embarked, and then trot along cheerfully on the side 
 walk, ahead of the laboring horses, stopping at every 
 corner to watch the dismounting of the passengers, 
 and make sure that the figure he looked for was not 
 among them. And he never seemed to think it at all 
 strange or unfair, that he, too, was not allowed to 
 ride. But once, on a wretchedly wet night in winter, 
 when Brunette was taking him home with her, she 
 found the wind and rain so severe, as she toiled up 
 Exchange street, that when she reached Congress, she 
 stepped into a car, quite forgetting Toby for the 
 moment ; and after the car started, she was amazed to 
 find him comfortably lying down under the edge of 
 her water-proof, as though he had been there a month. 
 He was nearly concealed by her garments, and he lay 
 as still as though he were dead ; but the one eye 
 which he kept fixed on Brunette s face, said plainly, 
 "You know I don t mind the running, but I was get. 
 ting wet through ; and if you will only keep quiet, 
 and say nothing, this little plan of mine will work 
 admirably, and nobody will be harmed by it." Bru 
 nette was on thorns all the way, expecting that the 
 poor dog would be roughly ejected ; but no one 
 seemed to notice him, and when the end of the trip 
 was reached, he bounded out, barking joyfully, as 
 though exulting at having set at naught the rules of 
 the railway company. But, queerly enough, he never 
 attempted it again. 
 
874 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 Toby knew perfectly well when Sunday came, and 
 not only slept later that morning, but evinced in vari 
 ous ways his consciousness that the exercises of the 
 day were to be quite different from those of week 
 days. He was generally treated to a walk with his 
 master on Sundays, and in these walks he delighted ; 
 but otherwise the day was rather a bore to him. He 
 was a stirring business dog, and he liked the move 
 ment and excitement of week-days, when there were 
 people coming and going, and hurry, and bustle, and 
 noise, and many feet running up and down stairs. He 
 was a favorite with the girl-compositors, and was very 
 fond of them, being especially attentive to those 
 who brought their lunch, instead of going home at 
 noon. Indeed, Brunette noticed sometimes, with pain, 
 that he was much more fond of their boned turkey 
 and sugared doughnuts than of her simple refection, 
 which generally consisted of two crackers and an 
 apple. Toby, like many a being with a less number of 
 feet, knew which side his bread was buttered on. 
 But when the temptations of lunch-time were over, it 
 was by Brunette s chair, or at her feet, that he lay 
 down for his afternoon nap. 
 
 He knew when the working hours of the day were 
 over for his master, as well as did that gentleman him 
 self. As soon as the last edition went to press, Toby 
 understood that business was finished for the day, and 
 would thereafter steadfastly oppose all intrusion upon 
 his master s sanctum ; even telegraph boys, who some 
 times arrived with belated dispatches, were denied 
 
A GOOD FRIEND. 375 
 
 admittance by Toby, although he had been on good 
 terms with them all day. He would not attempt to 
 bite or bully them, but would rise on his hind feet, 
 put his paws against them, and push them away from 
 the door, with a deprecating bark, as though saying 
 " I don t wish to be disagreeable personally I am 
 very fond of you but you really mustn t, you 
 know ! " 
 
 Confinement to the routine of a daily newspaper 
 office has often been called a dog s life, but it has also 
 been many a dog s death. It is altogether probable 
 that if Toby had lived in the country on a farm, 
 where he would have been obliged to go after the 
 cows every night, to trot to the nearest market town 
 every week, and to scour the country in pursuit of 
 runaway horses, oxen and sheep, whenever they might 
 succeed in escaping from the pasture, he might have 
 been alive to-day. But Toby was too well-fed to 
 thrive without an abundance of out-of-door exercise, 
 and the latter is hard to combine with a newspaper 
 life. True, he sometimes accompanied the city editor 
 on a devious tramp in pursuit of the bounding news- 
 item ; he not infrequently assisted the collector in his 
 peripatetic duties, or walked a little way with the 
 homeward compositor, or went shopping with Bru 
 nette, when she wanted some small addition to her 
 frugal wardrobe ; but altogether he did not have suf 
 ficient exercise to keep him in health. A sedentary, 
 shut-up, monotonous vocation will kill even a dog. 
 
 And before poor Toby had lived out half his days 
 
376 
 
 THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 
 
 he fell a victim to his devotion to business. He 
 seemed a little ill one day, and although carefully 
 tended by his master, he grew rapidly worse. One 
 day he seemed desirous to go out once more into the 
 open air. He was tenderly carried out and placed on 
 the sidewalk, but he was too weak to utter his usual 
 cheerful bark at the passing teams. He walked slowly 
 a few steps, and looked mournfully up and down the 
 familiar street, as though conscious that it was for the 
 last time. Then he turned toward the door, but had 
 not strength to mount the steps, and was carried in 
 and laid down again upon his bed. He wagged his 
 grateful tail faintly, gave a long sigh of weariness, 
 and then with his faithful, patient, beautiful eyes fixed 
 lovingly on his master s face, he was dead. 
 
 It was a bitter blow to Brunette, who loved him ; 
 all the more, perhaps, that her constant employment 
 did not give her time to make or cultivate many 
 human friendships. Besides, she had often been accused 
 by censorious people, of loving animals more than 
 persons. And surely, many a human being has died 
 and been buried, leaving behind him less real grief 
 and heart-ache, and lonesomeness, than followed the 
 death of Toby ; many a one has received, and deserved, 
 less love than he, and few are held in more tender and 
 grateful memory. 
 
 Brunette could not feel that she had done her duty 
 by her dead friend, until she had paid him the one 
 small honor in her power, by putting on record his 
 virtues, and her appreciation of them. And the eyes 
 
A GOOD FRIEND. 377 
 
 of the little home circle were not ashamed of their 
 tears, as she read aloud her small and inadequate 
 tribute to his memory. 
 
 TOBY. 
 
 He was my fondest friend and he is dead 
 Dead in the vigorous fullness of his prime, 
 Lost to my seeing for all coming time; 
 Now, ere oblivion close above his head, 
 Let me look back across our mingled years, 
 And count how he was worth this heart-ache and 
 these tears. 
 
 Purer devotion, steadier truth than his, 
 Not even the most exacting heart could crave ; 
 Demanding little, all he had, he gave, 
 Nor wronged his love by doubts and jealousies, 
 But kept his constant faith unto the end, 
 Kind, loyal, trusting, brave, a true ideal friend. 
 
 Envy nor prejudice he never knew, 
 
 Nor breathed a syllable of wrath or blame, 
 
 Nor wronged by hint or sneer his neighbor s fame, 
 
 Nor uttered aught unseemly or untrue ; 
 
 In all his life-time there was never heard 
 
 From his unsullied lips a base or cruel word. 
 
 Ho never joined the venal, sordid race 
 Of politicians, mad with selfish greed; 
 He never did a vile, uncleanly deed 
 
 By man or woman; envied no one s place, 
 
 Nor wronged a mortal of a penny s worth; 
 
 Should he not rank among the rare ones of the earth ? 
 
378 THE TKIANGULAK SOCIETY. 
 
 He never sought the revels of the gay, 
 Nor strayed where fatal follies spread their snare ; 
 He loved the home-light, and the fireside chair, 
 When daytime s crowding cares were shut away, 
 And there, with all he loved in easy reach, 
 He talked with soft brown eyes, more eloquent than 
 speech. 
 
 Yet scores of wise men argue and declare 
 
 That this, my friend, was but a pinch of dust; 
 That his warm heart of constancy and trust 
 
 Has gone out, like a bubble in the air; 
 
 That his true soul of love and watchful care 
 
 Is quenched, extinct and lost, and is not, anywhere. 
 
 " He had no soul," they say. What was his power 
 Of love, remembrance, gratitude and faith ? 
 Do these not triumph over time and death, 
 
 And far outlast our life-time s little hour ? 
 
 Affection, changeless though long cycles roll, 
 
 Integrity and trust, do these not make the soul ? 
 
 If these high attributes in sinful men 
 Make up the sum of immortality, 
 Outlive all life and time, and land and sea, 
 Unfading, deathless, wherefore is it then, 
 They are contemned by church and synagogue, 
 When they inspire and warm the bosom of a dog ? 
 
 If baser spirits last, can it be true, 
 That his dissolved to nothing when he died ? 
 Wherever love lives, must not his abide ? 
 
 Where faith dwells, shall his faith not enter too ? 
 
 True hearts are few, and heaven is not so small, 
 
 O fond and faithful friend, but it can hold them all! 
 
A GOOD FlttEND. 379 
 
 I have lost many a friend, but never one 
 So patient, steadfast, and sincere as he, 
 So unf orgetf ul in his constancy ; 
 
 Ah, when at last my long day s work is done, 
 
 Shall I not find him waiting as of yore, 
 
 Eager, expectant, glad, to meet me at the door ? 
 
A PERIOD. 
 
 YEAES ago, a little Portland boy, on being shown a 
 painting of a twilight landscape, gazed on it awhile in 
 silence, apparently estimating critically the foreground, 
 middle distance, light and shade and their effect on 
 local color, background, truth to nature, perspective, 
 and the disposition of values, and then suddenly 
 withdrawing his thumb from his mouth and placi ig it 
 on a clear space of sky, he exclaimed, " There s a first- 
 rate place for a moon ! " If that little boy did not die 
 young and comparatively few persons die young in 
 Portland he is now a bearded man, busy with money- 
 making or politics perhaps a happy combination of 
 both ; or if he did, he is a chubby, smooth-cheeked 
 angel, with little or nothing to do. In either case, the 
 recorder of these fragmentary sketches wishes heart 
 ily that he were at hand to point out a " first-rate 
 place " for a period. The fond pen cannot find heart 
 to exterminate the members of the inoffensive and 
 industrious family from whose simple daily experi 
 ences it has drawn these bap-hazard pages. Besides, a 
 mortality so sudden and unusual would cast a sus 
 picion of improbability over the whole record, since 
 families are never swept away in that wholesale man 
 ner, in the healthful and salubrious vicinity of Casco 
 Bay. It cannot marry them all happily off, after 
 380 
 
THE TRIANGULAR SOCIETY. 381 
 
 the style of novels, as they are too old or too young, 
 too foolish or too wise to be disposed of in that man 
 ner. There seems no alternative but to leave them as 
 it found them, busy, content, self-respecting and inde 
 pendent in their quiet and unostentatious way, minding 
 their own affairs, and doing their best to keep their 
 small bit of this world bright and comfortable and 
 clean and happy, which, after all, is more than many 
 of us do, and as much as the best need hope to 
 accomplish.