COLLECTION
B.W. C.ROBERTS

NORTH CAROLINIANA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

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Mies

Heips OF ST. KaLDA

A Story OF THE SOUTHERN Past

BY

JOHN W. MOORE

«] HELD it truth with him who sings—
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones

Of their dead selves to higher things.”
In Memoriam,

RALEIGH :
GHTON & CO., PUBLISHERS.

1881.

EDWARDS, BROU:
 

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7

PEESSES OV

Copyrighted 1880,

By JOHN W. MOORE. ~

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OE ete
od

EDWARDS, BROUGHTON & CO,,

Rateien, N.C.

 

4

Sree Foren pipelined

en eienin eee

 

 

TO

_ BUGENE GRISSOM, M. D., LL, D.

 

*

‘To you, dear friend, in whose large soul
My spirit finds its counterpart ; —
: I bring this offering of my hearts
: : And picttre times grown gray and old.

pS
Perhaps your love will hide the faults
That will be seen by other eyes ;
And you, too, bless the sacred-ties

‘That bind us to our Southern vaults:

On clanging fields so deeply dyed, .
Our strength was wasted man by man
Yet cling we to our father-land,

And in our ancient faith abide.

God bless us and the things we love

- bs God help us cleave unto the right ;
Uplifted' to sublimest height,

‘TranSfigured ‘with the lights above.
 

 

 

 

 

 

PREGAC Bs

In tHE altered condition of affairs seen in the South,
the author of this book, like many others, has been led
by the stress of circumstances into different paths than he
was wont to follow in happier days. Had the late war
between the States resulted differently, it is highly im-
probable that this work would have been undertaken.
In the wreck and change wrought upon our social life
arose a mute cry for vindication against the cruel
slanders and caricatures which have been published to
the world as true pictures of our inner life as a people.
The possibility that posterity may be deceived as to the
truth concerning the men and women of the South
preceding and during the late Revolution, has induced
the attempt at their portrayal here submitted to the public.

It can certainly appear neither unnatural nor presump-
tuous in us who participated in the long agony endured
in defence of our institutions to be sensitive as to the
opinions of those who are and shall be in positions, where
the truth may not be known concerning us and our
ways. We did not shed so much of our best blood to up-
hold a cause, which, when fully understood, will be likely

to make us

“Fixed figures for the time of scorn
“To point a slow unmoving finger at.”
aa

 

 

   
 

 

 

Preface.

This story will be found to contain but little of the real
controversy between us and the people who so long and
successfully sought our undoing. The effort was made
to avoid those memorable differences of opinion, and the
author has contented himself with the simple portrayal
of Southern men and women as he knew them in the
days of their peace and prosperity. The motives control-
ling such an essay may be, in all modesty, claimed’ as
nobler than the production of a mere love story. It is
hoped that the “ Heirs of St. Kilda,” will justify the claim
that it is a faithful picture of our lost civilization.

In the elaboration of the structure, the ordinary
resources of the literary artist were found insufficient,
and unusual agencies have been invoked to fill out the
canvas. Many novel readers will be doubtless shocked
at the introduction of Goy. Eustace’s valedictory, but the
burden of his discourse contained so much of themes
then filling the popular mind that their omission would
have marred the completeness of the exposition. The
nature of the plot and the customs of wealthy people
required the removal of the leading characters from the
earlier scenes. It was said by Edmund Spenser

“That all this famous antique history
Of some, the abundance of an idle brain
Will judged be, and painted forgery
Rather than matter of just memory;
Sith none that breathes living air doth know
Where is that happy land of Faery
Which I so much do vyaunt yet no where show.”

 

steht gon in Brot

—

Preface. 7

The inquisitive must determine for fen. the
position of St. Kilda Valley, and the originals of the
Eustace family. There are many witnesses to attest the
fidelity of the portraits, and that nothing has been set
down in malice will be patent to every reader.

With these explanations the work is commited to the
judgment of those willing to pause amid the excitement
and passion of the present in perusal of phere sca of
the dead past. In the consciousness of duty discharged,
the author trusts he is neither vain nor credulous in
bequeathing this book, as did Lord Bacon ae memory,
“+o men’s charitable speeches, to foreign nations and the

next ages.”
     

 

 

Chapter I. St. Kilda Valley.

, . ee Tl. Ellesmere.
cs Ill. A Day in the Fields.
cn Iv. Thorndale Cottage.
se V. St. Kilda Races.
pc VI. Fireside Conversation.
s i “VII. Gower Hall.
i ali ; “ VIII. Christmas.
ey TX. Rosamond’s Story.
ts X. Percival St. George.
dy XI. Mr. Grey.
“XII. Philip at College.
«© XIII. Philip goes out into the world.
“ XIV. Grief at Ellesmere.
“ XV. Titus Paine, The Outlaw.
“} XVI. Gov. Eustace’s Valedictory.
“ XVII. Outward-Bound.
“ XVIII. New Foes.
“ XTX. Haleyon Days.
«XX. Pallida Mors.
‘© XXT. Rosamond’s Sorrow.
j “© XXII. A New Goddess in the Pantheon.

“ XXIII. Light in the Coliseum.

“ XXIV. Wedding Bells.

|
i

@ a _ TABLE OF CONTENTS.
i

 

4

ae ie ah an ap

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

iineiaacorapsip tatiana

~ LHE- HERS OR ods KILDA.

CHAPTER I.

THE VALLEY OF ST. KILDA.

“Tp WAS a mountain, at whose verdant feet
A spacious plain, outstretched in circuit wide,
Lay pleasant; from his side two rivers flowed,
The one winding, the other straight, and left between
Fair champaign, with less rivers intervein’d,
Then, meeting, join’d their tribute to the sea;
Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine;

With herds the pasture throng’d, with flocks the hills.”
Paradise Regained.

Tue year of our Lord, 1845, approached its close. The
sun at midday yet retained much of Summer’s warmth ;
but as the shadows from the court house and church
spires stretched to the east, the coolness of early autumn
became perceptible. The village of St. Kilda was half-
hidden among its embowering trees, for the oaks in the
public square, and the over-arching elms of the streets,
being unvisited by the frost, still held aloft the green
mantle they had assumed in the Spring. The white
houses peering from masses of shade made the village
half-rural in appearance, and with the two rivers which
there joined their waters, added to the surrounding
mountains, composed one of the loveliest scenes of all the
Southern country. It gave name to the fine valley in
which it was situated, and was the largest town in that

inti ee
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
 

 

 

12 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

portion of the State. From the number and earnestness
of the groups on the side-walks it was evident something
unusual was under consideration.

The great occasion of this and each succeeding year
was now close at hand, and not only the villagers, but the
inhabitants of all the surrounding valley, were alive to
its importance. It lacked but a few days to the races,
and this season was to St. Kilda what the Carnival is to
Rome and Derby-day to Epsom. It was a greater holi-
day than either Christmas or the fourth of July, and was
eagerly awaited by all classes of the community. Wealthy
planters grew restless as Séptember waned, fearing train-
ers had not lavished sufficient care on their blood-horses,
and smaller farmers made it the occasion for disposing of
their surplus live stock. The good women of the country-
side, by immemorial custom, then received higher prices
for poultry and butter, and the youths of both sexes were
gladdened at the approach of a season long sacred to
festivity and mirth.

A turnpike led from the village northward, and along
this road, in the light of the declining sun, passed three
horsemen. They had just left St. Kilda, and evidently
belonged to that class most deeply interested in- the
coming races. He, on the right, with the dark brown
hair, is Percival St. George, who has for three successive
seasons borne off the palm of victory in the exciting con-
tests. He rides a few paces to the rear and has but little
to say. Although now nearly forty years of age, he is
still possessed of that fine combination of form and feature
which rendered him so attractive in his light-hearted
youth to the women of two continents. There is a look
of weariness in his eyes, but a moustache conceals the

 

 

 

 

ee eewlpeatsnent sone is int niaecioen

pace acini

The Valley of St. Kilda. 13

expression of his mouth. The calm elegance of his whole
figure is eloquent of proud descent. He is slightly above
the usual height, and has the history of some great —
plainly written in the lines of his face. Next to him
rides his cousin Philip Eustace, who will be seventeen
years old when he reaches his next birth-day. He is a
fine, well-grown youth, and sits on his black stallion as

if thoroughly at home. There isa strong family likeness

between himself and St. George. They have the ae
complexion and dark eyes, and their Suna air
exhibits a striking similarity of contour. Arthur ean
rides on the left, having arrived by the stage this very
day, and is now going out to his new home. He ents
to be the tutor of Philip Eustace, who is apparent yo s
enough to be at college. Kean is of medium size, -
with his black eyes and swarthy complexion has the

iard.
appearance of a Spaniard. :
“Cousin Percy,” said Philip, “I saw Mr. Compton’s

new horse, Pepin, in town to-day. He is very mie
but I should think his stride too short to compete wi

Hildebrand and Tempest. Do you expect to be beaten

~ + 9)

en St. George, “I have no idea of Pepin’s being
able to out-foot either of our horses in a close brush,
whatever he may be able to accomplish by mere pear
Then, too, Hildebrand and Tempest are possessed 0
admirable endurance, and I am content to leave the
decision of the question to them. Pepin, as a aapleeo
old, won the Shirley stakes in England last season, .

Mr. Compton has paid an extravagant price a im,
hoping to avenge himself of the defeats sustained more

than once by my horses.”

5 lst itm Sic esi nichnhie te

canal ntti nama

ae
 

   
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
   
 
 

 

 

14 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“Frederick Compton told me,” said Philip, “that Pepin
is more than half Arabian in his blood.”

“We is much like his sire in shortness of limb and
muscular development of the fore-arm,” said St. George.
“T am glad he has been brought over, for he is the only
importation to the valley in the last fifteen years; and I
am not wanting in admiration of English horses.”

“Tf it be true,” said Kean, “that Pepin was well backed
for the Goodwood Cup this year, it proves that among
competent judges he was regarded as one of the best
English horses, and that is saying very much for him.
T have seen most of the European studs, and my deliberate
opinion is that the English thoroughbred is the sum and
result of the different excellencies of all the breeds. So,
Mr. St. George, you must look well to it in this new
contest; your horse will have to do all in his power to
maintain his ascendency against this new competitor.”

“No one,” said Percival, “could submit to defeat more
cheerfully than myself. I consider racing an encourage-
ment to improvement in horses, and only desirable to
that end.”

The party, by this time, had come some distance from

' St. Kilda. The turnpike, for the last half mile, had been

gradually ascending the face of a hill, upon which was
the residence of Judge Eustace, the grandfather of young
Philip and the brother of St. George’s mother. About
half. way up the hill, the party dismounted to drink of
the sparkling water issuing from a spring on the side of
the road. The horsemen turned to gaze on the noble
scene; for all the central and southern portions of the
valley were before them. The larger of the two rivers
was its eastern boundary, the course of the stream being

ennai tintin

  

The Valley of St. Kilda. 15

nearly north and south, Twenty miles below, the moun-
tain chain, in primeval days, had been sundered by the
waters, and now on both sides great cliffs frowned across
the intervening space. Hawkshead is the last of a long
continuation of peaks sweeping in a curve around three

sides of St. Kilda valley. They again approach the river
at Satan’s Nose, and it is twenty-five miles from Hawks-
head to that point, while the greatest breadth, from the
river to the place where the mountains receded farthest,
was fifteen.

The sun had shone brightly until the last half hour of
his stay in the heavens. Since that time masses of cloud
had been drifting from behind the mighty barriers, and
there was a magical transformation of the scene. A
wondrous mixture of lights and shades stretched them-
selves across the gentle undulations of the valley, and
just above the mountain tops shone the glory of the set-
ting sun. The distant peaks were almost as soft as the
clouds, in their tints of violet and blue, while those nearer
were dark with sombre forest far up their craggy sides.
St. Kilda, with her spires and white walls, gleamed from
the centre of the picture, while from many spots could be
seen the curling smoke of half-hidden cottages, with the
occasional gleam of the battlements of prouder mansions.
A few glimpses of the smaller river could be descried as
it wound its way through the scene. Philip had called
the attention of Kean from his inspection of the arrange-
ments around the spring, and he gazed in astonishment
at the change which had been wrought in the landscape
below.

“Tt is strange,” said St. George, “that I should never
have seen St, Kilda Valley so beautiful before. It really

en Sianeli
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

 

16 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

seems to me that everything is transfigured, in this even-
ings glory.”

“Tt is surpassingly grand,” said Kean. “ Do you often
observe such rapid changes in the appearance of things
here at sunset?”

“Yes,” said St. George, “but not like this.”

“Tf Mariana could only see the valley now,” said
Philip. “I never realized before what a privilege it is to
see.”

From behind the eastern hills, stole up the full-orbed
moon, completing the loveliness of the picture. It
reminded Percival St. George, who was himself a poet, of
Tennyson’s description of the haunts of the Lotos-Haters:

In the afternoon they came into a land,

In which it seemed always afternoon.

All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon.

The horsemen now mounted and passed along the
turnpike, until they reached the gate through the stone
walls encompassing the park, in which the Ellesmere
mansion stood. A broad carriage-way led to the house ;
and when the party arrived in front of its hospitable portal,
there was just sufficient light for Kean to see a large,
irregular pile, which had been added to at different eras.

After supper the family were gathered in the library,
and Arthur Kean had an opportunity to observe those
among whom he expected to spend at least one year of
his life. Judge Eustace was a man of noble presence,
and from his snowy locks the tutor saw he was verging
on three-score and ten, fixed by the royal psalmist as
the limit of hale and vigorous old age. He had long

 

snnaietc

sipateincinaahconescai e vatsn nii

The Valley of St. Kilda, 17

been regarded, by those who knew him best, as a great
and good man. Most of his life bad been devoted to the
service of his native State, and for two terms he had
filled the place of United States Senator. His taste had
led him to prefer the honors of his profession to inere
political success, and he had retired from the Senate to
assume the highest judicial honors of the commonwealth.
He had been, until the last five years, the chief justice of
the supreme court, and had then withdrawn from all
public station, to seek the retirement and self-examina-

tion so important to men of his age. This Philip Eustace
had been the pride and ornament of a bar numbering
many illustrious names in its catalogue; and, to the most
inattentive observer, it was plain that his polished and
austere intelligence had lost but little of its earlier vigor.

Mrs. Eustace, who had been the companion of her
husband for so long a time, was a belle and a beauty,
in her radiant youth, and the long years which sep-
arated the present from that time had fallen so gently
upon her that she preserved much of her original
vivacity. In her ceaseless cheerfulness she exhibited no
trace of querulous old age, and even the tones of her
voice yet retained the melody which had in the past
charmed the hearts of so many men, since grown famous
in the land. Miss Esther Stanhope was the elder of two
daughters, and when the good Bishop, her father, gave
her in marriage to the rising young lawyer, it was with
many misgivings lest her gaiety should not be appre-
ciated by the colder nature of her lord. These fore-
-bodings were all happily unfulfilled in the issue, for
their wedded lives had been one long experience of
unbroken happiness. In the very diversity of tempera-

2
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

18 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ments lay the secret of their perfect concord: she loved
her husband for his nobility and unyielding integrity ;
and the strong man lost his cares, and half forgot ie
ambition, in the sweet presence of his wife.

Mariana Eustace, the sister of Philip, was almost
angelic in the purity and softness of her beauty. A
strange blindness had come to her dark brown eyes, but
there was no trace of sorrow or repining in her faultless
lineaments. She was two years younger than her brother
they being the only children of Philip Ashton Tastacs,
then Governor of the State.

The room in which the family and their visitors were
gathered was the favorite spot in all the house. It had
a century before, been used as a chapel by the family a
here still, at morning and evening, the prayers were au
The brilliant light in the centre of the room brought out
every object into distinctness, aud revealed a picture of
elegant home life in the Southern country.

At the east end of the library sat Mrs. Eustace talking
with Mr. Mason Somerville, who was on a visit with hig
daughter, Ida, to the family at Ellesmere. He lived at
St. Kilda, and was then the leading counsel in that por-
tion of the State. He had been the law-partner of- Gov,

Eustace until that gentleman gave up the practice for

the larger excitement of a seat in the national House of
Representatives. Over on their right sat Philip, Ida
Somerville and Mariana. ~

A little further on was Percival St. George, Reginald
Vane and Helen Temple. Vane was a cousin of the
Eustaces,and remarkable for his good humor and devotion
to country sports. Miss Temple, the niece of Mrs. Eustace
who sat by his side, was the opposite of Mariana in her

 

The Valley of St. Kilda. 19

type of beauty, and her black eyes and tresses had been
a thousand times toasted in St. Kilda Valley. He was
much of his time at Ellesmere, and devoted to the regal
looking brunette at his side. The flying feet of his horse
could be heard speeding away across the sleeping valley—
mingling thoughts of his lady-love with plans boding
much interruption to any fox within miles ef Gilnockie,
where the lone bachelor lived and hunted.

Judge Eustace and Arthur Kean are under the chan-
delier, and the large room is full of pleasant voices until
Mr. Somerville carries off every one but these two to the
adjoining room for music on the piano. The two men,
as they sit together, present many strong contrasts. The
elder’s locks are whitened by the snows of many winters ;
the other with jetty hair is just entered upon manhood,
and yet there is much in the past to connect the two.
The young man who has just come thousands of miles
finds warm welcome at Ellesmere. Judge Eustace had
been for years previous to the death of Talbot Kean, the
father of Arthur, the great friend and paragon of that
distinguished man, and had ever manifested peculiar
interest in the affairs of the son. Though living in a
different State, the Chief Justice, when informed of his
friend’s dying condition, had gone to his bedside and
remained until death had closed the sad scene. Nor had
his good offices stopped there. By diligent search into
the affairs of his dead friend, the estate which had been
considered hopelessly entangled was so arranged that a
decent competence had been preserved for young Arthur,
who was thus enabled to continue his stay in Germany,
where he was prosecuting his education at the time of
his father’s death.
 

 

    
  
 
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

20 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

These considerations had induced Kean to accept of
Judge Eustace’s invitation to make Ellesmere his home,
for at least a year, where he could pursue his study of

the law and act as the tutor of young Philip.

“Twelve years ago, Arthur,” gaid Judge Eustace,
“Percy and I met you with your father in London.

Have you forgotten our night at Covent Garden ?”

“By no means, sir,” said Kean, “I was in my fifteenth
year then, and you thereby estimate my thorough infatua-
tion with the splendors Edmund Kean was lavishing
upon his audiences. I have never seen Shakespeare’s
masterpieces presented in such a manner since.”

“T suppose you had the full benefit of the opera, while
your father’s mission at Naples lasted, for I believe there
was the birth-place of this modern amusement ?”

“As much as it can really be enjoyed. I was allowed
to go once or. twice every week, and thus never grew
sated.”

“TI,” said Judge Eustace, “should have soon reached
that conclusion, for though I can applaud the main idea

involved in the opera, and am willing to admit that as ~

every thought proper to the drama may have its corres-
ponding emotion, and, as a consequence, the possibility
of expression in music, still I. have never been able to
bring myself to enjoy more than the detached beauties of
a song now and then, even in the greatest of these musical

plays. But, on the other hand, even a second rate play
enchains me for hours.”

“T cannot say for the life of me,” said Kean, “to which
branch of the art my preference lies. I fear I am foolishly
fond of both. I shall never forget. Mr. St. George’s visit

é

  

 

tcp eg tape

The Valley of St. Kilda. 21

He frequently carried me with him when my

to Naples.
father was detained at the legation.” gies

“Poor Percy,” said the Judge with a sigh.” It had
been infinitely better for him never to have seen an opera.
His happiness in Naples was ‘sadly counterbalanced by

his subsequent misfortune. My father’s distress was
unspeakable,” said Kean, “when we found him so ill in
Venice. We had gone there to attend his marriage, but
the beautiful being that was to have been his bride had
been three days dead, and he in such a sbesgte a every
one expected him to follow her most speedily. ;

“ Arthur Kean,” said the Judge, “I am no fatalist, but
there seems some dreadful curse hanging over our house
for the last quarter of a century. My own wedded life,
thank God, has been thrice blessed, but my dearest
friends have been singularly unfortunate. My oldest son
lost his lovely young wife soon after his marriage. Mrs.
Courtenay was a widow in less than a year from her
bridals. Percy did not even become a bride-greom before:
he was a widower, and Stanhope, though I have frequently
urged him to leave the army and marry, yet broods over
a jilting at the hands of a heartless coquette he has not
‘seen in ten years. My dear sir, you can now appreciate
my anxiety as to training Philip. I wish to arm him
against these morbid tendencies which are threatening
to extinguish the name of Eustace in the St. Kilda
Valley.

“T pray God,” said Kean, “that such a disaster may
mever come. I have been struck with Philip’s freedom
from such tendencies, and I shall bear in mind your sug-
gestions. I have never seen anything more beautiful
than his tender consideration for his sister, and I think
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

22 The Heirs of St. Kitda.

it grows out of that ver i ich i
ih nae peal y manliness which is the noblest
“Even so,” said the Judge. “Mariana has been so
dependent upon him in her blindness that I have long
dreaded the day of their separation. But it is gettin
high time he was learning what life is. I would eh
every girl delicately at her own fireside, but nothing is
more conducive to healthy sentiment ina young man
than large communion with those of his own age. It
prepares him for the rough jostling he may inevitably
expect in after life. There is no golden road to learning:
and position is never achieved without a multitude oF
rivals seeking to make themselves lions in the pathway
to success.”

“T cordially agree with you, sir,” said Kean, “and for

myself I have ever found that my energies rose with the

consciousness of conflict. I look forward to my li

the bar with pleasure, as it holds out larger ae -
frequent friendly struggle. But I must say that I
unfeignedly distrust my ability to supply Mr. Grey’s
place in regard to Philip. I know him to be a most,
finished scholar, and then his manner is so winning with
everybody, and especially the young, that I am really
fearful you have made a mistake in making me his
successor.”

“Ti was his own proposition,” said the Judge; “your
advantages are that you know German and the new
advances in the style of teaching adopted in that reall
wonderful country.” :

“T am free to say I could not have undertaken the
position, however pleasant, had I not understood that
Mr. Grey wrote even before you mentioned the subject in

 

The Valley of St. Kilda. 23

your letters, and urged me to come. I met him for the
first time when you and he came over to see Mr. St.
George at Rome, and I think him as near the realization
of Sir Galahad as modern times could, under any circum-

stances, produce.
“There you have struck it,” said Judge Eustace, and
yy; g

he repeated :—

«A maiden knight to me is given,
Such hope I know not fear,
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven,
That often meet me here.”

“T declare,” continued the Judge, “ that man is a con-
tinual rebuke to me. I took him a little child from his
desolated home, and he has ever treated me as his father,
but so awful is unalloyed goodness and truth, that Iam
continually reminded by William Grey of what I lack in
my duty to God and man. With the most unaffected
and childlike simplicity he still excites more reverence
in my heart than any man I ever saw in all my long

experience. He and Mariana are the only persons I
have known of whom it may be said that while in the

world they are not of it. I am an old man, and years
ago, like Charles V., I thought I’ had left the world and
its vanities, when I withdrew from all public station ; but
often still the ghosts of my former ambitions steal upon
me, and, like Bariquo’s shade, they will not down at my
bidding. I humbly hope I shall be forgiven all my fail-
ings here, but I have.no hope of ever being in this world
half as good as this ‘Samaritan in whom there is no
guile’ But then I do not wish Philip to be such a man
as Mr. Grey. I would not for my right hand have him
fail in all reverence and duty to God, but his way in life
 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

94. The Heirs of St. Kilda.

will be so different that such an example, however
beautiful in itself, could not realize my hopes. We owe
something to our families and the commonwealth, and I
would not be gratified if I thought Philip liable to any
such freaks as converted Francis Xavier into a missionary,
however I may admire the unselfishness of such a man-
William Grey has not sought to instill any such tendencies,
and I know he has labored to impress Philip with the
importance of secular as well as christian duties, and I
had no fear on that head. But I am detaining you from
the young people. Suppose you go to the drawing rooms
and join them in their music. I will sit here and enjoy
a smoke in this beautiful meerschaum you have been so
kind as to bring to me from its home in the Fatherland.”

Kean went in the direction of the music and found the
parties in one of a suit of elegant drawing rooms. He
took his seat by Miss Somerville, and when Mariana and
St. George had finished their duet—* Home to our moun-
tains ”—Ida remarked:

“Do you think the angels can be more beautiful than
Mariana ?”

“They must then greatly exceed the limits of my
imagination,” said Kean. “She surpasses my ideas of
mere beauty, and her picture in Italy would be worshipped
as a Madonna surpassing the dreams of the masters.”

“T fear, Mr. Kean,” said Ida, “after your long stay in
Europe, you will find our village life very tame in
comparison.”

“T expect not, Miss Somerville. The Valley of St.
Kilda is beautiful in itself, and it has long been renowned
for its society.” .

“We are very grateful for your good opinion, Mr.

scsi aac itches apie Nai
\ spices ciate emia ana Aa aA aa . .

 

The Valley of St. Kilda. 25

Kean, and next week you will see everybody in our

‘limits at the races.”

Mr. Somerville here joined the group, remarking :

“T am delighted, Mr. Kean, to hear from Judge Eustace
that you contemplate making the Valley your permanent
home.”

“T thank you, sir,” said Kean, “ the world was all before
me where to choose, and here have I elected to stay.”

For some time the music and conversation went on in
the drawing rooms. It was getting toward midnight, and
Reginald Vane and Helen Temple found occasion to go
back to the library to exchange those nameless heart-
communings that lovers, on the eve of parting, always
find so sweet and unavoidable. The cavalier said he
must get back to Gilnockie, and be ready for disturbing
the morning echoes with hound and horn. They were
all the world to each other, as they sat in the shadow of
the embayed window. Judge Eustace was reading, mus-
ing and smoking. The company had all reassembled in
the library, but the Judge seemed absorbed in his book
and meerschaum until Mr. Somerville approached and
remarked :

“Ah, Mr. Chief Justice, how can you find in that pipe
and Blackwood amusement to be compared to that we
have been enjoying at the hands of our friends in the
drawing room ?”

“Well, sir,” said the Judge, “we are told in holy writ
that one of the guests who failed to attend the great feast
gave as an excuse that He had married a wife, and could
not attend. Mr. Kean thought enough of me, while four
thousand miles away, to buy me the pipe you see me
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

26 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

trying for the first time to-night.
musicians will hold me excused.”
“Ladies,” said Mr, Somerville, “as the Judge pleads

guilty, and the pipe is really so pretty, you must excuse
him.”

“Certainly we will,” said Mrs. Eustace, “but see His
Honor not only smokes his pipe, but really it is quite a
coincidence that this number of Blackwood’s magazine,
which came to-night, is what he has been reading, and
here are his annotations on this very subject of smoking.”

“Yes,” said the Judge, “and a clever article it is. The
author sets out with remarks upon the growth of the
revenues of several European States from tobacco, and
after a good deal of statistics, he goes into the xsthetics
of his subject.”

“Well, I love my pipe myself,” said Mr. Somerville,
“but my wife thinks I will kill myself at it, so I would
like to be fortified on my return to-morrow with some
new reasons why it is my duty to smoke.”

“There is much humbug among the doctors on that
subject,” said the Judge, “and many reformers and crazy
optimists are denouncing this use of the Virginia weed,
asserting that it is a useless extravagance, in which poor
men waste money which ought to go toward the support
of their families. Mr. Somerville, think you the practice
has brought with it any positive benefit to mankind at
large?”

“T think so,” said he, “ for there seems to be a craving
among men for some such stimulus, and I hold that the
love of their pipes has kept many a man from frequent-
ing tippling-houses,”

“More than that,” said Judge Eustace; “when he has

So I hope, sir, the

 

\
{

The Valley of St. Kilda. 27

gone home at night, soured with the griefs and disap-
pointments which await us all, the brooding mind of the
laborer has been lightened of its cares, and the toiling
wife spared harsh words which would have beeu spoken,
had he not sat down to his pipe and wiser thoughts. I
agree with James Hammond:
“Happiest he of happy men;

Who when again the night returns,

When again the taper burns,

Can afford his tube to feed

With the fragrant Indian weed:

Pleasure for a nose divine,
Incense of the god of wine.”

“TI have noticed this pleasant effect,” said Kean, “ and
I think it a great pity Sir Walter Raleigh had not intro-
duced it a century earlier in Europe. Martin Luther
would have doubtless been a smoker and thereby less
acrimonious in debate; perhaps a pipe might have saved
from the exccutioner’s axe the fair neck of Anne Boleyn.”

“T am clearly of the opinion,” said Judge Eustace,
“ that the griefs of the world have been diminished, and
the sum of human enjoyment largely increased by the
tobacco which has been burned in the pipes of the last
three centuries. If King James could arise from his
grave and see the innumerable smokers of our day, he
would think his Counter-blast was written to very little
purpose.”

“In this new apotheosis of your pipes,” said Miss
Temple, “why do you gentlemen not insist upon us of
the weaker sex partaking of this divine afflatus you
derive from such diminutive shrines?”

“Many of you do,” said Judge Lustace, “but happy
young creatures like you, Helen, are not supposed to be
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

28 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

amenable to the usual griefs of humanity, and therefore
do not need this solace.”

“Voltaire tells us, in his Charles XII,” said Mrs. Eust-
ace, “that the Czar Peter had created an uneasiness in
the minds of his subjects by the innovations he was
making in their habits. A portion of them were discuss-
ing the ethics of this very habit of smoking when an old
Muscovite Priest opposed it on the ground that we are
assured in the Scriptures that a man is defiled by nothing
which enters into his mouth, but that which proceedeth
therefrom.”

“ Grandfather,’ said Mariana, “I think that smoking
cannot be considered a necessity of our lives; and if it is
only a pleasure,can we consistently do that which brings
with it no show of service to God? Mr. Grey was preach-
ing, on last Sabbath, to us on that subject, and I have
been trying to think how smoking can be reconciled to
his views of our duty.”

“A deep question, my love,” said Judge Eustace, “and
we should ask ourselves many such along life’s journey.
It never occurred to me before, that there could be any
question of morality in the habit we have been discussing:
The essence of our duty in matters of religion consists in
love and fear of God, and avoidance of things He has
forbidden. A large portion of our actions is necessarily
indifferent in this respect, but we should make them al]
tend to the great end of testifying our gratitude for bene-
fits received. I cannot think it wrong to smoke, and can
feel as thankful in the enjoyment of my pipe as I do at
the dinner table. Jeremy Bentham holds that actions
right in themselves bring no injury to us or our neigh.
bors, while bad deeds always do. I find that my pipe

  
         

s — ania cima Laminnncinhnbatysn pases RRR enn atlases nascent
sant in a peri aectia Nt ane tas no ow -

The Valley of St. Kilda. 29

brings me gentler feelings toward the faults I see in others.
It opens the avenues of my heart to charitable sentiments,
and really makes me a man of larger sympathies and
greater patience than I would perhaps be without its aid.
Mariana, the night is waxing late; go to the organ and
let us join in otir evening devotions.”

Arthur Kean noticed, as he went to his room after
prayers, an unusual loftiness in the rooms of the Elles-
mere mansion. They had richly wainscotted walls in
the style of the last century; and as he traversed the
long passages, he observed much grotesque carved work
in the old building which had been considered a miracle
of workmanship in its earlier days. These relics of a
fancy once so exuberant and so long hidden in the grave
were full of interest to the young stranger. He was
charmed when he reached his own room; for its elaborate
ornamentation repeated many of the odd conceits he had
noticed in the corridors and the great testered bedstead
was of itself a curiosity. Carving had here gone mad in
the intricacy of its designs. The posts were covered with
a hast of vines, flowers and birds, inextricably intertwined.
The head-board, with its finely-wrought edgings, con-
tained in its center a bas-relief representation of the wed-
ding of Mary of Valois, Duchess of Burgundy, to the
Arch-Duke Maximilian.

This was one of Sir Ellesmere Eustace’s legacies ; and
was made in Nuremberg, for himself and his intended wife,
before their marriage. The large mantle-piece was of
Egyptian marble, and for days did Kean study the alles
gorical mysteries of its sculptures. It seemed to him as
he looked upon these things, that he had somehow been
transferred to a former age, and falling asleep dreamed of
an
I

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

80 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

his life in Germany, where he had been so happy in his
youth.

In the year 1715, Sir George Eustace, who had been
one of the most tried and trusted of Marlborough’s veter-
ans, came to live in this same Valley of St. Kilda. He
had followed the fortunes of John Churchill from the
commencement of his service under Louis XIV, until
the long career of victory was closed in disgrace, by the
withdrawal of the favor of the new sovereign of England,
George II. Sir George was wounded at Blenheim and
Ramilies, and led his squadrons unharmed through the
fiercely-contested fields of Oudenarde and Malplaquet.
He had grown gray in battle and siege, and haying risen
to be a major-general of horse, had seen the great proto-
type and friend of his life stricken down by a prince
who was a foreigner, and regardless of all the mighty
chief had done for England’s glory. General Eustace,
like many others of that day, was indignant at the wrong
done his commander, and threw up his commission in
disgust.

When he went from home twenty years before, heewas
the youngest cadet of a house long wealthy and illustri-
ous, but after all, offering but slender promise to a third
son. After yeats of absence, both of the brothers, who
stood between him and the title, had died and he became
Sir George Eustace, the lord of many broad acres and
thrifty tenants; but the charms of Bellona were too strong
in his heart for him to forego the glory he was winning.
So he had seen but little of England, and his rents had
accumalated, until he had so much money, on his resig-
nation, that men were not wanting to attribute his indig«
nation at the treatment of Marlborough to other reasons,

 

spac tn atin i Ain mnsapiins teen aati

Lentini gto pasha a ma

The Valley of St. Kilda. 31

They whispered that Sir George and his great captain
had grown rich in the same way, aud that a rigid scru-
tiny of his conduct would show unlawful gains from the
military chest. The injustice of these falsehoods so stung
the high soul of the man, that it. fixed his determination
to leave a country which exhibited so little gratitude
for all his service in its behalf. He had married the
daughter of an eminent barrister; and making known
his determination to leave England and go to the
colonies, the father-in-law advised him to purchase St
Kilda Valley.

One of the royal favorites, to whom it had been granted
by the king, sold the whole territory included between
the large river and the mountains to Sir George. His
wealth and connections enabled him to secure a number
of emigrants to cross the seas with him, and two gentle-
men of means, Lyttelton Gower and Stanley Newton,
were of the party. They first came to the place where
the village now stands, and it was named in honor of the
birth place of Lady Eustace’s mother, who was born near

‘the desolate cliffs of St. Kilda, in Scotland, once so cele

brated as the scene of Lady Grange’s captivity. After
the arrival of the proprietor he found ho reason to repent
of his emigration; this purchase, for a wonder, corres-
ponding to the many promised advantages for which it
had been selected.

Sir George parceled out the lands to his settlers, reserv*
ing for himself six large tracts, since known as Ellesmere,
Grafton, Ramilies, Thorndale, Blenheim, and Vaucluse.
He retained his vessel in which he had crossed the ocean,
and by this means, in the course of years, he imported
from Africa enough negroes to work his own farms, and
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SPRUE Na CR ae cr EI ar dies mt &

 

32 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

supply the wants of many of his colonists. He died after
building at Ellesmere, having resided there twelve years.
He had previously passed four years in the house now
known in the village as the old Eustace tavern. To his

widow he left the care of three children; the elder of

these, Sir Ellesmere Eustace, inherited three of the
estates; Philip, the second son, two of them; and to the
daughter, Mariana, was bequeathed the beautiful Vaucluse
place. Lady Eustace returned to England to educate her
children, when her eldest son, having grown up and
married, she and Mari:.na returned with the young couple
to America. Philip also brought over a bride; and two
years later his wife’s brother, Templeton St. George,
having come on a visit, wooed and won the fair Mariana.
Judge Eustace represented the Ellesmere branch of the
family, and Percival St. George was the great grandson
of the first Templeton, while Mrs. Henrietta Courtenay,
mistress of Thorndale and Ramilies was the descendant
of the first Philip Eustace.

  

=

Ellesmere. 33

CHAPTER II.

ELLESMERE,

“ BEFORE the’ mansion lay a lucid lake,
Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed
By a river, which its softened way did take
In currents through the calmer water spread
Around: the wild fowl nestled in the brake
And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed:
The woods sloped downward to its brink, and stood
With their green faces fixed upon the flood.”—Don Juan,

Tur Ellesmere estate lay almost wholey eastward of
the turnpike, stretching with its broad fields and green
pastures to the great river flowing full in sight. The
park, with its thousand acres of untouched oaks was
crescent-shaped around the house, leaving the eastern side
with uninterrupted views across the fields. This park
was broken in its profile by occasonal rivulets, thus.
diversifying the surface of a plateau generally level.
That portion of the mansion built by Sir George Eustace
was constructed with heavy walls, as if he had contem-
plated the possibility of its being sometimes used for
defense. This wing contained the western drawing rooms,.
the dining hall, and the greater portion of the dormitories.
The eastern wing, as has been already stated, was later
constructed by his son. The conservatory on the south,
and the tower on the northeastern angle, were added by
the present proprietor. He had also bestowed much care:
on the front lawn, and the broad belt of shrubbery fol-
lowing the sweep of the carriage way through the grounds.
Above the walks, over-arching oaks interlaced their limbs.

3

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

84 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

and foliage like some lofty cathedral roof. Half-concealed
in the shade of surrounding trees was a brick chapel in
the midst of the family cemetery, and beneath the marble
monuments, gleaming above the stone walls, slept all the
Eustaces, St. Georges, Courtenays, and Vanes, who had
died in St. Kilda Valley for a century past.

On the night deseribed in the last chapter, young
Philip Eustace had’ gone to bed with his soul full of
emotions. Since his earliest recollection, until within
the last few «weeks, he had been accustomed to the care
of a tutor, who had been reared hy Judge Eustace. This
man had been preaching to the negroes at Ellesmere and
Grafton, while he was teaching Philip and Mariana, but
had lately become convinced that he should devote his
‘entire attention to the duties of his sacred calling.. Philip
»well knew the pleasure Mr. Grey had taken in instruct-
‘ing him, and could but regret the necessity of another
filling his place. The minister now spent alternate

‘weeks on the two estates; to enable him to do this, it had ~

‘been necessary to resign his tutorship. A sermon was
preached every Sunday to the assembled negroes, and the
‘devotion of the earnest man had affected much good
‘among them. Few of the delinquencies, once calling for
‘correction, were now observable, and their cleanliness
and good behavior were the theme of the entire valley.
Much of this was doubtless due to the uniform justice
and kindness of the wise master’s sway ; but it was evident
that great good had been effected by Mr. Grey, and he
‘was thus making their further instruction the chief labor
of his life. ;

This good Samaritan was often grieved at the existence
of the statute forbidding the teaching of slaves to read

 

 

Hlesmere. 85

end write. In the facts which led to its enactment he
Saw much excuse for such legislation; but was of the
Opinion that it greatly crippled his efforts to raise the
minds and hearts of his charge to that degree of intelli-
gence necessary to a proper understanding of their relig-
ious duties. He was therefore earnestly desirous that
mere expediency should ‘not perpetuate a law in direct
conflict with a special injunction of the Saviour of the
world. From a friend of such large and delicate sympa-
thies, Philip might well grieve to be separated ; but with
hope for the future came tranquil sleep—the most unfail-
ing and blessed guerdon of youthful innocence.

After breakfast Judge Eustace and Arthur Kean
repaired to the library to further discuss the nature of the
new tutor’s duties. Sir Ellesmere Eustace had made this
the most beautiful and attractive room in the house. It
was cruciform and filled with books, statuary and pic:
tures. An organ of considerable size and exquisite finish
Stood in one of the recesses of the cross, and opposite to
it was a great window with elaborate mullions, The
room depended principally on its sky-light for illumina-
tion, and as Mr. Kean glanced up to the ceiling his eyes
revelled amid the delicate tracery of foliage and flowers.

“You will find Philip a boy of much spirit,” said
Judge Eustace, “ but of equal candor. He is fearless but
tractable, and under Mr. Grey’s tuition has nearly mas-
tered the course of study pursued at our State University.
I should have sent him there ere this, but for my disap-
probation of sending boys too young to college. It
exposes them to temptations, to vice and idleness, always
abundantly found in the mixed society of large institu-
tions of learning. Philip’s father, Gov. Eustace, had the

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

36 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

misfortune to lose his wife,and since that time has suf-
fered his children to remain at Ellesmere. I have sought
to educate them as much as possible, under my own roof,
but I desire Philip to join the next senior class, spend
one year at the University, and then visit Europe. He
has been studying the arts under a Freneh teacher, and
I intend to afford him all the advantages within my
reach.”

“T shall be most happy,” said Mr. Kean, “to do all in
my power to further these designs, and shall be amply
repaid in your promised assistance in my study of the
law.”

Judge Eustace and the tutor having discussed all their
arrangements, the ex chief justice left Ellesmere on a
visit to his son’s plantation at Blenheim.

Arthur Kean was the son of a gentleman of a neighbor«
ing State who had made reputation as a politician during
Gen. Jackson’s administration. After considerable service
in the House of Representatives he had gone abroad as
a foreign minister. He did not possess the qualities
which usually lead to success in pecuniary matters; and
Talbot Kean, after living for thirty years in wealth, be~
came suddenly embarrassed. Arthur had been left in
Europe by his father to finish his education, and had
availed himself of the advantages in his reach. He now
sat looking at the beautiful room, and congratulating
himself on the pleasant home he had found. Over the
mantel was a portrait of Lord Ellesmere, an ancestor of
the family, from whom the place had derived its name.
Vandyke had not flattered the great equity-lawyer, for it
is said the people of London flocked to Westminster, to
see him whenever he presided as Lord Chancellor. On

 

Ellesmere. 37

each side were portraits of two Marianas Eustace; that,
on the right, the daughter of old Sir George, and the
other, the mother 6f Percival St. George. The young
tutor was impressed with the gravity of the trust he had
assumed; for to his care was committed the heir of
princely wealth. He had seen enough of Philip to per-
ceive that he had the talents to sustain the traditional
influence of his family. How all-important was it then
to give the right inclination to the mind of him whose
disposition and habits were of so much consequence to
others.

Kean was in deep thought on the subject of his duty
in this matter when a touching vision passed before his
eyes. Mariana Eustace came in silently, following the
lead of a negro girl. She had no intimation of his
presence, and at once took her seat at the organ. He
could see her side-face from the position he occupied, and
was even more struck with her loveliness than on the
evening before. The dark hazel eyes seemed to have lost
but little of their lustre in her blindness, and serene
repose was their habitual expression. The golden tresses
falling in waves around her head, in the illumination of
the sky light, were surrounded by a faint aureola. She
was a study from whom Guido or Titian would have
created a madonna to steal the hearts of all creeds. As
the soft, delicious music stole from her touch he at once
saw she was improvising, for the transitions were fitful,
and the use of the stops so unusual he felt confident she
was making the instrument the expression of her emo-
tions. For some time he sat looking at the beauty of her
face spell-bound in what seemed to him some mysterious
inspiration. At times, when the solemn wail of the minor

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

38

   
   
  
   
   
 
 
    
   
   
   

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

keys fell on his ear; he noticed that the sunny head drooped
in sympathy with the music, but this was momentary ;
the burthen of her theme was triumphant extltation
summoning to its aid the trumpet, hautbois, and flute
stops with the deepest of the pedal notes; and the large
room trembled with the pomp of her strains. The las
note of the grand instrument had died into an echo,

Thoug she had ceased, her countenance uplifted

Tq heaven, still Spake, with, solemn glory, bright.
* * * * * * * ® * * > *

Mariana arose and without aid went to the door by:
which she had entered; there, recognizing Philip’s ap-
proaching footsteps, she paused. .

“Tt is you, brother,” said she.

“Yes, Mariana, I have been to Grafton; Mr. Grey will
be here this evening.”

“Flow is Alice to-day ?”

“She is better. Dr. Vane and Mr. Grey think, with
good nursing, she will recover. Now let me see your
eyes: E pray every hour for the restoration of your
vision.”

“Tam: half fearful” said Mariana, “to wish for my
eye-sight. I am afraid if this affliction passes away you
would care less for me, but I should be very happy in
your joy at my recovery.”

“God bless you, sweet sister,” said Philip, parting the
golden hair to kiss her brow. “I am going to Mr. Kear
now.”

“The gentle, blind girl went away through the shadows
of corridors and past the lights of great windows.
Darkness, as of the grave, had settled in. hex. beautiful

Ellesmere. 39

eyes; but love and heavenly peace seemed to dwell in
her soul. Philip looked after her until she passed out of
sight, and then he entered the library.

“Good morrow to you, Mr. Kean,” said he. “I have
been out in the saddle this morning, and over at Grafton.
I learned that a red fox, famous in the valley for the
number of hard races he has run, is again lying in his
favorite cover near Satan’s Nose. Cousin Percival has
gone to secure the aid of Reginald Vane, and I ean
promise you a good look at the country, and any amount
of hard riding, if you will do us the honor to join our
party, as we shall try Reynard once more to-morrow
morning.”

“T thank you, Philip,” said Kean; “I accept your
invitation with pleasure, for, beside the excitement of the
chase, as. you suggest, I can see much of the valley. We
are to commence our studies after the bustle of the races
has subsided. Until that time I will take pleasure in
joining you and Mr. St. George in any amusement you
may suggest, which will acquaint me with the surround-
ing couutry.”

“You will see everybody next week at the races, in the
meanwhile I am certain there are several places I can
show you in which you will be interested. I went before
breakfast to see Mr. Grey at Grafton. We all love him
so much we regret when his week to stay there arrives.”

“ Philip,” said Kean, “I am glad to hear you speak of
your former instructor with so much affection. Though
I do not intend making teaching my profession in life,
still it is so noble a trust, when properly appreciated, I
honor the man who in this matter fulfills the duty of his
station. I have every réason to believe this has been the

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

40 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ease with Mr. Grey, and he is so fortunate with all his
elaborate instruction to retain your regard. Boys are too
apt to become disgusted with the preparations for the
duties of life, and transfer their dislike of the duties to
the teacher. I shall congratulate myself if my efforts
shall be attended with the same good fortune.”

“Mr. Kean,” said Philip, “I confess that before you
came I was prejudiced against you. I connected your
advent with my loss of Mr. Grey’s company and instruc-
tion, but he has satisfied me of his sacrifice of pleasure to
a high sense of duty. He assured me that you were in
no respect the cause of his determination, and requested
me while I should continue to remember our long con-
nection, also to love and respect you.”

Thus engaged in conversation they had passed from
the house through the lawn at its rear,and had now
reached the enclosure in which were the stable and ken-
nel. ‘These were surrounded by a high stone wall, and
between them was a barrier separating the horses from
the dogs. Near the gate stood a little cottage, over the
rude porch of which a honeysuckle had crept in pretty
festoons. This was the residence of Thompson, who had
been for years paramount ruler in this portion of the
large establishment. This true son of Africa was in a
great measure the architect of his fortunes, having risen
from plow-boy at Blenheim to his present dignity, and
now to his commands, every stable-boy, horse, and hound
knew there was wisdom in yielding implicit obedience.
He was ludicrously superstitious, but reckless of danger,
as to mere bodily harm. It was strange to see this huge
man, timid as a child in the dark, but transformed at
daylight into the autocrat of the stable. The fiercest

 

iiepnitintineieattiebieiciealtceiiiciesin latina eT i

nn

Ellesmere. 41

Stallion dared not exhibit temper in his presence, for on
such occasions Thompson became a Stentor, so sonorous
and authoritative grew the blast of his trumpet-like
voice.

This enclosure had been enchanted ground to Philip,
when he was a little boy, and even now to him the
animals were sources of endless observation and pleasure.
Thompson’s watchful care had been such that Judge
Eustace found it seldom necessary to visit the spot, which
the stalwart negro regarded as his own rightful domain.
When Philip and Kean entered the stable-yard they
found Thompson leisurely surveying one of his assistants
who was engaged in rubbing the silken coat of the beau-
ful stallion Black Sultan.

“Uncle Thompson,” said Philip, “have everything in
readiness at day-dawn to-morrow. Mr. Compton’s red
fox is now near Satan’s Nose, and we shall give him
another trial.”

“Yes, Mars Phil,” said Thompson, “I knows he’s up
dare, but it taint my ’pinion dat air fox is gwine to be tuck
no how; we can’t make sich a show by eight dogs as we
did last week.”

“ We shall supply the places of Sweetlips.and the seven
other disabled dogs by the pack of Cousin Reginald.”

“ Anything to please you, Mars Phil, but dem dogs of
Mars Reg’s aint gwine to stay in de hunt furder dan de
stone bridge twixt Thorndale and Ramilies.”

By Philip’s order, Thompson then brought out some of
the thoroughbreds, which, with the coach teams, were
kept in this stable. The first shown was a superb chest-
nut stallion, named Tempest, a trifle behind Black Sultan
in size, but fully fifteen and a half hands in height. His

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

42 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

clean, bony head was held aloft, in consciousness of regal
strength, while his burning eyes turned upon the brood
mares and colts grazing in an adjacent paddock. He was

four years old, and had been entered for the great race to”

be run the ensuing week. The next horse led out was
Orion, a faultless blood bay of the same age, the property
of Gov. Eustace. Then came Sir Tristram, a large black
horse, the size of Sultan, now too old for the turf, but ten
years before famous for victories on more than one field.
Next was seen a dark gray mare, Mrs. Hailer, extremely
handsome in her glossy dress, and her form blood-like in
a high degree. The beauty of the stable was Mariana’s
Blanche, a graceful fawn-like thing, almost ideal in the
faultlessness of her appearance. She was milk-white and
had much of the blind girl’s gentleness of nature. Her
large dark eyes were as soft as an antelope’s, and seemed
full of tenderness, as she lowered her delicate neck to
receive Philip’s caress, The hunters, Sirius, Ptarmigan,
and Gray Friar, were next exhibited, and in beauty of
form and carriage almost equalled the horses Kean had
already seen. Philip did not think it necessary to show
the coach horses; but Judge Eustace’s long-used saddle
horse was not forgotten. He was still a fine animal, and
contemporary with Marlborough, a large bay, which
Thompson had considered for years his property.

The sky had been overcast with clouds during the
morning, but while they intercepted the glare of the sun-
light, there was no promise of speedy rain. So at Philip’s
suggestion Kean and he betook themselves to the depths
of the park. They soon reached a portion of the grounds
where the undulations of the surface resembled the swell
of mighty waves. They had gone some distance from

eit iat ates isa iateincnaennsabi itachi scsi

Se See

nn ne

Ellesmere. 48

the house, following the meanderings of a walk, and now
they descended into a darker and deeper dell than any
yet visited. Following the lead of the pathway, as it
wound beneath the trees down in the twilight of the
lonely glen, they came upon a scene of wild beauty.
Over a mass of almost perpendicular rock, a volume of
Water issued from a point far toward its summit, and
thundered down into the black gulf at its base.

Philip and Kean paused to survey the wild cataract.
Just below where they stood, the waters formed a deep
narrow stream. The pathway led along its grassy margin
in all the windings of the ravine. They fouud occasional
obstructions checking the stream in its course, so placed
and adorned with rocks and creepers it was difficult to
realize that they were artificial. They seemed miniature
promontories formed there by the accidents of nature;
and at the first of them was found a boat house contain-
ing several canoes. Taking the smallest of them, they
passed along the tortuous course of the stream, which
widened and deepened as it went; until at some distance,
on turning asharp bend, they glided out upon a lake. It
was a scene of sudden and surprising beauty. The soft
lines of the hill-tops, the velvety shores, and unrufiled
peace of the waters, made up such a picture of dreamy
quietude, that Kean envied the tall, silent herons, which
Stood so listlessly at the other end of the basin.

“Surely,” said he, “this lake is not artificia}.”

“No,” said Philip. “This is God’s work, and it is to
me the sweetest picture I have ever seen.”

“Tt ig like the home of the fairies,” said Kean.
is that upon the island near the other end?”

“A pavilion built by Sir Ellesmere Eustace.”

“What

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

  

44

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“T see no outlet for the water which flows down the
glen.”

“There is none visible,” said Philip. “Grand-father
thinks much of it disappears by evaporation and that
some subteraneous duct carries off the remainder.”

“Has no one painted this charming scene?” said Kean.
“It is beautiful enough to inspire both poet and artist.”

“M. de la Noue, who lives at St. Kilda, has a sweet
picture taken from the island, looking this way. We
will visit him the next time we are in the village if you
would like to make his acquaintance. He was fora long
time the instructor of Mariana and myself in music and
drawing. When Cousin Percival was a young man, he
wrote a piece of poetry in relation to a young lady he
loved in Europe.”

“Can you repeat any of it.”

“ Yes, I remember it all, for I was so impressed at first
that this lake suggested its composition that I committed
it to memory. He called it Gondolied, and it ran thus:

Dreamily the mists are sleeping
In the twilight’s hazy glow;
Mellow beams are softly streaming
From the moon on all below.
I can hear the rippling water
Murmur on the grassy shore,
Iam thinking of the future
Of the bliss it has in store. ‘4
Not a leaf on high is stirring,
All the winds are hushed still;
And the lilies now seem sleeping
By the faintly-gurgling rill.

All around, and high above me,
Are mist-haunted, purpled hills;
And a soft delicious languor
All the dreamy landscape fills.
Drooping willows here are weeping
Silent tear drops on the ground,

:

 

Ellesmere.

Aitid from out the distant’ moorland
Comes a faintly ringing sound;
Yet our stillness is pnbroken,
As those soft horns ever blow,
From the Elf-land in the distance,
Over waters moving slow.

By my side a radiant maiden
Sits, with love-lit eyes of blue;
On my heart she’s leaning listless,

And her hair is damp with dew.
On the lake through mist and shadow,
We are floating with the tide,
And we both are softly dreaming
Of the day she’ll be my bride,
On the plush of velvet cushions
Rest we in our fairy bark,
In a blissful silence musing
Without movement or remark,

Echoes round are softly breathing,
Whisp’rings on the summer air;

And the moonlight’s placid glory
Streameth full upon her hair,

Golden tresses, which the fairies
All are wistful to possess:

Oh! the soft and dreamy splendor
Of her perfect loveliness!

Beauty far beyond the dreaming
Of the most ideal brain;

Only in the realm of Aidenne
Could her like be seen again,

Here I see some star-like sorrow
Ever in her pensive face, A
Strengthening the deep enchantment
Born of beauty and of grace:
For it is a sorrow blended
With a tinge of deepest joy;
Where the changeful smiles are flitting,
And all thought of grief destroy,
Airy forms are gliding round her;
Angel whispers near her play;
Balmy breezes blow upon her ;—=
Is it wondrous that I stay?

All the world is nought unto me;
Care has passed so far away

Tn this soft enchanted region,
With this queen of song I’ll stay;

45

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

th }

46 » The Heirs of St. Kilda,

And from out her silken bondage
Forth I never more shall rove:
Fer this blissful, sweet enchantment,
And this fond, unclouded love
Here detain me unresisting,
While 1 linger by her side,
In her dear entrancing presence
I shall evermore abide,

“Mr. St. George’s versification is smooth and the repose
of the ideas well sustained,” said Kean. “Did you say
this is a leaf from his heart-history ?”

“ Yes,” said Philip. “My cousin has never recovered

from the enchantment he refers to in the conclusion of

the piece. He loved Leonora Orsini nigh unto death,
and when he lost her a shadow came upon him, that all
the affection of his friends has been unable to lift. Grand-
father says when Cousin Percy first grew up he was the
gayest and handsomest youth he has ever seen, but you
know he is anything else than gay now.”

While Philip was repeating the poetry, they had been
slowly returning to the point at which they found the
boat. Here they landed and returned to the house. Mn
Grey was there, and Kean and he commenced an
acquaintance which was destined to become a warm and

enduring frienship. Philip was busy in his preparations ~

for the morrow’s hunt. He had many reasons for using
every precaution to capture the sly red fox which had
so long baffled kimi and the other huntsmen of the
valley.

  

 

 

;

Py

A Day in the Fields. 4?

CHAPTER III.

A DAY IN THE FIELDS,

‘‘ YELLED on the view the dpening pack—
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back;
- To many a mingled sount at once;
The awakened mountain gave response:
An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong;
Clatteréd an hundred steeds along,
Their peal the merry horns rang out,
An hundred voices joined the shout.””
Lady of the Lakes

As Tur light of coming day announced its approach,
by the faint illumination of the far-off summit of Hawks-
head, St. George, Philip, and Kean shook off their slum-
ber and rose to complete their unfinished preparations:
They expected a day of hard riding and bountiful excite=
ment. After a hasty lunch they went toward the ken-
nel. In the gray dawn the long belt of light, just above
the tops of the great hills across the river, was each mo-
ment blushing more deeply with the glory of the yet in-
visible sun. Ever wakeful chanticleer had just aroused
his sleeping harem; when Thompson, having first tied
up the two stag-hounds, which on other occasions were
allowed the liberty of the park, now blew a blast on his
hunting horn that stirred the dogs for miles around. It
seemed loud enough to have awakened the dead, and
tolled amid the hills around as if loth to cease its repeat=
ing echoes. This was his announcement to the kennel
that work was expected of them on the occasion, and
never was leader's call more lustily answered by trusted
liegemen. Immediately there arose a combination of

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

48 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

sounds that was wonderful in variety and strength of
uproar; as every dog gave vehement note of his joy at
the signal. One by one through the half-opened gate

Thompson now suffered to pass such of the eager hounds
as were in his opinion in good running order.

“Stand back dare, Chloe,” said he, “ you looks much
like following that old, long-sided, red devil all day long;
puny as you is. Come here Ringwood. Now dare’s a
dog folks can count on. TV’ll bet my bottom dollar he

leads the pack from sunrise to sunset. Bless heaven, if
he aint the greatest dog ever smelt fox yit!”

These remarks of Thompson were half in soliloquy, and
in part addressed to the dogs themselves. Two half-
grown negro boys stood near the gate, holding the horses
uow ready for their riders, who at this moment came up
and awaited the conclusion of the process of culling
from the kennel such dogs as their sable attendant
considered fit for the work expected on that day. ‘They
were to follow a fox of whose prowess and craft they had
the most abundant proof in the past. They were soon
mounted and under way for the spot in which it was
understood wily Reynard now lurked. There was
searcely a breath of wind, and the cool autumn air felt
delightfully bracing to the horsemen as they restrained
the impatient pride of their hunters, whose blood was
sent dancing through their beautiful frames at each loud
demonstration of the hounds. St. George was riding a
chestnut sorrel, in whose faultless symmetry and spirit
there was nothing that even the fastidious Master of
Vaucluse could find amiss. He was named for the great
captain, Gonsalvo. Philip rode Black Sultan, and Kean
a tall, powerful, young horse, known in the stables as

* pleasure.

 

A Day in the Fields. 49

Gray Friar. Either of them would have made reputation
had they been placed on the turf. They were selected
for their power and capacity to sustain the long and
desperate fox chases which were not unfrequently seen in
St. Kilda Valley,

A few birds were engaged in their matin songs, but
their melody was scarcely noticed in the wilder clamor
of a large eagle whose screams of angry impatience at the
Noisy progress of the hounds near her nest summoned to
her shrill cries the presence of her mate. With headlong
Speed they both frequently swept earthward, as if they
would strike their extended talons into horseman and
hound; but up they arose again in their swift flight into
great circles, churning the startled air with ‘their
Wings, and giving increased note of their vehement dis-
Kean was, at first, much disconeerted by one
of these swoops very near his head, but he was reassured:
by his companions, who told him that these demonstra-
tions on the part of the eagles never resulted in actual
assault. They were pets of Judge Eustace, who never
permitted any disturbance of them, and in gratitude they,
each year, occupied the same nest,and reared their young,
in the park. Arthur rode along repeating to himself—

“He clasps the crag with hooked hands,
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed in the azure world he stands,

He watcheth, from his mountain walls,.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.”

The party passed through the park gate, and daylight
Was now pouring, broad and full, upon all the towering

peaks of the blue, mist-swathed mountains. Midst great.
4
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

Hef E NRE CCIE ANE UT eM

50 . The Heirs of St. Kilda.

clamor of hound and horn, they turned their horses’ heads
up the turnpike, in the direction of Satan’s Nose.

Kean had noticed twenty dogs already trotting along

the road, when presently he was astonished to meet
Reginald Vane with as many more. These were the best
of his and St. George’s packs.
' “Good morning, Vane,” said St. George. “I am glad
to see Mavis looking so well recovered. I feared, last
‘week, you would have to put a seton in his neck. I was
half fearful, too, that you would not come this morning,
you have become so wedded to your hermitage under the
mountains.”

“T am glad you broke in upon my laziness, for without
the certainty of a good meeting I would have given up
foxes for trout and unsuspecting deer.”

“We are not diversifying your pursuits very much this
morning,” said Kean.

“Yes,” answered Vane. “ Trout-fishing and deer-stalk-
ing are as different from the noisy clamor of a fox chase
as the quiet of my solitary house from the bustle of St.
-Kilda during race week. By the way, St. George, Comp-
‘ton says confidently that he shall beat Hildebrand by
ithree lengths. I have some hope that Redgauntlet will
not bolt this time, for Iam going to make Edmund, who
tis nearly a stone over his proper weight, ride him.”

“ Redgauntlet is in capital condition,” said Philip. “I
‘saw Edmund try him over our course last week against
‘Godiva, and he behaved very finely.”

“ Hillo Thompson!” said Percival. “ What are Tweed
and Troubadour doing here?”

“Ts more ’an I can tell you, Mass Percy, for I tied
both of them grey hounds fast afore I opened the kennel.”

A Day in the Fields. 51

“We can shut them up at Glancy’s,” said Vane.

“Why not carry them along also?” said Kean. “I

should think they were as fast any dogs I see here.”
_ “So they are,” said St. George, “and, for the first hour,
would keep ahead of the pack, not knowing or caring
for what they were in pursuit, unless a deer should chance
to be lying in the cover which the fox we are seeking is
now said to occupy.”

The party halted in front of Mr. Glancy’s house,
and Thompson and Vane’s man Edmund, having cap-
tured the two stag-hounds, whose company was so little
desired, speedily tied them up, with the request that they
Should not be set at liberty until all danger of interrup-
tion from them should have passed by. The great Elles-
mere hill had now, at a distance of four miles from the
mansion, sloped gently down into a broad, fair valley, on

‘a little eminence, in which, stood Robert Glancy’s home.

This vale stretched away to the small river and the
mountains beyond. The party passed through a gate on
the road-side, which opened into the limits of the Graf-
ton lands. About two miles off could be seen the farm
buildings. Satan’s Nose was to the left, its summit four
miles away, and around its lofty Southern exposure were
meadow lands and little glens which ran back between
intervening ridges. They passed through the broad
fields until they came to the edge of the marsh lands.

The loud outery of one of the hounds announced
the discovery of a warm trail, and a shout from Thomp-
son soon brought the whole pack to the assistance of
Ringwood, who had, by this time, corroborated the less
authoritative announcement of the first striker.

“I will bet three to one he is in those willows yonder
    

 

 

=e er perenne oka entertainer oti se

The Heirs of St. Rilda.

at the edge of the flax pond,” said Vane.“ But it canziot
be that Compton’s fox has come here to sleep. Edmund,
go to the other end and look out for him
dent he will pass in that direction.”

The excited negro sped to the point indicated, for the
foremost trailers were already entering the small} thicket ;
when Reynard, in an agony of fright, rushed by, closely:
pursued by the hounds now in full cry. Edmund re-~
ported that a young gray fox had passed him. The ex-
perienced huntsmen well knew he would not leave the
small thinly-wooded valley that ran in the direction of
Satan’s Nose. They rede up to a small eminence from
which they could watch the progress of the ehase; and
in a few minutes, like a hare, the fugitive had doubled.
upon his track, and was making for the spot from which
he started. There he was soon captured, St. George:
managing to get the first touch of his brush.

“This is quick work,” said Kean, as he rode up to the
others who had dismounted,

“This chase is nothing, sir,” said Philip. “Tt is a mere
eub we have taken. I should have been glad if he could
have remained unmolested until the next season ; he
would have given us a better race,”

“Tam afraid that sly fellow, who: lies at the foot of the
hill across the meadow, has heard us, and is even now
commencing the flight he knows so well how to sustain,”
said Vane. “I wish we had not cressed the path of this
youngster.” i
. The dogs were scarcely blown at all in this. short race,
and the party were soon in motion again, toward the
point at which they expected to find the prince of foxes,
A great tulip-poplar was pointed out to Keauas the place

; I am confi-

 

ts eee

A Day in the Field. 58

Near which his usual cover was to be found. The tutor
‘was advised to stop at the entrance of the glade, while
the huntsmen.and dogs followed its course. Philip re-
M™ained with him, but he was loth to lose the opportu- :
nity of riding at a stone fence, on the hill-top, which St.
‘George considered too dangerous for Kean, who was not
yet sufficiently practiced in such things, to undertake.
He awaited the movements of the huntsmen ; and as soon
as they heard the dogs open up the glade, they rode
Swiftly for the fields just above Mr. Glancy’s house. When
they reached this point, to which Philip knew the fox
must come to avoid the river on the right, they could hear
the dogs slowly coming on. This was a matter of sur-
Prise, for they had fully expected a furious chase by this
time: but soon the trail waxed into a headlong run, and

_ ™ a few seconds Reynard passed them in full view flour-

ishing his expanded brush defiantly over his back. He
Was running at a prodigious rate, about two hundred
yards in front of the peerless Ringwood, who as ever led
the bellowing pack which clamored close in his rear.
Philip instantly recognized the far-famed red fox, and
Saluted him with a shout, as he passed. Black Sultan
felt the touch of steel spurs and was, the next minute, by
the side of Percival St. George.

“The devil must be in this fox ;” said he, “ did you see
him when he passed.”

“Yes, he was leading Ringwood by, at least, two hun-
‘dred yards. What made your movements, until the last
mile, so slow ?”

“The old Red broke cover, as soon as he heard us after
the young fox, and was some distance this side of the

 
 
     
  
 
 
 
   
   
 
  
    
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
  

 

 

 

AYP ce BO 7 GHEE SECO MRE,

54 The Valley of St. Kilda.

stone wall. I have no doubt he was leisur
his way out of the neighborhood.”

They were now rapidly approaching the river where it
bends suddenly westward, and, through the broad, open
fields, the whole pursuit was plainly to beseen. The fox
seemed conscious of his power, and still shook his flag-
like brush high in the air. The gait was exhausting to
all concerned; but on swept the wild ery of the eager
hounds, and still as fresh as when they started bounded
the excited horses. Five good miles were soon passed

' at this fearful rate, when St, George proposed, as the fox
would probably cross the small stream Just above Vau-
cluse, that they should pass down to Knightonsford, which
would cut off a considerable circuit. Thompson was
directed to follow the dogs; and at an easy gallop the
huntsmen proceeded to the crossing, and, having passed
the river, awaited the approach of the chase. The pre-
cipitous sides of the mountain barrier here approached
so close to the stream that but little distance
them, and as Reynard had, before this, in all his previous
escapes, made Hawkshead his city of refuge, it was reas-
onably concluded he would follow his old course.

There was now a lull in the storm of sound up the
river, which plainly told that the fox had been so. closely
pressed, he was forced to cross the stream. In a few
seconds, Thompson’s voice was heard, harking the dogs
to the recovered trail, and, with unabated speed, the din
of the pursuit swept up in the direction of the party
awaiting its approach. The chase had by this time
passed over at least fifteen miles, and they saw with de-
light, as Reynard glided by like a shadow, that the brush,
which was so. proudly borne the last time they had seen

ely making

separated

Dn ne

A Day in the Field. 55
him, was now drooping and somewhat draggled. Ring-
wood and Mavis, closely followed by a dozen strong
hounds, held him almost in view. With a wild sou lees
they swept by, the huntsmen fell in their wake. Away
rolled the echoing tumult toward the east. Engen Teor
With many of the straggling dogs, was considerably in
t 4

ae been pursuing any other fox, the huntsmen
would have counted upon a speedy capture after witticess
ing the signs of distress they had seen at the ford. ae
Were not astonished, then, after following the dogs severa
miles, to see no indications of speedy surrender. Ifthere
was any difference in the distance, which still separated
the pursuers and pursued, it was in favor of the ne
But just before them lay the great fields of the Thorn-

. ?
dale farm, and there was a prospect of seeing the fox’s

condition more perfectly than had been afforded for a
considerable distance back. For some time longer, gee
nard persisted in following the bend of the river; and y
hard riding on the chord, while the hounds were moving
on the are of a circle, the huntsmen were rewarded by
a sight of the enemy now so thoroughly coe that
all joined Vane in a wild shout of joy. one “
his huge horse Marlborough by this time came up oe

he, hearing the cheer, raised a ery that rose high above
all the confusion of sounds mingling in the deep excite:
ment of the hour. Fast and furious swept the yelling
tide past Thorndale. Hawkshead, with its lofty Saul
summit, was growing higher momentarily. At every
leap the fox was coming closer to what, all had que
to believe, would be freedom and deliverance to ce
But one more large field lay beyond this which they ha

    
  
  
  
  
   
  
    
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
    
 
  
   
    
 
 
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

56 The Heirs of St. Kilda,
now entered; and then thick undergrow
hill-sides would retard the progress of dog
give aid and comfort to the fugitive that, so
to bear a charmed life. But Ringwood, Mavis, and their
gallant supporters, are not now stretching every musele
and tendon in vain. The fox sees, from the closeness of
their approach, that he must be inevitably overhauled,
and turns to the left for a small cover of weeds and
bushes, on the edge of the thin wood marking the course
of the river. A yell of satisfaction arises, as the hunts-
men see him enter this; they consider it almost a com-
plete abandonment of hope on his part.

Outfooted in the open field, Reynard was, by no means,
captured; for he was yet as full of craft, as also of unfail-
ing pluck. The party, which, a moment before, was so
hopeful, now heard, with amazement, the cries of the
dogs suddenly cease without any signs of the death.
They had evidently come to a dead loss, and all their
efforts and ingenuity to recover the tr
nothing. They were fast despairing,
having gone to the mouth of a spring
joined its tribute to the river, in stoopir
the breathing of some tired animal

th and steep
and horse, and
really, seemed

ail amounted to.
when Thompson,
branch that here
)g to drink heard
under the bushes

> shrubbery, he saw
indistinctly the small muzzle of cunning Reynard pro-

truding above the water. He communicated this intelli-
gence to the party, and, having called in the dogs, a few
pebbles thrown into the water quickly renewed the chase,

The huntsinen supposed that the bath, which Reynard
had taken, by the coolness of the spring water, so stiffened

Rinne pee

A Day in the Fields, 57

the weary limbs of the fugitive that he would ae
overhauled, but they were again mistaken. 5 i mh
desperate and final outburst of speed he led a Sh
across the wide field, and was just entering anot eo :
Philip, who was riding in advance, heard the oe Aa
of rage and despair. For several minutes past 2 ee
ing dogs, having held their quarry full in view, ha a
almost silent in the supreme exertion they were sty : é
Black Sultan felt the prick of the spurs as Philip : s me
of exultation told of victory won. In an instant és
reached the scene, and rushing amid the furious ae “
hold upon the brush which had been so long covete
sportsmen of the entire region.
eae is more surprising to people unaccustomed 4
such scenes than the ferocity of a hound when a8
by along chase. His timidity utterly Daihen a e
an emergency, and the animal which yells at ae
of an uplifted whip on other occasions becomes
formed into the embodiment of demoniac fury. Pt,
Philip, with Thompson’s assistance, wrested the bo :
of the dead fox from the struggling dogs—every ae
which had proved himself of heroic aan - :
work of that day. For more than thirty miles tr ey He
followed their foe, and had captured the very prince an
foxes. :
aE said St. George, “ you have fairly ane
Spurs to-day, but that was 4 terrible leap you gave Bla
he last fence. ;
can, but I was so bent on ea this fox and
ili im myself that I took the risk.” _

Par tated said Kean, “that king Richard, eae
worth, when offering a kingdom for a horse, coulc

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
  
  
   
     
   
  
 
  
    
  
   
    
 
 
   
   
   
 
     

58 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

have surpassed you in
steed.”

“I suppose not, sir,” said Philip, “for Black Sultan has
forever endeared himself to me by this day’s work,”

Reginald Vane had ridden at the fence where Philip
crossed, and had taken a tumble by his horse’s failure to
clear the obstruction. A few bruises on both, and a
somewhat dilapidated condition as to the rider’s toilet,
were the worst of the bold huntsman’s discomfiture.

“Ah, Philip,” said he as he came up, “Ill take Red-
gauntlet out the next time but what Til be even with
you. Do you know that fence is a rail higher than Col.
Ridgeley’s famous jump?”

“T didn’t see how high it was,” said Philip, “but I

was determined to get in ahead, if I had to take a tum-
ble.”

“Well, what will the Com
George.

“ Confound them,” said Vane, “it will rile them and
Frank Peyton as bad as the loss of a four-mile race.”

The party mounted and returned to the spring-branch
where it crosses the road leading to Thorndale. Vane’s
man, Edmund, was sent to apprise Mrs. Courtenay of their
intention to dine with her, and they dismounted to
slake their own and their animals’ thirst. In the deep
shade, upon a sward that was soft and green, the tired

hunters and dogs halted for refreshment after the long
and hurried progress of the day.

“Philip,” said Vane, “did you see Miss Yelverton last
week at the Capital.”

“Yes, Cousin Reg., but she is married you know, and

your appreciation of your noble

ptons say now,” said St,

is now Mrs. Thorne,”

a
i
:
t
i

 

A Day in the Fields. 59

“ Ah—TI had not heard of that,” said Vane. “St. George,
there went your last chance.” ak

“ Don’t you pity me,” said Perciva : im

“You had no pity on her Cousin Percy,” said Philip.

“How was that, Philip,” said Vane.

“Why, don’t you remember her stay with us et
Christmas. She cured me of all my fancy for her -
unmistakable preference for Cousin Perey; and ae a
think that he should have gone off to Ue and le

i i ith him. i
so beautiful a woman in love wit :

“ Philip,” said St. George very gravely, “ plone remem
ber that you are speaking of a So a .

; i it is true.’

“Cousin Perey, you know it is

“T know that Rosamond should have taught you me
than to be falling in love with Miss Yelverton and get-
ting jealous of me.”

Pe knows that I love her best of all, a
allows me a fancy now and then. Cousin Helen i e
same with one of my friends,” said Philip, with a glance
at Vane. :

“ Ah, you scape-grace,” said Vane, “you are as naa
teous a your favors as if that girl were never to hear o

your many infidelities.” 5
: ee Gann Reg., Iam all devotion to Miss Courtenay,’
and lying there, with clear, full voice he sang:

fair, Ah me, so fair!
Spies tiles (teint their Re one
rk eyes, divinely rare,

perc wae else weak and tame;
The tender glow of twilight stars

Is not one-half so dear to me—
Madonna eyes in smiles and tears,

That melt or flash so splendidly.

 
  
 
  
  
  
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda,

She is so sweet, Ah me, so sweet!
So gentle in her loveliness—,

I worship e’en her dainty feet
And all her perfect beanty bless ;

I hear her yoice—look in her eyes-~
All other things are naught to me;

Ambition’s dream within me dies, :
I am her slaye eternally,

Thorndale Cottige. 61

CHAPTER IV.

THORNDALE COTTAGE.

“THERE along the dale,
With woods o’erhung, and shagged with mossy rocks,
‘Where on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white dashing fall,
Or gleam in lengthened vista through the trees;
You silent steal, or sit beneath the shade
Of solerhn oaks that tift the swelling mouhts.”—Seasons.

THoRNDALE Cottage was, in every respect, the opposite
of the Ellesmere place: It stood at the entrance of a wild,
mountain dale, overlooked on three sides by Iofty hills.
Its beautiful lawns were but slightly elevated above the
smooth meadow lands in front. It was originally a cots
tage, and, with all its additions and adornments, was still
true to its name. Ellesmere, with its proud eminence,
overlooking the country far around, appeared with its
tower and battlements half feudal in strength. The
first American Philip fustace selected the quiet beauty
and seclusion of this pretty retreat, and used his large
wealth but sparingly in the way of architectural embellish-
ments, Since his day, in the century which had elapsed,
ntuch had been done in the way of enlarging and beauti-
fying both the house and the grounds. To this sweet,
hill-surrounded dale Philip Eustace brought his charm-
ing young bride. Henrietta St. George had been in the
court of the second George of England one of its chief
beauties and attractions. She was witty, and pitiless to
her admirers, and the young American, with all his
Wealth—which was grossly exaggerated by report—had
sighed in vain, until the death of Queen Caroline lost the

ey

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

62 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

fair Henrietta her place as maid of honor, Thus, after
reigning the belle of a gay circle in a great capital, she
came to this spot, and, with her handsome and genial
husband, became even more popular and influential than
her sister-in-law, Lady Ellesmere Eustace. Philip was,
somewhat, less intellectual than his brother, but his
wealth and elegant manners soon made him the most
engaging man in all St. Kilda Valley. The only clouds
which crossed the horizon of his pleasant life were the
deaths of several children. Templeton Eustace was the
only one of them who reached manhood, and he was the
grandfather of Mrs. Courtenay, who now resided upon
the estate. Sometimes she visited the city establishment
she had occupied before her husband’s death, but these
interruptions of her stay at Thorndale became less fre
quent with the lapse of time.

~ The hunting party was graciously received by the lady
of the house, beneath her vine-covered verandahs. Mrs,
Courtenay preserved the family characteristic of personal
beauty. She was a tall, pleasant-looking woman, of five
and thirty, and yet wore her widow’s weeds for him who
had died so many years be‘ore.

Rosamond, her only daughter, was out on the lawn
with young Philip, looking at the fox in whose capture
he was still exulting. As they stand in the mellow
autumn sunlight they present a pretty picture of youth-
ful trust and happiness. The handsome young hunts:
man is holding up the dead fox for inspection, but the
large, black eyes of the maiden are more engaged with
the short, crispy curls on the high, white brow of him
before her than with the size and beauty of Reynard,
The tall, straight figure leans trustingly upon his arm,

 

  

Thorndale Cottage. 63

and the look of satisfaction and sympathy which lights
up her face is beautiful to behold. Rosamond Courtenay
was, at that day, a mystery to all beholders. She was

nearly fourteen years old, and was as yet so thin and

angular in her figure that even the splendor of her lus-
trous eyes and the beauty:of her mouth could not blind
observers to the evident plainness of the tout ensemble.
In spite of this, no one ever dreamed of saying she was
unattractive. There was some mysterious charm in her
look and manner that riveted the gaze of every one in
the vain effort to fathom and explain why they were so

attracted.
It was, as yet, a doubtful question what Rosamond

would be in the future. Percival St. George, who was a wors,
shipper of the beautiful in all its developments, believed
she would, some day, become as radiant as the love of his
early youth; but Mrs. Courtenay would sigh when she
saw Mariana with her daughter, and tell her that unless
she read fewer books she would become a plain-looking -
blue-stovking. Rosamond dearly loved the old romancers
and poets, ‘and, even when she took the stag-hound
Hubert out fora stroll up the glen among the bases of
the mountains,-she carried her book in her hand. She
was, generally, shy in company, and could be induced to
talk but little; but when Philip and Mariana could get
her in the recess of some window, where they were unob-
served, she became transformed, as soon as a story was
called for. On such occasions she was, as it were,
entranced in the wonderful play of her fancy, and fairy
tales, so amplified and adorned, that their authors would
have scarcely recognized them, would flow, by the hour,
from lips which then seemed those of some rapt sybil.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

64 The Hews of St. Kilda.

The coming marriage of Philip and Rosamond was

. deeply desired by all branches of the family. To her,

this prospect had ever been full of pleasant images,
for she admired the bold youth above all human beings.
His warm and fearless nature had given him a romantie
charm to her ever-active imagination, and she had been
long castle-building in her dreams of their future. Philip
loved Rosamond for her gentle nature and manifest de-
votion to himself; but this did not prevent occasional
fancies for the grown-up beauties that he met in the gay
society of St. Kilda Valley. At dinner parties and other
festivities, he sometimes brought tears to her eyes, by
these little infidelities; but his repentance and a few
caresses suon restored sunshine to the confiding girl.
Mrs. Courtenay led the tired and hungry hunts-
men to a dinner that gave them the amplest satisfac-
tion. Rare, old wines, and delicately concocted jellies and
sauces, gave additional relish to their already apprecia-
tive appetites; and above all the sweet dignity with
which she presided gave a charm to the occasion, which

can only be realized in the tact and refinement of such a
presence.

“ What think you, Mr. Kean,” said she, “ of our Valley
of St. Kiida. You, doubtless, saw much of it in your long
chase to-day,”

“T can assure you, Madam, that I am charmed with
all I have seen, and could but regret that our headlong
speed prevented my dwelling on many enchanting views
that were constantly opening in my sightas I passed.”

“You must have had a most vigorous and exciting
chase, and Philip has fairly won his spurs, after so much

 

BT Rge See

 

Thorndale Cottage. 65

hard riding.. Rosamond, you seemed much interested in

the dead fox.” “
“ Yes, Mother, for you must know Philip has promised

_ to make me a present of this most redoubtable animal,

and I am going to keep it as a trophy of his early
prowess.”

“ Yes, Cousin,” said Philip, “ Mr. Kean and I will pre-
pare the skin of Reynard in such a way that Rosamond
ean see him in her bower almost as life-like as when he
started from his cover this morning.” :

“T think,” said Kean, “we can make a very pleasing
addition to Miss Rosamond’s retreat of this famous
animal. The fox in apparent pursuit of some startled
birds in the midst of artificial shrubbery, and shut up in
an air-tight glass case—if the skin is well preserved Will
be something novel among the canaries and flowers.

“ We will go, after dinner, Mr. Kean,” said Rosamond,
“and you and Philip can make the necessary atrange-
ments.. I expect that such an addition to my pets will
throw the birds intoa fever of excitement, and Hubert
will show such signs of his displeasure that it wl} re:
quire much coaxing to get him into a good humor.

“ Rosamond,” said Vane, “ I expect Fred. Compton will
‘be doubly chagrined when he hears that Philip has taken
the fox which he has so often pursued in vain, and has
also given him to you.” y

“ Now, listen to your teasing again, Cousin Reginald ;
you know that Fred. is making love to Mae Glancy. As
much as he may dislike being beaten in the capture of
this fox, which all of you have been so anxious to effect,
I am confident he will care nothing for my having it.”

“Fred, is too much of a gentleman for such a thing,”

5

 
eonhencng etree ONT RCT MART 2 Ne SN MT ESPN AE REI AION OEE DN i RO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

66 The Heirs of Si. Kilda.

said Percival St. George. “He will be worried to think
that our dogs could overtake a fox which has so often
baffled his father’s pack; but it would be very churlish
for him to dislike Rosamond’s possession of his effigy.”

“Could he not console himself by saying you had a
larger number of hounds than he mustered in his fruitless
chases-?” said Kean.

“No,” answered St. George, “for Mr. Compton and
Frank. Peyton haye followed him several times the whole
length of the valley with their united packs. Their last
chase was made with the assistance of Col. Ridgely’s dogs,
thus largely outnumbering the force with which we tool.
the field this morning.”

“Fred. must wait until next week,” said Mrs. Courte-
nay. “Who knows but that he may get his revenge at
the races?”

“That satisfaction may be in store for him,” said St
George, “but I think Hildebrand has more to fear from.
Philip’s horse, Tempest, and Reginald’s Redgauntlet
than Pepin, notwithstanding the great things Mr. Comp-
ton expects of him.” :

“Cousin Percival, what think you of my Leda?” said
Rosamond. “Uncle Isaac says she will be fit for me to
ride by next Spring. He wants me to have her trained
for the race-course, but I am not willing to expose her to
the gaze and criticism of such a place, not to mention the
strange figure I should present in competing with you
gentlemen, in what is claimed as an exclusive privilege
of your sex.”

“That is, certainly, a quaint idea of Isaac’s,” said St,
George. “Leda is a beauty, and would, doubtless, sus-
tain herself, and bring no discredit on her high linea 3

iS

Ep lal i an a Ria aa a os ano

ns penne

Thorndale Cottage. 67

but she is destined to a more graceful duty, if you make
her your palfrey.”

“Philip,” said Mrs. Courtenay, “I hear that your father
is expected home?”

“Yes, he will come to-morrow night. I left him at
the Capital a week ago, and he then fully intended to be
at Ellesmere during the races.”

“Tam glad that pretty Miss Yelverton is married,”
said Rosamond, “ otherwise I should look for her to be
coming with Cousin Ashton again; and then I would
hear nothing from Philip but praises of her beauty.”

“Rosamond,” said Percival, “if I were you I would
make Philip behave better. A flirtation with Frederick
Compton, or some other young man, would go far towards
euring him of these roving fancies.”

“No,” said she, “I return good for evil. Iam all con-
stancy.”

Cousin Henrietta,” said Philip, “you can bear me wit-
ness that Rosamond has made me almost as jealous as
Othello, by at least a dozen flirtations with this same
Fred. Compton.”

“hey, certainly, have much to talk about sometimes,”
said Mrs. Courtenay. “For instance, at Col. Ridgely’s,
while you were visiting your father, she and Fred. were,
all the evening when not dancing, engaged on some sub-
ject which seemed of great interest to both.”

“Oh Mother! I was only telling him those wild stories
Thad read in Coleridge—“ Christabel ” and the “ Ancient
Mariner.” I missed Philip and Mariana so much that I
asked Fred. to leave the dance, and go with me to the
window on the east, to talk about what they were proba-
bly doing in the Governor’s palace, away across the coun-

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

68 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

try at the Capital; and then the great, red moon came up
between the two hills across the river. We sat there
watching the illumination of Hawkshead’s summit, and
the broad belt of light across the river; and I was hap-
pier there than among the dancers. That was the reason
of our long conversation. I always tell Fred., when he
says he loves me, that it must ouly be as a friend, for I
belong to Philip.”

“Tell us something, Philip, you saw and did, while
you were gone,” said Mrs. Courtenay. “ Were you atany
parties while in the eity ?”

“We attended several, but I enjoyed myself most at an

‘evening reception which father gave. Among the first
who came was our old acquaintance Miss Yelverton, now
Mrs. Thorne. She was more beautiful than ever, in the
superb velvet she wore, with her hair intertwined with
pearls. She asked Mariana and myself to show her the
night-blooming cereus in the conservatory, but I think
she wished to inquire about some one whom I know she
-has not forgotten, although she is married to another.
‘She looked like a queen, but Mariana seemed nearer
-an angel that night than I have ever seen her. When
we returned to the drawing-rooms, the guests had nearly
all arrived, and I could but notice the general and invol-
untary tribute of admiration bestowod upon my sister, as
she leaned upon the arm of Mrs. Thorne. Among those
most touched by her loveliness was a distinguished
French occulist, who at once told’ my father that he
thought it possible to restore her lost vision. I would be
almost willing to die if he could only realize the hope he
has excited in my heart.”

“Tam afraid of these travelling doctors,” said St. George,

 

i

 

Thorndale Cottage. 69

“but this man’s credentials are from the greatest savans
of Europe and America, and he was fast rising to emi-
nence when I was last in Paris. The treatment he
recommends is simple and harmless; so if he fails in
effecting a cure it will make her condition no worse.”

“From what I have seen of Miss Mariana’s eyes,” said
Kean, ‘I should, certainly, conclude that the lenses and
retina are uninjured, and the difficulty of vision is, as
the physician suggests, in the optic nerve having be-
come weak from the severe illness she suffered a year
ago.”

Dinner being over, some of the party repaired to the
drawing-rooms, from the northern windows of which the
views were now superb. The declining sun had already
commenced throwing across the valley long shadows
from the mountain peaks. Satan’s Nose, Ellesmere, and
the great hills of the east, were still touched by the
sunlight; but the vales and gorges were becoming indis-
tinct in the deepening gloom. Rosamond had gone with
Kean and Philip to view the maiden’s bower, and they
found everything therein so carefully arranged that it
justified the pains taken lest the purposed innovation
should appear out of taste amid the things of beauty and
grace previously collected. This most charming retreat
had been built by Philip Eustace who lived a century
before for his young wife. It was shaded by two large
hemlocks, and was half-hidden by clustering vines
Slender balconies supported the bird-cages in the front
windows, while a pretty fountain leaped high in the air,
with its incessant shower. This sparkling jet rose near
the front of a great, projecting oriel which formed a small
room of itself. Having arranged everything to their

 
Be ere

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

70 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

satisfaction, they joined the company in the other part
of the house. Rosamond was pleased to have any me-
mento of Philip, and she now mused of how, in after
days, she would exhibit this fox, which had been so long
a theme of wonder, to all the sportsmen of the valley,
and had been untouched by human hand until brought
as a trophy to herself. She resolved to keep it with the
same devotion that the Maid of Astolat lavished upon
the shield of the great Sir Launcelot, the star of ancient
chivalry.

The bright, autumn moon shed her silvery radiance
over the peaceful valley. Hawkshead, Maiden’s Peak,
and Harcourt Hill, were all aglow in the broad, fair light
that rested upon their lofty summits. The curling mists
slowly arose from the mountain gorges now dark in im-
penetrable shadow; and the horsemen, wearied with the
hardships of the past day, had been riding in silence since
leaving Thorndale Cottage.

“Mr. Kean,” said St. George, “do you see the small
mountain just in the great bend to the south of that
bright.star which almost seems touching Harcourt Hill ?”

“Yes,” said Kean, “ you mean the peak with the cleared
spot half way up its side?”

“That hill,” said Percival, “ was the scene of a dark and
terrible tragedy. About fifty years ago a thrifty farmer
lived in the valley at its foot, and there reared four stal-
wart sons. George Bolton was the second of them, and,

by his daring and success in hunting, became famous in '

the little community then living in the valley. He was
a tall, noble-looking, young man, and my father, who was
nearly the same age, was frequently with him in the
mountains, seeking game. This acquaintance brought

 

|
|
|
|
:
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Notes es SAG le ls i ln a Scare i lie cree a ce ri ial a oat

Thorndale Cottage. 71

George Bolton, occasionally, to Vaucluse, and in the
course of his visits he met a pretty girl named Mary
Lawton, who had been, for a short time, an assistant of
my grandmother in'the management of her household.
After several years of faithful love between these young
people, through my father’s earnest entreaties, the objec-
tions urged by George’s parents to their union were over-
come. The only ground of this opposition had been the
poverty of the young couple. George had often noticed
a beautiful little nook just below the clearing which you
see. In this secluded spot, close to a spring which poured
its ceaseless tribute down the mountain side, he built a
cottage, with his own hands, in which he promised him-
self years of quiet enjoyment with the maiden he had
wooed and won. The house was in a dell, overshadowed
by the surrounding trees. The chimney was constructed
with a view to economy, upon a stone that was so formed
by nature that George Bolton found, ready made tq his
use, an indestructible hearth. They were married in the
midst of Christmas festivities, and the happy bride saw
no trace of displeasure in the eordial kindness with
which she was greeted by the parents of her husband.
The ceremony had taken place at Vaucluse, and farmer

~ Bolton had given them a party at his house; so on the

third night after their marriage they took up their abode
in the only room the cottage afforded.”

“George Bolton, from some fatal fancy,” continued
Percival, “had worked for many days on his house, in
the cold, saying he would have no fire ’till his blooming
bride should come there to be warmed by its heat. The
friends, who had seen them safely in possession of their
new home, had all departed, and in the course of the

 
Pee ae

ad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

72 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

evening, after many compliments from the happy girl on
the comfort and completeness she saw around her, they
retired to rest. Late in the night they were awakened
by some strange noises about the house Unsuspicious
of the deadly peril awaiting him, the bridegroom sprang
from his bed to revive the almost expiring embers on the
fire-place, and to discover the cause of the disturbance.
He had scarcely taken a step in that direction when a

hundred rattle-snakes, on the floor, gave their terrific

note of displeasure. They lay so thickly that George
Bolton stumbled and fell among them. In an instant he
felt twenty deadly fangs planted in his body, and could
only say to his wife that he was dying. His love for her
triumphed in his last moments, for he manifested no fear
and did not endeavor to regain the bed, bué directing
her to cover her head until help should come, speedily
expired. The young widow, in an agony of grief and
fear, complied with his last injunction, while the fierce
din of the rattles was still kept up. Through the long
and seemingly endless hours of the night the hapless
creature lay almost suffocating, for the reptiles were soon
upon the bed, and she could feel them gliding over her,

as if in search of another victim.”

“Some of the neighbors came on the next morning,
and were surprised to find the door of the house closed.
No answer was returned to their calls, and having forced
open the door, they were horrified at the ghastly spectacle
before them. The hideously swollen and distorted body
lay upon the floor, surrounded by throngs of now com-
paratively quiet rattle-snakes. They were killed and the
widowed bride rescued. She had gone there, less than
twenty-four hours before, a picture of health: and happi-

 

 

 

Thorndale Cottage. 73
ness; she had become, through the intense suffering of
the fatal night, gray-haired and prematurely old.”

“ How was such an extraordinary congregation of rat-
tle snakes accounted for?” said’ Kean.

“They had collected under the hearth of the cottage,
unknown to George Bolton, and were warmed into life by
the fire. They have not infested the house much since
that time, for on one occasion, being overtuken by a
blinding storm of rain, I was forced to abandon the chase
in which I was engaged, and found shelter within its
walls.”

“What became of the bride, cousin Percy?” said
Philip.

“She never entirely recovered from the effects of the
grief and horror she experienced that night, but returned
to Vaucluse, and died in less than two years.”

“Mass Percy,” said Thompson, who was riding close
behind and listening, “you don’t say you undertook to
sleep in that house; for I should bin afeard of Mr.
Bolton’s ghost, let alone all dem nasty, venemous sarpunts
folks says lives all over dat hill now jest like de used to
aon

“Yes, Thompson, I slept soundly, without disturbance
from snake or goblin, although we kept a bright look out
for fear of the reptiles.”

“Well, Mass Perey, I’m a heap too chicken-hearted to
a done sich a thing.”

“Cousin Reginald,” said Philip, “have you heard how
old Troubadour frightened uncle Thompson ?”

“No,” said Vane, “how was that, Thompson ?” ;

“Well, you see, Mass Reg., dare was a quiltin’ frolic
*mongst the colored folks over at Grafton ; so a leetle arter

 
ie PBA ETN NN MRT PA ERLE ISRO TREE usa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

74 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

dark I stepped over to see what fun was a gwine on. Old
7oman Nancy was agin my gwine, but I went anyhow;
and a lively time of it we had. Well, t’wards day, I
started home by a nigh cut cross de plantation, and I was
nigh bout got over de foot-way long dare in de slashes,
when, somehow or other, I got monstous uneasy like,
fur I knowd ’twas jus long dare old man Simon got
drownded when I was a boy. Master thought uncle
Simon was drunk, but we colored folks ’blieves de place is
onlucky anyhow, I was feelin mighty skittish, I can
tell you, case I thought I heered suppen. I whistled
awhile, and I listened awhile, and good gracious, I heered
suppen on de foot pieces right ahead o’ me a soundin
like chains draggin along, an er gittin nigher and nigher
to me, until I got off o’ de log to let de thing pass by if
it was gwine to. I kep a lookin and a lookin, when de
fus thing I knowd I disarned two great, big balls o’ fire.
I jes trimbled all over, and de sweat come a bustin out,
an Iwas nigh bout fit to die anyhow, when de thing
rared up an put his cole nose agin my face, Well, you
know dare aint a horse in de valley dat can git through
de mire along dare, but if you blieve me, I wont a studyin
about de mire. Gentlemens, I jes nately ris an flew, but
‘fast as I run and loud as I hollored, I heered dem chains
a jinglin right close behind me, till I stumbled an fell
down. I jes shet my eyes and lay dare, when de thing
come up er smellin an a whinin, an den lay down side
o’ me. I jes gin up for loss, an lay dare, afeered to open
my eyes or move till daybreak, when, bless your soul, I
peeped ’round an ’twant nothin arter all but dat ole
stag-hound, Troubadour. He’d got his chain loose where
I'd tied him, an had started over to Grafton, and skeered

 

 

 

 

Thorndale Cottage. 75

me in dat way nigh bout to death for nothin. I never

shall injore dat dog agin.”
“Well, Thompson, you will be more panuculay the
next time you leave your wife against her consent.
“Yes, Master, for I allers has bad luck when, me an
Nancy disagrees about anything.”
By this time they had reached the parting of the roads.
Reginald Vane turned aside to his bachelor home, and

the others rode on to Ellesmere.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

76 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER V.

ST. KILDA RACES.

“FrIrRsT came the trumpets at whose clang
So late the forest echoes rang,

On prancing steeds they forward pressed
With scarlet mantle, azure vest;

Just in the advantageous glade,

The halting troop a dine had made

As partly from the opposing shade

Issued a gallant train.” Marmion.

Ir was now the third day of the races. The expected
presence of the Governor of the State had given unusual
attraction to the oceasion. The field around the judges’
stand was early thronged with the inhabitants of the
valley and visitors from a distance. The jolly, good-
natured boniface, who had presided for so many years
over the fortunes of the old Eustace Tavern, declared he
had never been so worried in his attempts to accommo-
date people. His honest face, usually wreathed with
smiles of welcome for every guest, now clouded with
fresh trouble at each application for shelter. He well
knew that his competitor, who kept the St. Kilda House
on the opposite side of the Cuurt-House square, had no
more room than himself. This state of affairs becoming
known, the town people and those in the surrounding
country opened their hospitable doors, and thus cared
for mauy who would, otherwise, have been sorely dis-
commoded. After a hard and doubtful struggle, the con-
test of the second day, among the three year old colts in
the two mile heats, resulted in the success of Mason Som-
erville’s Ninian. The first day had been consumed in

 

Be er

St. Kilda Races, 10

the inspection of the horses entered, and the arrange-
ment of the weights to be carried.

Philip Ashton Eustace, the Governor of the State, had
arrived at Ellesmere, the evening he was expected, and
had added unusual joy to the household. He very much
resembled his mother in appearance and manner, and he,
with his brother, Col. Stanhope Eustace of the United
States Army, were the only issue of their parents. Miss
Esther Stanhope was celebrated, in her youth, for her
brilliant gayety and sparkling repartee. Her husband,
Judge Eustace, on the contrary, was a model of blandness
and simple dignity. Goy. Eustace had inherited the sun-
shine and vivacity of his mother; and wherever he came,
new life danced in the eyes, and fluttered in the hearts
around him. Even the saintly calm of Mariana’s face

-<oon exhibited little ripples of pleasure, amid the cease-

less anecdote and raillery of his conversation. He was
wanting in the tireless application and passionless judg-
ment of his father; but in law cases, which aroused his
indignation or contempt as an advocate, he was peerless
and unapproachable. For hours, great multitudes would
hang in breathless attention on his impassioned utter-
ance. His invective was scathing; and as his hearers
became excited and lost in its splendor, he could at
will fall into such pathos that strong men were often seen
to weep at his bidding. When there was occasion for it,
his humor would riot in the most redundant and ex-
quisite ridicule, and many a man was laughed out of
countenance, who, by some unlucky blunder, had _ be-
come amenable to his merciless wit.

At an early hour, the carriages with the ladies set out
from Ellesmere. Goy. Eustace prevailed on his mother

 

 

 

 
 

be
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pesca guerra rE

   
  
 

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78 _ The Heirs of St. Kilda.

and Mariana to accompany him. St. George, Kean, and
Philip, were, as usual, on horseback. The race course
was on the edge of a large wood two miles from the vil-
lage. Several buildings had been constructed for the
purpose of exhibition; for the races were only a part of
the attraction. Live stock and agricultural improve-
ments occupied the day, while balls and festivity con-
sumed much of the night.

Loud and prolonged cheers announced the arrival of
the Governor on the field, and testified to his popularity
among the people. Many of his friends came up to wel-
come him to his native vale; and soon the cries of the
multitude compelled him to make them a speech. He
did this in his characteristic style, warmly felicitating
himself on the privilege he was enjoying, of meeting so
many of his dearest and oldest friends, and deprecating
his own folly in being so much of his time absent from
them. ‘ My dear friends,” said he, “the sweetest dream
of my life, for the last ten years, has been the prospect of
speedy return to St. Kilda Valley. But your great and
repeated honors have made mean unwilling exile. When
I behold these noble mountains around us, and remem-
ber my happiness in this valley in early life, I can but
wonder at my consenting to live elsewhere. But dear
friends, J am only a man, and am honest to confess, that
ambition and the love of your applause have caused me
to forego the enjoyment I should have experienced in
your company. I have been long desiring to come home,
and live a quiet citizen among you; but the repeated
evidences of trust and confidence, on the part of the peo-
ple of this State, have acted as a counter-charm to this
inclination. <A little incident in my last canvass so forci-

 

 

A...

St. Kilda Races. 79

bly illustrates this double-mindedness on my part, that
T will tell yon the story. I was travelling, and, at mid-

day, called at a small house on the road-side, to get food

for myself and horses. I found no one in the house, but
hearing a scuffle on the back porch, I there found a large
woman with the head of a small, sandy-haired man closely
confined under her arm, while she unmercifully bela
bored him with her fist. ‘Hillo, said I, ‘who keeps
house here?’ She did not release him, but he turning his
head so as to get sight of me, exclaimed, ‘Hang it all,
stranger, that is the very thing I and my wife are trying
to decide.” I have had as much difficulty as this perse-
cuted individual in making up my mind; but I can pro-
mise you all that I shall soon come back to St. Kilda,
from whose dear limits I should never have departed to
pursue the empty phantoms, which, at best, are the only
rewards of political success, had I not believed it my
duty to surrender my own pleasure to the public good.”

“ Mason Somerville,” said the Governor to his former
law partner, as he descended from the judges’ stand, “is
it possible you have assumed so venerable a habit as the
wearing of spectacles ?”
~ “Yes,” said he, “the mills of the gods grind slowly but
surely; and I find, though I have been, in all conscience,
lazy enough through life, at the age of forty-five my eye-
sight is such that Iam compelled to use glasses.”

“ You should somewhat relax the severity of your study.
Tt is well known that we are of the same age, and people
will be saying that Ashton Eustace is also one of the
ancients.”

“No danger of that, Governor,” said he. ‘“ You are
as young in spirit, at least, as you were the day you

 

 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

creer nen ety ripe oro oat ra oer a cen nana amon ener mire reainnnntdb entity

80 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

worried Counsellor Tatem so much about his brief in the
case of Roberts vs. Jones.”

“ How was that, Mr. Somerville?” asked Percival St.
George. “I never heard the story.”

“The Counsellor was a strange man,” said Mr. Somer-
ville. “With moderate capacity, he managed, by his
assiduous attention to his cases and his marvelous ac-
quaintance with the prejudices and temperament of
every juror in the county, to make himself a sine qua non
in every case in which much depended on the complexion
of the jury. In the cause I refer to, he had been re-
tained by Jones, and had, as usual, carefully set down
everything in his brief that he wished to say. He had
commenced his remarks in opening the case for the de-
fense, and having to read an authority to the court, he
laid it down. As he did so, Eustace picked it up unob-
served by Tatem, and, adding something to the brief, put
it back in its place. The counsellor, never  sus-
pecting a joke, took up his brief to look for his next
point, and closely scrutinizing the paper—for he was very
near-sighted—he very confidently remarked: ‘In the
next place, may it please the court, this action does not
lie, but Ido’ This singular announcement was followed
by sounds of ill-suppressed laughter, in which the judge
himself was forced to join the bar and spectators. Old
Tatem fanned it into unspeakable disorder, on seeing the
joke too late. He turned around and solemnly remark-
ed: ‘I'll be hanged if that ain’t some of Eustace’s work.’ ”

“ Yes,” remarked Goy. Eustace. “The old gentleman
came very near calling me out for that; but I recollect
another occe2sion on which, when I was solicitor for the
State, he was still more angry with me. He was retained

  
   

St. Kilda Races. St

by one of a large party indicted for an affray. The other
defendants submitted, and it was a plain case against
Tatem’s client; but the counsellor was never known to
surrender a case, and in this instance was true to his habit
of making a long speech, in a very barren, hopeless cause.
He attempted to make the jury believe that I was desirous
of punishing, with undue severity, his particular client.
When I came to reply, I told the jury I should detain
them but a short time, as I thought my brother Tatem,
in his long speech, had caused them to forget much of
the testimony. I then recited the leading incidents de-
posed to, until I reached a point in the evidence where it
appeared that Tatem’s client, having become worsted in.
the fight, had ingloriously fled the field. In conclusion,
I then remarked that it seemed from the testimony that
the defendant. Blaylock, letting his discretion get the bet-
ter of his valor, had left the scene of conflict in such ter-
ror, that I had but little doubt if his windage was equal
to that of his counsel he was running up to that time.
Tatem arose in a rage, and swore he would not submit to.
such unprofessional remarks: but we soon laughed him
into a good humor.”

“Gentlemen,” continued the governor, “suppose we
look at the horses before the race comes off.”

Several of the beautiful animals were near by, and

secmed impatient of the delay that kept them from the:

exciting contest. St. George’s horse, Hildebrand, in
the majestic symmetry of his large frame, the beauty
and evident power of his muscular development, and the

splendid record of continuous triumphs, was the lion,

of the day. Near him stood Tempest and Orion, and

a little farther on Mr. Compton’s imported Pepin; close-

6

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

82 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

to him were Col. Ridgely’s Clifton and Vane's horse, Red«
gauntlet. Frank. Peyton’s Sea-foam, a beautiful, creamy
white, was much admired, but not in high favor. Musi-
dora and Tarelton belonged to parties outside of the
valley. Of the thirteen nominations only these came to
the post.

An equipage of unusual beauty, drawn by a span of
high-stepping grays, passed the judges’ stand, and drew
up in front of the building used as a reception hall for
the ladies. Frederick Compton stood near by, and assis-
ted Mrs. Courtenay and Rosamond as they left the car-
riage. The young heiress of Thorndale looked in vain for

Philip. He, true to his name—horse-lover—mounted on —

Black Sultan, in company with Kean, was riding about
the grounds, pointing out the prominent characters
among the men and animals. He was too much engrossed
in the pending race to think of any thing not in some
‘way connected therewith.

“There go Col. Ridgely and Mr. Frank. Peyton, the two
magnates of the Hawkshead neighborhood,” said Philip.
“That black-roan the colonel is riding is a half brother
of Sultan. The colonel isa great horseman and thinks
nothing of the hill-side fence at Satan’s Nose. Mr. Peyton
is also a sportsman, but grandfather does not esteem him
highly, since he advocated the rescinding of the rule
requiring persons making entries of their horses to pledge
ithemselyes against side-bets.”

“All betting is then forbidden on the field ?”

“Certainly; the only thing that can be won by the
owner of the successful horse is the large silver cup which
is always of the value of five hundred dollars. Each

}

 

 

 

St. Kilda Races. 83

man entering his horse pays one hundred dollars for the
privilege in the four mile heats, and fifty in the two.”

“ But there are thirteen entries; what becomes of the
una ppropriated eight hundred dollars ?”

“The trustees apply it toward keeping the buildings
and race course in order.”’

It was now half past one, by the clock, and the jockeys
haying received their orders from the judges;the course
was cleared. The horses moved up nearly in a line, and
at the president’s signal, the race commenced. Red-
gauntlet and Pepin got under way at once, closely fol-
lowed by Hildebrand, Tempest, Orion, Clifton, and the
others. Vane and Compton ordered their horses to
be taken in hand. St. George and Philip saw no
necessity for interfering with their riders, as they were
both bearing well upon the mouths of their noble coursers.
Orion and Clifton thus passed to the front, and remained
there for the next half mile. As they were nearing the
close of the first mile, Hildebrand’s jockey received orders
to let him go. Tempest lay just ahead, and Pepin a little
in advance of him. As St. George’s magnificent horse
felt the spurs in his side, he sprang forward like acannon

~ shot, and put new life into Tempest, who, now for the

first time, exhibited that glorious speed which could only
be equalled by his admirable endurance. Hildebrand
slowly gained upon him for one hundred yards, when
Tempest, getting a fresh taste of steel and cat-gut, lay
along side so doggedly that though Pepin was passed and
beaten by a half length at the end of the first mile, no
one could say which of the other two horses was in
advance.

Redgauntlet had, in the mean while, bolted as usual.

 
ie RR aOR RR SON 8 IE OORT TI IRE OOS AERIS TERENAS Nan MISC EEOC i

 

   

 

 

 

84 The Heirs of St. Kilda. St. Kilda Races 85

 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 
 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next mile was passed over at a terrific pace, but
Pepin’s rider, having received fresh orders to hold hard,
he was imitated by the other jockeys who well knew that
the Englishman was husbanding his resources. They
had again got under full headway, and were coming at a
splendid rate, when St. George’s hitherto unconquered
veteran was observed to falter in his career, and the cry
was raised “ Hildebrand kas let down.”

There was much disappointment among the spectators
on learning this sad misfortune to the great racer. The
people of the valley felt that his reputation was a thing
that reflected honor on the whole cominunity. His
prowess had been long the theme of admiring thousands,
not only there, but on many a distant race-course; and
now when he was bearing himself so splendidly in this
great contest against the imported horse, to be stricken
in a moment powerless, was something indeed mournful
to contemplate. While many were shedding tears at this
disaster to Hildebrand, onward swept the flying coursers
who still kept their distance on the field. These were
Tempest, Pepin, Orion, and Clifton. The others had
‘been reined upand withdrawn. As the horses approached

the termination of the fourth mile, a rate of speed was
attained that called forth most rapturous applause. By
tremendous exertion, Tempest out-footed his competitors,
and won the heat, beating Pepin by half a length.
Philip caressed the noble animal in his rapturous de-
light, but the second heat was yet to be run, and the
English horse, in his untamed prowess, reminded him
that the laurel of victory might yet be plucked from his
brow.

Tempest and Pepin exhibited but little distress after

 

their prodigious exertions, and cooled off readily. At
the lapse of the half hour of breathing time, they came
back to the contest, apparently as fresh as if they had
been brought out of their stables for the first time that
day. Undaunted spirit was seen in their flashing eyes
and lofty carriage, and a shout of involuntary admiration
burst from the assembled multitude. All except Tempest
and Pepin were now withdrawn, and at the word both
horses started as in the commencement of the first heat.
Pepin at once set off at full speed, followed by the long,
steady stroke of Tempest, which soon shortened the gap
thus put between them. Toward the end of the first
mile the pace increased into a gait that told the leader he
must go faster if he kept his place at the front. Pepin,
however, passed the mile-post a little in advance, and
away they went gradually approaching each other until
Tempest, getting an intimation that more was expected
of him, rallied to such a degree that he speedily called
on his antagonist, and by the time they had made the
second mile, was a clear length ahead. The loud and
irrepressible cheer that broke spontaneously from the
spectators sent both horses into such a flight that their
jockeys wisely forbore urging the gallant animals until
nearing the last stretch. :

Whips and spurs again came into full play. Never
was there witnessed a grander display of the endurance
and power of the blood-horse than these unflinching
champions of two hemispheres now afforded. With tire-
less stride and eyes of flame they sprang from the inflic-
tion of the cruel punishment. No one could say who
would win until Tempest, seeming to understand that
the crisis was upon him, broke away into a fresh burst of

 

 
  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

   

 

  

86 The Valley of St. Kilda,

  

speed which carried him out a winner by two good
lengths.

The great victory was won, and Philip, in a transport
of joy, threw his arms around the neck of his horse and
petted him like a lamb. The mighty stallion, quivering
with fatigue after his prodigious exertions, now hung his
head to be fondled by the proud and gratified master.

“Tere, uncle Thompson, take good care of Tempest,”
said Philip. “TI must now look for cousin Percy and
Hildebrand,” and he rode off to a large tree beneath
which St. George had caused his disabled horse to be car-
ried. As soon as Philip came near, Percival exclaimed :

“Did Tempest keep his ground on the last stretch ?”

“Splendidly,” said Philip, “and beat Pepin by two
lengths.” ; .

“Thank heaven for that,” said Percival. “ Hildebrand.

: forever undone. He has let down in his right, hind
Coa

“Poor Hildebrand! I almost regret the success of
Tempest, obtained at such a cost. I believe your horse
would have come out of the race victorious as ever but
for this accident.”

“That is very doubtful, for Tempest and Pepin were
both along-side when he let down.”

“Allow me to extend my sincere condolence, Mr. St.
George,” said Arthur Kean, as he rode up.’ “I am most
deeply pained at this sad accident to your horse.”

“Tt is very deplorable to have so fine an animal ruin-
ed,” said Percival.

“ Will there be no hope of his recovery ?”

“He can never be strong enough for the turf again,”
said St. George. “ Lewis, as soon as the crowd leaves the

 

St. Kilda Races. 87

stables, get him there, and do not suffer people to ap-
proach near enough to fret him. Philip, they will soon

be ready at the audience-hall to give you the goblet

Tempest has so nobly won to-day. I should have been
inconsolable about Hildebrand if that English horse had
beaten our St. Kilda stock.”

They rode off in the direction of the judges’ stand, and
as they passed the boys from the village, having collected
in a group, gave three lusty cheers for Phil. Eustace and
Tempest. Philip calmly lifted his hat and bowed. Gov.
Eustace, with Mrs. Courtenay and Rosamond, were watch-
ing their approach when this happened.

“ See the coolness of that youngster,” said the Governor.
“He takes that applause as if he were the Duke of Wel-
lington reviewing a division of English troops.”

“Philip is, certainly, very self-possessed for one so
young,” said Mrs. Courtenay.

Rosamond sighed inaudibly as they turned their horses
in a different direction. Philip was exultant at Temp-
est’s victory, and he wished to find Mariana, well know-
ing that any great joy of his conferred pleasure on her
sympathetic nature. He immediately longed for her
presence when he felt any unusual happiness. One of
the chief elements of this great satisfaction consisted in
the fact that the Comptons were again beaten. They
were a new family in the valley, and the head of the
house on many occasions seemed to attempt a rivalry of
the family at Ellesmere.

Mr. Compton had been Ashton Eustace’s early competi-
tor for the legislative honors of the county, and, in many
things, it was evident that while nothing ill-natured
transpired, the Comptons unceasingly labored to neutral-

 
 

 

 

88 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ize the influence of that house, whose talents, virtues and
wealth made it supreme in the valley. The ex-chief-
justice was too indifferent to popular applause to care
much for these things, and while Philip scorned to take
an unfair advantage, he yet gloried in over-reaching his
rivals. The capture of the red fox was keenly enjoyed,
because William Compton and his son had repeatedly
failed to take him. This new triumph over the horse
which had been specially imported from England to
eclipse Hildebrand, was enough to have stirred the pulses
of one older and more cold-blooded than Philip. At
length he found: his grandmother and Mariana in a
quiet spot, apart from-the crowd.

“See, the conquering hero comes!” said Mrs. Eustace,
“Philip, is not this glory enough for one day ?”

“ Yes, grandma, if Mariana could have seen how Tem-
pest bore himself, and had Hildebrand escaped the acci-
dent that so rudely closes his career, I should now be
supremely happy. Mariana, where were you when the
races were going on?”

“We came here, brother; Oh I am so shocked at the
accident of poor Hildebrand. How does Cousin Percy
bear it?”

“By careful attention, he hopes to get him on his feet
again ; but his racing career is closed forever. The ten-
dons of his leg are so much stretched, that his pastern
joint touches the ground.”

“T cannot think it right to prolong the exertion of the
horses to such an extent as to cause such a cruel mishap,”
said Mariana. “I remember Hildebrand well, he was so
beautiful when I saw him last.”

“Do not distress yourself, sister. Horses of great en-

 

 

 

St. Kilda Races. 89
durance are valuable to civilians, and all-important to
military men; and to encourage the production of such
stock are these long races favored. Where is Rosamond?

T have no seen her.”

“She has been expecting you ail day ; of course she
cannot come to you.”

“Philip, fearing that his cousin might feel hurt, went
off in quest of her. He found her still walking with his
father and her mother.

"My liege-lady,” said he, smiling, “JT have come to
acknowledge my delinquency.”

“You have a very truant disposition, sir, and your
greetings have been very slow in reaching us.”

“ You will congratulate me on my good fortune to-
day ?”

Oh, assuredly,” said Rosamond, “I have been excusing
your absence already, as I knew you were so deeply ab-
sorbed in the race. Tempest is such a wonderful horse,
T can understand the interest you take in him. I fear
that Frederick Compton will be positively unpleasant
now.”

“ Have you seen him to-day ?”
~“Yes, he has asked me a host of questions about the

fox chase.. He was confident that Pepin would lead the
field. What are they ringing that bell for? Isee the
people are going to the audience-hall.”
“Tt ig summoning me to receive the meed of Tempest's
victory. The vase is very beautiful this year. Will you

accompany me?”
. . . ”
“T fear it will render me too conspicuous.

“J will not take you toa position where you will at-

    
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

 

 

90 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

tract more attention than your sweet, dark eyes would
elsewhere in the room.”

“ Philip, if you are honest, I thank you, but I well
know that I am plain. Oh, how often have I wished
for beauty like Mariana’s, so I could always keep you
half-mad for loving me,” said the passionate girl, and the
glow of affection in her fine eyes made them as beautiful
as she could have wished.

They entered the hall, and many a heart, manly and

true, could but envy Philip the singular good fortune that _

seemed in most things to crown his efforts. Born to
the enjoyment of large wealth, he was idolized by father
and grandfather; and Percival St. George, too, had avowed
his intention of making him the heir of the principal
portion of his wealth. It was generally known also that
Rosamond Courtenay. warmly. seconded the wishes of all
branches of the family, that she should bestow upon him
her hand together with the great estates of Thorndale
and Ramillies. And now he was the victor in a contest

"that, by long usage among the gentlemen of the valley,

had come to be looked upon with as much interest, as did
the ancient Greeks upon the Olympic games. Philip
earried Rosamond to a seat by her mother, and then re-
received from the hands of his grandfather, who was
president of the club, the large and richly-chased vase
of silver. It was sculptured with a representation of the
battle between the Centaurs and Lapithae, at the marri-
age of Pirithous and Hippodamia.

“T fear,* said Gov. Eustace, “that this early success
will give my son an undue fonduess for the race course,
but the regulations are so admirable here, he will not, at
this place, contract the pernicious habit of betting.”

a

 

 

 

 

St. Kilda Raees. 91

“TJ do not think that Philip can ever descend so low
as to become a mere gambler,” said Mrs. Courtenay.

_ “fe has too much devotion to principle; I never knew
‘a boy who exhibited so much reverence for the teachings

he ought to obey.”

se tae ee said Philip, coming up with his vase
in his hands, ‘‘ here is my second trophy in the last a
days ; but, with all the eclat of its attainment, I yes
beating the field in the fox chase more than this much-
coveted honor. Rosamond, the marriage of the Lapithae,
amplified in your usual style, will enchain the attention
of Mariana and myself for a good hour.”

The evening soon wore into night. The moon cee
up into the quiet heavens, and the eternal stars were a :
out in their unchanging glory. The gentle tears
sighed amid the trees of the forest, stirring the leaves
without disturbing the birds fast asleep in the wide-
spreading branches. The sounds of joyous music oan
yoluptuously on the night air, through the open ae:
the great ball-room. The pride and beauty of St. Bee :
Valley were collected in the flowing light, and beautifu
forms were floating in the dance. Swilt glances, convey-
ing a world of meaning, were flashing from ee
bright eyes. Gratified parents were watching the i
like movements of their daughters, or resting with pride
on the stately forms of their sons. Philip had a
menced the pleasures of the evening with Rosamond, bu
was now dancing with Ida Somerville. They had long
been friends; for she was frequently with his sister at

Ellesmere. one
“Tda,” said Philip, “you are looking uncommonly we

    

 
 

  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

92 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

cae you grow much prettier, I shall be losing
i Ob, you sinner, Philip,” answered the girl, “to speak
po loving any but Rosamond Courtenay !” a!
aes ou think Iam very much in love with Rosa-
i You ought to be, for she is all devotion to you
Philip, it is not right for you to be making love to
other girls, for I know it makes Rosamond nae a
“ But how can I forbear, when they are so Beautiful as
yourself, fairest Ida ?”
“That is all gammon. You can help it. Any one
can restrain his feelings. I can esteem a gentleman ever
ae it does not follow that I must love where
4 That is.very much the case with you ladies, but not
so with me. I cannot admire a beautiful woman without
loving her a little. Iam not very apt to break my heart
I admit, with the depth of the attachment.” , ;
“ Yes, you feel a slight fancy for a girl, and forthwith
make love to her; the week after she is probably forgot-
ten. Philip, at our age all love-making is mere pastime ;
‘but when you have grown to be a man, I know sou
will be too honorable to do or say anything Caleatated to
produce a false impression. You will be possessed of so
many attractions, that it will be the greater wrong in
you. The high social position of your family, the red
wealth you will inherit, and your own heronal when:
ages, will be sure to make youashining figure in ocit r
So now, as one of your best friends, let me ask vou not is
abuse the power you possess, and cease making love’ to
girls in mere jest.” :

 

 

 

 

St. Kilda Races. 93

“T agree with you, Ida, but what a speech you have
made! On my word, I shall stop making love to you if
you read me such lectures.”

«Come here, Rosamond, and take Philip to task,” said
Ida, as the young heiress of Thorndale was passing.

« What are you doing, Philip?” said Rosamond.

“JT was only telling Ida she is so beautiful that I can
but love her a little; but she has read me such a lecture
on flirtations that I am half-disgusted with all my fine
speeches to such a prosy little woman. Do younot think
it a poor return for all my gallantry, to be told that I
should confine such remarks to yourself?”

“ He is so liberal in complimenting me, I can afford
to let him indulge a little in the same strain to other
girls; but remember, Philip, it must be on rare occasions
that you do such things; for I claim as a right that the
most gallant of your speeches be reserved for myself.”

Still onward rolled the joyous tide of the dancers.
Flute, violin and bassoon added their inspiring notes to
the pleasure which was apparent inso many faces. Regi-
nald Vane had been assiduous in his attentions, all the
evening, to Helen Temple; and from appearances. it
would seem the wedding that Thompson had so patiently
awaited, would soon be consum mated. Percival St.
George was present; and Kean knowing the story of his
lost love, observed his noble figure as he passed about
among the belles. Every eye brightened at his approach,

for he was still by far the handsomest man in the assem-

bly. Beautiful women assumed their most engaging
manner, but the memory of the daughter of beauty and
heaven-born genius was fresh in his heart, and he who
brought happiness to others, was all the while wishing

 

       
  
   
  
  
   
  

 

 
sch rev faa Dee GTM ARCO AA TEI ILO NEE TES TPT YI THEM RT ET TPIT TSO LIL! ICEL Ee

 

 

 

   

94 The Heirs of St. Kilda,

himself away in the solitude of Vaucluse, or the hotne
circle at Ellesmere. Judge Eustace had left with Mariana
early in the evening. His wife had been prevailed upon
by her son to remain untila later hour. She was sitling
in the moonlight that streamed through a window when
St. George, approaching her, remarked: “I shall be at
your service aunt, if you desire leaving before the gov:
ernor is ready.”

“Sit down, Percival, you have that same weary look

even here. Can you find no pleasure in the company of .

all these beautiful girls?”

“Oh, of course, but I soon tire of any but the dear
familiar faces around your fireside, and the one face T
see best at Vaucluse.”

“Dear Perey, why do you cling so close to that lost
image? Why make yourself unhappy amid all that gaiety
we see around us?”

“Tf I look unhappy, aunt, I belie my feelings. For
years, the memory of my loss was always poignant, but
it is not the case now. It has disqualified me for any-
thing like broad mirth; yet I enjoy many of the pleas-
ures I see around me. ‘The loss of a great hope is like
.the setting of the sun. The stars come forth and the
night is holy.”

Governor Eustace now approached and announced his
readiness to leave. An hour later the hall had become
the abode ofsilence. Darkness had usurped the scene of
late festivity. ‘The lights and music were all gohe. The
latest whisper of love had died into anecho. The center
of somuch mirth and happiness was now a type and
emblem of that noisy human life which frets out its brief
hour upon the stage, and then swiftly glides into darks

 

 

Re EP:

St. Kilda Races. 95

ness and oblivion. The autumn breeze murmured
amid the trees, and the stars looked down as brightly as
they did upon Adam in paradise. Oh, empty and fleet-

~ ing stay of human joy! Oh, serene aud eternal Omnipo-

tence that sees and pities its frailty!

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

   
   
  

 

 
 
 

   

 

 

    
 
   
     

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER VI.

FIRESIDE CONVERSATIONS.

icy sy

Ler Winter come! let polar spirits sweep.

The darkning world and tempest-troubled deep!
Yes shall the smile of social love repay,
With mental light, the melancholy day!
And, when its short and sullen noon is o’er
The ice-chain’d waters slumbering on the shore,
How bright the fagots in his little hall

Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall?”

Picasures of Hope.

Tne St. Kilda races were over. The visitors of Elles-
mere had returned to their homes, pleased with the
gracious hospitality. The day had been lowering and
promising rain, but the weather was sufficiently open to
allow the departure of the last family late in the even-
ing. Gov. Eustace still remained with his parents. As
the sun, which had been visible for a few minutes previ-
ous to his final disappearance for the day, sank behind
the mountains, the wind veered to the north-west and
commenced blowing a gale. Dense masses of cloud came
sweeping up from behind Sorrell’s Peak and Satan’s Nose
until the moon, which had been struggling with fitful
light, became totally eclipsed in the pervading gloom.
The silenced whippoorwill shrank cowering to the foliage
of the densest thicket, and the two stag-hounds, Tweed

and Troubadour, that slept on the front porch, arose |

and listened to the wail of the coming storm, as it moaned
and sobbed amid the branches of the tossing trees. One
of them stretched himself, and, howling a dismal expres-
sion of disapprobation at being thus disturbed after hay-

 

Fireside Conversations. 97

ing settled for the night, walked off to find more comfort-
able quarters. Deep, bellowing peals of thunder re-

_verberated through the mountains, occasionally illum-

inated by the glare of lightning, while big, sullen drops

of rain gave notice that, even then, the storm, with all

its pitiless fury, was upon them.
St. George stood in the darkness, watching with a poet’s

interest, the sublimity of the scene. Judge Eustace and

Arthur Kean were deep in a game of chess. Near them
Helen Temple sat reading the latest novel, and in one of
the drawing rooms, Gov. Eustace and his mother were:
talking with Philip and Mariana. The lamps threw their
softened radiance over the beautiful rooms, rosy with:
warmth and comfort. All was serene and pleasant there.
The storm without might roar and buffet the oaks, but
no trace of its disturbing breath reached this group as.
they sat lovingly together. The brilliant orator, the
honored statesman, the restless and unsatisfied politician
was here in the bosom of love and peace. The eyes of.
his mother, still beautiful in her age, were full of tender-
ness and gratification as she looked upon her son and:
remembered the dutiful affection he had always shown
her, even in his exalted station as the chief magistrate of’
a great State. His heart was full of the undying memories:
of his boyhood, and he recalled her image, then so lovely,.
so tender with his little failings, so full of compassion
when he suffered. As he looked down at the meek face
with its golden hair and sightless eyes, another counte-
nance, as heavenly in its lineaments, which had illumined.
his early manhood, returned to him from out the past.
That face, with its unforgotten. love,came back. with,
7

 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

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sip greeter acre essen nioiennsinriinbniciiadlansianiinttie sti

98 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

-wonderful distinctness, as he communed with those near-
est and dearest of all the earth to him.

“Father, said Mariana, “ when you are old as grandpa
will you come and live here quietly with us?”

“Wes, my daughter, that is the pleasantest thought
that comes to me in my care-laden public life. I trust I
‘shall be able to escape the drudgery of office before long,
cand return here, where my heart has always been, ere I
‘am much farther advanced in the evening of my days.
I hope that providence and the importunity of the people
‘will not detain me, until like Cardinal Wolsey, ‘An old
‘man, broken with the storms of state, shall come to lay
‘his bones among you.’ ”

“Yes, dear Ashton,” said Mrs. Eustace, “nothing but
-a sense of duty to God and our country supports me in
my old age in my separation from you and Stanhope.
Poor fellow! I wonder where he and his regiment are
this dreadful night.”

“Te is somewhere about Fort Leavenworth. I received
-a letter from him just before leaving the capital. There
‘is strong prospect of a war with Mexico, in case we annex
Texas, and he will be made a brigadier-general in that

‘cevent. I will watch his interest with the Secretary of
War.”

“Oh, I hope there will be no war,” said Mariana. “My
-brave uncle Stanhope might be killed, and it seems to
-me so wicked to slay the men and poor horses, as in the

picture of Waterloo I used to see before I was blind.”

“ Yes, it seems cruel, my child, but the best nations are
-sometimes forced into war: and patriotism and religion,
alike, require of men that they should defend their homes.
I trust the life of my brother will be spared. The presi-

   

i

 

 

 

Fireside Conversations. 99
dent has intimated that the conflict is inevitable, and he
has notified the Governors of the States to be in readiness
for assembling the militia and calling for volunteers.”

“JT wish,” said Philip, “I were old enough to get your
consent, father, to wield a sabre in my uncle’s regiment.
Black Sultan would take me into the strongest, hollow
square ever formed in Mexico, not even excepting the iron
men who conquered under Cortez.”

“You are too young for such things as yet, my son.
Continue in your dutiful obedience to your grand-parents,
and there is nothing in which I can, with propriety, please
you, that shall be withheld. Your connection with
Mr. Grey has been so satisfactory, I need not say to you
I hope you will make it as pleasant for Mr. Kean. Iam
much pleased with the gravity and learning of your new
friend. His acquisitions make him an invaluable in-
structor to you. I knew his father, and there was not a
finer gentleman in the limits of the country. He bore
himself nobly in his misfortunes, and his son is deserv-
ing of all honor for his conduct, since their sad mis-

chance.”
“ You need have no apprehension on that score, father.

~Mr. Kean has my warmest regard, and it shall not be

for want of exertion on my part, if I fail to obtain equal
esteem from himself.”

“Do not allow your fondness for amusements, my son,
to absorb the attention you would devote to study. I
know it is frequently irksome for a young man of your
age to forego the society of his friends and the excitement
of the chase, but always remember that human excel-
lence is the result of prolonged exertion in the mastery
of details, Youthful minds are too apt to regard such

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

 

 

 

100 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

things as insignificant and unworthy the labor bestowed,

but there is no greater mistake in life than the foolish

haste of some men who attempt the execution of enter-
prises for which they are unfitted by want of preparation.
As well might we essay to grapple with the problems of
high mathematics, beiug in ignorance of the elementary
rules of arithmetic. It is a fixed law in the nature of
things, that nothing great shall be accomplished without
sacrifice in its attainment; just as gold is valuable be-
cause it is hard to find, and difficult of separation from
its alloys. Philip, I do not wish to encourage in your
young mind any vain and empty ambition to bring you
dissatisfaction hereafter. I do not even advise you to
form your future plans on the basis of public life. T
nave seen too much of the unfruitfulness of political
honors to desire your imitation of myself in that respect.
I have thought it my duty to yield to the importunate
demands of my friends, urging me to accept unsought
nominations, and thus I have been withheld from the
care of my own desolated hearth, and have devoted to the
State the attention I owe, by nature and inclination, to
you, my dear children.”

“You will never know,” continued Goy. Eustace, “how
Ihave longed to be here at Ellesmere with you all. When
your mother died, life became so heavy to me that I
yielded to the advice of my friends, and looked around
for some larger excitement to help me from myself and
the grief which haunted me. Thusagain I entered upon
a life I had abjured on my marriage, by consenting to
become a member of Congress. I have never sought any
of the many public trusts that my countrymen have seen
fit to confer upon me. Here in this copy of Plato I have

 

 

 

Saperacc aol ‘

Fireside Conversations. 101

been reading how Socrates declares, in relation to the
duty of a citizen: ‘Whoever continues with us, after he
has seen the manner in which we administer Justice, and
in other respects govern the city, we now say, that he has
in fact entered into a compact with us, to do what we
order; and we affirm that he who does not obey is in
three respects guilty of injustice; because he does ee
obey us who gave him being; because he does not obey
us who nurtured him; and because, having made a com:
pact that he would obey us, he neither does is nor does
he pursuade us if we do anything wrongly.” I have
thought that if this wisest of the heathen philosophers
could hold such views of public duty, it was incumbent
on me to forego my pleasure, in deference to the public
will. These positions are of so much importance they
become curses to the community when filled by dis-
men.” ;

hate you think, father,” said Philip, “it is the duty
of a man to surrender his own inclination to the declared
wishes of a majority of his countrymen ; and he has no
tight to decline the measure of duty they may impose
upon him.” A a

“That is precisely my belief, Philip, and it has kep
me from all that I love most, during the larger part of

my manhood.” i
“Father,” said Mariana, “I trast the good people wi

let you come home to us before long.”

“ Here the party in the drawing-room joined those in
the library. Mr. Grey was at Ellesmere, and had been
for some time, in conversation with Judge Eustace and
Arthur Kean. Percival St. George, after watching the
storm, was now talking with Miss Temple. Mr. Grey was

/

      
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

102 ‘The Heirs of St. Kilda.

a year younger than Goy. Eustace. He was a small, thin
man, with mild, intelligent features, and was the im per-
sonation of guiless innocence. He was remarkable for his
scholarship, the warmth of his affections, and a noble
absence of all selfishness in his disposition. His life had
been devoted to study and the instruction of Philip,
Mariana, and Judge Eustace’s negroes. He was a little
impracticable in some of his opinions; but, conceding
‘the truth of his premises, his lucid and well-considered
arguments soon brought his listeners inevitably to the
conclusion he desired. He loved and admired Judge
Eustace with much of that old, feudal attachment that
once so strongly connected protecting greatness and wise
humility; but all this deference to the great man was
powerless to lead the simple-hearted admirer beyond what-
he believed was right. :

“Governor,” said Mr. Grey, “I have been hoping that
our State Legislature will give my memorial more atten-

_ tion this session than they did two years ago. I shall not
be satisfied until the slaves are legally married and per-
mitted to qualify themselves to obey the Lord’s injune-
tion: ‘Search the scriptures.’ ”

‘*My dear friend,” said the governor, “I would rejoice
‘if there were no objection to both objects of your memo-
rial, but I must say, that the perusal of the “ Boston
Liberator,” and kindred publications, by our slaves, would
add nothing to the security of the commonwealth, and
inevitably produce discontent. On the other hand, I
freely confess that I believe the African race is included
in the new covenant, and therefore owe obedience to its
commands. The question of marriage has two different
aspects. One is purely legal, making the bond whieh

 

Ree er a

Fireside Conversations. 103

unites man and wife nothing beyond a simple wa
tract at law, by which the husband becomes bevaneal
afford sustenance and protection to his wife an eel
issue. He thereby acquires her property, aie Bas
wise stipulated by written agreement ei eis
riage. In this view of the case, the slave cannot be sae
ted by the legalization of his contract of ialgiaia os
cannot become liable for the support of his wi ee
children, nor to an action at law for the ee re
debts. Another intention of o us Uae i
matrimony is to ascertain the tru
oe eck by law, be eae i leon
-in virtue of the masters tl asell,
ee taal being considered those of his owner.

It can, then, never become a matter of importance to We
certain who was his grandfather.

i ¥ Be . eye .
slave himself t si RU

it i to southern
think, however, it is a shame
that ate legislation has looked so little to the oe
of the moral duties incident to the marriage state among

”
the negroes. pe
i i overnor,” sal
“To deal with one question at a time, g ;

Mr. Grey, “are we unable to exclude the ‘ Liberator’ and
Aine incendiary documents from the borders of our State

islati selves ?”
by legislation among ourselves + i
Me The carrying of the mails is a matter exclusively

r the control of the General Government, and you

ile the action of Con-

know what a storm has been raised by

gress in that matter.” ae
“Well, this is the naked fact, a :
“We have the positive command of the Saviour
This divine injunction rests
It is our duty, not

s 1 view it,” said Mr.

Grey.
to search the scriptures.
alike upon all the human species.

 
 

 

 

 

104 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

only to avoid putting stumbling-blocks in the way of
its fulfillment, but to give all the necessary aid to the
acquisition of such knowledge as will render it possible.
As to the question of marriage you agree to all I wish.
I simply desire that come legislative sanction may give
moral strength to the tie, and that men and women, if
they are slaves, shall still be treated as husband and
wife.”

“There are many hardships connected with the law,”
said Judge Eustace, “and some of them are inevitable ;
but there is much unreasonable prejudice among lawyers
which often prevents their correction where it might be
highly salutary.”

“There is nothing connected with mankind which so
humiliates the self-respect of thoughtful minds as the
engines of oppression and misrule—called governments.
As a general thing, in most ages and countries, they have
been hereditary despotisms. Often, a man of ordinary

discretion rules the great body of the people as he chooses ;
then again we see in this king—a drivelling idiot too
weak to maintain his station—supplanted by some ad-
venturer, who becomes a tyrant, for fear others may

_ imitate his disregard of vested authority. At rare inter-

vals the struggling millions, organized by oppression,
arise and slay their tormentor ; and at once rush into the
wild and short-lived folly of premature democracy. At
other times we see wiser men slowly exacting from royal
prerogative some of its original powers, and adding little
to little, as England has done since the days of Runny-
mede, they build up what they call a temple of liberty.
But will any man, who knows the story of her government
of' India and Ireland, contend that there are not thus

 

 

Fireside Conversations. 105

exhibited elements of grinding misrule? It is Bers
to think of the injustice and instability which se ieee
degrade and pull down eventually, all eee ee
ments, like the fatal curse that hung over the
uss 2
es aa think our boasted American oe
said St. George, “liable: to any of these objections y
Ee eri
poe ee I do. I must be honest enough to
declare an T hold African slavery radically ete
the theory of the se ae ee bate
ntly justified in the wor d l

cae eee condition ; and I also paiehay La
democratic theory is doomed to superannua ae an
effeteness, in less than a century. Ido not me ne
Madison and his compeers framed the bes oe sie
instrument then within the reach of human eee
I hold that there is an oe Runa hes ae

1 auman mind that render eh
at of rule. The strongest eae
the human frame, bears in its very pont esate ee
which must eventually ripen into decay ie he
Our history for the last thirty oT pear RC

i ssertion. Can any of us say

Peon administered according to the terms ae
upon by the States who were the high me te
to that august compact? I left the politica ee foe
gusted with the gradual extension of the ie noes
particular rights, in questions between the 6 baa 5
Federal governments. I may be in my Fw
happens, but some of you will live to Bees i Shcy
and disruption of the Union, or the suppress

 
 

 

 

 

106 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

reserved right guaranteed to the States by the Constitu-
tion.”

“Then, Judge Eustace,” said Arthur Kean, “ if I under-
stand your position, there are two difficulties that forbid
the idea of stability to any government; the inherent
defects in the constitution, and the unwillingness of men
to abide by the terms of the charter after it is framed.”

“That is as fair a statement of my views as could be
conveyed in so few words.”

“Gov. Eustace,” said Mr. Grey, “you must have been
much gratified with the overwhelming majority by which
you were recently re-elected to the chief-magistracy of
the State.”

“Oh! of course,” said the governor. “ Popular applause
is more or less grateful to every man, as the converse of
the proposition, that all men instinctively shrink from
public obloquy, is also true. ‘Yet on analysing this
gratification, we are often humbled to find, that of the
masses who have contributed their votes, but a tithe of
them were actuated either by patriotism or discretion, in

the choice of candidates. A blind, unreasonable, adher- *

ence to mere party seems to be the highest standard of
political morality, of which a vast majority of men are
capable. The wisest of the Greeks declared, ‘We must
not so much regard what the multitude may say of us, but
what he may say who understands the just from the un-
just’ It is perfectly within the range of possibility, that
the almosi unbroken voice of the wise few may be against
the selection of a candidate who is after all returned bya
large majority. I say not these things as objecting to
free institutions, but simply to show you that, as much as
I appear to enjoy the sunshine of popular favor, I yet

  

Fireside Conversations. 107
sometimes turn aside and listen to the still, small voIe
which ever and anon asks of each man the question,
‘ what is all this worth?” serie re |
“Carlyle has somewhere declared,” said pore
George, “that government consists in the selection 0 the
the ces man in the state. What is to be the ultimate
effect of the means now used in our country toward on
ing this end? The framers of the constitution Hie
looked to the electoral colleges as the bodies which shou

select the president of the United States. The dette
tion of the convention system, seems to me a step bac
- »
a only another feature of omnipotent cas Sa
ism,” said Judge Eustace. “ Men, who are too peer
to know the teachings of history, or 1n criminal disreg ie:
of their significance, are pushing us, every ea
to anarchy, in their insane and limitless serene Se
right of suffrage. I honestly believe that, in ee ath
shall ever be abolished in these southern sta Bee
would not be wanting to advocate the dure oO _
popular franchise to the negroes, steeped oes pn
ignorance. A republic, controlled primarily y alin ”
number of intelligent and honest voters, 1s to me t .
most reasonable and satisfactory system of rule yet bi
among men. One, resting on universal suffrage, aa:
best a bubble and the most inexorable of all pers
from the fact that it is equally senseless and irrespons! rit
The convention system you referred to, Percival, se - :
ing but the transfer of the election to the mob, ae ee
keeping it in the hands of the wise and respons a ;
that Hamilton, Madison, and their coadjutors in

should select the president.”

ded,

 

 
 

 

 

 

108 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“Mr. Grey,” said Gov. Eustace, “ Col. Ridgely has been

telling me of his finding the skeleton of some huge ani-

mal in the bed of the creek at the foot of Hawkshead.”

“I suppose,” said Mr. Grey, “ from what I have heard,
that some saurian perished there in primeval days. I
have several times explored the course of the stream,
endeavoring to find the subterranean connection which,
I have no doubt, exists between it and the Bride’s Tarn.
The mournful fate of poor Ellice Newton, who perished
in its dark waters, lends a tragic interest to the spot.

“Mr. Grey,” said Helen Temple, “do tell me the par-
ticulars of that sad story. I have heard you and uncle
Eustace often refer to it.”

“Archibald Newton,” said Mr. Grey, “was the son of
that Stanley Newton who came over to America with Sir
George Eustace. He was a man of large wealth, and
lived at the place where Col. Ridgely now resides. A
trace of insanity was observable, at times, in his demean-
or, which he was said to have inherited from his English
ancestry. He had contracted a second marriage with a
widow, the mother of two sons by her first husband.
Young Stanley Newton, the only son of his father, left
home in disgust, on the consummation of this alliance
which he looked upon as lowering the rank of his family.
There were many reports circulated in the valley in rela-
tion to the arts used by the second Mrs. Newton in mak-
ing herself mistress of Knowlton, the name by which the
plantation is still known. Ellice grew up to be a girl of
wondrous beauty, and her spirits were so buoyant that
even the rudeness and ceaseless ill-humor of her step-
mother, for several years, failed to cloud the sunlight of her

innocent joy. Nearly a hundred years have passed away

 

 

 

tmnt

Fireside Conversations. 109

He the light-hearted girl rode her palfrey ane!
mountains; but there is yet shown, at the foot of Ha

head, a little nook of retired beauty, which is still calied

Ellice’s bower. Here she loved to muse, a pala ee
the discomforts she frequently encountered at Mei
young girl named Lucy Rhea, who had 2 eee
time her companion, was always with her
oy bs
Desi antcles? continued Mr. Grey, “ was the sen '
of Mrs. Newton’s sons, and had pwnage i
ssful suitor of the young helress. r
oe strangely fond and caressing in her pane.
to Ellice in the progress of this pabaaie : ah
guileless and unsuspecting creature was in ae cee
entreaties of the mother and son, in which ih * . Has
father also joined, to betroth herself to Gunteley.

i i ntumn
vas in the early spring, and with the coming at ,
th In the summer Ellice went to

they were to be married. pa
eat her aunt, who, learning the strategems of Mrs.

ton to bring about this ill-advised union, ea I
: i jane

ther Archibald’s misa i
her resentment at her bro
a came to Knowlton for the first time since that en
M king no objection, while there, to the ‘approaching
aah red Mr. Newton’s consent for Ellice to
For a wonder, he did not in this
led by his wife, who mani-
Mrs. Claver-

nuptials, she procu
accompany her home.
matter stiffer himself to be ru
fested great unwillingness at her departure. peewee
ing discovered that her niece not only was shee
marrying Gunteley, but really disliked eee ee
gained Ellice’s consent that, the esate 2 Erte
broken off, but enjoined silence upon her, # Lg
determination should be ascribed to the aunts i

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

110 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Mrs. Clavering was fond of company, and her house was
thronged for the two months of the young girl’s stay, and
among the visitors was Spenser Vivian, a young man of
good connections and irreproachable character. He lived

in the valley, and, knowing something of Ellice’s unmer-
rited suffering, became so much attracted by her beauty
and gentleness that he offered her his hand. She had
been strangely interested in him from their first meeting,
and now his avowal of love was only replied to by silent
tears. After much pursuasion she confessed her love for
himself, and how, by means that she could not under-
stand, she was engaged to be married in so short a time
to Robert Gunteley. She told him of her present horror
at the idea of such a union, and it was arranged between
them that, so soon as she should be free, Vivian should
openly avow himself her suitor. She went home, and, a
short time previous to her expected wedding, discarded
Robert Gunteley. Mrs. Newton was enraged, and the
father, usually full of gentleness toward his daughter,
goaded on by his wife, now seemed transformed in his
entire nature. The poor girl, amid sobs, told them he
could never marry Rot ert Gunteley, to whom at best she
had been indifferent, and for whom she now entertained
feelings of positive repugnance. Spenser Vivian visited
Knowlton, and saw the pitiful condition to which Ellice’s
love for himself had reduced her. This served but to
increase his devotion to the beautiful girl and to multiply
their vows of fidelity. Archibald Newton’s insanity now
became fearfully evident. He taaintained that, as Ellice
had once made a promise of marriage to Gunteley, she
was bound to fulfill her pledge, and that she should never
marry another. All that the tears and entreaties of the

 

 

cas ene) nN

i il
Fireside Conversations. 1a
ga reluctant consent that

i vail wa:
heart-broken girl could a ee

i ied for t
she should remain unmarrie see
that she might forget Vivian, who bis oe oe

i i y manifested the 7
tunity of seeing her. She now12 : abet
eee insanity, by the hopeless gloom ne
sank. Long fits of weeping, and abstinence iis oe
soon brought her into a rapid decline. She ae We

g icitations to marry W
her lover’s earnest solici mney !
‘fathers consent, and after weary months . ee

inki ik blighted flower, there ca
when fast sinking like a bhg ts Mir
i Vivian had gone to th
her a new lease of life. (
Hawkshead, hoping she would come in nae
and he accidently met her that evening, for ae debi
exercises had been seldom allowed of late. After s

5
vi WwW Ss! ing t ing sorrow lifted from
intervie ys, Seeing some hing of the

t: py ho dis-
irl’ ¥ . Newton sent as )
the young girl $s brow, Mrs V W S$

red these secret conferences. :
ioe was driven from Knowlton, and cibeg bs cae
of any future opportunities of thus Seas ony
The gloom of rayless despair soon settlec ae : mess
a new grief was now added to ees ans a
endured. A letter, purporting to ttn i
at he had come to be of her father’s opinion, bess
i bound by her first an " >
under this unexpected blow. dU] bis
r tears, and she manifested no unwillingne A
see proposition that she should be ean
ried to Robert Gunteley. There were but ms ee
to the ceremony, and Ellice’s demeanor was ce ne aa
out the scene; but her eyes wore an ai Ae
appalled even the clouded intelligence © oie
ton. As soon as the fatal words had bee i

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

“112 The Valley of St. Kilda.

became conscience-stricken with the part he had acied
toward his beautiful and innocent child. All his previ-
ous harshness was now changed into the most complacent
tenderness; half-crazy and repentant, he walked along in
the deepening twilight with the silent and drooped figure
at his side. They were beneath the elms on the eastern
front of the mansion, near the gate that opens on the
pathway leading to Hawkshead mountain. The infatu-
ated man thought the silence of the crushed heart, and
her recent obedience, in submitting to what she had so
long resisted, betokened entire submission to his will,
He told his daughter all the story of the forged letter, of
his complicity therein, and asked if she was not giad the
trouble was now all over. She staggered, as if shot
through the heart. Her arms, in their snowy, bridal
drapery, were clasped tightly across her eyes, as if to shut
out some dreadful image. The thin, wasted figure seemed
bending beneath some intolerable burden. She knelt
before him and gasped for breath,”

“Oh! you have killed me, father, oh! God, you have
made me commit perjury. Oh! father, you have killed
your child who loved you so dearly. How could you do
this thing when you knew I should die?”

“She writhed in unutterable agony ; moans that would
have melted a heart of stone struggled up from her heart
burdened with a world of woe. A new thought seemed
to have transformed her into another being, and a wild,
maniacal laugh burst from her lips.”

“Father,” said she, arising, “you are good to me after
all. Had you not told me this, I should have died to-
night thinking Spenser Vivian had forgotten all his vows.
I should have gone to rest, thinking the truest of all the

Fireside Conversations. 113

world false and unkind. But you have told me better

: ' a
now, dear father. I know he loves me still. Oh! Ia

so happy—so happy !” : ;
it The white figure knelt in the gloom as if engaged in

prayer, and the conscience-stricken man threw ac:
on the ground to hidea sight he could no mae a
Hearing nothing, he raised his head to look meee 4 a
Ellice had disappeared, and was nowhere to be ae
The next day, after long search, her body was can ° ie
in the deep, mountain tarn. In its black, motionless Me
the gentle maiden sought rest from her heavy aa
The father, goaded into madness by the stings o co me
ence, sunk into senseless lunacy, and Mrs. pele:
treated with such scorn by every one in the va a a
she was forced to seek a home elsewhere. Young ; a see
Newton never returned, and after the His : a -
years, the estate passed into the possession of Col. g

ly’s father.”
8

    
i

=

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

114 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER VII.

GOWER HALL.

“No HUMAN figure stirred, to 2d or come, f
No face looked forth from shut or open casement,
No chimney smoked—there was no sign of home
From parapet to basement,

O’er all there hung a shadcw and a fear,
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted,
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear,

The place is haunted.” Haunted House.

Earzy on the day succeeding the night described in
the preceding chapter, Goy. Eustace left Ellesmere for
his post of duty at the capital. His earnest and frequent
anquiries as to the condition of Mariana’s eyes proved how
much hope the French physician had inspired as to the
restoration of vision to those darkened orbs, which, while
‘they failed to convey to her brain the images imprinted
‘upon the retina, still retained much of their lustrous
‘beauty. The last words of the tender father, as he seated
himself in the carriage, was an imploring request to her,
reiterating the importance of a strict compliance with the
oculist’s instructions. The large-hearted man, with his
many endowments, again resumed his burden of public
duty, and renewed the exile he was so loth to continue.
His heart remained with the inmates of the stately house
at Ellesmere; but all his care was concealed in a show of
exuberant spirits and ceaseless good humor. Mariana
dried her tears in the music of the organ, and Philip,
mastering his grief at the separation, went to his new

apartments to.commence his studies under Arthur Kean.

 

 

4

 

Gower Hail. 115

Judge Eustace had suggested to his wife, that the small
room adjoining hers was ill adapted to Philip in his ins
creased mind and stature; so now, after years of stay
within its limits, he was to remove to other quarters:
Mrs. Eustace told him she desired Mr. Kean and himself
to occupy the fine suite of rooms once used: by Sir Elles-
mere and his wife, and now accompanied them as they
went up to take possession.

“Grandma,” said Philip, “you have arranged every-
thing here charmingly. Our end of the house is a little
palace within itself.” ;

“ We shall be as undisturbed here,” said Kean, “as if
in the heart of a great forest.”

“Young gentlemen,” said Mrs. Eustace, “I am glad
you are pleased, for it was my selection, and I was fearful
you would think we were banishing you to this remote
corner to be rid of your company; but-I know that when
aman is studying he wishes to be out of the reach of
everything which can talk and ask questions.”

Mrs. Eustace soon left the young men to their studies,
and she, so full of consideration for others, went through
the long, echoing corridors to find Mariana. She knew
that the blind girl was troubled at her father’s departure,
for the organ notes that had fallen on her ears wailed
only amid the sorrowful, minor keys.

Autumn and early winter passed swiftly by, as the two
students, in undisturbed devotion to their books, seldom
left Ellesmere in quest of society. Occasionally they woke
the mountain echoes with the music of the chase, and a
portion of each day they devoted to horseback exercise.
One evening, when Philip had been reading Prometheus

   
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

116 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Vinctus, as he laid aside that sublimest of all tragedies,
he remarked to Kean:

“What a terrible thought must have been the first
conception of this ghastly drama! It probably haunted
4lschylus like a night-mare, before he undertook the
great difficulties he must have foreseen in the treatment
of his subject. Prometheus, naked and chained to the
storm-smitten summit of the lonely mountain, with the
vulture ever consuming his indestructible vitals, is a

picture of such awfal suffering that he might well have
shrunk from its portrayal.”

“The Greek tragedians,” said Kean, “were not easily
balked, either by the horror or difficulty of their themes.
Sophocles, in his Gdipus Tyrannus, has imagined a con-
dition, to my mind, as horrible as that of Prometheus.
The hidden significance of the riddle he answered the
Sphinx, his ignorance of the great problem of his
own life, and his fatal discovery when it was too late for
remedy, are even more tragic and mournful than the
lonely man on Caucassus, defiant and unconquered in his
agony, and braving the wrath of his immortal enemy.”

“T agree with the critics,” said Philip, “in awarding the
palm of dramatic excellence to the Cidipus ; yet with all
my admiration for the genius and skill displayed in the

creation of these tragedies, the blind conflict of these men
with resistless destiny is too horrible.”

“There was much reasonableness, after all,” said Kean,
“in the wild myths of that race, whose genius produced
an Iliad, and whose valor triumphed at Marathon.
Their belief in an inexorable destiny was a blind glimpse
of the overruling Providence which we know directs and
limits the extent of human achievements, They testified

 

 

|
t

 

Jp She Sat a alee heal nea

tens ng ee ee OR a ET

Gower Hall. 117

their conviction of a controlling agency in earthly ae
by thus adducing instances of its resistless power. ‘ his
conviction has, haunted the minds of all ages, and we

. find it. to have been the central idea, not only of the

ancient Hellenic dreams, but centuries later, when their
descendants had passed under the sway of the see a
Roman, the J®neid developed the same belief. Virgi
represented the Trojan fugitive as more pee ote ie
still as helpless in its hidden strength as any 4 a
Pelopidae. Sixteen centuries later Shakspeare declared:

“There is a divinity that shapes our ends,
~ Rough hew them as we may.”

“How do you like the use of the supernatural im

poetry ?” said Philip. “Are such agencies as the king’s
i legitimate ?”
So aes, “T believe, with the men S
preceding ages, that such things are in ee Ki
within the range of possible communication witl ‘
human race. I have been amazed at the skepticism 0
the last half century on this subject. I have no pee
with the vulgar superstition that gives a ghost to is
old house; but I cannot believe that the human mina,
constituted as it is, could receive, without some corres-
ponding reality in nature, the pervading awe which comes
over all hearts, in certain circumstances, in spite of reason
”

eee like to see a ghost, if there are such things,”
said Philip, standing near the western window of ee
studio. “You can see away yonder across the valley, mk
battlements of a large house, this side of Harcourt Hill.
That is old Gower Hall. It was built by Lyttelton Gower,

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

118 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

who came to the valley with Sir George Eustace, and it
has been, for many years, tenantless. Many families haye
tried to live there; but some mysterious curse has been
about the place since the death of Harcourt Gower. I
would like to sleep there long enough to hear the tramp

of the unseen visitors, that Thompson says still walk
every night about the place.”

“Suppose you get Thompson to go there and spend the
night with you,” said Kean, smiling.

Carrying out the humor of this suggestion, they left
their books, and repaired to the stables, Thompson had
just locked the doors, and was making an authoritative
announcement to his two assistants, that the next time he
had to call for them twice before they shook off their
slumbers, as had been the case that morning, he should
deal out summary punishment. The countenance which
was clothed with frowning authority a moment before,
relaxed into a broad smile, on seeing the approach of the
white visitors, for he believed it the duty of every son of

Africa to light up his face when in the presence of his
superiors.

“Good evening, uncle Thompson.”

“Sarvant, Masters.”

“ How are you and your command?” said Philip.

“Thank de Lord, we’s all gettin’ along middlin’ this
arternoon. All the sore-eyed dogs is gittin’ well, now we
aint got dat red fox to run us to death. Night afore last,
arter ole °oman Nancy and me was in bed, who should
come a scratchin’ at my door but that same Sweetlips
what’s been lost dese three month’s past. I heerd de
whinin’ and scratchin’ but I was sorter jubous like about
gwine out dat time o’night, for to tell you de truth, I aint

 

See mibarreecir "erento Pun

Gower Hall. 119°
biu de same nigger sense dat triflin’ dog skeerd ae
death inde slashes. So you see I waked up Nancy, vie:
for company like. Says I, ‘ole ?oman, you cae -
scratchin’ at the door?’ Says she, ss et ssh
hearn any scratchin’. Why can’t you let fo shoe:
Says I, ‘you mout keep folks company when Kei
stands in need.’ I turned over and tried to go a sle es
but de thing kep sich a fuss at de door I blowec mp a
light, and peeped out to see what it was, but nothin ses
I disarn. I cracked de door open a little ena :
blest to heaven, in jumped dat same Sweetlips I ha a
gin out for dead. I got back in de bed, aud Nancy e
to turn her out, for I wont certain whether ’twas Sweet-
lips or her ghost.”

“Uncle Thompson,” said Philip, “ would is a
encounter danger without doing all you could to help
me?”

“ Mass. Phil., Iam ready to die afore harm shall tetch
ou.” '
: “ Well,” said Philip, “ Mr. Kean and I have been bo
ing about ghosts, and we want you Pace with us, an
spend to-morrow night in Gower House.
oa deep groan broke from the depths of Thompson's

chest, and his small eyes opened wider and wider, a
a ring of white was seen around them. His ph:
at the proposition seemed to have taken away his utte

ance. At length he found words. :
“Mass. Phil. just kill me stone-dead where I stand; I

tell you I’d ruther die ten times over dan go any wheres

about dat house arter dark.” :
“What in the world makes you so afraid of Gower

Hall?” said Kean.

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

120 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“Why, Mr. Kean, aint you hearn about all dem things
dats stormin’ and hollorin’ about Gower House every
night? Why dare aint a family in de valley dat can stay

at de place, and sense Mr. Rider seed what he did, folks
don’t even go by it arter dark.”

“What happened to Mr. Rider?” said Philip.

“Mass. Phil., I never likes to talk about sich things
arter night; it puts cold chills on me, and I can’t sleep
good arter it; but howsomeyer, dat aint tellin’ how Jack
Rider got skeered so nigh to deth. Well, you see, he
had jest come to live in de valley, and was mightily taken

wid one of Squair Morton’s daughters. Dare was some -

party doins over dare dat night, and dare was no want of,
sperits at de Squairs, and I spose Mr. Rider got his sheer.
He started late arier de party broke up, to go across de
river dat runs along by Gower Hall, and, feeling his
liquor a little, he didn’t notice de new road which turns
to de left; so he follered de old track along by de house.
It seems to me dat any sensible man ought to known
better dan to a done sich a thing. Well, he went a blun-
dering along, for de moon was gettin mighty low, and de
shadows from trees lay monstrous thick along de avenue.
De road was full of ruts, for folks didn’t go dat way sense
de new one was made through de meadows. Jack Rider
hadn’t hearn much about de place, being a new comer in
de country, so he thought he would ride past de house
any how, for by dis time he found out dat he had missed
de right road. He could see de great, high walls and
chimbleys shinin’ through de dead trees, killed by de
lightning dat struck de house, dat summer. He was nigh
about up:to de big willow oak, which stands in de corner
of de front lawn, when he heerd somebody a cryin’ as if

 

 

Goer sEall oe

dare hearts would break. His horse aoe ee
road an commenced trimblin’ like a leaf. oF mined
looked into de shadow of de big tree, but he cou sae
nothin. He didn’t like de warm steam dat oe -
face, for he had hearn tell how dat was a ba Hele i
thing kep on acryin’ and he put both Spurs if oe
horse’s flanks to git him by de willow oak; when, Ber
as I’m a standin’ here, a beautiful, tall, pre: ne
‘oman walked out into de road ahead of him. ; e er,
silk dress trailed a yard behind her, an she w ie a
of her hans, an a cryin’ louder and louder. ; ae se
just stuck his head atween his feet, an wares ne Bast
inch. The sweat poured off 0’ Jack pie o se
skeerd nigh about dead when he fust seed he Vee ee
looked at her standin’ dare so white in de sea Bae
her shinin silk clothes on, an her long, ae eas
up wid white beads; so, says he to himse i ee
ghost wid all dis finery on; so he tuck ee ie
her what she wanted. She didn’t say a word, har ic:
a beckonin’ an a motionin’, till he got ae TPS
horse which trimbled so he could hardly git ae He
De white ’oman walked slowly along ne Be e when
back and motionin’, till dey got on de river 2 a ae!
she turned down destream. Dey soon ne da ae
bluff behind de house, where she stopped, an loo sare?
at Jack Rider, and eryin’ louder dan 2
down at de water, wid her han’ ehinin at: a Sue
She kep on a pintin’ an beckonin down i : beh nee
Jack Rider wont gwine any closer, she Jes ie a ee
an, jumpin’ up in de air, she flung herself See
down de bluff. He listened to hear her jee weil
but he didn’t hear nothin’. Five minits arte ,

 

 

    

i
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

122 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Rider had put two miles atween him and Gower Hall ;
for he knowd it was de ghost of Miss Creecy Gower he’d
seen. She was ole Harcourt’s daughter; an dey tell me
she was a gwine to be married, but de man she loved

fell over de very place she wanted Jack Rid
down.”

“Well, Thompson, that sounds frightful, if it were true,
but how do you know that Jack Rider was sober enough
to tell a straight tale as to what he saw?”

“Mass. Phil., I blieves ever

truth. I’ve seen things eno
dare’s ghosts.”

er to jump

y word I tole you is gospel
ugh myself to convince me

“What did you ever see, Thompson,” said Kean, “to
produce that opinion ?” i
“When I was a young man, about Mass. Phil’s size, ole
master was in Washington city wid de balance of de
family, an I was tendin to de brood mares down at Blen-
heim. So one Saturday night, I started about dusk to
come here to see mammy. De young mare I was ridin’
was so full of life an deviltry, she got me in de same
humor; so I come along de road singin’ and a hollerin,
carin’ for nothin’ in de world, if it was dark; for I wont
_afeard 0’ ghosts in dem days, an I got de conceit tuck out
0’ me dat very night. It was jes cleverly dark, when I
got along where Tillery’s ole tavern stans. Delphine
shied off to one side of de road, and I looked round to see
what she was skeered on, an dare on top of de fence I
seed what I tuck to bea ten-year-ole nigger-boy start-
naked an black as de ace o’ spades. I cust him, an’ axed
what he was doin up dare; dat time o’ night. De words
wont out o’ my mouth, afore lookin back T seed de thing
come aflyin right behind me, and, I’ll never speak agin,

 

 

 

i
4
i

 

Gower Hall. 123
if he didn’t light right agin my back on de aon
smelt his brimstone breath, an I knowd ina anne ie
me an de devil was ridin double, De mare si i se
for she screamed like human de minit he lit on her. ee
didn’t need no urgin’, for, if you blieve me, aie ao
flew. I leaned over her neck as fur as I cou ie '
clear 0’ de thing’s hans dat felt like iron in et a ie oF
hollerd an begged him to let me alone; but i. nue
behine de saddle, clean tell we got to de stone bri . zh
Thorndale. Dare he jumped up an went off in a clap

- thunder dat clean tuck away what leetle sense I had left.

De nex thing I knowd I waked up de nex day ee
lies, an de niggers tole me, dey thought dat me ae e p
was both gwine to die ae oe aha) ae a

“That was very frightful also, uw fen
ear the worse thing the devil did to sade te
occasion, was riding in your company, and oe a
ing you a little during the Secu r ten It HR vi)
safely rely upon Harcourt Gower’s being oe ae bie
will only consent to ve es ae in

ink he still inhabits.

eee only time I ever failed to do el
wanted was when you axed me to que down oe
bluff, You was so leetle den, you didn t know ie ae
I didn’t do it, case I Se cee ne Hee
die dan go to Gower Hall wid a
‘folks spalenee an cryin’ about dare. Tm afeerd Bae
dat white ’oman wid her pearls an finger Bee | ee
aint all folks has seen gwine abou dare se hi
Taint bin five years sense Miss Retta oe ea
like a fool, went along dare one nigh an a
he knowd he heerd horses a meetin’ him. Vey

 

 

 

    

| |
rd}

|

| j p |
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

124 The Heirs of St. Kilda.
a full run up de ole race course on de side o’ de road, an
he seed, as plain as I see you, Harcourt Gower, whos’ bin
dead dese fifty years, ridin dat same horse, Dreadnought
he killed, for boltin’ at de races one day, when Sam. was
aboy. He didn’t know at fuss who was ridin tother
horse, but a secon’ glimpse showed him ’twas de devil.”

“Uncle Thompson, I fear we sl:all have to get some one
else to go as our. servant.”

“Mass. Phil., ’m afeard you will; I’m willin’ to go
anywhere dare aint no ghosts, but dey is things I can’t
injore no how.”

Philip amused the family at the supper table with a
repetition of the marvelous stories Thompson had been
recounting to Kean and himself.

“A great mystery hangs over that old house,” said
Judge Eustace. “Iwasa small boy when Harcourt Gower
died ; but I still remember his striking appearance. He
was one of the most dissipated and turbulent men I ever
knew, and always seemed troubled with the memory of
black déeds, which, it was currently believed, had fre-
quently marked his course in life. Just previous to his
death he had reached home from a racing excursion, in
which he had lost heavily. His daughter, Lucretia, was
then living, and was a splendid and voluptuous beauty.
Young Harcourt, having incurred his father’s displeasure

by some difference which had arisen between them, was
no longer an inmate of the house. Old Gower exhibited
his usual violence in the resentment he bore his son, and
had sworn, an hundred times, that not a shilling of his
money should go, at his death, to the youth. The morn-
ing after his return he was sitting before the fire in com-
pany with several visitors, and Lucretia inquired as to

 

5
Gower Hall. 125

what had been his success at the races. eT
seemingly natural and innocent in itself, - e sha
storm of frantic and ungovernable rage fi ae a
Choking in the midst of the most horrible b ce . es
fell to the floor in a state of insensibility. Apop : ay
succeeded, at last, in producing a death which co a
and fire-arms had so often failed to bring about. ee
given to his daughter, by a will he had written a ee
before, the whole of his large estate. it was ae
Lucretia did but little toward producing en
between her father and her brother, and very aes
added fresh fuel to the wrath that burned so vindi nic
against the son, who had largely inherited fe ae
unyielding disposition of his sire. Her ere
in her infancy, and Lucretia was engage ae eae?
to a young man who perished by aes Kee Sane
of which Thompson spoke. She survive sik oven
a few months, and young Harcourt oak Ae
heritance in spite of his father’s wishes. a ee
of his taking possession wild stories eee ae
sights and sounds hes ake ae ; fees ee
in living in the house dur
ae ena arise from the stormiest mies jee
his father, who, he alleged, was looking at aim ee
the doors and windows. He could never, it is ee ey
undisturbed at night; but this failed to terrify ee :
in his last hours, when sinking under an 4 sue
delirium tremens, he frantically besought his hat ree
to save him from his inexorable persecutor, ) eee.
was, at that time, one of the noblest seals in cast gae
and several families have endeavored to live

 

 

      

 
 

 

 

126 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

but have soon abandoned the place, which seems, in some
unaccountable way, to have become uninhabitable.”

After supper all the family then at Ellesmere were col-
lected in the library. Percival St. George was gone to
Vaucluse ; Mariana and Helen Temple were at Thorndale.
The next was Christmas week, and Mrs. Courtenay, and
Rosamond, with other friends, had promised to spend
that delightful season with Mrs. Eustace.

“Philip,” said his grandfather, “ what has been your
chief study this week ?”

“The Greek tragedies, sir. I shall soon finish that por-
tion of my classical course; and I regret that I shall, in

the future, have so little to remind me of these beautiful
and deathless memorials of Athenian genius.”

“ That was a wonderful age, indeed,” said Judge Bust-
ace, “ which witnessed the lives of the three great masters
of tragic drama. Athens of that day was the most
splendid development of civic and military virtue ever
exhibited by any of the communities known in history.

In the short interval of time, between the Persian inva- -

sion and the end of the Pelopponesian wars, that single
city produced men whose works have come down as the
patterns and embodied ideals of the highest excellence
attainable by human effort. The world is two thousand
years older now; but what orator hopes to rival Demos-
thenes, or historian the majestic picture Thucydides has
left of its decline? Who now reasons like Plato, or, with
all our mechanical improvements, can build like Pericles.
I believe that the intelligence, patriotism, and valor of

‘men found their highest exemplification in that era, and

within the walls of Athens.”
“T think,” said Arthur Kean, “the Athenian law of

 

 

 

  

Gower Hall, 127

Ostracism a sad commentary on the political ethics of that
”
ae not agree with you in that matter,” said Judge
Eustace. “I know, very well, ‘ostracism’ has long been
a favorite theme of declamation among those who believe
that justice and gratitude are not to be found in ee
governments. When we consider that six thousan
secret and uncontrolled voters had to testify their be
viction that some political leader, by the ascendency 0
his talents and personal influence, had become dangerous
to the State, it does not appear an unreasonable thing,
that the public peace should be kept by the exile of one
man whose ambition and power endangered all. It was
not resorted to; unless two or more leaders ee ies
controlling in their influence that a large portion of the
citizens believed the absence of some of them On
to the good of the State. Then the number of se
required for expulsion in such an emergency, ian e :
far preferable, in my opinion, to the Roman sys a
settling the disputes of great rival claimants of the publi :
honors, by the death of one of them, as a the case 0
Tiberius Gracchus, or by ruinous civil war. ue
“Still, Judge Eustace,” said Kean, “we must a mi
there was something wrong in the banishment of Aris-
tides. There must have been a great evil, somewhere,
in the system which allowed the expulsion of a ane
whose enemies could only allege against him that ae
were tired of hearing him called ‘ The Just. Plutare
says the whole practice arose from envy and ee -
herent in democracy, and not from any reasona ea

loti try.”
patriotic fear for the good of the coun ;
“T know that Plutarch made the declaration you refer

 

 

       
 

 

 

 

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128 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

to, but I think his statement is capable of easy refutation.
Ostracism was one of the changes introduced by Clis-
thenes, after the expulsion of the Pisistratidae, to protect
the immature democracy, whick, then in Athens, as
cotemporaneously in Rome, needed all the safeguards
which could be thrown around it. The violent animosi-
ties of political leaders are the greatest source of danger
to popular governments. I do not believe that these
leaders in any species of rule can be brought to respect
the lives and property of their rivals, or the constitutional
protection to which they are entitled. Then, it is obvious,
when the prominence and violence of two leaders en-
danger the State, it is better that one should yield to the
superior fortune of the other. Caesar might reasonably
have submitted to the authority of the Senate in Pompey’s
behalf; Cromwell might have spared the humbled
Charles, and Robespierre relented toward the helpless
Girondists: but human nature, though it may undergo
the mortification of political defeat fora long time, as seen
under the English constitution and our own, at last finds
conflicts so momentous that peace becomes impossible.”

“T would not advocate the introduction of ostracism
here,” continued Judge Eustace, ‘but we closely imitate
it in the necessary departure from office of the chief
executive after a certain term of service. The Athenians
stripped this exile of all loss either to the life or property
of the victim, and it could fall on any man whom the
large minority thought dangerous to the public weal.
Aristides himself, in his memorable contest with Themis-
tocles, recognized the wisdom of the measure when he
remarked that it would be well if he and his rival were
both sent into banishment.”

 

 

Gower Hall. 129

“Under that aspect of the case,” said Kean, “ it is less
odious, but you must recollect that it was used against
the unoffending tutor of Pericles, simply because philoso-

phy was unpopular.”
“Yes,” said the Judge, “but that was two generations

after its institution, and it found its last subject, in the
ease to which you refer. Soon after that the city was
captured, and its liberties went under that long eclipse

from which they have never wholly emerged.”
“ None of the Greek cities,” said Arthur Kean, “ with

all their prosperity as autonomous communities, ever

exhibited much genius for great combinations. The:
Spartan and Athenian headships over the Hellenic States-
were embittered by frequent revolt, and though their
heroism made them immortal in history, they never
reached the statesmanship which cemented the world in
the homogeneous rule of Rome. Nations more populous
than all Greece were speedily conquered and lost
their identity in the pervading nationality of the ma-
jestic empire. Athens was unable to exercise even over
the despised Beotians, any permanent tule, but the:
countless Gauls were held for centuries to unquestioning:
obedience by the mistress of the world.”
“Rome,” said Judge Eustace, “took every precaution
to secure the allegiance of her conquered tributaries, whose:
gods soon found niches in the Pantheon and other tem-
ples of the imperial city. She built mighty aqueducts,
great roads, and impregnable citadels, wherever her arms:
had penetrated, and nothing was omitted which would
overawe the seditious or gratify the contented. On the
other hand, Athenian supremacy was never more than,
her hegemony artfully amplified by wrong. This was so»
9

    

'
 

 

 

    

180

 

 

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

short-lived that it is impossible to say what might have
been her destiny, if the issue of her great contest had
been different.”

Philip retired to his bed, full of plans of enjoyment for
the Christmas holidays. The joy which comes to every
heart, with the approach of that festive season, kept him
awake with pleasant anticipations. The house was to be
full of his kindred and friends. Col. Stanhope Eustace
was already in the States, and was to be at Ellesmere for
the first time in several years. Philip sighed as he
thought of Mariana, who would be unable to see the

“many beautiful things he knew his grandmother would

provide for the festive occasion, and then he remembered
his father, lonely in his great house at the capital, chaf-
ing at his self-assumed fetters, weary of his great burden,
and yet unwilling to layit down. In the morning of his
days, this young boy had discovered that wealth and
the pride of place brought with them much of compensat-
ing misery. But health and youthful strength are not
often wedded to sleepless care, and Philip was soon dream-
ing of the rose-tinted future in store for him.

 

    

Christmas.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHRISTMAS.

“THE churches all are wreathed with green,
The altars set with flowers,
And happy lowly hearts wait on,
And count the passing hours;
Until the midnight chimes proclaim
The hallowed season come,
When Heaven’s broad gates are opened wide,

And Hell’s loud roar is dumb.” —Bothwell.

Yueripe had come to Ellesmere, and the old mansion
was full of joyous and congenial people. The bronzed
and long-expected Col. Stanhope Eustace had reached
the place of his nativity, on Christmas eve, and his fond
mother was once more gratified with his presence. The
soldier, released at last from the restraints of his com-
mand, gave himself up to a full enjoyment of the sweet,
home comforts and smiling welcome he saw on the faces
of all around him. He and Percival St. George, being
nearly of the same age, had always been friends, and
now, after their long separation, were full of pleasant
communion. They were bachelors, and had in this an
additional bond of union. Stanhope had a tall, martial
figure, with much of his father’s port and stature. He
had the grave, commanding appearance which habits of
military control impart, but was full of geniality and
humor with.his friends. He lacked his brother's briliant
wit and fervid feeling, but was so courtly and pleasant in
Society, that it was hard to realize that he had spent
nearly half his life in frontier duty among the savages.
He had graduated at West Point with distinction, and

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

132 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

had always borne the reputation of a brave and competent
officer, being as much feared in his command by those
who failed to perform their duty as he was beloved by
the men entitled to his commendation.

Mrs. Courtenay and Rosamond were at Ellesmere when
Col. Eustace arrived. Ida Somerville and Mae Glancy,
two young ladies of the neighborhood, had preceded
them ; and, about sunset on Christmas eve, came also Col.
Ridgely with his wife and daughter, Isabel; and, shortly
afterwards, Frederick Compton, with his sister, Edith.
Ellesmere, long celebrated for its graceful hospitality, was
now a scene of unbounded enjoyment. Mr. Grey was in
his glory. No one could be more delighted with the
society of the young, and such was the ascendency he
speedily gained in their affections that mothers had
simply to tell their children, when disposed to be ill-
natured, that Mr. Grey should know of it to bring about
at once a restoration of good behaviour. The earnest
and abstracted man, who seemed to live in a continual
atmosphere of devotion, was gifted with a rare insight
into the joys and griefs of the young, and never appeared
to grow weary of their company. ‘This ascendency, once
obtained, was rarely lost with advancing years; and there
was nota girl or boy of his acquaintance that did not
make him their confidential adviser, wherever innocence
and perplexity needed tender and considerate counsel.
Col. Ridgely lived at the country seat formerly the resi-
dence of unhappy Ellice Newton. His large wealth gave
him an opportunity of indulging his taste in the rearing
of improved stock, and Knowlton was as celebrated, now,
for its blood-horses and cattle, as it was once for the
tragical marriage of Archibald Newton’s daughter. Col.

 

    

i

 

Christmas. 133
Ridgely was delightful on all festive occasions, and had
long been on intimate terms with the family at Elles-
mere. His daughter, Isabel, was two years older than
Mariana, and, though she was not pretty, was yet so full
of gentleness and maidenly decorum, that she was a
general favorite. Mae Glancy, whose father lived at the
foot of Satan’s Nose, was very lovely, with her flaxen
ringlets and lustrous blue eyes. She was a fountain of
perpetual joy, and seemed at no time to loose the native
sunshine of her disposition, for care and serious thoughts
were things she had seen in others, but had never ex-
perienced. Edith Compton was of the same age as Rosa-
mond Courtenay, and her opposite in every respect. She
was, in appearance, already a grown, young lady, with
light eyes and hair, handsome, sprightly, and well
acquainted with the accomplishments usually to be ob-
tained at boarding schools. With all this, she was utterly
unacquainted with, books, except those she had used at
school, and the few late novels she had read. She hated
seclusion and thought, and was never better satisfied than
when surrounded by a circle of beaux. On such occa-
sions she was singularly gifted with conversational power.
Ida Somerville has, already, been introduced, and needs
no further commendation of her beauty or the admirable
good sense she always exhibited. Reginald Vane was
also a guest on the occasion.

A deep snow lay upon the ground, and the air was
bitter cold; but the yule logs glowed in the great fire
places, and threw their generous warmth over all, irradi-
ating into new beauty the bright eyes of the young peo-
ple, and adding to the quiet enjoyment of the more elderly
of the party. Judge Eustace himself joined in the merry

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

134 The Valley of St. Kilda.

confusion of blind-man’s-buff, and was run down and cap-
tured by Mae Glancy, who cheated, in spite of all pre-
eautions to the contrary, by peeping with one eye. Huge
bowls of egg-nogg and mulled wine lent fresh animation
to the scene, and Mariana made music for the dancers,
until late in the night on Christmas eve.

Early the next morning, some of. the gentlemen sallied
out in search of a stag which had been frequenting the
slashes where Thompson was so badly frightened by the
greyhound. The huge African, being indispensable on
such occasions, was of course one of the party. They
rode past the beautiful lake in the park, which was now

-asheet of ice. Their intention was to drive the deer

from. his lurking place, and, by means of huntsmen
taking posts and awaiting his approach, to shoot him in
his flight ; but in case of his escape in the direction of
the mountains, to follow on horseback, for the open fields
presented abundant opportunity of testing the speed of
the high-mettled hunters against that of the animal they
were seeking. All of the party, with the exception of St.
George and Thompson, were posted on the probable line
of his retreat, and they, having passed to the end of the
long rushes and thickets with the eight dogs kept for deer
hunting, commenced the drive. They soon discoyered
traces of their game, for he had been moving since the
last fall of snow, and his tracks were plainly indented in
the hardened surface. The dogs, too, gave unmistaken
evidences of his speedy appearance; and in a few mo-

ments he was flying in the direction of those who, in |

silence, were awaiting his coming. The weight of the large
buck, combined with the prodigious leaps he was taking,
drove his sharp hoofs deep into the snow at every bound,

   

 

Christmas.

and this considerably retarded his flight ; but on he sped,
like a rocket, until the report of Col. Eustace’s rifle, fol-
lowed by a ery of terror from the stag, told that the bullet
had taken effect. The wound did not prove mortal, and,
turning as sharply as the pursuing hounds would allow,
the affrighted victim rushed across the slashes; but here
again he was headed off by Percival, who planted a second
shot in his side, which soon perceptibly decreased the
speed of his flight. The two stag hounds, Troubadour and
Tweed, now caught sight of him, and were soon closing
in upon the desperate fugitive, as he stretched away to-
ward the river. They pulled him to the ground, a little
more than a mile from the spot where he was last shot.
The party soon gathered around St. George and Thomp-
son, whose position had enabled them to reach the spot
sooner than the others. The stag was 4 large animal,
whose wide-spreading antlers evinced full maturity. :

“Tt is too soon to break up a hunt so bravely begun,
said Reginald Vane. “Suppose we cross the river at
Morton’s bridge. I can show you some glorious sport
around the foot of Sorrell’s Peak. It is but five miles
away, and it is yet so early, the sun has scarcely risen.”

“What say you, Stanhope?” said St.George,

“Of course let us go. I suppose it will be all right if
we get home by dinner.”

The whole party having given their consent, they at
once rode to Morton’s bridge, and were soon on the hunt-
ing ground. This was a valley between Harcourt Hill
and Sorrell’s Peak, and in some parts was densely cov-
ered with brush. From its sides the mountain walls
arose in almost perpendicular cliffs. This gorge ran back
for several miles, narrow in some places, and in others

135°

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136 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

widening into broad, well-timbered vales. To hunt the
place properly, required more men than were present on
this occasion ; for the breadth of the valley was such at
its mouth, that it required at least twenty men abreast to
drive all the game toward the narrowest point, where Coi.
Eustace, Frederick Compton and Arthur Kean concealed
themselves, and were lying in wait for the expected ani-
mals. They soon heard the commencement of the drive,
for the huntsmen and hounds seemed vieing, in their
noisy demonstrations, as they came up the glade. Per-
cival, Philip, Vane and Thompson were doing all they
could to frighten the unsuspecting denizens of the forest
into a fatal effort to pass those who, with loaded guns,
were waiting for their approach in the narrow defile.
They had not gone far before Vane had killed a wild
turkey. About the same time the dogs gave furious chase
to an animal which took refuge in a tree. Philip ap-
preaching, discovered a wild cat, and brought it to the
ground. St. George, in the meanwhile, had bagged three
hares; and Thompson soon after broke out into a tre-
mendous yell, proclaiming that he had seen a wolf. The
hounds were soon in hot pursuit, when two rifle shots
from the fother party announced that the game had
reached that point. These discharges drove back a doe,
which was killed by St. George. After bagging one more
hare, the drivers ceased firing, for fear of injuring their
friends. When they reached them, they found that Col.
Eustace had slain a stag, Arthur Kean a wolf, and Fred-
erick Compton had wounded another. Col. Eustace,
Philip and Thompson, with the dogs, now left the re-
mainder of the party in search of the disabled disturber
of the sheep folds, whose blood on the snow plainly be-

 

 

 

 

187

 

Christmas.

trayed the direction of his retreat. They soon traced him
to his den under some immense rocks. ‘The dogs were
urged to go in, but speedily retreated in dismay at the
terrible growls that arose upon their darkening the en-
trance of his cave. Col. Eustace fired into its mouth, but
failed to produce any effect, more than a repetition of the
angry notes of displeasure. Thompson now offered to
go down and shoot the wolf, but he was overruled in this
on account of its danger, and the impossibility of using a
rifle, with much promise of success, in the darkness of
the cavern. While his uncle was loading his rifle, Philip
with his revolver crept as near as he could, and peeping
around the rock, plainly discovered the glaring eyes of
the wolf, Leaning over, to get a better view, he fired just
below the light of the sullen eyes. He immediately
sprang Lack followed by the enraged wolf, which, though
mortally wounded, had still enough strength to have man-
gled him terribly, but for the timely interposition of the
now dauntless Thompson. He had, suspecting Philip’s in-
tention, followed him, and was close enough to strike the
wolf across the loins a blow with his gun, such as the
Titans may have dealt in ancient days, for it broke the
heavy piece into fragments, and instantly dispatched the
furious monster, Col. Eustace had not observed Philip’s
movements, until his attention was called by the report
of the pistol. He sprang to the rescue of his nephew, but
was forestalled by the faithful negro. ete

“Bravely done, Thompson,” said he. “ This is the
quickest and prettiest work I have seen done since you.
slew, with an axe, the bull which was about to gore my
father to death.”

“Mass Phil, did’n’t I tell you, las week, when you

       

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138 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

wanted me to go wid you to Gower Hall, I would suffer
death afore you should come to harm ?”

“You did, uncle Thompson, and I believe you. I
never intend to laugh at your fears of ghosts again.
Your blow saved me from a worse biting than I care to
endure.”

“Philip, it was very reckless in you to trust to a pistol
shot, in such close quarters,” said Col. Eustace. “ Your
aim was remarkably correct under the circumstances,
and the wolf would have died in a few minutes. I should
judge, from its point of entry, the ball must have reached
and passed through the heart; yet but for Thompson’s
interference you would have nevertheless been badly
injured.”

The sable hero having shouldered the wolf, they re-
joined the party awaiting them, and at once returned
toward Ellesmere. Every horse was well loaded with the
captured game, and each huntsman was busily engaged
in recounting his own adventures. Philip’s encounter
with the wolf astonished no one, as his courage and
daring were well known; but Thompson's prompt and
intrepid conduct filled Arthur Kean with amazement;
for he had looked upon him hitherto as a mountain of
flesh afraid of its own shadow. He thought nature had
made him an entire coward; but when Stanhope Eustace
told how a furious bull had once overtaken, and was
about to gore his father to death, and he had seen the
same Thompson fly as on the wings of the wind, and at
a blow crush the massive scull of the enraged animal,
the tutor’s respect increased to admiration.

“This is the best day’s hunting I have seen since we
were boys, Stanhope,” said Percival. “You recollect

 

 

Christmas. 139

when we came to this same spot with Ashton, Mr. Somer-
ville, Col. Ridgely, and others?” .

“ Considering our relative force, this is a much better
day’s work. I have never seen it surpassed, in the num-
ber and variety-of game captured in so short a time by a
small party, even on the Plains.”

It was just twelve by the clock when they reached the
house, and every one therein came out to behold the
trophies of the morning’s chase. The ladies were full me
Womanly tremors at the dead wolves. Thompson s
prompt heroism inspired Rosamond and Mariana with
such gratitude that he was summoned to the house, and
thanked until big tears of joy and satisfaction stood in
his eyes. He was fairly loaded down with the many
presents with which they and Mrs. Eustace testified their
appreciation of the value of his service. His wife, Nancy,
was standing by, and her round, honest face was
wreathed in smiles of pleasure at her husband’s increased
favor.

“ Mistiss,” said Thompson, “ I’ve got another Christmas
gif’ to ax you, dis morning.”

“ What is it, Thompson ?”

“T want you to tell Nancy how unproper it looks for
her to be wantin’ in respect for her husband. Now, she’s
& good enough wife, but she don’t confidence me in de
Matter of ghosts.” :

“Nancy,” said Mrs. Eustace, “your husband has this
day shown himself a brave and true man. I think it
Wrong for you to laugh at him about anything he hon-

estly believes.” Pint ak
“ Mistiss, nobody in de world couldn’t help laughin a

Thompson t’other night, when Sweetlip’s runned him into,

 

 

 

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* “f"
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£140 The Heirs of St. Kilda.
Ke a de bed; but I aint a gwine to do so no more, now he’s

whipped a wolf.”

Judge Eustace and Stanhope were conversing together
in the library, when Percival St. George came in and
took his seat in the cheerful glow of the Christmas fire.
The greater portion of the young people were in the
drawing-rooms.

“ Father,” said Stanhope, “I think that you and Ashton
should make a soldier of Philip. I have never seen
greater coolness in confronting danger than he has ex-
hibited to-day in his affair with the wolf. I was loading
my gun at the time, and the first intimation I had of his
intention was the firing of the pistol, swiftly followed by
the rush of the animal upon him. He forbore to fire a
second time, as soon as Thompson’s blow was stricken,
and returned his revolver to its belt, with as much cool-
ness as if his dangerous enemy had heen dead a month.
Such self-possession in the presence of danger should be
used in directing military movements, and I hope you

will get him an appointment to the next class, at West

Point.”

“ My son, I shall never consent to Philip’s going into the —

army. ‘The sacrifice I have made in consenting to your
remaining so long absent from us, is enough, without
calling upon me for further self-denial in this matter,
There are many exigencies in ciyil life demanding all
the courage the boldest soldier possesses, to sustain the
man, who, at all hazards, resolves to sustain the right and
resist the wrong. ‘Peace hath her victories as well as
war, and I am rejoiced to hear of any instance of deter-
mination in my grandson, as I take therefrom fresh as-
surance that he can never be driven from the high prin-

 

 

~
Christmas. 14
be
Ciples by which, I ain persuaded, he is now actuated. I
hope to live long enough to see in him a man alike in-
sensible to the seduction of persuasion or the promptings \
of terror. The greatest men are sometimes not superior
to the fear of bodily harm and the overawing influence
of more imperious natures. Then, as all-important as I
know individual bravery is to the soldier, it 1s equally
valuable to the quiet citizen.” ee
“T regard valor,” said Percival, “as more the result
education than any natural effect of mere tenet
Stanhope, in your experience have you observed muc
difference in soldiers, in this respect, after long drill and
discipline?” :
“There is much truth in your suggestion, Percy, as to
the efficacy of drill and obedience to command,” said the
soldier.” “I have no doubt that men, who, on entering
military service, are often full of fear and timidity, vs
come in course of time well behaved in the presence 0
the enemy. A new principle is added to the. ata
which usually control individual actions. The sold ae
reliance is not upon single effort alone, but he bie
the necessity of concerted action. The fear of death at the
enemy’s hands is equipoised by the prospect of oe
martial and execution, if he behave badly in the face 0
a hostile force; then the habit of implicit obedience, pie
out question or appeal from the orders he receives, are S
whatever is wanting; and in this way many @ coward ig
comes trustworthy, even in the trying emergency of ‘ .
charge. But it has often occurred to me that if eee
improvement can be wrought in him, who is wea ts iv
fearful by nature, what limit is there to the capacity :
those iron nerves that always seem insensible to danger?

 

   
 

 
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142 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Under the influence of habit and exposure, they rise into
an atmosphere of indifference, so superior to any fear of
death that they become positively sublime in the hour of
battle. Ithink Philip possesses in a more éminent de-
gree this superiority of spirit than any boy I have ever
seen, and for this reason I think he ought to be made a
soldier.”

The young people, with Col. Ridgely at their head, now
came in from the drawing-rooms, in search of Mr. Grey.
They wanted his services in some scheme of amusement
which had been inaugurated on the spur of the moment,
and now brooked no delay. The good man was soon
found and led back in triumph to take control of what
was to follow. Rosamond, who was the author of the
new suggestion, proceeded to exclude all other males from
the room; and with the air of an ancient priestess com-
mencing some hidden and awful mystery in honor of
Eleusinian Ceres, forbade the approach of any one until
the preparatory rites were completed. After some delay,
Philip was also summoned to aid the deliberations, and,
at the close of a half hour, a scene of unexpected beauty
was witnessed in one of the drawing-rooms. All these
had been darkened, and the spectators, looking through
the doors, beheld the floor of the apartment, used as a
stage in the representation, so covered with gorgeous
plants, borrowed from the conservatory, that it appeared
as a blooming garden in which several fairies lay fast
asleep.. Rosamond, as their queen, with a magic wand,
walked into their midst, exclaiming :—

“What! sleeping yet, my rosy posies?
Open your eyes and blow your noses,”

 

Christmas.

At these words the beautiful sleepers arose, and the
play commenced. Mae Glancy was Beauty; and Philip,
habited in an old wolf-skin, played the part of the Beast.
Rosamond, and Mr. Grey, hidden by the projecting walls,
did all the talking from a book; the actors in Seite Sa
going through the pantomime. In this way, ae :
the idea had not occurred to them an hour before, they
managed to give a pretty representation, and were rap-

turously applauded.
The lawn at the rear of the house had been thronged

all day with negroes from Grafton and oe i
rarely failed to visit the family head-quarters on Ne
masand other holidays. Added to these were many ae
Vaucluse, and Mrs. Courtenay’s farms ; for, by ae es
marriage between the different estates, a large and 1n
mate relationship existed among the Mei
whom preferred wives not living on the same planta °
with themselves. The vast majority of these were the
descendants of those brought over by Sir George ee
and they valued the social position and large is
his posterity as something reflecting honor on
selves, They scorned the idea of marrying Into

families of those they considered people of less considera
tion. The heavy thump of the dancers had been keeping

time to the inspiriting sounds of the violin and ne
since early in the morning. This revel was going oF Ae
a house between the lawn and the. negro quarters; ;

from its recesses were heard jigs and reels, which, to ae
enthusiastic dancers, would have appeared unconscion

: i alle
ably long. Some were engaged in uproarious oes
ing, but such amusements were mostly confine

lued
younger of the throng. Old men and women value

143

 

 

 

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CPN A TT Ct A ARE RIG OIE MERI OT i AE I SUNG TR tent SE

144 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

more highly the pleasure to be obtained in warm drams,
and, in little knots around their fires they entertained
their visitors with voluble discussions of almost every
imaginable subject. Thompson’s exploit in the morning

_ had made him the hero of the day, and he was now the

admiration of all his sable beholders, in the new apparel
which had just been given him. He moved about
through the crowd the picture of one whose fortune has
been secured, and who was conscious of his superiority
over all those around him.

At length the great event of the day, the Christmas
dinner, was announced. The dining room, like other
portions of the house, was decorated with evergreens for

. the occasion, and the bounty of the table gave proof of

the excellency of Mrs. Eustace’s management.

“Tow could you have the heart to ask so long a bless-
ing, Mr. Grey,” said Mae Glancy, as soon as the good man
had finished, “when these redoubtable huntsmen are
all so nearly famished ?”

“We cannot learn too many lessons of patience, my
dear.”

“But we are commanded in the Bible to feed the
hungry; and I know from Philip’s appearance he was
wishing all the while for you to stop. Rosamond, we
must not interrupt these Nimrods, by conversation, in
their first attack on Mrs. Eustace’s viands.”

“Miss Glancy, I waut to make a truce with you for the
next half hour,” said Philip, “and I will agree not to
tell how you were frightened by the calf.”

“J don’t care for that story. I confess I thought that
the black calf, which had accidently gotten into the lawn,
was a bear, and left you to cover my retreat.”

 

   

Christmas. 145

“ Oh! Mae Glancy,” said Rosamond, “ why, just to ei
of you—the bravest of all girls, running from a little
calf!” ’ ;

“ Well,” said Mae, “I am at least not afraid of a grass:
hopper, and there is one young lady of my acquaintance
can’t say as much.” i ee

“ Now she is referring to me,” said Belle Ridgely.

. ‘ r, When
was really much frightened, one night last summer, W

she was with me at Knowlton. We had retired, but I

could not sleep, and I distinctly heard, as I thought, foot-

steps in our room. I awoke Mae, and on making a light
found that it was a large grasshopper, which was Jump=
ing about on the floor, and making a noise very ales
to footsteps. She has teased me unmercifully about my

cowardice ever since.”

“She need say nothing to you, Miss
“for she not only ran, but shouted most lustily for help

against the terrible black calf she had conuragane 7
beast of prey. I am not astonished, however, at her a
ror of bears, for we are told that, on more than one a :

sion, they have been instruments of punishment to

wicked children.”
“Excellent! Philip,” said Edith Compton. Mae, I.

think you had better make a truce.”

A Co, Eustace,’ said Mr. Gray, “can you tell us how
and where you ate your last Christmas dinner?

“Twas in the neighborhood of Fort Pierre, with ine
squadrons of my regiment. We made our pas ve
buffalo hump and tongues. We were 1n the a : ae
the Sioux country, and had to keep a sharp lookout,
fear of treachery and surprise.”

“ How do you like bear steaks, Stanhop,

10

Belle,” said Philip,

e?” said Perci--

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

146 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

val. “Iam ata loss te say which is the better, the steak
or this delicious venison.”

“To my taste,” said Col. Ridgely, “these blue teals,
which Philip shot in the lake, are superior to any game
I have seen for a long time.”

“Col. Ridgely,” said Mrs. Eustace, “ what do you think
of the comparative merits of wild and tame turkeys?
Percival and Philip prefer the former, but Judge Eustace
and myself agree in ascribing superior delicacy of flavor
to the domesticated fowl.”

“T am of the same opinion, madam. ° I have noticed a
‘dryness in the flesh of the wild fowl, which makes it in-
ferior to those reared about our barn yards.”

“You will find some canvas-backs and mallards in
your front, Reginald,” said Mrs. Eustace. “They ought
to maintain their ascendency, for they are dressed with

_Lynn-Hayen oysters.” .

“T can assure you, cousin, Miss Helen and myself duly
appreciate them.”

“T do not believe the Roman dish of peacock’s tongues
-~was half equal to this ehicken salad,” said Arthur Kean.

“What epicures and spendthrifts the Romans must
‘have been!” said Mr. Grey. ‘“ Plutarch says, that on one
occasion Pompey and Cicero casually met Lucullus in
the Forum, and promised to dine with him, in ease he
would make no further preparation for the banquet; for
‘they well knew his expenditures on such oecasions were
-enormous. He simply remarked to one of his servants
‘that the meal should be spread in his Apollo-room. That
evening, when the three men lay down to the feast, the

" -yiands before them had cost no less than nine thousand
dollars.” :

 

 

Rin eer

Christmas. 147

“ What a good, lazy time those old people had, lying
down to eat and drink,” said Mae Glancy.

“Philip,” said Rosamond, “I am delighted with your
arrangement of the red fox in his cage; it is really very
pretty. Hubert, as I supposed, was very indignant; and
I was fearful he would, in his anger, break the glass case ;
but he now lies for hours gazing at what he deems his
enemy.”

“Tam glad its pleases you; but Mr. Kean is entitled
to the honor of the arrangements. The glass eyes, and
attitude of attention, with the uplifted brush, is 4 life-like
representation of Reynard’s habits before we captured
him.”

“Col. Eustace, did you engage in buffalo hunting
while on the western plains?” said Mrs. Ridgely.

“As much, madam, as my duties would allow.
wild and exciting amusement, and indispensable w
We once get beyond the pale of civilization, and are con-
tinually moving, as was the case with myself. Our supply
wagons go so slowly that it is impossible to keep a
Up with rapid cavalry movements, and we rely, mainly,
for subsistence on the vast herds of buffalo. In this way,
We are compelled, sometimes, to hunt a great deal.”

“Stanhope,” said Mrs. Eustace, “ what society do you
find away out there 2”

“ We see nobody but Indians and trappers, except when
about the principal forts we sometimes meet with the
families of the married officers.” ee

“Tt seems to me,” said Mariana, “ that such a.life 5
throwing away the best opportunities of existence. I id
know ‘There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,’ but

It isa
hen

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PETRI Saat eke th ceca eis nea needed aac ant nn ee

148 The Heirs of St. Kilda,

should always seek it in the neighborhood of civilized
people.” ,

“Your impression is a very common one,” said Stan-
hope, “ with persons unacquainted with the wild inde-
pendence and freedom from restraint on the plains, which
is so fascinating to those accustomed to it. In addition
to this, there is a necessity that military protection should
be granted to-the new settlements which are constantly
advancing westward. We are forced to keep a portion of
the army there to overawe the roving bands of Indians,
who would otherwise massacre the unprotected whites.
We soon learn to relish the untrammeled frecdom of the
prairies; and there are many solitary trappers in that
region who feel crowded by the approach of a white man
within fifty miles of their lonely lodges.”

“Duty hallows everything,” said the beautiful blind
girl, “and in that aspect of the case, I should submit

quietly to my fate, were Ia man who should live there ;.

but what a privation it must be to those who can appre-
ciate the delights of the home circle!” ;
When the party left the table, the sum had disappeared
behind the mountains, and as the sky had been overcast
with leaden-hued clouds, usually seen about Christmas:
times, his jocund visage, until a few minutes before his
departure for the day, was unseen; but as night came’on,
the heavens became for a time clear, and the cold, white
moon looked down from her starry pathway, and, with
the help of the snow, brought into broad illumination
everything in reach of her silvery rays. Sounds of en-
joyment still came in undiminished volume from the
scene of the negro revel. Fresh fires had been built ;
and Mrs. Eustace had sent them a supply of candles.

 

!
.

:

 

ane ew

Christmas. 149

They were evidently making a night of it; and the fun

Was becoming fast and furious, when Thompson aly
hounced that the feast, which had been so long: mm prep=
aration for them, was now ready. This greatly thinned
the ranks of the dancers ; but the few who persevered in
their worship of the graces were gradually recruited,
until the large room became as crowded as ever. se
gentlemen in the library were enjoying their smoke, an
their faces were lit up with that delightful glow which is
only seen after the enjoyment of a good dinner. i
“ Philip, Tempest is looking as well now as he did at
the races,” said Col. Ridgely. “Thompson certainly does
not let him suffer for want of attention.” oi
“Yes, sir,” said Philip. “Iam trying ite get Rec
such a condition that he will go still lower 1m the ‘ forties
ext year.” : i
“ His time in the race with Pepin,” said Percival, was
4 little behind the reported performances eae lyiae

Childers and Eclipse, but as good as that Of ay OUNSE

horse on record, I think you unreasonable in expecting

much more than he has already done.”

“ How has Hildebrand recovered, Mr. St. Geor
Col. Ridgely. “I hear you have hopes of his complete
restoration.” es

“ No,’ answered Percival, “net such a eure as will ever
return him to the turf; but I was mistaken as Me Le

“Nature of his injury. Instead of his letting rags
stretching the main leader, the trouble was in the cof
Joint. He moves, at moderate gaits, with comparative

; eal similar
ease; Lut I shall never let him run the risk of a a

disastcr by racing again.” ae,
: ; ; i s
“Tthink you are right in that, Percival,

ge?” said

said Col.

 
Rn eee

sat i ssa ais

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

150 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Eustace. “ Hildebrand has made reputation enough,

and, being nine years of age, was an old horse for the turf

at the time of his mishap. I think the continuation of
the blood of such a horse a superior consideration to
the mere satisfaction of additional triumphs.”

“Tt is a great pity,” said Mr. Grey, “that such acci.
dents should befall the noble creatures in their races. I
cannot see any material objection to these contests, as
conducted at St. Kilda, beyond the great exactions which
sometimes, though rarely, I admit, disable them.” _

“There is scarcely a position in life that is free from
accident,” said Col. Ridgely. ‘‘ Horses become injured on
the highway, in the pasture, in the plow, and in the
stable. I cannot see, then, how this—the noblest of human
amusements—can be amenable to the imputation of cru-
elty, simply because a rider is occasionally thrown, or a
horse disabled on the course.”

“Tagree with you, Col. Ridgely,” said Arthur Kean,
“that there is no immorality in the testing of the speed
of trained animals; and I think there is, in the properly
conducted theatre, another instance of unthinking con-
demnation in which many people are honestly mistaken.
I consider well-sustained, dramatic representations the
largest and most reasonable of human pleasures, which
can, with any propriety, come under the general designa-
tion of amusement; but I am unwilling to lower the
dignity of these stately reproductions of what genius has
created to the idea of mere pastime. Conducted as it
should be, the stage would become one of the most potent
engines in the reach of christian philanthropy for elevat-
ing the hearts and minds of the people.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Grey, “but your limitations are so

 

|
:
|

 

Management of the whole thin

Christmas. 151

important, Mr. Kean, that I fear the theatre, ms yon nae
have it, is impossible, simply because it is well eee
hopeless to expect moral actors or the presentation
unexceptionable plays.
chine which coal be considered well conducted ti
have seen what we, at least, do not possess in this country.
‘ That ag very true,” said Kean. # There on Rig
actors who disregard their meral duties, and ee
often presented thai should never, fore, OR ae ;
been tolerated on the stage: but what, may I ask, has
produced this state of affairs? I believe itis the oe
quence of the fact that most decent people refuse a
countenance to an institution which they are ae
suppress, and which they denounce as an one
who are either grossly immoral or evtirely ee ve
the subject; and in this way managers ate ae a hap-
Select plays that would never be introduced ie ve
pier auspices, The mutual hatred that grew up be oy
the old Puritans of England and the lovers of the s a
after the Restoration, was, to my mind, one asus we
deplorable and unnecessary sae that have injured the
cause of relicion and popular education. :
He Gace. Eustace, “is after all ae
more than declamation in costume by one or more 4 e
sons. It is clearly not wrong to listen, when the ve
recited is neither immoral nor libellous. If Bae et
matter is unobjectionable, the question further eo
can the character of the declaimer enter into \ a ated
of the case? Clearly, as Mr. Grey has already intim “i

in the fact that you sustain an ins

If you have ever known such an _

titution which pro- -

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

152 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

duces bad effects on the men who constitute its corps
dramatique. I think, with Mr. Kean, that if society is
going to sustain the theatre, it is the duty of its good
members to do all in their power to expunge or banish
entirely objectionable plays, and reform, as much: as pos-
sible, the character of the artists who, in spite of us, will
continue to amuse our people. I can say truly I have
enjoyed myself as much in the frequent representations
of Hamlet which I have seen, as in other merely intel-
lectual amusements. Where persons of proper character
play such a drama, [ see no reasonable objection to wit-
nessing it.”

“The war waged by the Puritans and their posterity
against the stage,” said Percival St. George, “seems to me
as senseless as their condemnation of the most harmless
of other pleasures. The parliament of 1652, by regular
enactment, denounced the observation of Christmas as
heathenish, and declared the festival thereafter abolished.”

“Cromwell and his followers made many mistakes,”
said Judge Eustace, “but they were pious, God-fearing
men,and as thoroughly in earnest in what they professed
as any who have lived in the last ten centuries. We toust
honor their zeal, however much we dissent from their
conclusions.”

The ladies now came in, and soon the organ was swell-
ing with the burden of music which seemed ever majestic,
when the blind’ maiden made it the exponent of her
emotions. At Rosamond’s request, Mariana improvised:
and all, whose musical cultivation enabled them to ap-
preciate her combinations and transitions, sighed as she
left the empyrean heights of her own fancy to give, with
the full-strength of the instrument, the march in William

 

 

Christmas. 153
Tell. This was succeeded by passag:s from the sacred
operas. “I know that my Redeemer liveth” followed, and in
the grand sympheny she became as one inspired, and
a glow of angelic joy was on her beautiful face as she left
the instrument.

“ Philip,” said Rosamond, “do look at Mariana! She
is so unearthly in her beauty, I should scarecly be sur-
prised to see her translated before our eyes. As nuch as
T love her, Iam always awed when she is at the organ.”

“Mariana is a great mystery to me,” said Philip. “She
is the most saintly spirit I have ever known, and has
always been so from infancy; yet, this angel of light is
blind. She is so gentle, and loving, that never in my
life do I remember to have experienced any but the
tenderest affection for her. Still, there are times when I
feel the same awe that you describe. Rosamond, she is
so unlike any one cise I have ever known, I sometimes
fear God will take her from us.”

“Do not be so gloomy, dear Philip,” said the warm
hearted girl. “I believe the angels watch over Mariana,
and I shall always love you better for your affection to
her: : ;

“Will you, sweetheart?” said he, and putting back the
lustrous tresses that fell black as midnight over the broad,
white brow, he touched it with his lips.

Though Rosamond had been taught all her life that
her relatives expected ler some day to be Philip’s wife,
she now felt, for the first time, the great passicu of love
dawn on her heart. ‘She had been a careless, affectionate
girl, an hour before, but now, as if by magic, she had.
become transformed into w ucw being. She loved and
recognized the great alteration that had been wrought in

    
 

 

 

"154 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

her heart. Henceforth every thought blended with the
‘sense of duty that she should be constantly doing some-
thing to add to her fitness for being the helpmeet of her
ideal of a brave, true man. To her Philip’s youth seemed
to have passed by with the birth of her new-found pas-
sion, and her imagination earried him forward into man-
hood as speedily as the old Greek myth had created
Pallas from the brain of Jove. She stood by her cousin,
mantled with new beauty, which was remarked by all the
joyous groups as they reyelled in the warm glow of the
lamps and the great Christmas fires.

NER ones hci omer et

a
|
4
;

 

Rosamond’s Story.

- CHAPTER IX.

ROSAMOND’S STORY.

“Nort to be with you, not to see your face,

Alas for me then, my good days are done.”
—Idyls of the King.

   

As THE mystic hours of nature drew near, the scene
from the library at Ellesmere was a picture of human
felicity. The different drawing-rooms could be seen like
some lovely vista from that apartment and were occupied
by the scattered groups. Through the folding doors each
beaming face and graceful form was visible to Judge
Eustace and his martial son as they stood conversing
beneath the chandelier. Mr. Grey and Col. Ridgely had
resumed their discussion as to the ethics of racing. Mr.
Kean and the married ladies formed another party.
Frederick Compton and Mae Glaney were deep in a
flirtation. Vane and Miss Temple seemed oblivious of
human ills. St. George, Belle Ridgely and Mariana had
joined Philip, who was talking to Rosamond, Edith
Compton and Ida Somerville.

“ Rosamond,” said St. George, “I will go and get your
harp—you promised to get ready the airs for this occa-
sion.”

“ Ah, cousin Percy, I fear you will all get weary of my
story.”

“No, Rosamond,” said Mariana, “ do sing it for us.”

“ Pray do,” said Ida, “you will recall Corinne in the
Capitol.”

“ Rosamond never fails in her promises,” said Philip.

 
 

 

156 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“My poor little Ethel is asad story for so joyous an
audience,” said the queenly maid-n as the occupants of
the other rooms drew near. Her eyes grew glorious with
inspiration and her lithe form assumed a wondrous
grace, as with rich, passionate voice she began the sad>

dreamy measure with which the poem opened. It was as
follows :—

You little dream, whose kindly eyes,
Have marked St. Kilda’s wild contines,
Wht tender light is in the skies,
And o’er the misty landscape shines ;
Wher: waters fair, like silver spread,
Lie land-lecked in a nes'ling bay 3
W1 ile low, soft hills and belting mm -ad,
Surround the village of St. Braix.

A distant headland miles away,
Across the tranquil water frowns,
Just where the ovean’s mighty sway,
At last has met with metes and bounds ;
For through that narrow strait the wind,
No more endangers ship or life;
The stormy waves with fury blind,
‘There find a limit to their strife.

There high in air with red and gold,
Flung wide o’er wastes of water ?,ound,
‘The light-house stands a beacon bold.
And is each night with glory crowned ;
For when on fast despairing eves,
The splendor of those lamps is shed,
They know that sufety near them lies,
And danger has already fled.

Here, purpling in the distant West,

A range of mountains ri-ing hign,
Are haunted by broad belts of mist.

And blush with hues of softest dye ;
And nearer hills with erest an | side.

In b'ue, and brown and burnished gold,
Grow fairer and are glorified

With ‘suuset’s beauty oer them rolied.

The village with its leafy bowers,
O’erlooks green, meadow vistas far,

From which is borne the breath of flowers,
Upon the gladsome morning air.

 

 

 

 

Rosamond’s Story.

They lie along the dreamy bay,

Which reaches near the mouutain side,
With scattered islands on the way,

Like jewels on the listless tide.

The dark old church with ivied tower,
Stands highest in the tranquil scene,
Its ancient clock each passing hour,
Still surely gives with pealing din ;
The grassy streets, the silence deep,
Are emblems of good so'ls at ease,
As peacefully the shadows creep.
And ligutly govs and comes tne breeze.

No busy mart of trade is here.
As-a-side village. swe: t St. Braix,
Goes softly on from year to yeir,
Where loit’ring tourists love to stray ;
But her bold seamen oft are seen,
Far as the ocean spreads her wave,
And in renown they lon have been,
For goodly ship and voyage brave.

‘The moon is up: across the sea,

A belt of silver, splendidly,

Encircles ocean’s weary breast,

With winds asleep and waves at rest ;
As if twere pathway fairy-wrought,
Or that which came in blessed thought,
Yo that lone man serene and inild,
Who visions saw on Patmos isle.

There froM the light-house gleaming far,
The glory of some mighty stu’,
"Twould seem was burning high in air,
Like that upon the world’s despair,
When on that eastern plain of old,
Such splendor on the shepherds rolled.

*Pwas deep midsummer, and the night
So passing fair to mortal sight,

Had just enough of gentle breath

No stir the aspen’s restless leaf,

And waft perfume from folded flowers,
As gaily sped those starry hours.

And there were two who sat enthralled,
That gracious eve, for duty called,

And with the morrow’s msing sun

The lover must with ship be gone.

The tower’s great shadow at their feet,
Fell where immortelles blooming sweet,
By loving hands were planted there,
Upon the graye of infant fair.

 

 

 

 
 

 

1

8

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

They both were young, and life’s rich bloom
*Twould seem found little cause for gloom ;
But on the black-eyed sailor’s brow, }
A tinge of sorrow rested low.

Ais gaze had left fair Ethel’s face,
The shadow’s course he then did trace.
“T see, dear one,”’ he softly said,
As they sat there where rest the dead;
** An omen in this shadow thrown, :
Upon us from yon lifeless stone ;
Tuis voyage long on which I go,
I fear may bring us some deep woe,
Dark dreams have haunted me in sleep,
Lhoped this shade would by us creep ;
But lo! it falls upon us both,
Some grief awaits our plighted troth.
Perhaps ’tis weakness after all,
And meaningless they yet may fall ;
‘These phantoms of mysterious night,
That vanish with the morning’s light.
But Ethel you are grown so dear,
My own fond heart suggests its fear ;
‘You are so rich iu beauty’s dower,
So like some tall, surpassing flower,
That overflows all hearts and eyes,
And yet so quickly from us flies,
Oh God ! why not in wisdom vast; .
When much was made always to last ;
Was this the crowning glory given,
Not made to last as yonder heaven ?””
The deep, impassioned voice was still,
And sent to Ethel’s heart a thrill.
Of fear that long had been her own,
And which she could not then disown.
The moon-light streamed on her drooped head,
It seemed that voice from her had fled,
And in her eyes the tear-drops shone,
(bike jewels ’neath that radiant moon.
Oh stay with me and leave this life,
Where Death and Danger are so rife,”
She said, and kneeling at his feet,
Uplifted eyes so sadly sweet,
That heart not made in such a mold,
Had done whate’er they might have told.

‘* Nay, darling ; duty calls me there,
And be my voyage foul or fair,
I shrink not from the life ’ve known,
But when upon the ocean gone,
By all the love that swells my heart,
Be still mine own though now we part,.

 

      

 

ene pene

Rosamond’s Story. 159

I swear by all my hopes of heaven,
The pledge of love to you I’ve given,
Shall sacred be—come weal, come woe,
Oh Ethel can you tell me so?”
And she still kneeling, quick replied,

** As I do hope but as your bride,
T’ll ever live while life remains,
And eyen.on celestial plains—
1 know that God will not unbind,
The ties that make me wholly thine.”

*Twas morn, and from out of the golden East,

The first bright glance of the sun was cast ;

And then in an hour from the goodly bay,

The stout Victorine must be on her way.

She lay at the pier, with her prow to the sea,

The floodtide was making so full and so free,

That she had to sail for those far distant lands.

Where broad rivers flow over gold-bearing sands.

The captain had parted with sweetest farewell,

From Ethel who loved him surpassingly well 5

And then while the sobs of wives on the pier,

Bach moment grew faint on the sad seaman’s ear,
Quick hands from on high shook the wide-spreading sail,
Hach rounded to fullness in the soit blowing gale ;
Like a white-winged thing, with life ever gay,

‘rhe proud ship sped onward past the lizht-house away.
Sail on mighty one to the uttermost Ind ;

To the voyage before us in mercy we’re blind!

A year had passed, no tidings came,

And anxious grew each weary breast—
Almost another, still the same

Dead silence to those hearts oppressed :
At last twas known, the Victorine

Had never reached her de-tined port,
Although she seemed an ocean queen,

The wayes had crushed her in their sport.

’Twas so surmised, though nothing sure
Was known of what her fate might be,
For weary months they did endure,
The pangs of dark uncertainty.
At last, all trust was wholly gone,
Each anguished heart gave up its hope,
And then in silence made its moan,
Faith’s anchor parting its last rope.

St. Braix went mourning for her dead ;
The ancient town had ne’er before,
Lost such a crew as this they said,
And alt bewailed them long «nd sore.

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

  

\
160 The Heirs of St. Kilda.
z Rosamond’s Story. 161
‘Young Harry was the pride of all, ay : 4 :
A captain ever brave and true, She shuddered now at bay or sea,
So handsome in his stature tall, | She would not walk the shining strand 5
No wonder Ethel pallid grew. 4 The church-yard with its willow tree,
It was in truth a dismal day, , SILA 1) DOW ois Cte Ta
When news came in the ship was lost, And often there, when all alone,
For many hearts in anguish lay, Clothed o’er with her own simple grace,
But she the one that sorrowed most ; She silent sat, nor tear nor moan
A fair, young girl with waving hair, Revealed how her young life ran waste:
Over hazel eyes and blooming cheek ; i | With weary months her sadness grew,
The tidings filled her with desp.ir, A thing that no more sought its tears ;
And sh- grew faint and very weak. At times a faint smile came to view,
Henitithe suman mel ae And lulled the anxious father’s fears.
Who rare y now his pencil used ; But she grew feebler day by day, Bei
On quiet evenings would he stroll, i She could not reach the church-yard wall;
Along the beach and silent mused. The doctors sent her far away,
He had been famous yeurs ago, Perhaps another scene might call,
And then amassed his present store ; Her heart away from its long grief;
Tle still was rich in faney’s flow, : | So with her father she was gone
And deeply skilled in nature's lore, Two years or more, and slow relief
And he was then all tenderness, At last upon her faintly shone.
To her who meekly went her ways 5 The bloom that mantled on her cheek,
. He thought that time would heal distress, ; In former days had not returned ;
And Ethel still know happy days: \ But in her eyes so dark and meek,
Young Harry Croome had loved her long, A gentle lustre ever burned:
And with the father’s full consent 5 i . Her graceful stature drooped no more,
Full oft had he with jest and song, A chastened beauty was her own;
Fresh joy unto the old man sent. She was in truth as some rare flower,
But Captain Croome and all hisicrew, i Which trodden down has pubjing grown.
With foundered ship were buried deep ; Her face no more revealed her pain, °
Why should her tears oft start anew. q f Her look was peaceful in her sleep;
Why should she breath» his name in sleep? ‘The father’s heart grew glad again,

The light was low in her brown eyes, He thought the past was buried deep:
The golden gleam faint on her hair; a And then by slow degrees he sought,
Unless some joy should banish sighs, To bring her ’mid the young and gay,
His child might die in her despair. And she to please him in his thought,
She had been e’er u thing of joy, : Without remonstrance went his way.
Unto his widowed heart till now— } In Beauty’s circle she was crowned,

So calm, so free, and yet so coy, | Of all the city fairest, best ;
With ne’er a care upon her brow: | No rival queens upon her frowned,

 

He wept himself to see her gloom,
Overcome her feeble show of life ;

And hours of weeping in her room,
Smote on his heart like eruel knife.

There was a time when Ethel Howe,
With her young lover oft would stroll,
Along the beach in twilight’s glow,
To watch the silver wavelets roll:

 

 

 

SoM Sic akan

 

They saw her heart was still unblest,
For woman’s eyes are swift to learn,

Where sorrow’s feet have left their mark;
They know that though the cheek may burn,

The soul within may still be dark.

And so in May Fair’s giddy haunts,
She sweetly bore her part in all,

In play, and song, and joyous dance,
The white-robed figure, lithe and tall

 

 

 
 

 

162

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Went softly on upon the round

Which Wealth and Fashion gaily tread 5
Until at Jast the father found

One that he wished that she should wed.

For he was all that heart could paint,

As partner of a daughter’s life ;
Who though he might not be a saint,

Yet bore such gifts for future wife,
The old man in his heart and head,

Could not a single moment dream,
That long devotion to the dead,

Could thwart him in his darling scheme.

Her sire was wary, and he told
The lover all her tale of woe;
And then he knew to win the goal,
He must be circumspect and slow:
So Robert Grange with patience true,
Was ever at her side, when she
Might tender show of service view,
In light that should most pleasant be:.

He was in truth a man of mark,
Young, proud, and stately in his air,
With name esteemed since ages dark
Had known its earliest scion fair :
And he had riches ;—lordly ease
Was his through all the listless year ;.
Such men but rarely fail to please,
Or rob Bereavement of its tear.

A yein of wildest romance slept,
Beneath his high-bred courtesy ;

Because fair Ethel long had wept,
And that she still was far from free

From her great sorrow, all the more
This Sybarite to her was drawn :

He cloy’d of happy beauty’s power,
And turned to one that was forlorn..

He recognized the mighty scope
Of love that layin Ethel’s heart ;
Half vain—half noble in the hope,

He minded to withdraw the dart,
That Faith and Death: had planted there,
While yet her youth was in its glow ;
And she to him was then more dear,

Than eyen he himself could know.

And in this way, that which had been,
But love half wakened in his breast,
Grew mighty passion : all within
Her image took, and wild unrest

 

 

      

Rosamond’s Story.

Was on him when away from her:

But when she came, then murmur’d praise
By others made his pulses stir—

Sweet dreams of her filled all his days.

Such homage could not fail to touch,
A heart not made of very stone ;
And Ethel pondered deep and much,
How her own thanks could best be shown,
Without awakening in the end,
A thought of any closer tie,
Than that of dearly-cherished friend,
Whose worth she valued very high.

And so communion *twixt the two,
Waxed close as time rolled onward still ;
And greater longings daily grew,
In Grange’s heart and warped his will;
For he no longer could forbear ;
His secret was at last her own 5
And as she hid the rising tear,
Yet never change in her had grown.

With winning grace, the simple tale,
Of all her fealty to the dead
She told, and Robert very pale
Seemed one from whom bright hopes had fled =
He merely bowed his head, and long
Was lost in broken-hearted thought ;
It seemed his nature brave and strong,
Had yielded up the prize it sought.

“hen let me but be still your friend,”

He said with sad and pleading eyes ;

And she with tears thus brought to end
A scene that gave her no surprise.

The father’s heart was sorely wrung ;
Yet no complaint in word or air,

Reached her, but on his brow there hung
A sorrow newly fastened there.

And then sweet Ethel longed for home,
St. Braix was now in all her dreams,
She wished the strand once more to roam,
The sea no longer hateful seemed:

Within its dark, unfathomed breast,
Midst coral caves, she fondly thought

Slept one whose image then was blest,
And only gentlest sorrow brought.

The father sighed, his hope was lost,
But Grange had promised he would come,,
Ere Autumn brought her first-born frost,
‘lo see them in their village home :.

163

 

 

AS SINR PI Pee GTR IO a RT TT RET EY Po ET AE ET TE LE OY TI |

 
 

 

 

 

164

   

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

So they left all the circle wide,
Known in the city’s broad embrace ;

And soon the tower far-off espied,
Betokened their own dwelling place.

‘There Ethel finds that loving hands,
Have kept her trellised vines and flowers ;
The cottage fair still shaded stands,
Half-hidden in its leafy bowers.
St. Braix is peaceful as of o}d,
The sea still glistens far away,
‘The light-house lamps with red and gold,
Still gleam across the sleeping bay.

The blow that fell upon them sore
Has healed with slowly-moying years ;
No looks of anguish as of yore,
The town has dried its latest tears :
Few hearts among the widows left,
Of those lost on the Victorine
Yet pine for husbands long bereft ;
Small thought is their’s of what had been.

For some were freshly wedded then ;
And in thejr new-born children’s eyes,
Found scope to banish thought of men
Become at last but memories,
Of that dim past, that Time had hid,
In graves so still and darkly deep,
‘Remembrance dull, her heavy lid
Ne’er raised but in disturbing sleep.

jBut there was one that Ethel knew,
The widow of. her Harry’s mate,
‘Who wore her weeds, and woman true,
Still wept upon her husband’s fate :
These two were nearly of one age,
Sworn friends they had been long and fast ;
The face of each was but a page
Writ’ o’er with all the buried past.

And they with Mary’s little child,
Made up their own sweet, quiet world ;
In thought and word, all undefiled
They sat and talked while o’er them curled
The ghost-like mists from meadows wide,
And both would shudder lest the night,
‘To coming ship, with fog might hide—
The light-house with its guiding light.

At last there came a eruel blow,

That brought fresh shadow on their home ;
A bank had failed and earnings slow

_Of years long back were swiftly gone.

 

 

 

4
\

 

~~...

0 a

Rosamond's Story.

George Howe was now an aged man,
He could not hope in any way,
Such treasure lest, to make again
A fortune at so late a day.

‘There was a remnant of the wreck,
That he still held as his last stay

But all the sky was very bleak,
Unto the old man bent and gray;

His health gave way and then in bed,
The feeble lamp might soon go out,
°Twas grief to see the daughter's dread,
Of loss that seemed so near about.

A helping hand was Rebert Grange,
For he sat hourly by that bed,
The siek man’s pillows to arrange,
Or bathe his often-aching head—
‘To lead his mind to other things,
Than what was wearing life away,
The thousand soothing offerings,
That all may need some hapless day.

For then he long had been their guest ;
St. Braix he said had goodly air,
But in his heart howe’er unblest,

Was love which would not broek despair.

With Ethel he was dearer grown,
Than he had been befere he spoke

A year ago, and hope full-blown
Within his breast again awoke.

‘Then as the artist feebler grew,
He often lay with half-closed eyes,
And gazing long upon these two,
Would silent pray for dearer ties ;
And Ethel saw the longing thought,
That was unspoken to the ear,
And all her heart was strangely wrought,
- And overflowed with boding fear.

One evening when they were alone,
he father begged with all his might,
For what he longed ere he was gone,
And hid forever from her sight. |
His words were wise, his wish so plain,
Though darkened all her future lay,
With choking tears and look of pain,
She said the words he wished her say.

And they were wed, before he died,

But some there were who weeping said,
She was the saddest, sweetest bride,

St. Braix had seen alive or dead.

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

166

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

And she went meekly on her wa:
The father lingered yet Bani

Her cheek was paler day by day,
And fainter grew her gentle smile.

The spring flowers bloomed upon the ¢
Of him who loved them Tone and Rall
George Howe was gone, the gifted, brave
Slept as the shadows softly fell,
From ivied tower, where Ethel knelt,
That sacred night with Harry Croome ;
Its influence then was doubly felt. i
Although there was a single tomb.

She was as gentle and serene,
In her sweet waiting on her lord

As if no thought of what had been’
Stole up to break their full accord ;

But on her pallid cheek was grief, 4

é That feeble step was ominous,

The drooping flower; the withered leaf
Soon hide themselves in native dust.

One eve he took her to the pier,
A ship was signalled from the sea ;

The husband hoped such sight would cheer
The listless form he pained to see.

And on it came with towering mast,

A And clouds of canvas in the air,

Bows on,” she bore upon them fast—

In truth a noble sight and fair.

The village crowded to the wharf;
What ship it was no one could tell,
But soon all words were spoken soft
jut breathless silenee on them fell : :
phe snl came near, she rounded to,
e wailing ery rose high and thin ;
Pale Ethel wished in desdly aewae
‘Oh God, it is the Victorine 1!”

And even then bold Harry Croom
: Had madly sprung Sena waar
She lay so still, gone all her bloom.
It seemed in truth that she had died.
He clasped her in his arms before,
The awe-struck husband saw or knew ;
He kissed her pale lips o’er and o'er, y
His face was wet with tearful dew.

‘‘Oh Ethel, darling, do not die,
For Iam here at last again :
I swear by him who rules the sky,
Tl ne’er return on yonder main.’

 

 

 

|

|

4]
}

 

 

Rosamond’s Story.

"[hus met these two who loved so well,

And then poor George with frantic ery—

~ This is my wife ;” and Harry fell

With reeling head and bloodshot eye.

Within a month and he was gone 3
The raging fever all was o’er,

"The pallid man one dreary morn

Had left he said to come no more®
No word he sent to her he loved,

No clew to mark his lonely path ;
He looked as though he was unmoved,

‘And least of all was he in wrath.

“There were but few who with him sailed, .

Came back from voyage evil-starred
‘And stoutest hearts with terror quailed,
When all the secret was unbarred ;
Fierce battle fought with Malay horde,
All night on that dark eastern coast,
‘Wherein the heathen’s ruthless sword,

Had triumph got at fearful cost.

‘A few survived and ‘then in chains,
Went years as slaves on weary round
Enduring all that chafes and pains,
Until they had deliverance found;
And they were rescued with their ship
Their leader had from duranee broke
‘One night when guard was careless kept,
And he was gone when they awoke.

His skin was stained Malaysian brown,
His was the garb the country wore ;
And as the speech to him was known,
He passed at length unto a shore,
Where English ships were found, and soon
The vengeance dire, so long delayed,
ad on the secret stronghold flown,
‘And it was as in mortar brayed.

"The Victorine in friendly port
Was fitted once more for the sea;
Assistance they had not to court,
For all was rendered full and free:
‘New seamen took the place of those
Slain in attack and after woe ;
And then once more with plashing prow,
The rescued ship did homeward go.

But who can tell the anguish known,
In those six years when hope had fled ;
‘Lhey knew at home, what grief was grown,
And they long numbered with the dead.

fon}

at

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

168

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

They saw the circling years roll by,
And they asin some living tomb,

All deaf unto the world’s great ery,,
To higher things could never-come.

They saw the stn arise and set
Each day and still no hope arose 5
Some pining died and lowly slept,
Secure at last in death’s repose ;
But he the leader, strong and brave,
Still aided by his faithful mate,
Kept life and hope, though some did rave
With curses on o’er-ruling fate.

What Ethel said and what she felt
Was known to none but Mary Gore ;
But all that night in tears she knelt
Upon the bare and chilling floor :
To Robert Grange no word she gave,
Since they had seen the Victorine ;
And he was sad and very graye,
And not the man that he had been.

He long had known her love so true

To one he thought would come no more £3

But with that rival here anew,

His peace was broken deep and sore g
To see the wife he cherished still

A’ faint with worship not his own
Brought to his heart a deadly chill,

To madness he had well nigh gone.

With falt’ring tongue at last he spoke
And chided her with fealty lost ;
A wailing ery upon him broke,.
Her look was that of spirit lost :
*©Oh spare me all these cruel words,
My burden from you soon will pass 5
‘You know not by what feeble cords
Icling amid the wintry blast.??

“T never more shall see his face,

No word of his upon my ear

Shall ever come,.oh in your grace,:
My pleading ery in mercy hear;

Oh leave me to myself and’ God,
Tam so weak, deep rest I crave 5

Ere long the wine-press will be trod,.
And I shall rest within my grave.”?

He never sought to chide her more ;
His every thought was now to save sy

But vain is love in its weak power,,.
However madly it may raye.

va

 

 

Ma,

ad

Rosamond’s Story. 169

One evening Mary Gore was there,

And when she went as night came on,
The husband found her sleeping fair,

As though all grief had from her gone.

ight was full upon her face, y
EAtoRnn her Cae tthe long brown hair,
A letter which she just had read,

Was still all damp with falling tear:
He tonched her forehead. it was cold;

A shiver ran through au ns frame,

is agony could not be told;
one ealled her dear, loved name.

But Ethel slept the sleep that knows
No waking up to further pain ;

Her look was that of deep repose,
Upon her cheeks a rosy stain

Still lingered, as if joy had come
Unto her, as her closing eyes

Beheld some scene alive with bloom,
And lighted all by sunny skies.

» letter in her clasping hand :
Wes from the one she ae a till death ;

They both were in that mystic land, :
Where is no pain or failing breath :
And this is what with glazing eyes, | i

The hopeless man wrote ere he died 5
As on his ear came wailing cries
Of many round him sorely tried:

i ife away,
dearest Ethel, slowly ebbs my li ys :
iT; ae uci here all lonely, at the a, ot Beat Hs Gey ; ae
8 death is certain, an 1
UG aie: anguish, ere I lose earth’s weary chains.

v i d see

V d you were another’s I could not live ani :

ithe Pack pao tatal presence would surely bring oH thee 5
So I came to this dark city where pestilence is rite,

With the hope that it would ease me of my overburdened life.

‘) i viftly now 5
h served my purpose surely. I am dying switthy i
Apaca then in freatlont tell you el any Jove, Eee inet Howe ;
2 re you see my letter, I shall surely eee
yeas vill forgive me, darling, as I tread that happy shor

I have not a word of chiding, that you Bde aati k for me ;

I was so long in eoming be across ee ieee Work:

is of all your grieving, and your dying He
: Youand he oe mehe, sweet Ethel, but it made my way too dar!

 
 

 

 

 

170 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

For years, a slave down-trodden, I had gone and still bore up;
To its last and foulest dregs, I had drained aftliction’s cup :
With the hope of you before me, while I thought your love my own,
Sorrow’s night could never darken the light that round me shone.

In all my darkest musings, in my chains I still could see
Your eyes in sadness swimming and waiting long for me;

Thad never dreamed of living with other than your smile,
‘Your image had gone with me, and blessed me all the while.

Then forgive me all the weakness, that came o’er me when we met,
If you sat here now beside me, not a tear my cheek should wet ;
I know your piteous story, ani I am satisfied,
My love has not grown colder, though my wish of life has died.

God bless you, darling Ethel, now I can say no more;
I feel my spirit drifting swiftly to another shore—
Something tells me you will follow, and to me you will come,
Be it late or soon my lost one, I am still your Harry Croome.

Rosamond grew strangely beautiful as the glow of in-
spiration deepened apon her in the progress of her chant,
Her voice gathered power and pathos as the sad story
developed, and when she ceased her entire audience had
been melted into sympathy with tl.e woes of the unhappy
bride of St. Braix. The ladies were not alone in their
testimony of tears, for Judge Eustace and other gentle-

men were testifying their deep emotion in the same
manner.

“Rosamond,” said Mr. Grey, “your story is as beauti-
fulas it is affecting. Your voice has wonderfully de-
veloped.”

“1 thank you, sir,” said she. “I must beg pardon for
the sadness of my poor entertainment.”

“Tts tragedy is all the sweeter,” said St. George, “as a
foil to our Christmas mirth.”

“Ob, Rosamond!” said Mariana, “why did you let
Ethel marry that Mr. Grange ?”

“T give you the story,” said Rosamond, “as it came to
me.”

— sical . SSS eapRpenEr epi itet= iirccuniemar aes ert- = eee cana

“Ai akon

 

f it

Rosamond’s Story. 171

“Miss Courtenay,” said Kean, “I had no dream se

would give us such a treat. Pray accept a thousan:
”

ne amid the plaudits of all, the blooming girl sat
down, the centre of admiring friends. No one had ever
seen her so radiant. A strange new beauty and grace
was hers which were unaccountable in the suddenness
of their advent. The night had deepened until the hour
had arrived for prayers and rest, and soon peaceful slum-
ber had come to every one of the happy circle at Elles-
mere. Philip mused of Rosamond until forgetfulness
came, and then in fantastic dreams she was metamor-

i ‘reasi nd yaryin
phosed into an angel of ever increasing @ ying

loveliness.

 

 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
     
        
       

 

 

 

 

 

  

172 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER X.

  

PERCIVAL ST. GEORGE.

  

“How use doth breed a habit in a man i
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,

I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,

And to the nightingale’s complaining notes,
Tune my distresses, and record my woes.

O thou that dost inhabit in my breast,

Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ;

Lest growing ruinous, the building fall,

And leave no memory of what it was!”

—Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Tue dreary reign of winter was drawing to its close.
The red buds of tke maple had commenced swelling.
The voice of gladness was returning to the long silent
birds, and in sheltered nooks the faint gleam of tender
grass blades was just peering into light. With the ap-
proach of spring the clouds of coming war with Mexico

deepened into more ominous certainty. Forth
loving circle at Ellesmere had gone the soldier,
Kustace, though but half of his leave of absence
pired. The recollections of childhood were stil
his heart, and the ties of kindred by no means disre-
garded ; but at the call of duty he gave up, of his own

accord, his lease of pleasure, and went back to the head
of his plumed squadrons,

Percival St. George regretted this loss of his early play-
mate, and was busy in adorning the walks and clustering
parterres of Vaucluse. Sir George Eustace had found
the quiet vale in which it was situated covered with forest,

from the
Stanhope
e had ex-
1 fresh in

Rian pene

Percival. St. George. 173

and was led by its beauty and fertility to reserve it bss
himself. Templeton St. George, the tirst proprietor ae
lived upon the place, had lavished upon it eee
realth could accomplish
vated taste and large wealt
life-time. He was a friend of Shenstone, and bad pauls
from him many secrets in rural adornments. oS oe
D i f the artificial means
at Vaucluse needed but little o ee
i ffect of distance; but in
at Leasowes to impart the e !
direction of Sorrell’s Peak was a noble vista, ne a
trees planted in conformity with the English poet's he b
Here, amid the slumberous silence of ae ae an a
? ie 4 5
i ill lakes, Percival St. George ha
the pebbly margin of still 8, Pere ae aes
tion of his life in solitude.
passed the greater por of ae
? y comfort out of doors,
seasons of the year permitting 0
could be often found in his favorite haunt, in the depths

of the park where all was still:

Pea nes Hane
re to lull him in his slumber soft — :

eae streame from high rocke tumbling downe,
gs

izzli rai the loft,
r-drizzling rain upon | ane Eee
Mixed with the murmuring winde, much like the so

Of swarming bees, did cast him in « cael
No other noise, nor people’s beara ares
‘As still are wont to annoy the walled ‘

ard ; arelesse quiet lyes,
i here be heard ; but care \ es
Woant in eternal sileuce, far from enemyes.

It was understood that St. aes se a
se, and no one, except the families at 4 ae
Modes ever intruded upon the mStar eae
ment of the recluse. Persons having Soe ste
were informed, by advertisement in the St. oS ae ee
that such transactions would be attended ee y Cana
erville. In this way, there was no excuse ee ies
his wishes, and many pangs of peer e ey ae
cerning him were endured by his neighbors.

 

 

 
ino ERIS rtp =e Reckoner co

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

174 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

duct generally produces invidious criticism and remark ;
but whatever resentment was felt at his wish to be alone,
was disarmed when, at rare intervals, he ventured forth
among men. The charm of his manner won all hearts
not already attracted by his perfection of form and feature.
The countenance which had been dearer to Leonora
Orsini than all the applause her own genius and loveli-
ness awoke, was then more attractive than she had ever
seen it. The love which had arisen in his heart still shed
iis glory on his face, and had not grown weak in the
fifteen years past.
The fair Italian was long ago dead ; and, in most hearts
by this time, would have become a pleasant memory,
bringing neither joy nor grief in the act of recolléction ;
but with Percival St. George she was as sacred and much
regretted as ever. While he félt her loss less poignantly,
yet no person saw him, and, for an instant, failed to per-
ceive that some great shadow rested on his life. Judge
Eustace sighed to see such mental endowments darkened
and rendered useless: by calamity; but in spite of all his
earnest counsel, the master of Vaucluse remained the
same “mute, inglorious Milton.” Percival would smile
as the wise publicist strove to incite him to ambition, for
with all his tenderness toward suffering in others, there
was never born into the world one who more thoroughly
disregarded the applause of man. While he felt, like a
wound, any imputation of dishonor, yet he utterly
despised whatever the populace might think or say of
him. |
He was a polished Sybarite, ia the mysterious dispen-
sations of Providence, deprived of his idol, and in this
way disgusted with life. Sorrow, supreme and abiding,

 

Percival St. George. 175

had chastened the character of his pee os ; ae
resolutely avoided all things threatening to ee Hee
his dainty plumage. The insubstantial ee ee
gorgeous expectations of hope, had indeed u ee aie
but humility was as far as ever from his heart. sine
felt a large and proper interest in the ee ae
upon his estate, and omitted nothing that Bea ne
tribute to their welfare and enjoyment. His eu Be
perament led him to appreciate the position he ee
in relation to these beings who, with their ee a
had been for ages the property of his family, and th iat
fore entitled to his care and protection. ae eae
beauty of his person, and the solitude in es _ re
strongly impressed the sympathetic nature of then ae
Percival St. George was ees use Baoan
capacity for enjoyment and suffering. E is o1 ee is
in other respects, was admirable; and there is tre
in which success is worthy of effort, where
ha acute would not have enabled He ee
but his youthful ambition was all buried in t @) oe
Leonora Orsini. His native abilities fitted him 3 ue
as a conversationalist, but even in the circle at E a i
it was only when unusually interested that ek pa
brought toa hearty discussion of important ay oe
neyer sought to conceal his opinions, but their ae
was generally so sententious it rarely invite
i he abhorred debate. 4
We Sue St. George seldom manifested a ae a
the presence of his nearest kinsmen at See ie
usually saw but one white person on the es e aoe
was an old and trusted agent who had been ene
years the overseer of the negroes, and was one 0

 

    

i
t
i
'
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hi
j
&
i
I
z
i
i

 

  

176 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

 

of whose presence the sensitive nature of the poet did not
tire. Roger Earl had been born in the midst of humble
competence, and early learned to be contented with his
lot in the world. His attention to duty had, early in life,
procured for him the confidence of the community, and
Mrs. St. George, upon the death of her husband, had se-
cured his services on the estate. The excellence of his
management had been such that he had remained there
a solitary bachelor ever since. Percival, when a boy, had
learned to love him, and it was mainly due to his energy
that the plantation had been so admirably conducted.
Inside the stone walls encompassing the park, St. George
was, in fact and practice, master; but in the broad fields
outside, Roger Harl was lord paramount.

During the young heir’s long absence in Europe, the.
manager had often reflected upon the subject of his mar-
riage, but in his opinion this was a matter of secondary
importance He had promised to stay in command until
Percival could finish his education and see something of
the world. He was doubtful as to what exactions on his
time and attention a wife might entail, and therefore
resolutely set aside the project as a thing to be examined
in the future. After the lapse of years Percival returned,
but the sunshine that once danced in the eyes of the boy
who had loved Harl was all gone. It was long before he
learned the secret of the blanched face and listless figure ;
and when St. George had told the trusted companion of
his boyhood, Roger knew that it was the great passion of
which he had been thinking so long which had wrought
this ruin in the fairest temple of strength and vivacity
he had ever seen containing the human soul. He stag-

gered back affrighted from a precipice over which he felt,

 

: SRee

  

Percival St. George. 177

his own peace and unbroken content might have sunk
forever. It is true- Percival St. George had left home,
saddened in the loss of his fair and loving mother, but
still the most radiant and promising youth of all the gay
visitors at the Vaucluse of those days. He had parted
with this child of wealth and capacity for boundless en-
joyment when he was as beautiful as Hyperion, who re-
turned with dimmed eyes and wasted figure, to make a
hermitage of the seat of gaiety. This was enough to
banish forever the dreams in which Roger Earl, in common
with other men, had indulged himself as to the joy of
wedded love.

Stanhope Eustace had gone, and was by this time at
the head of his regiment; the dogwood was becoming,
white in its blossoms; and the valJeys were growing pur--
ple in the tints of the maple shoots; when Philip and
Arthur Kean were asked by Percival to spend a few days
with him at Vaucluse. They had at once consented, and;
were now wandering about the house, looking at pictures -
and statuary so much valued by their solitary collector
in the years of his seclusion. The house stood in the
midst of a broad vale stretching southward from Sorrell’s
Peak, through the centre of which meandered the current
of the smaller river frequently widening into lakes of
surpassing beauty in its progress through the park. The
grounds, with the lapse of time, and the careful attention
they had received, had become extremely attractive. At
the southern end of the largest of these lakes stood the
mansion built by Templeton St. George, which was
regarded by the people of the valley as the perfection of
rural architecture. After Philip and Kean had passed
several days in this retreat, one evening as the sun com-

12

 
~ ae

 

 

 

    

178 The Heirs of St. Kitda.

menced disappearing behind the mountains they walked
out to enjoy the balmy air and the face of reviving nature.
They had gone nearly to the farther end of the largest
lake when they seated themselves on a mass of rocks near
the carriage way which led across a stone bridge just
beyond them. They were reclining in the shade, admir-
ing the scenery around, when Roger Earl approached
from the upper fields which he had just visited on a tour
of inspection.

“How is the wheat looking on the Gorse fields this
year?” asked Philip as Roger reined up to return their
salutation.

“ About as well as I have ever seen it,” said he. “I think
-the wheat will be better than I have yet known on the
iplace.”

“What was the amount of your last harvest?” said
‘Kean.

“A little the rise of twenty-two thousand bushels,
sir.”

“That was a large quantity of wheat,’ returned Kean,
“Tt is more than is made in some States of the Union.”

“Yes,” said Earl, “Mr. St. George was telling me that
-several Yankee States have come to such a pass they make

little else beside Irish potatoes and hay.”

“What do you think,” said Kean, “of such a state of
things ?”

-“T have never read books and newspapers enough to
give an opinion worth much; but if the world was com-
,posed of such communities we should all be starved out,
.once in a while, like the Irish.”

-“But when men are.so thickly congregated,” said

 

Percival St. George. 179

Kean, “it is impossible to raise enough grain to feed the
population.”

“Then let them emigrate,” said Earl. “There is
enough open land in the country for us all, and even St.
Kilda Valley, rich as it is, lacks much of being reduced
to cultivation.”

“ Mr. Earl,” said Philip, “ how do you get on with your
dykes and drains in the Goldsby meadows ?”

“ They are as dry as this park now,” said Roger, “and
you must ride down with me some day before your return
and look at them. I think Mr. St. George takes more
interest in the progress of the works there than any thing
I have seen him notice since he came from abroad.”

“T think,” said Philip, “ that Cousin Percy is in better
spirits than usual.”

“No doubt of it,” said Earl. “When he is here he is
more than ever in the fields with me, and if that room
they call Mariana’s was not in the house I think he wouid
be much better without it.”

“What does it contain?” said Philip, “I have never
entered it since I was a child.”

“Many things,” said Roger, “for it was built for
Templeton St. George’s wife, and is splendidly furnished.
There are two beautiful pictures in it which Mr. St.
George showed me and told me were the portraits of the
young lady he was to have married.”

Roger Earl here glanced at the sun, ad seeing it was
nearly night, rode away to attend to the stabling of the
farm horses under his charge. Philip and Kean returned
to the house, and found Percival opening boxes of books
which he had just received.

 
 

 

 

 

    

180 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

  

Later in the evening they were sitting in a room, over
the mantel piece of which was the portrait of a young
woman. It was evidently.an old picture, and though
the flesh tints were faded with time, the grace of the
figure and beautiful lines of the face were perfectly pre-
served. Kean at once recognized it as the counterpart of
a picture at Ellesmere. :

“Mr. St. George,” said he, “I have never known a
family in which the features of the ancestors were so
perfectly transmitted as in your own. [I see in that
picture on the mantel a strong likeness to Philip and
yourself, and, as Hamlet would say, a counterfeit present-
ment of Miss Mariana.”

“Tt is strange,” said Percival, “that we have changed
so little in the lapse of time. It isa portrait of my great-
grandmother, and, as you remarked, would be considered
anywhere a good likeness of the Mariana Eustace now
living.”

“Cousin Percy,” said Philip, “I recollect when I was a
child, you carried grandmother and myself to see a pic-
ture in a room on the other side of the house. I think it
represented a beautiful lady in regal attire.”

“But few persons in this country,’ said St. George,
“have seen that painting. If you desire it we will go to
the room now. Come with us, Mr. Kean.”

Percival led the way to an apartment built and fur-
nished with exquite taste, and passing along its length,
paused before the larger of the only two pictures it con-
tained. Kean and Philip stood spell bound in admiration
of a beauty surpassing their dreams of female loveliness,
while Percival silently struggled to suppress his evident
emotion.

 

 

Percival St. George. 181

“That must be a portrait,” said Kean, “for no imagin-
ation could have rendered an ideal so attractive.

“Tt represents Leonora Orsini,” said Percival, “as I
saw her in her first appearance as Norma. I had seen
her before, in Paris and Vienna, and had been moved by
the magic of her loveliness, but never until that occasion
did I realize the perfection of her charms. I had gone
from Rome to spend a few weeks in Florence, and with
an artist-friend was loitering about the Pitti Palace,
where we accidently met Leonora and her father. We
were mutually pleased with each other, and when she
left the galleries, she invited me to hear her that evening
in her first appearance as prima donna in the production
of Bellini’s beautiful opera. The avtist and myself were
half frantic with delight at the splendor of her persona-
tion, and you see her in the picture as she appeared in
singing that most exquisite conception of sublimated
sorrow—Casta Diva.”

“The idea and execution of the piece are certainly
beautiful,” said Kean.

“Tn the other picture,” said Percival, “she is repre-
sented as a Madonna.”

“Cousin Percy,” said Philip, “I cannot imagine the
faces in heaven to be more beautiful than this, and I have
little doubt the painting is less attractive than the
original, for I think the new picture of Mariana by no
means equals herself.”

“That,” said St. George, “must be the’case with all
portraits of lovely faces. The greatest charm in the hu-
man countenance is the almost infinite variety of expres-
sion some are capable of undergoing, and never was this
more the case than in Leonora. Not an emotion flitted

:
:
|
j

 
 

 

 

 

 

182 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

through her soul but gave token of its presence in her
faultless features. The portrait conveys but one of her
thousand emotions, and, to that degree, falls below the
resistless fascination of her own presence.”

“Cousin Percy,” said Philip, “you have never talked
much with me concerning your love since I was a child.
If it does not distress you too much give us something
of your sad story.”

“Yes, Philip,” said Percival, “as I know your grand-
father has for some time intended you should spend sev-
eral years in Europe, I will tell you of my disaster as a
warning against suffering yourself to become too much
interested in any one object. It is always a grave and
dangerous episode. in the lives of the men of our family,
when the happy season of youth gives place to the stormy
passions of manhood. Itseems impossible for us to know
that calm. and equable spirit to be found in so many
others. I have seen men really attached lose the objects.
of their affections, and after a decent show of grief console
themselyes by supplying the place of the lost idol; but
none of us have been able to rise to the height of this
indifference, or, if you please, philosophy. Your father
is of no such material, and you have no reason to think
that, in case of similar calamity, you could find oblivion
sooner than he or myself: therefore, beware of fascination
which cannot promise a life of gratified desire.”

“T have already told you how I first formed the ac-
quaintance of Count Orsini and his daughter, at Florence:
For two months I lingered there with them, where their
ancestors had been so illustrious. The relics of the Medici
family were abundant, and these, as they were connected
with her own progenitors, weze chiefly attractive to

 

 

 

Percival St. George. 183

Leonora. Isoon discovered the absorbing passion grow-
ing up in my heart, and endeavored to crush it, for I was
prejudiced against people of both sexes connected with
the stage. Count Orsini was a prince in reality as well
as in name, and the want of wealth, which first led him
to consent to bis daughter’s appearance in the opera, had
passed away with her splendid success. They moved as
equals with the proudest on the Continent; and the Grand
Duke of Tuscany was one of their best friends. Count
Orsini was, at first, displeased with my attentions to his
daughter, but with the lapse of time her entreaties
induced him to consent to a suit he considered beneath
the rank of his family.” :

“ They had made a tour of the great capitals,” continued
Percival, “and I accompanied them to their home on
Lake Como, Leonora was to spend a long vacation of
rest from her toils and triumphs. Having gained her
father’s consent to our marriage, in our unclouded bliss
we were as happy as human nature can become. She
was to have left the stage, for we were both unwilling
that she should longer remain in such publicity. Noth-
ing prevented our immediate nuptials but her engage
ment to sing for a short time in Vienna, from which
Leonora applied to the manager to be released. His
stubbornness cost me my happiness forever : and subse-
quent to that time mine becomes a story too sad for repe-
tition. In passing the Lagunes of Venice on our way to
the Austrian capital some deadly malaria blighted my
beautiful flower, and I saw her fade and pass from my
reach. Ten days before the world was full of glory, but
since my loss, ‘ This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me
a sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air,

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

184 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

look you, this brave o’erhanging firmament, this majesti-
eal roof, fretted with golden fire, why it appears no other
thing to me than-a foul and pestilent congregation of
vapors.’”

‘‘God was more merciful than I deserved: instead of a
maniac’s death He gave me surcease from sorrow, in a
long, dreamless, wasting sickness. I was carried to the
brink of the grave, and after a period, which is a blank
in my existence, I gradually revived from the stupor
which had rested on my facuities. Leonora’s death
seemed to my struggling mind some dim memory of long
vanished days, and, in place of my early agony, had
succeeded lethargy and intolerable disgust for all things.
Count Orsini had watched by me during my illness, and
when I recovered gave me the smaller of the two pictures.
I prize that more from the fact that it represents her own
beautiful nature more perfectly. In the other you sce
her in the assumed despair of Norma.”

“Cousin Percival,” said Philip, “it seems that some
strange dowery of woe too often accompanies the gift of

great beauty in woman. The loveliest women have been
the most unfortunate, as Tennyson sings:

“In every land
Isaw, wherever light illumineth,
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand
The downward slope to death.”

“T cannot believe,” said Percival, “that there is a
necessary heritage of woe belonging to this great gift.
Beautiful women make their own destinies.”

“T agree with you,” said Kean. “Women in high
station, if fair, have their dispositions ruined by early
adulation, and are taught that their business in life is to

PTOI

 

       
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  

Percival St. George. 185

make themselves attractive. They grow up with the poe
pression that life is to be one long day of romantic mee
making. They marry, and of course, with the cus i:
time, there is naturally an abatement in the little Me
lings in which lovers and newly married ase 3
prolific. The young wife, still glorious In ee
charms, weeps at what she considers the nee ee her
husband, when often it is only the inevitable absorption
of his attention to the graver duties of life. If in Boat:
able life, the pretty wife then amuses herself by RH,
This naturally excites the jealousy and distrust 0)
husband, the old love giving place to duplicity ey
hatred, and, of course, unhappiness to both. Helen ha
consented to the treachery of Paris when he carried her
to Troy, and Cleopatra and Mary Stuart were eis
accomplished flirts. Beauty is, I believe, URE ee
appreciated, one of the most unfailing joys in el
in a husband’s eyes a lovely woman never loses ner
charms. She is stili looked at with the old ae
pressed into his heart. While to other eyes the faded
matron may be less attractive, she is still as lovely to him
as the blooming daughter he sees growing up and repro-
ing her mother’s beauty.”

ea Kean left St. George alone with the i
of his lost love. No care was in their hearts to Ler is
sleep, but their conversation had awakened a pe et
memories in the sensitive and excitable apes
poet. The heayy carpet mufiled his tread, so bs a
footsteps were unheard as back and forth vee ae
long hours of the silent night walked the Jone man.
easionally he would pause before the picture

tones repeat:

s, and in low

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EEE PS PET

——

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Iam thinking of thee, Leonore—
Tam thinking of days that have been,
When you bloomed as a beautiful flower
4 And my soul owned thee for its queen.

In the daylight I wander mid throngs,

_ And unheeded [ pass them all by;

In their clamor I hear thy sweet songs
As soft as the nightingale’s ery.

Tam dreaming of thee, Leonore—
Tam dreaming of thee when the night
Is gilding the soft meadows o’er,

As they glow in the tremulous light.
But the darkness has never a yeil

To shroud the light of thine eyes;

I am seeing thy brow that was pale
I'm list’ning for one of thy sighs.

So throngh the shadowy nizht and by day—
On the land, on the sea, everywhere,
Though brief was thy beautiful stay,

Yet thine eyes and soft waving hair

Return in my visions to me

With nothing but love in their light;

So I’m thinking of thee all the day

And dreaming of thee all the night.

Genius has been defined to be the capacity to suffer and
enjoy toa larger extent than the same causes usually pro-
duce in ordinary dispositions. Others consider it mere
unusual grasp and application of knowledge. In this
latter view of the quality, there is nothing to induce un-
happiness, except the incapacity of most men to entertain
and satisfy such a mind, and the necessity of its retiring
upon its own high resources for solitary self-communion.
But the simple enlargement of the mental qualities is not
genius: it is the power to draw happiness, or its reverse,
in an extraordinary manner from occurrences of life. In
this way Percival St. George, through his acute sensibili-
ties, suffered years of depression in consequence of a dis-
aster which would have speedily ceased to distress. most
men. Dryden has said :

“Great wits to madness nearly are allied.”

 

 

 

  
 
 

 

 

Percival St. George. 187

j ee
al aberration are by no mean

But eecentricity and ment ee

ecessary ecompa iments of great ess.
" : 7 . WV ‘ abse nt-minded
enius hile Sir Isaac Newton was S' T
Fe) rs

that he frequently forgot to eat his dinner, et,
was wise and prosperous in the affairs of a ai
Byron was madly impracticable in all things, Mara
Walter Scott was the ornament of a large circle of ir :

i isi at genius
and hundreds of instanees contradict this idea, that g

i i Vordsworth’s
must be eccentric, or unhappy, in spite of Wordswor

declaration :

“We poets enter on our path with gladness, iy
But thereof comes despondency and madness.

Percival St. George was not a great man, but aa
sessed of fine poet sens.bilities. His listless and ae
mode of life forbade excellence in any of the oe se
of human effort. With proper stimulus to exer a
might have attained.eminence in de ls sk ye
_As it was, even adversity, in a great measure, fal Se
sons; and while he never manifested a ee ge
to those fully satisfied with the revealed wi - aoe
dence, yet in his heart he failed to acknowled Be : ee
tent of his obligation in submission to its ae a
was too refined and sensitive to wound the ee ee
others, by the expression of doubts oe
dear to them, and apparently even acquiesced 1n aun
ing claims of the faith of his friends ; but emit
was no trust of the many promises sus aining

les:

Christian. : is sad
Percival’s early loss was. the key-note 1n all his

‘ i ief, it had
minstrelsy. He had so long nourished his ad te
become a part of himself; yet with all this melancholy

,

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

188 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

in his recollections, there was nothing maudlin or weak
in his bearing. Only to his family friends, at rare inter-
vals, did he make any allusion to his loss. Tf urged by
Judge Eustace to a larger participation among the affairs
of men, he would plead the necessity of his confining his
efforts to the good of his slaves. He maintained that it
required all that he and Roger Earl could do to minister
to their efficiency and comfort. In addition to this, he
was in no respect a democrat in his opinions. He dis-
trusted popular institutions, and thoroughly disliked any
communion with the mob. To those of his neighbors
scantily provided with intelligence and goods, no man
could have shown more charity and forbearance; but he
steadily denied the wisdom or propriety of endowing
them with equal franchises with himself.

The great mistake of St. George’s life was his want of
submission to the manifest necessities of his nature. With
all the delicacy of feeling and tenderness of a woman, he
had for years disregarded the sweet offices of man as a
minister of consolation. While pure and blameless in
his life, he totally ignored in his thoughts the very ex-
istence of any comfort beyond his own resources, and
thus forgetful of God and his fellow creatures, in mingled
strength and weakness, he had unavailingly continued
the unequal struggle. Shall others think themselves
wiser, because in ambition or vanity they have made no
such essay of self-reliance? Shall self-interest and worldly

engagement plume themselyes on any superiority to the
inistakes of one too honest for deception ?

“Oh momentary grace of mortal men,
Wh'ch we more hunt for than the grace of God!
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks,
Lives like a drunken sailor ona mast:
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.”

 

 

i
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89
Mr. Grey. l

‘CHAPTER. XI.

MR. GREY.

“His-eyes diffused a venerable grace,

And charity itself was in his face.
Refined himself to soul, to curb) the sense,
‘And made almost a sin of abstinence.
Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe, :
But such a face as promised him pieces °
Nothing reserved or sullen was to see: :
But sweet regards; and pleasing sanctity ¢

i , and his action free.”
ae —Dryden's Tales frem Chaucer

Tuis.amiable and devoted mau has several bis
peared i this narrative, and his virtues have rae Bae
mended it) more than one instance ; but his pee
was so potent for good in the formation of the ¢ oe y
of Philip and Mariana Eustace, that a lee a
notice will be accorded him in the present See 4
was, as has already been stated, nearly of the ae Ses
Goy. Eustace, and had been his school-mate rk ant
fellow in early life. The story of his SN a ss
of melancholy interest, and furnished ee a
Kilda valley, for many years, with one of its 7 e ate
most mournful. incidents. He was born in Re pe
narrow vale that extends for several miles bac ‘ pei
Mounts Leaming and Helliton. This retired noo

i nity between
a complete cul-de-sac ; for the pass, at its extremity

ipitous that it was
the peaks, was so elevated and precipito ae

Y m
considered impracticable, except to a few tae ica
oceasionally ventured out of Swelterdale a

th
mountain barrier. At the end of the lake, where the

arrery

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190 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

valley widened out, were several cottages; but beyond
these, by two good miles, was the humble habitation of
Turner Grey and his wife Edith. William Grey was the
older of their two children, and was just nine years old
at the time of the incident about to be related. His pa-
rents were the only inhabitants of the almost inaccessible
dale in which they lived, and depended on patient labor
and economy to supply their means of life. The choice
of his home in this lonely spot exhibited the daring of
Turner Grey’s nature. The distance between him and
his nearest neighbor would be generally deemed in the
American States inconsiderable, but from the peculiarity

of the single approach was equivalent to a much greater
removal from the friendly offices of men.

In the winter, when the snow commenced drifting down
the mountain sides, it was often a matter of impossibility
to communicate with the outer world; and the solitary
cottage was, therefore, never highly valued as a place of
residence. Turner Grey had been a soldier, and had
lived for five years in the forest and plains of the West.
The parents of his wife had objected to his marriage; and
this added to the disposition toward solitude already
strong in hismind; so, asthe cottage was unoccupied, and
could be had at a moderate price, the young couple.
shortly after their nuptials, came to the little cot in the
heart of the mountains, and had lived there ever since.
Some months previous to the period referred to, there
had occurred, in one of the cottages in which Turner
Grey happened to be a visitor, a deadly conflict between
two of the dalemen. There had been much talk of a gang
of counterfeiters, who were coining and issuing spurious
money in that portion of St. Kilda valley. These men

 

Mr. Grey. 191

happening to get into an altercation, one of them ree
the other with complicity in this infamous violation 0

the laws. It was promptly resented, and, before the by-
standers could separate them, the accuser was stabbed
and mortally wounded. The man who thus: became
amenable to the double charge of counterfeiting and
homicide was arrested and put in jail, and was awaiting
his trial. It was now the time of the winter ‘session of
the superior court,and Turner Grey, being an important
witness against the prisoner, was of course summoned to
attend. There had been several heavy falls of snow pre-
vious to his preparations for departure from his humble
home, and his wife, Edith, was full of tender solicitude a
his safety. He was a man of stern manner, but hadieess
been loving and considerate toward his companion. trek
were indeed all in all to each other, in the wild and lonely
recess in which they dwelt. Turner Grey, like the strong-
limbed, brave-hearted man that he was, went on foot
through the great snow drifts, having laughed in deri-
sion at the fears that filled the bosom of his wife. He
safely reached St. Kilda the day on which the case he had
been summoned to attend stood for trial ; but the severity
of the weather had detained other material witnesses, $0
the judge postponed the case two days in consequence of
the continued failure of the expected men to appear. The
trial should have begun on Tuesday ; it was concluded
on Thursday morning; and the jury and witnesses were
dismissed. The weather looked unsettled; but as some
of his nearest neighbors, who lived at the end of the aie
were going home that evening, Turner Grey Pais :
their offer to carry him that far. They reached the oo
late in the night; but the fond husband, suspecting the

 
 

cslptoerectenee anoeencttrietet

 

 

 

 

creer tnt ni

 

isicthe Seek Pee Lehi aan a dae

Toe arene cca ane ae Gk thd

 

 

192 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

anxiety of his wife at his long and unexpected absence,
in spite of his friends’ entreaties to the contrary, went at
once on his way through the narrow and awful glen in
the direction of his cottage.

The boldest heart might well have shrunk back dis-
mayed at the prospect which lay before him. The night
was so dark that, but for the reflection of light from the
spotless snow, he could not have seen at all. The masses
of cloud thav swept over the summits of the two moun-
tains were already scattering around flakes of snow, show-
ing the hardy mountaineer what was in store for him,
who thus braved their fury. It was not snowing when
he left the lake, or he, daring as he was, would have
remained with his friends until morning. By this time
he was in less than a mile of the little family who he
knew were sleepless on his account. But now he had
reached the commencement of the perils awaiting him
who thus attempted at night the passage of the stream
which flowed down the gorge to the lake. By his side
was the trusted shepherd dog which was his inseparable
companion. On they went in the blinding storm of snow
which was drifting down in frightful quantities, The
winds hurtling in the mountain tops roared, as if they
would sweep down the vast barriers which in everlasting
strength turned aside their currents. Occasionally the
straining eyes of the fast despairing husband caught
glimpses of a light faintly gleaming in the direction of
the home he was never to reach alive. There he well
knew sat his wife in her anguish awaiting his return.
There were his rosy children in the warm cottage ever
illumined through dreary winter. Who can imagine the
extremity of his torture, as he groped through the snow

 

 

Mr. Girey. 193

and darkness, step by step, in the direction of the spot

where centered all his joys? He well knew beneath the

drift he was slowly passing, lay the channel of the stream

which ran, with devious windings from the pool behind
his house. Several times the unerring instinct of his dog

had warned bim back from yawning chasms, but the cold

was so intense that he felt strongly disposed to lie down

and rest his weary limbs. This longing was resisted after

short pauses, for he was aware that slumber would

result in swift destruction. The energies of his faithful:
dog, too, became paralyzed, for he now followed instead of
leading, as directed by his master.

Edith Grey had been all this time, since his expected
return, in a state of the most consuming anxiety. She:
loved her husband with a devotion which was almost
infatuation in its intensity. She had been assured that
he would not be longer absent than Thursday morning;
and she supposed he would be able, in all probability, to»
leave the court house on Tuesday evening and reach his-
home some time that night, or at farthest, the next day.
The happy couple, living in their loving retirement, knew"
little of the law’s delays. He had gone away Monday
morning and it was now Thursday night, Edith was.
strongly tempted, in the morning, to start for the houses
near the lake; but, as she was a delicate woman, she well
knew it would overtask her strength to go and return the:
same day; then she looked at her children and thought
of the peril of leaving them alone, and with bitter tears.
gave up her scheme. She was in the greatest possible
distress, as the shadows of coming night deepened around
her. Little William, her first born, exerted all his child--
ish eloquence to re-assure the drooping heart. of. his»

13

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194

  
 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

mother; and as she looked into the eyes of the sinless
boy she obtained occasionally fresh confidence in that
Providence, a trust in which her own teachings had
planted in his young heart. The storm raved and bellowed
through the mountains, as the trembling wife listened to
its fury.

In an agony of apprehension she vainly waited the
coming of her husband. By some strange intuition she
cat last became convinced of the truth of his condition.
She felt that by this time he was wandering bewildered
in the midst of danger and death. She had lighted a
‘beacon at night-fall in the direction she was certain he

‘would come, and it was her only consolation, in the long,

vwatches of the terrible vigil, to keep this flaming signal
freshly supplied with’ fuel. She could not persuade
William to sleep, for the child saw such sorrow in his
~ young mother’s look that he begged to be allowed to bear
her company. Several times she had gone out amid the
war of the elements to listen for some sign of her hus-
‘band’s approach, and,

“Tn the dead waste and middle of the night,”

sas she stood straining her ears to the mighty dirge she
caught, faintly in the over-powering rush of the storm,
the sharp, quick ery of a dog in the extremity of terror.

‘There was a momentary lull in the sweep of the winds’

.and she heard now, full and distinct, the melancholy wail,
-and recognized the voice of her husband’s faithful com-
ypanion, The inarticulate note of grief told her at once
that disaster had overtaken the two. She hurriedly
opened the cottage door, and telling her first born to

 

 

 

 

Mr. Grey. 195

remain with his unconscious baby- brother asleep in the
cradle, with one last, long embrace of her child, she went
forth in a vain trust that she could aid her mate then
perishing in the snow. On she groped in the hideous
turmoil, following as best she could the direction of the
path that led to the crossing of the stream. At intervals
she caught the howl of despair that still came from the
dog. The love that was supreme in her heart was only
leading her to a fate which had already befallen her
husband.

With the departure of his mother there came a wonder-
ful increase of intelligence to the infant faculties of Wil-

liam Grey. He was but little more than nine years of

age at the time, but his conduct under the trying cireum-
stances was characterized by much of the forethought
and prudence of matured manhood. He seemed to real-
ize at once the truth of his situation, that all must now
depend upon him for the safety of himself and helpless
brother. He anxiously awaited the return of his mother
until daylight, when he proceeded to the suable to feed
the few animals therein, and then brought wood from the
shed for the fire. Little George had awakened by this
time, and having dressed and fed him sparingly, he lay
down to the first sleep he had known for thirty hours.
In this way, for three days, he continued to care for and
preserve his brother and the domestic animals. At the
end of that time, the storm having ceased and their stock
of food being exhausted, he went to the lake to communt-
cate the extremity of his situation. On his way he found
the snow so deep along the bed of the stream he could not
discover the bridge,so he turned back and passed around
the pool. On his arrival at the settlements the disap-

 
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196 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

pearance of his parents was made known, and in a short

time a dozen men had started in search of their missing”

neighbors, The little boy, already tired out with his
previous walk, was taken back on the shoulders of the
men to the rescue of his brother. The mountaineers at
once recognized the truth of Turner and Edith Grey’s
death, and after considerable search, on removing the
snow along their separate paths, the remains of both were
found. Long experience in such cases had given them
such subtilty and skill they read in the windings of their
footsteps the story of distraction and despair preceding
the last moments of both husband and wife, and their
unfailing sagacity saw in the snow a history of the agony
endured by the master and his faithful dog. The poor
animal, they thought, perished in his attempt to reach
Edith Grey, for he was found drowned in the stream near
where she lay. Suffering was not confined to the hearts
of husband and wife on that last dread night. Of the
shepherd dog’s sensations, no one but God

‘Knows, who gave that love sublime,
And sense of loyal duty—great
Beyond all human estimate.”

The story of this love unto death between the unfor-
tunate couple, and the rare and almost incredibly preco-
cious realization of the necessities of his position by
William Grey, drew great attention and sympathy to the
two little boys thus left orphans in the world. Death
had evidently come to both parents through the exercise
of the noblest and most unselfish motives. Judge Eus-
tace, learning the truth of the sad story, induced the
honest dale men to give him the children they had

 

Mr. Grey. 197
already adopted in their own families. They remained
at Ellesmere until William was sent to college, and
George, having received a mercantile training, became a
prosperous merchant at St. Kilda, on capital given him
by his benefactor. ’

It was now the time for Philip and Arthur Kean to
leave home for the University, and the heart of Mr. Grey
yearned for the youth whose generous and amiable dis-
position he feared would expose him to temptations as
yet unknown under the protecting roof of his forefathers.
Mrs. Courtenay, Rosamond, and other friends, were at
Ellesmere to take leave of the young heir who was now
to encounter for the first time the pleasures and allure-
ments of the world. The bright sabbath morning was
radiant in the warmth and joy of early summer, and it
was the day for Mr. Grey to preach in the little chapel in
the park. The family having repaired thither, were
seated, and the colored people of the estate sat in their
sunday clothes and best behavior, awaiting the beginning
of the services. Several neighboring families were also
present, and all observed the evident emotion of the
minister, as he arose and announced for his text:

“And Saul said unto David, ‘Go and may the Lord be with
you.’”?

“ Dearly beloved,” said Mr. Grey, “these memorable
words were uttered on the occasion of a great crisis 1n
the affairs of two nations. As the bright rays of the
morning sun illumined the crests of the Judean hills, on
opposite mountains, across the narrow valley of Elah,
stood the confronting hosts of the Israelites and Philis-
tines. The long lines, with waving penons and flashing

    
   
 
 
 

  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

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198 The Heirs of Si. Kilda.

armor gazed upon each other with all the hatred gendered
in centuries of warfare between rival races. Both sides
had prepared for a terrible conflict, and

‘Far in the horizon, to the north, appear’d

From skirt to skirt, a fiery region, stretch’d

In battailous aspect, and, nearer view

Bristled with upright beams innumerable

Of rigid spears, and helmets throng’d, and shields
Various, with boastful argument portrayed.’

“ For forty days the son of Kish had borne the repeated
challenges of his enemies. Day after day Goliath of
Gath had retired unencountered from his tender of com-
bat. The brave blood seemed utterly extinct in the ranks
of Israel. Jerrubbaal had for ages slept with his fathers,
and Samson’s heroic death failed to awaken a kindred
daring in the hearts of his countrymen. The boastful
words of the giant were all unpunished, and the hosts of
the Lord shrank cowering with none of their mighty
men to accept of the wager of battle.

“Such was the condition of affairs when a new spectator
appeared upon the stirring scene. ‘To the amazement of
every one in Loth of the confronting lines, a youth, whose
cheeks were yet beardless and unbronzed by service, came
forward to accept the long-tendered challenge. That
Saul and his followers should have at all entrusted their
honor to the keeping of the lad evinced their intimidation
and fear of the giant. The Lord of hosts was about to
give his chosen people another instance of His protecting
power. While dismay chilled the hearts of those to whom
the nation looked for deliverance, His spirit was breath-
ing upon the heart of the strippling. David in his shep-
herd garb had asked permission of the king to do battle

 

Mr. Grey. 199

in his behalf, Refusing the assistance of all the martial
preparations of that age, with nothing but his sling and
the smooth pebbles from the brook, the young hero stood
ready to commence the seemingly unequal-contest,
“Truly, my brethren, there have been but few inci-
dents in the history of the world of such moral sublimity
as this. Let us imagine the tall figure of Saul, as he
stood up to give David his parting blessing. One of them,
with all his royal dignity and experience in war, was the
slave of doubt and dismay; the other, in his almost
maiden modesty, serene and confident on the very verge
of conflict. ;
“he first thought that presents itself in this beautiful
episode, is one well worthy of consideration by men of all
ages and conditions. Was Saul mistaken in invoking
the divine presence? Were these the words of an un-
meaning ceremony, or the evidences of a vain trust in
one who has no existence? Was he justified in fact and
the traditions of his fathers, in saying to the young hero,
‘Go, and may the Lord be with you’? From the days of
Abraham until that time, the history of His peculiar peo-
ple had been one long lesson of the great truth, that God
not only is with nations who put their trust in him, but
innumerable individual instances had testified his pro-
tecting care of his servants. Though many centuries lay
between their eras, King Saul could not have forgotten
the story of Noah’s preservation from the pervading dis-
aster, which, in righteous judgment, had been sent ay
the world. Think you he was oblivious of Joseph s
sudden advancement from a dungeon to a great station
and lasting prosperity, or could he have been more igno-
rant than the Philistines, who yet trembled as they re-

 
 

  

  
 
 
  

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200 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

/

called the memory of the Exodus and the subsequent
triumphs of Joshua’s advent? Could the sword of the
Lord and of Gideon have passed from the recollection of
the race, or can you imagine that a man in either army
failed to remember the answered prayer of blinded and
despairing Samson? No, my brethren, the prophet
Samuel was yet alive in the land, and the royal Jew well
understood he was uttering no empty invocation in the
wise and affectionate words he used.

“God has been with righteous men since the creation
of our species, and no man since Enoch’s translation, in
possession of the convincing proof, is for a moment justi-
fied in a serious doubt on the subject. The accumulation
of testimony on this point has been going on with con-
stantly deepening certainty from age to age, until now it
is amazing that any reasonable being should hesitate for
a moment in giving full and perfect credence to the un-
failing goodness of God to his creature man. Saul, as he
gave this parting blessing to the young lad, had never a
doubt of the happiness and safety of those entitled to
such protection. Who can study without pity the tale of
his own life? Up to this time the blessings of heaven
had been with him. In his early manhood he had gone
out in search of his father’s lost asses, and found empire
and rule before his return. Victory and prosperity had
flowed as a river around him. As yet, the Benjamite re-
membered his origin, and was humble before the power
which had, with no effort on his part, made him the king
of a nation.

“ Alas! my brethren, this favorite of heaven, like many
others, could not bear the dizzy exaltation to which the
favor of God had raised him ; and we find him, in the

 

Mr. Grey. 201

sacred history, abandoned to remorse, and in the deep
watches of the night consulting the woman of Endor
whose sinful practices he had forbidden. Follow him a
little further on his course, and you see the career which
had opened so auspiciously at Mizpeh, closing ae
gloom of defeat and death on the bloody field of Gilboa.
“God kad, in those days, frequently manifested Him-
self unto His people as their kind and forbearing protec:
tor. He had led their fathers, by cloud and by fire,
through the dreary wilderness and the retiring waters of
the sea. They had seen pursuing Pharaoh and his count:
less hosts overwhelmed. The impregnable walls of Jericho
had gone down before the blast of rams’ horns. They
had looked upon the smoking mountain, and heard i
thunders of omnipotence at Sinai, and alas! they ha
also witnessed the consuming wrath of God in the pun-
jshment of their sins. But they had not seen what we
know He has done for us. He had not then sent his Son
into the world to die for us. Christ had not then assumed
our nature, and walked with man as brother with brother.
In all bis kindness to his people, He was yet full of un-
approachable majesty. The veil was not yet rent, and
the soul that presumed to thrust its sinful presence into
the Holy of Holies was cut off from among men. Christ,
our loving and affectionate friend, had not wept with a
sorrowing sisters of Lazarus, and no woman taken in te
act of crime had been dismissed with the gentle eee
tion, ‘Go and sin no more. Our gracious Master Pe
not then declared, ‘ He that eateth my flesh and ae
my blood, dwelleth in me and [in him. vane os <
God that taketh away the sins of the world, pad not, nae
His own death, sanctified His declaration, that ‘ Greater

—

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202

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life
for his friend.’ While they knew there was an all-wise
and just God, His Son had not yet declared, there is one
supreme in heaven and earth who yet ‘sticketh closer
than a brother.’ No dying thief, repentant in his last
moments, had heard, as his ears grew dull and callous in
dissolution, the promise, ‘ This day shalt thou be with me
in Paradise.’

“Oh! my brethren, would that we could fully appre-
ciate this matchless blessing that Saul invoked in Dayid’s
behalf. Oh! that our sinful natures would allow us to
realize what it is to go and have God with us all along
our weary way in this life. Oh! that we had thus that
“peace of mind which passeth all understanding,’ and that
consolation which the world cannot give, and feel with
the Apostle of the Gentiles, ‘there is around us that love
from which neither height, nor depth, nor things present,

nor power or principalities can separate us.’ Let no man.

doubt that God walks with His faithful servants. Let
not the reprobate think that because ‘ He sendeth rain on
the just and the unjust,’ that the wicked shal! prosper, or
the seed of the righteous shall come to want.’ God is not
only ‘in us and over us, to work out a far more exceed-
ing and eternal weight of glory,’ but as surely as we live,
‘the angel of the Lord encamps around about those who
put their trust in Him?

“Then Saul was using no idle ceremony in his bene-
diction. He was invoking in David’s behalf a blessing
compared to which all other advantages, that can be im-
agined in the heart of man, are small and insignificant.
What are station, wealth, and the world’s applause, to the
comfortable assurance of him included in the gracious

 

_ soul’s agonized craving for help

  

Mr. Grey. 208

promise, that ‘He sball give His angels charge ae
thee? What are the empty delusions and eee Se
of those who put their trust in riches, compare

serene and undisturbed repose of him who Pie ok
the blessing of God? Who can fathom His goo a oe
mercy, or weigh in golden scales the Coa <
protecting presence? Long years after the ee HAS
luded to in my text, David, realizing that Go i Fe

swered Saul’s wish in his behalf, at the close of ais ie
and prosperous reign, after subduing all his ene! he
and the dauntless boy had become the ee
conscious of the blessings he enjoyed, the king Soe
‘Who am I, and what is my house, that thou hast broug

me hither?’ aes
a As great and ineffable as this blessing of ae ae
tecting presence is in this life, how can I hope é Hee
the tremendous and inevitable necessity of its he " :
last hours on earth? If it is so important to our ee
ness and success in the brief interval allotted to We o
this world, to what unspeakable dimensions does 1 a
erease with the approach of the next. If sorrow a

. ‘ith-
misfortune so darken the lives of the best men, that wi

m to lean upon existence is often a

out an omnipotent arr ee
v igh i burden, what shall be sai
ea ones as it passes ‘the dark

valley and shadow of death? Oh! that each of us ae
realize the nature and extent of that dreadful eae ie
Would to God that all men would remember, - Fh
no continuing city in this world; that our tee cae
are but a short pilgrimage in a weary land. Cae
and uncertain as they are, and fearful and aa a
is the approach of death, if God has walked with us,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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204 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

we with Him, the king of terrors is robbed of much that
is hideous in his aspect, and we

‘ Approach our graves
Like one that draws the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.’

“Tn contemplating such a close of ‘life’s fitful fever,’
even venal Balaam was enraptured as he viewed the
white tents and goodly array of the host he was sent to
curse. Disregarding the wishes of Balak, and recognizing
the blessedness of the chosen people of the Lord, he rap-
turously exclaimed: ‘ Let me die tlie death of the right-
eous, and let my last end be like his,’

“The circumstances which combine to show the advant-
age of those realizing in this life the continual protection
of God’s presence, are so numerous that their very pro-
fusion is a source of embarrassment to him who, from
their vast number, essays to select illustrations to support
that which, by this time, should have become evident to:
the understanding of all men. Some author has remarked
that an unbelieving astronomer is mad, but the grand
thoughts and sublimated faith born of nightly vigils and
communion with the circling worlds which throng the
depths of infinite space, are no more necessary corolaries
than should be, to other men, an unfaltering trust in the
goodness of that care promised to the faithful. He that
keepeth Israel shall not slumber nor sleep. My brethren,
let us not repine under affliction or grow timid in con-
fronting calamity. Impenitent weakness may well grow
pale in the presence of danger and death.

‘These thoughts may startle well, but not astound,
The virtuous mind that ever walks attended
By a strong siding champion, conscience.’

 

Mr. Grey. 205

“We know that darkness and solitude Sane ee,
through the battle of life who attempts to = : He
the kindly offices and counsel of his fellows. a ve
have passed their time in wretched genes wie
the monuments of their own folly. One of the i vs
of all truths that experience thrusts upon us an ie
social enjoyments is the fact that nothing 1s cae ee
tain and more the sport of circumstances than t his ee
exchange of regard. No species of hypocrisy 18 Nee
frequent than the show of affection between aoe He
interest and advancement are generally the contro ne
motives which underly and direct human pate:
sanctified by the grace of God. It Is ie ee =
spring, added to the knowledge that ae ae
almost necessarily abortive, that men court the 2 ee
of each other, and in this way, at rare ae a o
been reared structures of love and confidence be :
the blood in their recital, like the peal of a eee
Who can read unmoved the story: of aay eas abt
David, and the grief of the surviving See oe
tidings from Gilboa? ‘I am distressed for in es
brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou oe vane
thy love to me was wonderful, passing the me A a
Then too, we have that sweetest of all sacre ¥ ee
devotion of fair young Ruth to the desolate an gh
Naomi. In profane story we have Pythagorean

i e
ready to die for his friend, and in later days the courag

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of that high-born maiden who, hearing the footsteps 0

own
treason and death approaching her fo eens
beautiful arm as a bar into the iron fastning 0

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206 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“My brethren, let us thank God, there is noble and
disinterested friendship on earth, and as we recognize the
value of this privilege to what height of joy should we
rise, as we realize the possibility of the love of him who
crowneth us with mercy and loving kindness.

“How much better, then, was the simple benediction of
king Saul than all the elaborate worldly wisdom unsanc-
tified intelligence confers. Many of us have read with
pleasure the parting words of advice which the greatest

of the poets imagined in a wise and crafty father, to his
son on the threshold of manhood: ;

“To thine own self be true,
And it must follow as night the day

Thou canst not be false to any man.’

“ Brethren, the measure of our duty is not thus fulfilled,
for however perfect the discharge of our obligations to
man, our maker and preserver should be first in our
thoughts. The recognition of this all-important truth,
and the discharge of the duty arising therefrom, assure
us happiness in this world and the next, and enable us>
to trust him in whose goodness there is no variableness
nor shadow of turning. Of a man in such blessed estate
David has declared, ‘ He shall be like a tree planted by
the river of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his
season ; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he
doeth shall prosper.’

“Then, if God goes with men, and great blessings fol-
low His gracious presence, the question naturally arises,
why He walks not with every descendant of Adam?
The answer to this most important of all inquiries carries
us back to that paradise lost by our first parents. The

 

7
Mr. Grey. ay

inborn proclivity to sin that led them Cena
transmitted to all their posterity, and they neice
sought God in their counsels. If they Caan ae
this in so many words, they have in their ac . ee
the French mob when drunk with the blood i im coe
as a climax to their infinite folly and shame, t ae a
religion, and paid toa prostitute the honors ae
How often, amid the wondrous and ee eye
of the Exodus was Israel sighing for tbe oes ts
Egypt, and how could David, the man after me cane
heart, have so despised his favor, in his sin * ae
wife! Solomon perhaps enjoyed all that his ne oe
imagine, and yet, with his surpassing wisdorn, Hh ie
enough to forfeit at last the crowning blessing _ Bei
so it will be with all nations and individuals w ie a
God. If we turn aside from him we need Se Aone
the large bounty of his promise, and it 18 only ca
his forbearance that we, like the barren fig ire ae :
stricken down in our places. That he NEE Beak
disregard his commands, persecute his ea a ce
his own holy name, does not show that the i rene
them, but it does prove that His merey endure : ae
“Phe divine favor to some men is often full o a A :
tous. The craft and subtilty of Jacob was pre. oe
the unselfish magnanimity of Esau. The nee ie
devotion of Jonathan could not atone for the eae
father; and we can almost weep for ee el
tain, when he went on Pisgah to die wit ane Gt
pouring its flood between him and the pro Taras
But God doeth all things well; and it is i ee
question his ways, as unwise to resist his decr fae oe
isan old maxim among the English lawyers,

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

208 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

king can do no harm to his subjects. They say, as the
sovereign is the source of all law, and liberty nothing
but franchises from the crown, therefore he can commit
no infraction of rules granted by himself. God is the
fountain of all truth and justice, and if he is gracious to
one individual, asin early childhood to Samuel, we can
only say that we are clay in the potter’s hands. If after
reaching accountability we lose his favor, it is only due
to our sins that such is the fact. God’s choice of men is
one of the inseparable attributes of his majesty. Let us
strive, my brethren, to make our calling and election
sure.

“Then we may say, it is evident to the eyes of all who
are not wilfully blind, that God is just in not walking
with every one. Saul might well say to the young lad
who, in the simplicity of his innocent trust, was willing
to die for the good of his people, ‘Go, and may the Lord
be with you,’ but how could Elijah have justified him-
self in using such language to king Ahab in any of his
war-like expeditions? Could the mighty Tishbite, with
all the favor God so lavishly showered upon him, have
dared to invoke that pure presence upon such a man as
the husband of Jezebel? Our sins drive God from us,
my brethren, often when he is moving upon our souls.
Since the cloven tongues of Pentecost, a richer heritage
of his grace has been given the world; but men in our
day grieve and expel the Holy Spirit as they did in an-
cient times. Do they forget there is a limit to the almost
infinite forbearance of God? Have they yet to hear the
declaration, ‘My spirit shall not always strive with the
sons of men?’ Can we not realize that ‘out of Christ
the wrath of God is a consuming fire?’ Alas! human

 

enn

Mr. Grey. 209

depravity sometimes reaches such a stage In its hee
to perdition, that the patient Saviour of the Wh he
verts his pity into frowning and resistless In Bae oe
Ob! my brethren, how shall I picture the state a ae
without God and without hope in the world ? we
shall I say of him who stands without an intercessor, ex

« posed to the anger of God? Whither shall he turn to:

escape the tremendous energy of immortal wrath : ae nk
ascend up into heaven,’ says the Psalmist, thou ar : A
if I make my bed in hell, behold thou art there; if Ita ;
the wings of the morning and dwell in the uanen
parts of the earth, even there shall thy hand lead me, and.
right hand shall hold me.’

a The most appalling scene imaginable is that of a ce
abandoned by heaven. I can conceive of nothing so ee
terly wretched, as an immortal spirit thus given ah i
God to irretrievable woe. Let us thank him that -
seldom the case with those in the bloom of youth. : ae
wicked as they sometimes become, even at tas ye a
rarely sink so deeply at once in guilt as to vee He
wooing whisper of the still, small voice. We fin ie
hopelessly lost among those whose hoary ae are a
soming for the grave, and who in their long ee o
committed every crime which an imagination i e : i
misdeeds and the conception thereof, can devise ; ule
have reyelled for years in iniquity ; who have pees |
scorn the warnings they have received; who have a ee
sin as a sweet morsel under their tongues ; and i ae.
lives have been one long effort to resist the duty on
manded at their hands. What a ghastly scene ise :
death-bed of such a man! How pitiable and i i
then become the hardihood that derided morality anc.

14

 
ited ncaa ds cee ee

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

210 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

despised justice! How craven the spirit that once laughed
at danger, and seemed to bear a charmed life amid the
shafts of death! Look at the shrunken limbs wasted by
disease contracted in nights of debauchery! Hear the
feeble whine of that voice which once rang like a trum-
pet; look at that animated skeleton, and realize, if you
can, that here was once

* A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every God did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man.’

‘Listen to the mutterings of the tongue, refusing to do its
office, in now useless prayer! See how the glaring eyes

:grow dim, and the sunken cheeks pale in approaching
‘dissolution! and you will appreciate what it is to live
.and die without hope in God.

“These remarks and the subject I have discussed to-

‘day, seem to me peculiarly appropriate at this season.
Some of you, dear to my heart, who have long attended

my humble efforts to preach the gospel, are, like David,
about to go forth to encounter danger; my heart yearns

-for you when I think of the temptations that lie in wait
‘for you so thickly along the pathway of life. The straight
-and narrow way of truth, with all its beautiful simplicity,

is.so apt to appear forbidding to the warm imagination

_of youth, that the seductions therefrom are too often suc-

cessful. ‘Where-withal,’ said the wisest of men, ‘shall a

young man cleanse his way?’ And this remark implies

the difficulty of correct deportment at such an age. But

if youth is the period of warm passions, it is also that of

heart-tenderness. Habit and skepticism have not then

‘made callous the affections of the soul. Oh! my young
hearers, let me.beseech you to love the Lamb of God,

 

     

Mr. Grey. 211

while you are yet in the innocence and Joy of the morn.
Let not the pleasures and vanities of this life pall on your
taste, before you begin the great work of preparation for

eternity. Ask of the libertine if he has found rest amid .

his voluptuous indulgences, and you will find him mis-
erable. Go to the Sybarite, who is too refined to seek
pleasure in the gross joys of the sensualist, and he will
tell you his beautiful dreams of bliss are all unrealized.
Go to the man of ambition, and he will say the shouts of
popular applause are but two often the empty clamor of
ignorance. Inquire of him who revels in the delights of
fashionable society, and with experience he will agree
with Shenstone,

‘ Whoe’er has trayeled life’s dull round,
Where’er its stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found

The warmest welcome at an inn.

“Oh! my brethren, trust to the experience of all men,
when they tell you the fleeting joys of this world turn to
ashes like Dead Sea fruit upon our lips. And now, in
conclusion, let us take to our hearts Saul’s benediction to
David, and I say to those of you about to go out into the
great world, “ May the Lord go with you; and may the
grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and
the fellowship of the Holy Ghost be with us all, evermore.

After the services had ended, Philip and Rosamond
lingered in the church-yard, walking slowly among the
monuments. The effect of the deep, shadowy quiet was
heightened by the presence of the dead. Mr. Grey's ser-
mon had much affected Philip, for he well knew he was
uppermost in the good man’s thoughts, in the choice of

   

  

PINES

NT ET ET TON TE NT IE TT I TET IEE RE EY A RSI OP NR POR TH Scanner
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

212 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

his subject. The pointed allusions to himself; the un-
usual fervor of manner, and the unbidden tears, which
at times welled up in the minister’s eyes, were all unmis-

_takable symptoms of the affectionate interest on the part
of the teacher in his former pupil. Mr. Grey, on leaving
the chapel, and seeing the young couple near the marble
shaft raised to Templeton St. George’s memory, joined
them and said:

“My children, I gave you my farewell warning to-day.

You are both going out from the homes which have so
long sheltered you from the hardships and temptations
of life. I trust you will both treasure up what I have
said, and remember that love dictated the counsel.”

“Be sure, Mr. Grey,” said Philip, “I shall never cease
to remember and reverence you. Your sermon to-day
lays me under fresh obligations, and I am sure, while life
and reason last, I shall frequently recall your counsel and
example. Rosamond and myself were just speaking of
you, sir.”

“ Yes, Mr. Grey,” said Rosamond, “we have been say-
ing such things about you as we really felt. Weare older
than most boys and girls when sent from home for the
first time, and with the care that has been bestowed upon
us we should be recreant to forget the good advice you
have so often given us.”

“Philip, when you are at the University I still love
as my Alma Mater, and you, Rosamond, in that giddy
city, I desire you both to write me whenever your minds
are troubled with doubt and temptation, and I will
endeavor in my replies to vindicate the ways of God with
man. Examine the foundations of our religion, and see
how from Abraham to the present day, not only the

 

ced

Mr. Grey. 213

prophecies have been fulfilled, but see in the types and
shadows the coming of Christ foretold as plainly as in
the rapt visions of Isaiah. The struggle dle
christianity and infidelity still continues, and is ne
assuming new phases in the lapse of time. Rest assure

that a system which has triumphed so long will survive
unimpaired all future objections. I desire you to ie
your faith serene, and in all your investigations on ee
momentous subject, humbly trust in God for the truth,

and he will solve every doubt which may arise.” ns
Philip felt a melancholy satisfaction in surveying the

objects around which, since his infancy, had been so pe
liar to his eyes. He was on the eve of his first consider-
able separation from them, and knew it would be a
before he again should know Ellesmere as his se <
domicile. It was natural that one who had been reare
in so much affection should now feel distressed, as the
shades of the last evening at home deepened around a
Long and tender were his conferences with Mariana a
Rosamond. The beautiful blind girl was giving up i
dearest earthly joy, but never a word escaped her to sa :
den the brother whose future usefulness much depende
on a wise separation from his home. Rosamond aes
felt a keener pang in parting: for deep as was the sister's
love, there was now in the heart of the cousin a passion
to which all other emotions pale their ineffectual aie
Her tall, slender figure had latterly acquired ve ts
grace, and the dark eyes seemed to have a
fathomless profundity, with their ever-changing Detray

of the heart’s images.

    

 
Sti itis ances give dearest clues

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lhe Heivs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER XII.

PHILIP AT COLLEGE.

“THERE in each breast each active power dilates
Which broils whole nations, and convulses states >
And in a smaller range, a smaller sphere,

The dark @eformities of man appear.

Yet there the gentler virtues kindred claim,
There Friendship lights her pure untainted flame,
There mild Benevolence delights to dwell,

And sweet Contentment rests without her cell.”

—Childhood.

Puitrp had matriculated at the University as a mem-
ber of the senior class, and Arthur Kean, having accom-
panied him, was in the law school. Judge Eustace’s
watchful care had not relaxed in its attention to the
comfort of his grandson, now that increasing years had
borne him from his immediate presence. An agent, sent
from Ellesmere, had rented for Philip and Arthur Kean
the spare rooms of a widowed lady, who lived in the
village, close to the walls encompassing the college campus,
and on their arrival they found every thing arranged for
immediate possession. The buildings and grounds at-
tached to the institution, the pretty village and pleasant
surrounding landscape atoned for much of the enjoyment
Philip had left behind him in the beautiful valley of his
nativity. He and Arthur Kean were soon strolling
through the walks where in golden-visioned youth had
loitered so many predecessors since grown famous in the
land. As they looked upon the ancient oaks they could
but remember the orators, statesmen, jurists, and divines,
who had there laid the foundations of their future great-

 

Philip at College. 215

ness, and thrills of hope for future emulation expanded
the hearts so full of homage to maturer powers. Ae
vast poplar, towering the monarch of all its sue re
companions, was pointed out as hallowed by ae a
dition of deeds yet remembered in college legend. ne
Everything around wore a look of studious nek ‘ .
the venerable walls of the buildings seemed redo sf :
memories haunting their chambers. Hundreds i oe
ents sauntered on the walks, or clustered ee ‘
stone steps of the different edifices, while lusty aa ;
greeted the cars of each luckless fresliman who they
to show himself unaccompanied by an older mere ver
college. Kean and Philip, being of the class panne) e
“ newies” were thus saluted; but some one ene hee
position shouted at the top of his voice the truth o ie
status, which acted like a charm, for every icc
traditional usage forced to treat a senior as one 0 nt te
magnates. They were looked upon as an eat oe
their little republic, and members of the lower ei
were proud of the honor of their notice and eee a
The sophomores, who had emerged from the oe
of freshman year six weeks before, looked down on _
successors in immeasurable disdain, and were their ¢ s
tormentors. As the two friends were passing the ie
the south building, they were recognized by i e
Ridgely, the only son of the master of te
Kilda Valley. Hehad been at Ellesmere during the p
vacation, and had just arrived. i i
“Philip, I am aid to see you at the Hes
last,” said he. “ Allow me to extend my congre ae
on your success in getting into the senior class; eee
graduates of a respectable institution, who were des

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

216 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

of taking degrees here, were forced to enter our class last
year as we rose juniors.”

“Thank you,” said Philip. “Several of the faculty
desired me to do the same. They did not object to my
scholarship, but disliked to grant diplomas to those who
have not been members of the University two years. My
grandfather had written to the president, and I suppose
his influence was the cause of my success.”

“The Governor, as we call him,” said Alfred Ridgely,
“is a trump, and I advise you to make him your friend,
“for in my estimation he is one of our first men, and is
as kind as a father to those so fortunate as to attract his
esteem.”

“T am much pleased with him,” said Philip, “but he
certainly would make the worst model for a statue of
Apollo I have ever seen among men not actually deform-
ed. There is much dignity and kindness in his face, but
I do not believe that even his wife could have ever
thought him handsome.”

“Tam not certain of that,” said Ridgely, “for I have
often heard women speak of the beauty of their husbands
whose charms were undiscoverable to other eyes. Shak-
‘speare did not over-step the modesty of nature very much
when he made Bottom declare, ‘Truth, reason and love
keep little company together.’ ”

Frederick Compton, having joined them, had been
pointing out to Kean so many students, that the latter
was surprised at the amount of information acquired in
the two days he had been a member of the University.
Philip invited his two acquaintances to tea with him that
evening, and they were soon in his rooms. Alfred
Ridgely was four years older than Philip, and had been

 

 

Philip at College. 217

much of his time absent from home; so the two young
men had seen little of each other for years, except a va-
cation. After supper, Philip joined his guests 2 t es
enjoyment of the Virginia weed, for in reaching ie ie
lege dignity he had taken a a see ame g
uperior dignity of the learne ies Q
e en Philip,” anid Fred. Compton, “this is ae
Tunning red foxes and getting snapped up by wou

wolves.”
ili i e is to
“No,” answered Philip; “but as Reginald Van

i i me
marry cousin Helen, she will keep him so close at home,

game will be abundant by the time we get geen
promised to keep the cover at the foot of Sorrell’s

o ”
inviolate until we can make another raid upon its aan
“Philip,” said Ridgely, “ you will haye to ate :
with your horses, or you will have them ae : ara
brought Nelly Gwynn with me last winter, ani fe
friends have injured her so much she will never es i
It was a rare scene, when Bob Truesdale, to whom :
loaned her, spoilt for the sake of a frolic one of the games
animals I ever saw.”

i ” cried all.
. “ How was that, Ridgely ?” cried all.
“Tt was a mieten day for the militia, and as the regi

ment was to parade near the University, many of oy
students went to the field to witness the ae
their country’s defenders. After much bargaining Bae
the countrymen, a large portion of the students - a
themselves for a drill under Truesdale, who had be i
‘member of a volunteer cavalry company at ee oe
colonel of the militia did not relish the idea a t uae
position on the field which he had supposed the es a
theatre of his own glory, and sent a guard, armed w

 
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218 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

unloaded shot guns, to expel the intruders, by this time
often charging and wheeling in alarming proximity to
his regimental flanks. The improvised cavalrymen had,
by general contribution, purchased a barrel of whisky,
and were ready to say with Tom O’Shanter :

‘ With tupenny we fear no evil,
With usquebah we'd face the devil.’

The demand made by the guard, that they should quit
the field, was resented as an insult to free Americans;
and soon, instigated by drink and their own native dev-
iltry, the students had the luckless squad of infantry in
rapid retreat on their main body. The colonel had just
deployed his command, when by order of Truesdale the
literary horsemen, howling like savages, charged in mad
career full upon the startled militia. Never was field so
quickly won or ingloriously abandoned. The mounted
officers led the confused mass, as with flying feet they
sought the shelter of a neighboring wood. Elated with
their victory, they came to town with the horses they had
hired for only an hour, and made night hideous with

_ their clamorous charges through the streets. The militia

were so badly frightened they recovered their horses as
quietly as possible, making but small mention of a dis-
aster which doubtless many of them considered a defeat
as fearful if not as bloody as Waterloo itself.”

“What did the university authorities say on the sub-
ject?” said Kean. “The story must have reached their
ears.”

“They doomed Truesdale to perpetual exile from these
sacred haunts.”

“Ts our Greek Professor a man of violent temper ?”

 

el

Philip at College. 219

asked Philip. “My first impression Jed me to ae
was very pleasant, but in his examination of me on the

Greek tragedies, after dwelling, as I thought, long enough

on the third syllable of Philoctetes to please the ear of
most fastidious critic, I heard him, as it were, gaping or
breath. I looked at his countenance, and O horror: a
was glaring on me like a fiend. His eyes aan wi :
fury-the muscles of his face hideously distorte —anl

when I discovered the cause of all this wrath, ib was 0c-

. . sy ne
casioned by my shortening that ante-penu

Before Philip had ended this description, ride
intoa fit of ungovernable laughter, astonishing the hee
who could not imagine any ground for so much mirth in

Philip’s account of ill-humor in the Professor.

heart of that man,” said Ridgely. “ Philip, oe
for your description of Mr. Reiter’s horror of 2 ae
quantity, and the idea of that harmless gentleman ire
was so amusing I could not control myself. There isn
a gentler man alive, and the fury you iy
torting his face was nothing but an unfortunate hab °
making wry faces, to be rid of which he, I a :
give a kingdom. I have never known a kinder nee
Whenever in a position to justify it, he treats the younges
student with as much consideration as Gov. Young ee
self, His eccentricity has enabled the wags of all the
classes to teaze him unmercifully, but his good temper
survives unharmed all these trials.”

Occasional shouts were heard in the campus, :
soon swelled into a wild uproar ; and his Oe saan
ing nothing of what they meant were told by Riagely

that the blacking club was going its rounds, and the

which

 

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220

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

members amusing themselves with painting the faces of
the freshmen. A pistol shot was fired about this time
and the report reached the four young men through the
open windows as they sat conversing. This so excited
Frederick Compton, that he proposed to go to the build-
ings to learn the nature of the difficulty calling for the
use of deadly weapons.

A I advise you, Compton, to stay where you are,” said
Ridgely. “The faculty will certainly be on hand to put
a stop to the affair, and your going there might subject
you to misconstrtiction,”

“Yes, I would certainly remain here, Frederick,” said
Kean. “These violent aggressions of the older siddente
upon the young boys just from home are wrong and
should be discountenanced. I can see neither wit nor

c , of the room of a poor stripling grieving for
his newly-lost protectors. Instead of there being pleasure
in such proceedings, they are, in my opinion, unmanly
and disgraceful. I Suppose those who participate in such
things think it ludicrous if a friendless boy should be
terrified at the menaces of a large crowd hideously dis-
guised in their clothing and the liquor which has made
them brutes.”

“Oh, I did not expect to join in the blacking,” said
Compton. “TI only wished to see what was going on.”
“Then, Fred.,” said Philip, “you are countenancing
these proceedings. I am determined hever to engage in
anything I should be ashamed to confess.”
A knock was heard at the front door, and Philip’s
servant, Reuben, coining into the room, announced Gov.
Young. Philip at once went to meet him. ;

 

   

8
§
‘

Philip at College. 221

“Mr. Eustace,” said he, “I am glad to find you at home
this evening, as there is a serious disturbance among the
students. I hope you will always continue to act with
the same discretion, when the folly of others leads. them
to such acts as you hear going on in the campus. Your
father and grandfather were students of whom this insti-
tution bas ever been proud, and I trust you will follow
their example.”

“T shall assuredly try, sir.”

Gov. Young glanced in to see who was present, and
taking down their names departed.

“Gov. Young is one of the most remarkable men, in
many respects, I ever knew,” said Ridgely. “He was
born and reared with but slender advantages, and yet
has not ouly reached high judicial honor and the chief

“magistracy of his State, but is now recognized as one of

the ablest college presidents of the land.”

Four students, unacquainted with Philip, called at the
door to request him to allow one of them, who had
received a pistol shot in the shoulder, to use one of his
rooms until he could obtain medical assistance. This
was of course granted. The wounded man was a fair-
hairéd youth from one of the extreme Southern States,
and the pailor and nervous twitchings of his countenance
plainly told of the torture he was undergoing. He was
a young man of noble presence, and Philip wondered at
the singular combination of grace and stoicism exhibited
in his suffering. He was laid upon a lounge, and one of
his friends went for a doctor. Charles Loundes, (for
this was his name), by an odd mixture of gentleness and
utter disregard of danger, was a great favorite among the
hot-spurs, and by his talents won the respectful consider-

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

222 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ation of those who could not commend his reckless lead-
ership in all the frolics and mischief fur months past.
Philip, as he took his hand in introduction, could but
observe the high-born courtesy triumphing over pain.
“I hope you are not hurt seriously, Mr. Loundes,”
said Philip, bending over him and removing the bloody
clothing.
“T fear I am,” said the sufferer, “but it is just punish-
ment for countenancing conduct which my own better
Judgment condemned as brutal. I was knocked up last
year, in trying to prevent the same thing to which I was
at least consenting this time. My chief fear is that

the matter will reach the faculty and cause my expul-
sion.” ‘

“Reuben,” said Kean, “bring plenty of cold water. I

am confident that will be the medical treatment prescribed
when the physician arrives.”

Dr. Johnson soon made his appearance, and having
extracted the ball, which had not penetrated as deeply
as at first expected, administered anodynes both from his
pce chest and the fascination of his conversation.

‘Mr. Loundes,” said he, “you seem unlucky. Last
year about this time you were laid up with a broken

head, and now you are again under the weather. The
fates seem fond of playing you tricks,”

“Yes, Doctor, I am an unluck
my friends think I was bh
mouth.”

“You had better be still here until morning,” said the

doctor, “that is, if you do not incommode the gentlemen
occupying these rooms,”

“Not at all,” said Philip. “ We shall be glad to enter-

y dog, although many of
orn with a silyer spoon in my

 

 

4
:

 

Philip at College. 223

tain Mr. Loundes. If he desires it he can occupy one of
our rooms until he recovers.”

“JT am under many obligations to you, Mr. Eustace, for
your kindness,” said Loundes, “ but I must get back as
early as possible to my chum. He will be lonely if I stay
until this wound heals, for I expect it will keep me a
close prisoner for at least a month. I think, after an
hour or two, it will be best for me, under the friendly
cover of the night, to regain my own quarters. I should
have occupied them as soon as I came to grief, but I found
they were in possession of the faculty, and had to change
my base and assume a new position.”

“Well, go when you please,” said the Doctor, “but be
particular, and do not jar yourself. If you will keep
your arm in asling, and not move the injured muscles,

sI can promise you speedy restoration, for it seems you are
hard to kill anyhow.’’

“What do you think of Dave Fisher's case to-day,
Doctor?” said Ridgely.

“He is very nearly gone, and there is scarcely a hope
of his recovery. He staid here during the vacation, and
has not seen any of his family for two years. The pros-
pect.of seeing them no more on earth seems very distress-
ing to him, and I wish they lived near enough to reach
him in time, as, in that event, 1 would telegraph im-
mediately.”

“ He was a fellow of infinite jest,” said Ridgely, with a
sigh, “indeed a very Yorick in disposition. I have often
sent for him to night suppers in my room, and, though
there were but few present, he would make an after-din-
ner speech witty enough to set any table in a roar. Alas!
poor Fisher, where are his jests now ?”

Oo SESS ESET eaat eee oe PIR sige oo

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224 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

 

“Not to change the subject, Ridgely,” said the Doctor,

“ 7
Mr. Eustace, you must be in some way related to our
present Governor.”

“T am his son, sir.”

“T had supposed So, for you bear strong resemblance
in feature to him; but in your length of limb you are

more like your grandfather. You must be full six feet
in height.”

“That is my present altitude, sir,”

te What has become of Percival St, George? I knew
him in Paris, and Iam confident he was then the hand-
Somest man alive. We went together to the opera, and
heard that wonderful girl whose subsequent death, I
learned, so nearly resulted in his own.”

“My cousin is nearly the same he has been for the last
ten years, and preserves much of his comliness, but is
much altered from what he was when you saw him.”

“ T was never so attracted by a man,” said the Doctor,
“and for hours I have looked on, enraptured with his
ceaseless gaiety, and half realized he was some embodi-
ment of those old dreams which peopled our woods with
fauns. His person was the study of artists, and the
charm of his manner was such, that it seemed I could
never tire of his presence. How he could deny himself
to Society, when his simple appearance was sufficient to
gain all hearts, passes my comprehension. I have sighed
to think his beauty and vivacity should ever be clouded
and lost in the ruin of age. I was never sentimental
about women, but Percival St. George interested me so I
shall never forget him. Mr. Kean, I understand you
were in Europe.”

“Five years of my life were spent there, sir.”

 

     
     

ba

 

Philip at College. 225

“Tam afraid we shall not come up to your ideas of
what a University should be. Indeed I think it a farce
to call a literary institution with a law school attached a
University.” :

“Tt is certainly a misnomer,” said Kean, “if we mean
by the term to convey the idea developed at Oxford and
Cambridge, in England, and similar seats of learning on
the continent. In their numerous schools can be found
a particular foundation for instruction in everything:
worth knowing among men.”

Charles Loundes now concluded that this was a favor-
able time for him to effect his retreat, and he soon reached’
his room in the south building, without attracting the-
attention of the faculty. The conversation was continued!
in the room he had left until late in the night. The:
* next day he was doing so well he was able to entertain:
many friends who came to inquire as to his condition..
He had been, since Truesdale’s expulsion, the leader in.

all mischief-making and tricks upon the faculty. In ad-
dition to his fine presence and generosity, he was largely

gifted with natural eloquence. There was a singular’
firmness in his adhesion to the strange ethics he had.

adopted, and with many his opinions had grown in
weight, until they possessed the sanctions of law. He

believed it the moral duty of every collegian to wage war’

on the faculty whenever opportunity afforded. This he
held to be a natural and fore-ordained state of things, not
to be prosecuted however to any further injury of the
body or estate of his fancied enemy than circumstances
required. The faculty were to be treated with respect in

their presence, but on other occasions everything which.
did not involve positive injury to their character: became:

15

CSTE RTE TEs

wee

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

226 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

legitimate as an engine to bring them into ridicule.
Added to this, he was the best shot, the most daring rider,

and the hardest head to confuse with liquor, and nothing

is wanting to account for his ascendency but the mention
of his lavish expenditure of his wealth.

The next morning he was lying propped up in bed,
and was entertaining his friends in a style which evinced
no depression of spirit from his recent accident. He had
written, by the hand of a crony, a note to the young
freshman who shot him, commending his pluck, and
disclaiming any ill feeling on his part. He freely avowed
that he was the man hit, and threw himself on the boy’s
‘generosity to say nothing of the affair. He had been
waiting for more than an hour to hear what the lad would
‘say to his peaceful overtures, and nothing had been heard

. from his trusty commissioner, Larkins, except that things

were working well. This information was conveyed on a
-small piece of folded paper thrown out of the window to
‘a confederate awaiting despatches below. At length the
‘envoy returned with a message from Sidney Hay, that as
the affair had taken its present turn, he was sorry to have
injured Loundes, and would visit him during the day.
‘The crowd in Hay’s room the night before were disposed
to beat him for firing the pistol, but when the weapon was
wrested from his hands, and the blacking consummated,
-Loundes had gravely assured the crowd he would hold
any man personally responsible for further injury to the
boy. This was sufficient to secure him from further moles:
rtation.

“Well, Charley,” said Henry Norton, “ where did you
‘take yourself last night, when you found the faculty in

.your room ?”

 

         
    

 

Philip at College. 227

*T went to Mrs. Bowles’ house, now occupied by two
new men. Eustace and Kean are their names, and they
are living in a style surpassing anything I have ever seen
among students.” :

“Ridgely says Eustace is as rich as a nabob,” said
Norton, “and I suppose he can afford it, but I don’t see
any necessity for his giving himself such airs.”

“T don’t suppose he thinks of his manner, Norton.
Ridgely says he has been all his life at home, shut up
with grandees and private tutors. I expect this has
caused the hauteur you dislike, but in my opinion he
has the finest manner I have ever seen in a fellow who
knows so little of the world.”

“ How did he receive you, Charley?” said another.

“Well, he was on his dignity until he heard I was

’ hurt, and then he became as pleasant as a May morning.

He has two splendid horses here, and, they say, many
more just as fine at home.”

“T saw them going to water yesterday,” said Larkins,
“ond I cannot tell, for the life of me, which I prefer, the
black or the gray. Charlie, I need not ask you how you
liked that wine he gave us; I could see how you relished
ites :

“A drink fit for the gods!” said Loundes.

Dr. Johnson now made his appearance, followed by
Philip’s man Reuben, who came to present his master’s
compliments, and to ask how Mr. Loundes had ‘rested,
and further to beg his acceptance of a few bottles of
wine, hoping he would find them beneficial in his sick-
ness.

“Loundes,” said the doctor, “the wine will be of service

*

   

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228 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

to you, if properly used—but I need not say too much
will endanger your life.”

“T will drink it to a. drop in accordance with your di-
rections. Larkins, write to Mr. Eustace, and say I am
doing well, and would be pleased to see him here. Tender
him my thanks for his kindness last night, and the wine
he has sent.”

After Dr. Johnston had examined and dressed the
wound, he filled his pipe and sat down for a talk.

“Loundes,” said he, “those young men down at Mrs.
Bowles’ are fine fellows, and I do not know when I have
met two strangers who have impressed me more agree~
akly. They are men of good sense and have evidently
been well raised.”

“They are devilish nice fellows, doctor;. at least, Eus-
tace is. I cannot say that I faney Kean so much. Is not,
Eustace fine looking ?”

“His is the most remarkable family in that respect I
ever saw. They are all very much alike. You have
seen Gov. Eustace here, and know his appearance, but
Percival St. George, of whom you heard me speak last

night, when he was young would haye attracted Venus
from Adonis himself.”

Philip, with no effort of his own, was now winning the
favorable opinion of those students whose acquaintance
eould not be reasonably expected to afford much advan-
tage beyond an enlargement of his knowledge of human
character. With most youths this sudden introduction
to the favor of one like Charles Loundes would have been
too apt to result in disaster, unless the bad influence
should be counteracted by something extraordinary. In

the evening after prayers, Philip and Kean rode out on

 

         
    

Philip at College. 229

horseback, and enjoyed the soft outlines of the surround-
ing country. They found that the village, which sur-
rounded the University on three sides, was situated on a
lofty hill with many beautiful views around, It, fell far
below the attractiveness of the grander elevations which
held in everlasting embrace the happy Valley of St.
Kilda. Philip’s mind and heart went back to those
fondly remembered haunts, and dwelt tenderly on the

memory of his fair home, and the dear ones clustered .

around the family altars at Ellesmere. On their return
they rode into the campus and up to the building where
Loundes lay disabled. Kean sat on horseback and held
the horses while Philip made a hasty call on the wounded
chief.

The students gathered around to inspeet the beauty of
the steeds, and Black Sultan resented the unusual con-
course and scrutiny by angry symptoms of his displeasure,
but Philip having returned, the proud animal moved off
as if half conscious of the applause he was exciting.
The next morning was the occurrence of his first Sabbath
at college, and at the ringing of the bell the two friends
repaired to the chapel. Here they observed several pretty
faces among the village girls, but one, a daughter of a
professor, was surpassingly lovely. Philip thought of
Mariana and Rosamond as soon as he saw her, although
her beauty was of an entirely different order. The
heiress of Thorndale’s face was full of passionate longing,
and her full, dark eyes seemed ever aglow with some
subtle enthusiasm, while the grey eyes of the University
heauty were cold and passionless. The serenity of Mariana,
with her abstract and heavenly illumination, seemed half
unconscious of things around, but Lilly Seaton was full

   

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230 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

of observation for everything that transpired in her
watchful presence. Philip had heard Alfred Ridgely
frequently refer to her attractiveness, for he, like a host
of others, was desperately in love with the belle of the
college.

One of the professors was to preach, and took for his
text the parable of Dives and Lazarus. He was a short,
stout man, with a harsh voice and large, fiery eyes, and
was full of curious ideas of elocution. He was always
insisting on the student’s suiting their voices to the mat-
ter declaimed, and, never being satisfied with their per-
formances, was eagerly criticized himself whenever an
opportunity offered. He commenced his sermon with a
dry recital of the story of the rich man’s profligacy ; how
he spent his time in purple and fine clothing, and amid
his feasts disregarded the hungry pauper at his gate
until between the tedious story he made of it, and the

“humdrum tone of his voice, she performance became so
decidedly soporific on a large portion of an audience
Boanerges could not bave kept awake, that many were
fast asleep. Suddenly he reached the end of his story.
The rich man had lost his purple and fine linen, he had

consumed his last good dinner, and with Lazarus was im
the land’ :

be + .
From whose bourne no; trayeller returns.’?

Dives in torment lifted up his eyes and beheld the
pauper in Abraham’s bosom. The venerable stickler for
suiting the voice to the matter, carried out his theory, and
in a voice of thunder shouted the vain imploration re-
corded of Dives. The effect was an instantaneous awak-

 

SencanS Sane nina iaitinermemenrmcnmeadntesmmiaemetnneetncananae

         
   

Philip at College. 231

ening of all the sleepers, and called forth a storm of
laughter from the entire congregation. Philip had always
been remarkable for his decorum in church, but this
scene was too much for his gravity. ‘

His careful and elaborate training in the classics and
higher mathematics did not afford Philip an opportunity
of displaying his erudition, as his class had finished these
studies with the junior year, but in natural science,
metaphysics, and constitutional law, he found many
competitors who occasioned him severe application to
keep pace with the foremost. Alfred Ridgely and several
others were young inen of close study and fine abilities,
but he was determined to fall behind none, and soon
occupied a position among the leading minds of his class.
He became a favorite with the professors and the reading
men among the students, and won the hearts of all by
mingled firmness and suavity. He soon learned the
status of Charles Loundes and his followers, and by adroit
management escaped being drawn into their society more
than he wished. They knew his love of field sports, and
had heard of his success in the match between Tempest
and Pepin, and these were things that filled them with
admiration. He met Loundes and Norton one evening,
as he and Arthur Kean were visiting at the house of one
of the professors. Lily Seaton, having heard they were
musicians, induced them to astonish the two madcaps
with some of the grand combinations which long practice
had enabled them to produce together. Loundes returned
to his room, and declared that he had always before had
a contempt for'men who used the piano, as it was only
fit for women to play on, but now he would give half his
estate for the skill of either. This gave the two friends

   

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232 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

much eclat in the limited circle of society in the village,
but they had cultivated their musical taste for quiet
enjoyment, so it was soon understood that applications
for them to play in mixed assemblies were distasteful.
The literary society to which they belonged was a
source of much interest to both ; and the long and earnest
debates were as novel to Kean as to Philip. In Germany,
in other respects, the opportunities of mental culture are
almost perfect; but Arthurhad not there enjoyed the lib-
erty of untrammeled discussion ; here he at ence under-
stood the secret of frequent public eminence among the
graduates of this institution. It was a matter of aston-
ishment to him to see young men, who yawned through
the hour of recitation, given to the study of Athenian
and Roman genius, vexing the dull ear of night with tire-
less harangues, whenever subjects of moment were selected
for debate. Kean, knowing the importance of participa-
tion in these discussions to himself, eagerly embraced the
opportunity thus afforded for forensic preparation, and
soon inspired Philip with a kindred feeling. They early
discovered the advantage of their opponents, who had en-
Joyed years of practice in this the most cumulative of all
arts. No man was ever a great speaker at once; for labor
and habit are absolutely essential in the matter. Charles
Loundes was also highly interested, whenever the debates
had the slightest connection with politics, past or present.
The leader of the madcaps had recovered from his
wound, and if the faculty ever knew the secret of his in-
jury, they thought him sufficiently punished. He was at
times brilliantly eloquent, for nature seemed to have sup-
plied him with a store of metaphor and allusion, which

was never wanting, when occasion offered, for sparkling

 

        
     

erpanteetecge

Philip at College. 233

effect. His anecdotes, and his mode of telling them, were
inimitable; and he often gained, by ridicule, where his
logic would have been ‘utterly unavailing. Kean and
Philip soon learned to respect him as an opponent, while
his admiration for them tempered the sarcasm with which
he would, otherwise, have assailed their positions. The
two societies were noted for the dignity of bearing to be
observed in their sessions, and anything which in a stu-
dent’s morality was thought dishonorable in a member,
was followed by summary expulsion from the body. This
was equivalent to banishment from college, for the faculty
allowed no student to remain who had been declared, in
this way, unworthy of the companionship of his peers.
These trials for graye misdemeanor were solemn and
scrupulously conscientious in their investigations, and no
instance is recorded of injustice done those who have suf-
fered by their judgments. It is true, that in one case a
student was accused and convicted of high crime and ex-
pelled from the society, who afterwards reformed and be-
came a great man in the councils of the nation.

Philip soon had occasion to witness the high moral
motives actuating his fellow students on such occasions.
A’ member of his society, named McSnout, had frequently
disgusted him by his coarseness and ill-nature in debate.
He was possessed of rugged good sense, but was.a bully
in disposition. After a desperate fight with Loundes,
against whose supremacy he had plotted, having lost the
respect of gentlemen, he became the leader of the lowest
and most contemptible spirits in the institution, and was
in the eyes of the faculty an unmitigated nuisance. For
some time he had been too crafty for detection amid the
drunken debaucheries in which he passed nearly every

   

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234 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

night; but at last, in a state of beastly intoxication, after
the commission of a flagrant outrage, he was detected
and dismissed. In a few months he would have gradu-
ated, and his clique made many complaints, that after his
long stay he should thus miss his diploma. The sentence
of dismission, unlike that of expulsion, did not involve
hopelessness of return; and it was urged by his friends,
that the society should petition the faculty to allow him
to rejoin his class. Philip and a majority of the members
arguing that prudent management in similar cases had
caused the faculty to treat such applications with respect,
by which hardships under their decisions had been reme-
died, opposed doing anything in McSnout’s behalf. To
do so in such a case as this, where every one saw the ne-
cessity of punishment, they thought would impair the
effect of petitions on the part of the society, whose judi-
cious conduct heretofore had led to its success. In tke
course of the debates, one of McSnout’s friends grossly
insulted an inoffensive young man, who was courteously
Opposing his wishes. At the suggestion of the presiding
officer, Philip, who was near the offender, Goals, promptly
seized him, and, in spite of his resistance, put him out of
the hall. This was on Tuesday at a called meeting, and
it is hardly necessary to state that McSnout’s wishes were
refused by the society.

“Philip,” said Charles Loundes, two nights later, in the
room of the former, “I advise you to prepare yourself for
a difficulty. McSnout and Goals, with several others, are
going around bullying every one who said anything
against petitioning for that scoundrel’s return. They
have insulted White, and swear they will settle accounts

with you. Though I did not say anything on the occa-

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

 

        
  
 

Philip at College. 235

sion, for fear some one might think me actuated by the
old grudge existing between McSnout and myself, I have

-come to see you out, if they dare show fight here. Where

is Kean ?” Bisseau iy
“He has gone out for a law recitation, said Philip.

“TJ appreciate your kindness, Charles. Here is the pistol
with which I shot the wolf last Christmas, but promise
me to reserve your fire until you see an absolute ne-
cessity.”

“ Qh, never fear,’ said Loundes. ‘TI have waged seven
battles here with pistols in reach, but have shot no one
as yet.” a

“T shall not receive these visitors in my room, said
Philip, “so we will go to the front porch, and await their

roach.”
Utes went out and took their seats in the moonlight,
and it was not long before they heard angry voices com-
ing down the street. Several men halted at the gate, one
of whom they recognized as McSnout. He inquired if
Philip Eustace was in, and being informed that he was,

came with another to the steps.
“Mr, Bustace,” said McSnout, “I have come to demand

of you an explanation of your conduct in opposing the

petition for my recall.” :
“Tam here, sir, to vindicate my right to say I shall

give you no explanation on the subject.”

“ Who are you, sir, standing up there in the dark

“ Charles Loundes, at your service, Mr. McSnout,” and
the fearless athlete came down to the front step.”

“Mr. Eustace,” said McSnout, “1 think you very un-
reasonable in injuring me, as you have, and then refusing
me satisfaction.”

9

 

 
     
   
 

  

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

Be The Heirs of St. Kilda. Philip at College. 237
“T have done nothing of the kind,” said Philip. “I : prisoners in, and see the amount of damage inflicted upon
pod myself responsible for all my actions.” are

‘ Sree 3 |
Saeed ee I eas are ready to an- § They found Goals much more seriously stunned than iy
Rae ene i oo BY ; his abettor, and cold water soon induced McSnout io open ;
Pte cei ee ron a Loundes, and, with the his eyes, but to hide his shame he assumed delirium. ; f

Sas a cS ree HERO V drew a pistol which was | “You need not attempt that game, Mr. McSnout,” said

ae s Brae Se antagonist had ] Dr. Melton, “you cannot deceive me. You should be
eee cia ae Mi a slung-shot. McSnout at- \ ashamed of yourself, to be coming here without perinis- 3
ey ee nae a Bowie-knife, but a single sion of the faculty, and getting your head broken in this i
friends were by thi Sulticien ti tonquelll biris s Ene ung ways ;
pen, we Hone Toes for the others, who i The sullen and thoroughly cowed bully waited until H
of attack, Philip hy aa ey made no demonstration patience and Dr. Melton’s skill recalled Goals to con- |
Bead ’ ‘ them to carry off their disabled sciousness, when they were again addressed by the stern
a Ss, Who were now disarmed and helpless. A loud old man: 5
Bite a oe gate, ae the ponderous form : “T have been watching you both to night in your brutal i
or ’ essor of Natural Science, drew course, and I am glad we are now to berid of your further .
Maitre tl a is : \ presence; for the absolute necessity of your banishment :
g gentlemen,” said he, “I have been watching has been long recognized. After your dismission, Mr. f

 

McSnout, you have returned in defiance of our wishes,
and came here with Mr. Goals prepared to assassinate Mr.
Eustace. I now declare, if the morning light finds either
of you in two miles of this village, I will have you both
arrested and tried for assault with the intent to kill.”

“T will go at once,” said McSnout, “ for I should not

these two bullies ever since they left Mr. White, and you
have served them the neatest trick my old dessin seen
for many along day. You both know my theory, that
in a hundred men there must be, of necessity ome
scoundrels. Now to my certain knowledge, ihe two
biggest scamps in this institution are lying like dead

Soe Sela

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oe yee oe ay 4 have returned but for Goals.”

octor,” said Philip, “ we have done what we believed 1 will go too,” said Goals, “if you will promise this

omy duty. These men were apparently seeking our lives.” 2 matter shall end here.”

7 ‘c Eno aa a circumstances of the case,” said Dr. “T have nothing to do with it, in that event,” said Dr.
2. On, ou id your duty to the society, by your op- Melton, “if these gentlemen, you have attacked, are

position to troubling the faculty with the petition in be- satisfied.”

half of McSnout. I wish Mr. Loundes you always had 4 Philip and Loundes having expressed their willingness

as good reason for your other fights. Let us carry your to the arrangement, the crest-fallen bullies took their de:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

238 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

parture, followed by the professor, whose sleepless vigi-
lance would track them in all their actions and words, so
long as they remained in his neighborhood.
“Dr. Melton,” said Loundes, “is the most mysterious
man I have ever known, and is the only member of the
faculty I cannot fathom. He is as insensible to fear as if
possessed of absolute invulnerability, aud fails not to dis-
cover everything occurring around him. It seems tome
absolutely impossible to avoid his wonderful scrutiny.
He was in the laboratory so much last session, that he
bothered me in some of my schemes, and late one night
I attempted to frighten him away, by fixing a petard to
the lower part of his door. I was on the outside watch-
ing him when the explosion occurred, and he did not
even arise from his seat, but continued reading. No one
but my room-mate knew anything of the affair, althouch
the shock awoke every man in the building. The Ren

week I received a note from the doctor, saying the trick ~

Thad played him had doubtless caused more damage
_ than L intended. He, therefore, demanded twenty dollars
for the new door, and the glass retorts and bottles broken
by the concussion. He concluded his note by saying, I
could pay this amount or appear that evening before the
faculty to answer for my conduct, As you may suppose,

I gladly paid it, and resolved to interfere with him no
further.”

“Well, Loundes,” said Philip, “I shall never forget

your services on this occasion, so let us both resolve that
we will not disturb an old man who can act with so much
generosity and good sense. You have fine abilities, and
in a few months will go out into the world. Let me be-
seech you, my dear friend, to look more gravely on this

    
   

   

Philip at College. 239

great battle of life which lies before us. If you will only

give up your fun and frolic, take my word for it, you can

be anything you may desire. I expect to go to Europe

soon after finishing my studies here, and I would be much >
pleased to have your company.”

“ Well, to tell the truth,” said Loundes, “ since I have
been staying with you and Kean, I am getting ashamed
of wasting so much time, and have been astonishing my
friends at the amount of my reading, and the moderation
of my drink. Mother wishes me to go to Europe, and
I will accompany you with pleasure, if nothing prevent.”

Kean now came in with Alfred Ridgely. They told
Philip and Loundes that the story of their fight had
already reached college, and the students were threaten-
ing to lynch McSnout and Goals. In the morning it was
ascertained that those worthies had disappeared, and they
were no more scen at a place where they had managed
to incur so much disgrace. Philip acquired reputation
for his coolness in the affair, and, under Loundes’ version
of it, became such a hero in the imagination of others
that it was the last unpleasant incident of his career at
the University. His influence for good with his new
friend constantly increased, and the gifted and fearless
leader, under the gentle persuasion of friendship, dis-
continued habits which the authority of the faculty was
powerless to restrain. The professors understood and
appreciated this noble work, and Goy. Young warmly
applauded. the good he was thus effecting. But the
sweetest satisfaction Philip received for this interest he
took in his friend, was a letter of thanks he received from
Mrs. Loundes, who wrote trom her home amid the orange
groves, telling him she daily prayed for God’s blessing

 

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240 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

on his head, for the change she saw in her son’s letters
and confessions, and which he had told her had been
wrought in him by his high example and brotherly
counsels,

The reports of scholarship and conduct had been somes
time before sent out, and Philip received letters from
home expressing the utmost satisfaction. He had obtained
the highest honors of the class in all his studies ; and
President Young, in a private letter to Judge Eustace,
had expressed the warmest encomiums upon his conduct.
The rooms at Mr. Bowles’ became a favorite stopping
place with him, where he frequently met Dr. Johnson,
who was also fond of Philip and Kean. The learning
and conversational power of these two men made them
gladly close their books whenever honored by such com-
pany. Thus, in that quiet repose of college life, with no
interruption to mar the even tenor of his way, went the
stalwart youth upon whom so many bright hopes were
resting; and in after years many hearts beat with pride
and pleasure, as they recalled the pleasant smile and
friendly words of Philip Eustace. He had no half-way
compliance with what he condemned, but gave his opin-
ions without hesitation on all things he thought wrong
in theory or practice. With this resolute dignity of char-
acter, there was no forward or officious intermeddling in
matters which did not concern him, for he was generally
modest in expression; but when anything stirred his
indignation, then his eyes shone, and the voice, at, other
times gentle, became a fit reflector of his emotion.

Philip had grown very much in the last two years, his
figure being large and well proportioned; incipient beard
had commenced darkening his ruddy cheeks, It was now

 

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Philip at College. 241

near vacation time, and, having obtained the consent of
his grandfather, he invited Charles Loundes to accom-
pany him home. He well knew that his friend, living

‘so far away, would remain in the college buildings, with

time hanging heavily upon him during the next six
weeks. Philip did not wish his recent reformation to be
subjected to the temptation of dissipation so strong in
such a season. The Christmas times at Ellesmere were
more than usually festive this year, and Reginald Vane
made good his promise about the cover at Morton’s glade.
It troubled Philip to think of Rosamond now far away at
school, and his greatest joy, in all this happy season, was
the returning vision which he saw in the eyes of his
beautiful sister. Mariana was radiant with loveliness;
but the meek spirit was the same at this hallowed season
as at other times. She missed Rosamond’s voice, and
some lines of a poem Percival St. George had been read-
ing to her, haunted a mind that was only conscious of
grief through sympathy with others. She thouglit of the
heiress of Thorndale, and repeated to herself:

“The time draws near the birth cf Christ’:
The moon is hid; the night is still 5
a The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

wey abn ge es pe AW Neen do wth on ap

** Aoain at Christmas did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth,
The silent snow possessed the earth,
And ealmly fell our Christmas eve.

** The yule-log sparkled keen with frost,
No wing of wind the region swept,
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.”

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The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER XIII.

PHILIP GOES OUT INTO THE WORLD.

YEARNING for the large exeitement that the coming years would yield,
Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father’s field,

And at night along the ‘dusky highway near and nearer drawn,

Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn;

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then,
Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men;

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new:

That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do.”

~Locksley Hall.

Purrrp and his classmates had now reached the most
interesting and pleasant period of college life. They were
enjoying the liberty and ease of senior vacation, and in
less than a month they would be in possession of their
diplomas. The examinations had all been passed, and no
doubtful Rubicon rolled its waves between them and the
object of their desire. No labor but the preparation of
their speeches for Commencement remained, and Philip
with his accustomed good fortune had secured the vale-
dictory oration over his four associates in the honor of
the first distinction. Alfred Ridgely was to deliyer the
salutatory, and from the number of graduates and the
amount of preparation a grand time was expected.
Philip, by his frequent participation in discussions, had
become one of the leading debaters in the society to

which he belonged, and from his known excellence in
literary composition, high merit was predicted for his
farewell address. Alfred Ridgely and Charles Loundes
had been talking with Philip in his room when. (ov.
Young and Dr. Johnson came in.

 
 
 
    
  
    
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

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Philip goes out into the World. 243

“Mr. Eustace,” said the Governor, “ I have been think-
ing and reading on the interesting topic which we were

discussing with Mr. Kean the other evening, and I find

the whole subject covered in one of Lord Stowell’s last
admiralty decisions. I have brought the report of the
case with me, and would recommend you both to read it..
The two brothers, John and William Scott, were remark-
able men, and it is difficult to say whether Eldon was.
greater in equity, or Stowell in international law.”

“Tam very much obliged to you, Governor,” said Philip.
“Mr. Kean and I will certainly examine the case to which:
you refer.”

“T wish,” said Gov. Young, “ that you would not only
study this case, but make the noble study of the iaw your’
life-long employment. You will leave us with as high.
honor as was ever won in so short a time. What course:
in life have you and your excellent father mapped out.
for your pursuit? Do you intend imitating him and:
your grandfather in the devotion of your time and facul:-
ties to one of the learned professions, or will you go home:
and become the servant of your slaves? I feel much:
interest in you, Philip, and I have often regretted, since:
I knew you, that instead of humble competence you are
the heir toso much wealth. Had you been born and.
reared with smaller expectations, I can scarcely fix a
limit at which, in my estimation, it would have been
reasonable to expect the legitimate expansion your powers :
would have ceased: but I fear that mere business and |
pleasure will usurp faculties which ought, in the fact of”
their excelience, to be for the benefit of the community
at large. How do you intend.spending your.time for the-
next two years ?” ? i

 

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244 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“T shall remain in Germany at least that long, for my
grandfather is unwilling for me to engage in business
until I shall have reached my majority.”

“Governor,” said Dr. Johnson, “I know you are giving
the true expression of an idea that seems almost a part of
American religion, that whatever is excellent in mind
and character should be given to the State. I concede
that the doctrine is eminently patriotic, and so long as it
jprevails among our leading minds, and the people have

ithe good sense to employ prime ability, the condition of f

ithe country must be vastly better than it would be were
-second rate men to lead and control affairs: but pardon
vmé¢ in saying I think there is a limit in this devotion to
ithe public good. Ido not believe, where a man’s private
.affairs call for his supervision, that the community has a
right to make him suffer for the mere fact of his intellec:
tual eminence and popularity. Now it may be in some
great emergency that Cincinnattus becomes, from his
known, peculiar fitness, necessary to right the laboring
-ship of state; but I think the emergency must be im-
‘minent, and Cincinnattus, by the confession of all, more i
‘suited to the helm than any other man, before the State_ i

i

-hasa right to drag him from his plow handles and do-
mestic usefulness.”

“The direction of my future life,” said Philip, “and the
nature of its pursuits, have been anxiously revolved in
my mind since my last conversation with my grand-
father. He then gave me to understand that in all hu-
man probability I shall be burdened with the manage-
ment of an estate of unusual size; that he, my father,
.and cousin Percival, had determined to settle the bulk of
‘their estates upon me, and for that reason desired me not

art le a i tt

 

Philip goes out into the World. 245

to form any professional schemes for the future. If I
study a profession at all it must be as a mere accomplish-

-ment, for it will require all my energy and discretion te

manage properly the large and varied interests, including
a host of slaves. I cannot believe it right in a man who,
under the providence of God, is vested with the contrel
of negroes, and gives no care to the manner and matter
of their lives. I hold it a great sin before God, and a
shame on our civilization, that intelligent masters so
often disregard their duty, and leave to ignorant agents
those who have no appeal in case of oppression but in the
watchful care of him who has assumed the control of their
existence.”

“With such views,” said Gov. Young, “if I believed
myself capable of public usefulness, as you must be aware
is the case with you, Philip Eustace, I should sell to
others property that thus kept me back from a higher
career. It is a shame, that one should forego fame and
usefulness as imperishable as the people it benefits, because
a small community of negroes should perhaps be less
lazy, and consequently less happy by the withdrawal of
his immediate supervision.”

“Governor,” said Philip, “you will pardon me in say-
ing that such a course would be chiefly prompted by that
passion which deprived the fallen angels of their original
blessedness. I should feel myself a disturber of the long
sleep of my ancestors if I could, to ambition, thus surren-
der for my own advancement the patrimony which, in
the lapse of time, may some day fall to my possession.
I feel as if those noble estates, upon which I have lived
all my life, are a part of my being, and I could no more
think of turning my back upon Ellesmere than I could

   

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246 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

think of deserting my blind sister. Then, too, how can
I forget that Reuben, who stands at the door, was my
playmate in childhood, or that his father killed the wolf
which was ready to destroy my life? Why, sir, these
negroes, whom you would sell sooner than embarrass
your march to fame, seem to me the noblest recipients of
my good offices, in that they can understand and appre-
ciate my self-denial in their behalf. I love my horses,
and could scarcely be induced to part with them for
money, but I shall value my slaves infinitely more highly
because, like myself, they are immortal beings.”
“Philip,” said the Governor, “I honor you for these
kindly sentiments of your heart. Had I been reared as
yoursell, I know not but J should have been actuated by
similar promptings; but in the humble mountain home
Thad none of these feudal ties to bind me in shaping my
course through life. My maxim is and has been, that it
is every man’s duty to follow that pathway which prom-
ises benefit to the greatest number. If the peculiar bias
of mina fits men for special walks in life, let them devote
that intelligence, which nature and experience give, a

certain direction. If a lawyer has a son, whose natural

endowments and tastes evince genius for art, let him fore-
go the bar and the forum, and prosecute his calling amid
the beautiful images of the ideal. If the artist’s son, like
Sir Robert Peel, exhibit fitness for public station, let him
turn from the profession of his father, and devote to the
State those rare qualities of counsel which are the perfec-
tion of human usefulness.”

“T shall, at all events, Governor; fit myself for the
practice of the law, and then the exigencies of the future
will determine what shall be my course in life. My

      
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
    
 
  
  
  

Philip goes out into the World. 247

friend, Mr. Kean, will commence the practice of law at
St. Kilda next month. When I return from Europe I

- can then definitely decide whether I shall ever be his

partner.”

“Mr. Kean,” said Gov. Young, “I am glad to hear you
will become a citizen of our State, and I prediet for you
eminent suecess in the profession you have chosen.

“T am at least safe from the embarrassments which
surround Philip,’ said Kean, “and, as the law is prover-
bially a jealous mistress, we shall live in the most perfect
harmony, as I intend to devote all my energies to my
profession.”

“Mr. Loundes,” said Gov. Young, “I hear you and Mr.
Ridgely intend making farmers of yourselves.”

“That is our present determination, sir.”

“You are both cursed with the same superfiwity of
riches against which I have been inveighing in the case
of Mr. Eustace. I expect, Mr. Loundes, you will follow
in the wake of your distinguished relative, and become as
keen a’ politician as your State has produced. I know
your disposition too well to think you will rest contented
on a plantation.”

~*T like to talk politics, Governor,” said Loundes, “ and
you know I was once remarkably fond of good liquor;
I have sobered dewn, nevertheless, in the eompany of
Eustace and Kean, and if I have been able to control my
appetite here, I shall also be able to resist the allurements
of office.”

“Mr. Ridgely,” said Gov. Young, “what subject has
Mr. Brantley selected for his oration at Commencement 2

“T suppose bis ill luck in failing to secure either the

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248 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Valedictory or Salutatory led to his choice of * Unaccred-
ited Great Men.’”

“ A noble theme,” said the Governor. “That greatness,
as a general thing, will, like water, seek its level, is most
true ; but there are many grand natures hidden by over-
ruling circumstances. Who would have heard of the
eloquence of the blind preacher if Mr. Wirt had not, by
ehance, stopped at his church for noontide rest, and what
a small figure Cromwell would have presented in history

had the first Charles and Elizabeth exchanged the eras of
their reigns? That,

“There is: a tide in the affairs of men
Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune Aad

1s beyond all denial; and while some natures may seem
to control destiny, they are after all much indebted to
opportunity for what they attain.”

“Governor,” said Kean, “do you suppose that Julius
Cesar or Napoleon could have, under any circumstances,
been restrained to the ordinary level?”

“T do not,” said the Governor. “ Their opportunities
lay in their inordinate ambition and disregard of the
welfare of their countries; but I am afraid if Mr. Brant-
ley were here he would think us forestalling him in his.
discussion of his subject. Gentlemen, I wish you good
evening.”

With this the pleasant circle of friends separated for
the night. Philip had been but little of a beau in his
college life, and now it was so near its termination he had
determined to give the following day to the enjoyment of
a pic-nic in the woods. He was engaged to accompany
Lily Seaton, who, in spite of his loyalty and truth to

cata cennieaman

q
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Philip gone out into the World. 249

Rosamond, filled his heart with pleasure, when at rare
intervals he ventured into her charming presence.
Early in the day a gay throng of pleasure seekers had

gathered in the pretty dell yet bearing the name of a dis-

tinguished divine in a neighboring State. The learned
and eloquent bishop, when in the haleyon days of youth,
haunting these classic shades, could be frequently found
alone in the silence of this retreat. A brooklet poured
its sparkling waters over crystal pebbles, and murmured
between mossy banks, while the wide-spreading limbs of
huge oaks maintained, at noon-tide, the softened gloom
of twilight. The wild flowers, in their new mantles,
seemed all rejoicing in the balmy air of spring, and the
nimble squirrel frisked amid the feathery young leaves,
astonished at the invasion of his accustomed solitude. A
rustic pavilion had been erected for the dancers, and a
negro band were discoursing loud if not eloquent music
to the groups scattered around in the cool shade.
Cornelius Burnet, the aldermanie leader of the ‘“ musi-
cianers,” as he called them, was now in his glory. No
fear of summary and disgraceful flight from the mid-
night bull-dance, in the south building, was before his
éyes. It was Saturday, and he knew his persecutors, the
faculty, had no authority in this sylvan retreat, which
was outside of the charmed two miles limiting their
jurisdiction.

The ball managers had already received a portion of
the dainties which had been so profusely provided for
Commencement, and Sam. Morphis had, in the four-horse
hack in which he delighted, a demijon filled to its utmost
capacity for use on this occasion. Willis Jenkins, another
gentleman of color, with his confrere, Charles Ligins, was

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

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250

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

in charge of the solids, and was frequently cautioned
against allowing his risible propensities getting the better
of him. This was a great tax on Willis’ enjoyment, for
every student present knew that, barring the presence of
the ladies, he was prepared to have laughed into silence
the loudest-mouthed donkey in the land. David Moore,
in all his courtly politeness, was there too, while Chester-
field Merrit stood in silent wisdom, evidently elaborating
some mighty theme of discussion for his next meeting
with Dr. November. That pleasant day of rural delight
lingers still in the memory of many hearts.

It was a select party, in which grave seniors, who were
soon to leave the place, were joined by a few of their
friends of the lower classes, Philip had escorted Lily
Seaton, and they were seated near the brook. She was as
fair as a wood nymph, in her white dress and the fresh
spring flowers in her hair.

“Mr. Eustace,” said she, “I ain sorry you are going
away so soon. J wish you had come here two years
earlier.”

“You are very kind, Miss Lily,” said Philip, “and one
of my chief regrets on leaving college will be that I have
been so little in your charming company,”

“T have been at homeall the while, sir,and should have
been more than glad to have seen you. I suppose you
were reading hard, and thinking of that fair cousin of
yours.”

“You refer to Rosamond. How could you have learned
anything about us?”

“T have heard you were to be married soon after you
graduate.”

“On the contrary, I shall spend three years in Europe

ee ne ee RR aa ee NON SN ny eee ORE ET

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Philip gone out into the World. 251

and I do not know that I shall once see Rosamond in
+ ”

ee a mystery to me, Mr. Eustace. With all
your accomplishments and favor with the ladies, you only
visit them at rare intervals. Though you are a paragon
of perfection in the eyes of the faculty, yet you are almost
worshipped by Mr. Loundes and _his wild associates.
You are fond of books, but no one has finer horses, or
follows the hounds with greater zest than yourself. I can
not understand you. I wish you were a junior, and had
to stay here another year, so I could leans more of what,
I must confess, is all mystery to me now.”

“ And what would become of me,” said Philip, “ ae
jected to the fascination of such eyes for another year?
“Oh, Mr. Eustace!” ce

“Come, Philip,” said Charles Loundes, ile are waiting
for you and Miss Lily to make up our set. 3

Soon the dancers were threading the giddy mazes of
youth’s favorite and most graceful pastime. It was well
that Philip was interrupted in his conversation, for it
was taking a turn inconsistent with his dignity and truth
of character; but much allowance must be made for the
ardor and impulsiveness of his youth. It is difficult for

a young man to be in the presence of so much beauty and

vivacity and not speak rash things. As well may we
preach moderation to the confirmed inebriate, or tell
children of the unhealthiness of sweet meats as to expect
such a one, in the warmth of his youth, not to be moved
by the influence of beauty. Burnet’s large eyes protru-
ded in undisguised admiration of the es
floating in the softened light of the pavillion, while lis
sable assistants blew their brass horns with might and

 

   

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252 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

main. On went the dancers, and long and loud arose
the music in the echoing dell. Enjoy thyself, O golden-
visioned youth! In the spring tide of joy let no wrinkled
care obtrude itself on thoughtless revels. The world’s
unrest finds us out soon enough, without our anticipating
what lies hidden in the undeveloped future. What shall
be the fate of these gay revellers? Shall rosy children,
and the long rapture of love wedded in happiness, attend
these maidens; or shall hollow deceit and cold neglect
mar their beauty? Shall prosperous usefulness in the
walks of peace, or the destroying angel of civil strife,
mark those manly forms for its own ?

“Mr. Kean,” said Lily Seaton, in the pauses of the
dance, “ do give mea description of Rosamond Courtenay.”

“T have not seen her in twelve months, Miss Seaton.
She was then promising to be one of those rare and fault-
less beauties resulting from generations of happy acci-
dents. She is as full of genius as of the promise of love-
liness, and, when I last saw her, was in that transition
state between ashy girl and the superb woman I am
confident she will soon become. Add to this, that she is
the heiress of immense estates, and you have some idea
of a young girl who can be, if she desire it, the most bril-
liant belle in America.”

“J hear she is to be the bride of Mr. Eustace,” said
Lily with a sigh. “TI wonder if she loves him.”

“They seem to be fond of each other.”

“ Late in the evening the party returned to the village,
some happy in the recollection of the day’s pleasures,
others heart-sore from smiles denied and love proffered
in vain. Philip and Arthur Kean were too full of other
thoughts to be in such predicament; so baving finished

 

Philip goes out into the World. 253

their supper, they sat down to discuss a matter highly

interesting to both. , ;
“Philip,” said Kean, “I received a letter this evening

from Mr. Somerville, your father’s friend, proposing to
take me into partnership with him. Your grandfather
is the best man in the world, and I am confident he is in
some way the author of this proposition. Iam so slightly
acquainted with the distinguished advocate, he would
have scarcely made me this advantageous offer, without
strong recommendations from Judge Eustace.”

“You may rest assured, my grandfather would not
have recommended you, without a conviction of your
ability to aid Mr. Somerville in his lucrative transac
tions ; so allow me to congratulate you on this piece of

good fortune.”
“Tt is the very thing I desired above all earthly bles-

sings, and I cannot tell you how joyous it makes me feel.
Tam now certain of early success, as I shall at once come
into notice at the bar. I shall write Mr. Somerville
immediately to accept his proposition and assure him, if
industry and attention can avail, he shall not repent of

his generous offer.”
~ Philip was highly gratified at the prospects of his

friend, for the disparity of their years, and his former
‘tutelage, did not prevent Kean’s treating him as an ass0-
ciate and equal on all occasions. In the simple dignity
and moral strength of the youth, the tutor had long ago
seen intelligence and discretion demanding no further
counsel from him. As they sat conversing young Comp-
ton came in,and his wild manner and pallid face plainly
told that something unusual had occurred.

 

 

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

264

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“Frederick,” said Philip, “are you ill, or have you seen
a ghost?”

The young man only hid his face in his hands, and ~

moaned. The two friends exchanged glances of astonish-
ment, for Compton was one of the last they would have
expected to exhibit so much feeling.

“ Have you heard bad news from home 2”

rag No.”

“Has Lily Seaton discarded you?”

“Oh, no!”

“Well, what on earth is the matter with you?”

As Philip said this, Compton arose without speaking a
word, and went to the windows which were up and low-
ered them; opened the door, looked out to see that no
one was near, and then locked it. He exacted of them a
solemn pledge, that as long as he should live, they should
never divulge what he was about to tell.

“T have,” said he, “witnessed a scene of horror this
night I shall never forget. You know that Drumgoole
was with us at the pic-nic to-day. He was never before
so full of life, and was waiting on Nelly Clayton, with
whom he was madly in love. Stapleton Cowell, you know,
was discarded by her last session, and they have not been
good friends since. Cowell threw a nut shell at me to-
day in the pavilion; it missed me and fell on Miss Clay-
ton’s dress. I noticed she flushed up and seemed angry,
but I had no dream of anything serious growing out of
it, until after dinner, Cowell remarked to me that he had
a difficulty with Dramgoole, and asked me to be his
friend. I, not suspecting anything more than an ordinary
fight, consented, and we soon received a note by the hand
of Drumgoole’s second, stating that as Cowell had de-

  

  

    
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 

 

  

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Philip gone out into the World. 255

clined making a written apology, he took this opportu-
nity of demanding personal. satisfaction for an insult

_ offered to a lady while talking to him.”

“Cowell,” continued Compton, “ promptly accepted the
challenge; and we left the ground immediately for the
hill a mile south-west of the University. Dalton went to
town and brought out to us a pa‘r of duelling pistols be-
longing to his principal. I proposed to him that we
should settle the matter, as it was too trivial to proceed
to blood, and he reported what I said to Drumgoole, who,
disregarding the formalities used on such occasions, loudly
remarked that Cowell knew there could be no peace be-
¢ween them until he had written an apology for his con-
duct. Cowell said he had no further apology to make,
and demanded that we should be as quick as possible,
We measured off the distance and posted them. They
fired, and Drumgoole fell mortally wounded. He was
shot near the heart, and was dying when we reached
him.” :

“Oh! Cowell,” said he, “why did I have the folly to
drive you into this fatal quarrel! My poor mother !
what will become of her, if she ever knows how I am
dying? Give me your hand, Cowell; let us be friends;
it was not your fault—not your fault.”

He fell back, and we thought he was gone: then he
raised his dead, and said :

“ Come nearer, fellows, [ can scarcely see you. Oh God!
how hard it is to die thus in the spring of my life and
hope! Put your hands in mine, and promise me never
to tell the secret of my death.”

“ He was too far gone to notice that I did not touch

his hand,.and the next minute his soul was in the pres-

 

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256 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ence of his Maker. Cowell begged me to observe Drum-
goole’s request, for the sake of himself and the dead. It
was too horrible a secret to bear about with me! What
shall I do under the circumstances?”

“ What have you done with the body ?” asked Philip.

“That was the most harrowing task of all; we waited
until the poor fellow grew stiff in death, and, having dug
a grave, we placed him in it. I shall never forget the
gentle expression of the face of the dead, as I looked at it
in the deepening twilight. It reminded me of Hood’s
dream of Eugene Aram:

‘Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill 5
And yet I feared him all the more,
For lying there so still ;
There was a manhood in his look,
That murder could not kill.’

“ After covering him, we conveyed the superfluous dirt
to a neighboring branch and restored the pile of rocks
we had removed from their original position to avoid
suspicion.” js

“You have committed a serious breach of the statute
law,” said Kean, “which in such cases condemns, not only
the man who uses the deadly weapon, but the second
who aids and abets. However, men do not regard the
slayer who kills his antagonist in fair combat, as guilty
of so high an offence, but the law sees no difference be-
tween the duelist and the assassin. My advice to you,
Compton, is to say nothing more about this, as your con-
fession, if made known, will implicate you in the offence
against the law.”

“ Do you think Iam morally responsible in any way

 

 

aici eats maria

 

ner

Philip gone out into the World.

.

for the shedding of this man’s blood? JI did all I could
to prevent their proceeding to extremities.”

- “T think you and Dalton should have refused to have
had anything to do with the matter, after Drumgoole
violated the rules by speaking in the hearing of Cowell.
The quarrel rests in the hands of the seconds, after the
affair has once reached them, and the principals are bound
to abide by their decisions in all matters whatever touch-
ing the subject at issue. On any other theory the prac-
tice of calling in friends to manage such difficulties is
worse than useless. Then, if a duel is fought upon in-
sufficient grounds, it must be the fault of the seconds,
and I think they ought to be held responsible. You and
Dalton are too young to be expected to be acquainted
with the rules which govern personal difficulties, and this
advice comes too late now; the deed is done, and I do
not know that you ought to be blamed for a thing you
honestly desired to avert.”

“What do you think of it, Philip?” said Compton.

“T sympathize with you in the remorse I know you
feel, and think your greatest fault was your want of
firmness.”

This disastrous affair soon resulted in the utter ruin of
Cowell, for he sought in hard drink surcease from his
haunting memories. Young Compton also grew exces-
sively dissipated, and, though but few suspected the cause,
he never forgot the dying look of the victim he saw ex-
pire in the glory of his youth. Unceasing restlessness
and indefinable apprehensions became his companions.
The freshness of youth fled from his cheeks, and he be-
came the embodiment of Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner:

17

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258 5 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head ;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.”

The occasion of the college year was now arrived ; for
it was Monday of commencement week, and visitors were
rapidly assembling from all directions. Philip was mo-
mentarily expecting the arrival of his grandfather with
Mrs. Eustace and Mariana. His father, being Governor
of the State, was ex-officio chairman of the trustees, and
would also be present. Reuben, who was on the watch,
announced that the carriages from Ellesmere had arrived,
and on Kean’s and Philip’s reaching the hotel, they found,
in addition to those expected, Ida Somerville had:accom-
panied the party. Mariana’s vision had so much im-
proved she could plainly discern the outlines of her
brother’s figure, and she seemed astonished at the height
hhe had attained. When she saw him last he was a little
boy; she now recognized a form whose proportions and
power were unmatched even in the great throng of stu-
dents and visitors surrounding the hotel. She was un-
able to perceive the beauty and symmetry of his person,
for her sight was as yet imperfect ; yet she was as happy
in this limited blessing as any of the fair maidens who
surrounded her, in the full possession of all their faculties.

Philip was astonished at the warmth of Judge Eustace’s
commendations, for his grandfather was one of those rare,
well-poised intelligences, subjecting feeling to the domin-
on of mind so completely that his emotions were seldom
visible in his manner. Gov. Eustace had, in the mean-
while, arrived, and Percival St. George and Mr. Grey were
the only missing faces belonging to Ellesmere. They sent

 

 

 

 

    
 

Philip gone out into the World. 259

their warmest congratulations, and wished Philip great
joy of his college honors; but the sweetest reward amid
-all this well-earned satisfaction were the words of his
father and grandfather, when they told him in the sum-
mer twilight how he had fulfilled all their hopes, and felt
at the same time the sympathetic pressure of Mariana’s
hand.

Bell Ridgely and Mae Glancy, with Col: Ridgely, were
also in the village to honor Alfred in his graduation, and
many of the most distinguished citizens had come to lend
additional lustre to the occasion. Young men, after years
of toil, were now to go forth and take their positions in
society. The goal, for which they had been laboring so
long, was attained, and with much fluttering at the heart,
as they thought of their audience, did the new bachelors
of art repeat their orations to themselves.

After supper some engagement had taken Philip to the
college buildings, and Judge and Goy. Eustace went to
his rooms, finding therein Goy. Young and Dr. Johnson.

“Gentlemen,” said Gov. Young to them after their salu-
tations, “I have just been speaking of the mysterious
disappearance of a student who has not been seen or ac:
counted for, for several days. From what I can learn, he
was interested in a young lady who spends much of her
time in this village, and I suppose she must have refused
his addresses, and he has gone off in despair.”

“Have you written to his friends?” asked Judge
Eustace.

“Yes; but have received no reply.”

“Tam glad,” said Gov. Eustace, “to know that the con-
dition of. the University is so excellent; the number of
students is unprecedented.”

eS SE Erne WUC emi Diehl. CRIMES NS

 

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260 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“T have never known a more satisfactory condition of
the institution,” said Gov. Young.

“Gov. Young,” said Judge Eustace, “you have laid me
under much obligation for the interest you have mani-
fested in my grandson.”

“You may thank Philip, sir,” said Gov. Young, “ for
much of that interest was the result of his own merits.
His modest and sensible deportment attracted my esteem
in our first interview, and our subsequent intercourse has
increased that sentiment into admiration of his character.
I believe the present satisfactory condition of the Uni-
versity, in the matter of discipline, is as much the effect
of his influence and example, as anything else I can as-
sign. While his conduct has been faultless, he has by
some strange magnetism obtained unbounded influence
over those students who were previously disturbers of our
peace. I earnestly wish he was entering, instead of leay-
ing college; for I can hardly limit the benefits which
would accrue in four years of his presence.”

“You give me much satisfaction and comfort in my
son,” said the father, “but the credit of his present excel-
lence belongs to his grandfather, who has reared him
since his infancy.”

“Tn the formation of character,” said Judge Eustace,
“very much depends on the early direction imparted by
others to the thoughts and inclinations of the human
heart; but some natures are so essentially corrupt that
they seem to resist every influence for good. As Shak-

speare says of virtue:
“ As it never will be moved,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven;
So lust, enenen to a radiant angel linked,

Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage.”

 

 

4

    
     
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   

Philip gone out into the World. 261

Philip, from his infancy, while he has ever possessed that
exuberance of spirit which is the result of physical and
‘moral health, has never exhibited a disposition to violate
those things he had reason to believe proper moral re-
straints forbade. In his early education, my first lesson
was to convince him of my love, and then that he should
look to obedience for safety. From his natural intre-
pidity, it was difficult to impair the trust in his own
power, but accidents robbed him of this vain confidence,
and since then he has implicitly followed the way I in-
dicated.” :

The four learned men sat in earnest discussion of
Philip’s future until his return. Judge Eustace was im-
movably opposed to any professional scheme, in which
he was joined, with moderate views, by Goy. Eustace:
Dr. Johnson agreed with Judge Eustace in all his plans
for his grandson. The father seemed disposed to leave to
Philip the determination of a matter more nearly con-
cerning himself than any one else.

The literary address on Wednesday was made by a gen-
tleman of high respectability, and his words were wisely
conceived and beautifully delivered. The time passed
rapidly by to the large concourse in attendatce. In the
day they partook of intellectual feasts, and the shadows
of the campus were stirred by the strains from the band
hired for the occasion: At night the moon filled the air
with unclouded splendor,

“ And all went merry as a marriage bell.”

The speeches of the graduates, which had been the
burden of so much care, were at last delivered; and the
faces, hitherto wreathed in smiles, now saddened with the

 

    

ASC Pape aR
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

262 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

thought that Philip Eustace, their ideal of a high-souled,
chivalrous friend, was standing before them to say his
parting words. They knew, from the sincerity of his na-
ture, they would hear the true sentiments of his heart,
and every student gazed in respectful attention as he took
his place on the rostrum. The gay maidens, unapprecia-
ting the manly sorrow of those who were now about to
part forever, continued the hum of conversation. Not five
words were spoken, however, by the solemn voice of the
valedictorian, before every eye was riveted on the noble
form in its black academic gown. The speaker’s pale
brow surmounted features regular in their classic re-
pose, as if copied from some antique sculpture. His
tall figure was faultless in its symmetry, yet the mas-
sive shoulders evinced strength almost realizing the truth
of mythic Hercules. His tones, though full of pathos were
sonorous and distinct, as he recounted to his fellow students
the blessings they enjoyed. How God had given them a
land and ancestry worthy of comparison with those cele-
brated by Pericles in his funeral oration. They were re-
minded of the limited opportunities of the masses, and the
large responsibility of those who, in the fact of their
superior knowledge, owed a greater degree of watchful-
ness, lest they should mislead others whom nature had
eaused to lean on higher intelligence for support and
guidance. Then, as superior intelligence brings with it
higher duties to the State, so arise higher claims upon
ourselves.

“6 Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,
These three alone lead life to sovereign power.
Yet not for power, (power of herself

 

 

 

A Pa aE:

Philip gone out into the World.

‘Would come uncalled for,) but to live by law,
Acting the law we live by without fear;

And because right.is right, to follow right
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.”

“ And now,” said he, “ how shall we, who are about to
leave these chosen haunts of learning, take leave of you
the guides and instructors of our youth! How can we
find words to express our gratitude for the kindness and
forbearance with which you have met our waywardness
and folly! You have not only been untiring in your
efforts to instruct the mind, but you have watched by our
bedsides in sickness, and constantly directed our hearts
to Him who is the author of our being and the guide of
our footsteps.

“Tt isa bitter pang, my comrades, to feel that we are

“Jooking into each others eyes for the last time. These

halls shall soon be filled by other forms. New faces will
be seen in yon familiar windows, and we shall have gone
hence forever;

“<The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

And God fulfills himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.’

“ Our attachments have been those the world knows but
little of, and wherever we have bestowed our affections,
no selfish motives have actuated us. Who of us has
dreamed of ulterior advantage in the matter of his likes
and dislikes, or fawned on his brother with hatred in his
heart? Go beyond the walls that encompass us here, and
you will find that esteem is born of promised help. Ours
then have been blessed days in this respect. We have
lived here in serene repose, listening to the world’s con-
tentions, but its sordid motives have not reached us. So

 

  

has neo

 
 

 

   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

264 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

nature has held her course, unwarped by the practices
which self-interest teaches.

“But these haleyon days have passed away forever
with many of us. Shall we allow sordid meanness to
corrupt our hearts and drag us from the high course we
have hitherto trod? Shall we only love where we shall
be benefitted, and envy succeed to magnanimous emula-
tion? I cannot believe you can soon forget the noble
lessons of self-denial and philanthropy we have been
taught here. I cannot believe you will allow the world
at once to taint you with its selfishness. I tell you, as
truly as God rules, charity and brotherly love are in no
way inconsistent with worldly prosperity. If by sordid
parsimony some men accumulate largely, have you
learned political economy to so little advantage, as to
dream for a moment that any miser can be rich ?

““*T stand not here in Wisdom’s sacred stole,
My lips have not been touched with holy fire,
An humbhler office than a counsellor
Of human duties, and an humbler place,
Would better grace my knowledge and my years.
‘I would not seem presuming.’?

‘But our duty as christian gentlemen ends not with the
bestowal of our earthly goods upon our necessitous neigh-
bor. If God has enjoined upon us to prevent his coming
to physical suffering, how much more imperatively are
we, whose opportunities for mental culture have been
good, called on to exert ourselves in behalf of truth. Can
we be justified, if we stand idly with folded arms and see
others stumble blindly to perdition? Can anything set
us free from the obligations that bind us to our fellow
men? Can man become so exaited that delusion cannot

 

 

28 1

Philip gone out into the World. 265

reach him? Can we ask help of God, and be too indif-
ferent to counsel our neighbor who perishes for the want
of-a word inseason? Let us, then, as we value our future
usefulness among men, and happiness in the world to
come, discard such selfish and fatal infatuation. ‘There
ean be no sinless escape from this duty, for a wisdom
mightier than man’s has decreed that weakness shall be
the rule and strength, the exception, in the sum of hu-
man intelligence. A brotherhood in ill has been be-
queathed us by our first parents, and it becomes us as
men to assume each for himself his share in the general
burden.

‘For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God?’

“To you, my classmates, I would especially appeal, to
remember how much good or evil may be accomplished
in each individual life. I know that you will agree with
me, that obedience to duty is the only theory of conduct
consistent with self-respect, and that none other can pos-
sibly fit us forheayen. As this beautiful life of cloistered
ease has at last reached its conclusion, so must I find ‘an
end of my words. With Wordsworth:—

““* Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this World, about which
Those revolutions of disturbances
Still roll; where all the aspects of misery
Predominate; whose strong effects are such
As he must bear, being powerless to redress;
And that unless above himself he can

Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!’”

The tone of deep and earnest feeling accompanying
these parting words strongly moved the hearts of all who

7
4
;

    

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

266

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

heard them, and when the dense throng left. the chapel
many a bold spirit made fresh resolution, that the duties
of life should find new energy in their discharge.

With the rising moon came the joyous notes of music
from the ball-room now full of the beauty and pride of
the State. Flashing diamonds were vainly seeking to
rival the brightness of eyes more lustrous in their life
and animation. Graceful figures in their snowy drapery
were gliding beneath the brilliant lights; the managers
were busy in arranging new sets; and festive joy was
mantling on every cheek. It was the last night of com-
mencement week, and no thought of rest entered the
minds of those who had resolved there should be

‘No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.”

“Philip,” said Ida Somerville, “ you were so solemn and
grand in your valedictory, I] never felt so useless and
sinful even in listening to Mr. Grey’s sermons.” ;

“Perhaps you thought me prosy.”

“No, I was thinking what a glorious thing it is to bea
man and bear about such a heart as I know you possess.
You are so full of consecration to duty, so fixed in your
high resolves, and with such a field for display of useful-
ness—while I am but a woman circumscribed and tram-
melled on all sides. Oh! Philip, a woman’s life is at best
a series of little pleasures and great pains. Unsatisfied
longings for love and a brief episode of romance in
youth, are all we have to gratify these yearnings; and
then too often come solitude and neglect for the remainder
of life. Poor mistaken Shelly, with all his errors in

  

 

 

Philip gone out into the World. 267
theology, was right at heart in his sympathy for us when
he wrote of man’s injustice:—

* Woman! she is his slave, she has become

A thing I weep to speak—a thing of scorn,

The outcast of a desolated home,

Falsehood, and fear, and toil, like waves have worn
Channels upon her cheeks, which smiles adorn,

As calm decks the false ocean :—well ye know

What woman is, for none of woman born

Can choose but drain the bitter dregs of woe,
Which ever from the oppress’d to the oppressor flow.’ ””

“You look at the dark side of the picture,” said Philip.
“Tf woman’s mission lies in a smaller compass, it still is
as full of duty as that of man, and I think, where they
are happily wedded, the wife has equal opportunities
with her husband of fulfilling the requirements of her
station and of enjoying the happiness consequent thereon.
As you have summoned the beautiful madness of Shelly,
I shall offset it by the majestic wisdom of Shakspeare,
He says :—

‘<The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls,
Are their males’ subjects, and at their controls,
Men, more divine, the masters of all these,

~ Lords of the wide world, and wild wat’ry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls,

Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls
Are masters to their females, and their lords :
Then let your will attend on their accords.’

“ But here comes my friend, Miss Lily Seaton. I wish
you to know her.”

“ Miss Somerville,” said Lily, after introduction, “I am
very glad to see you St. Kilda ladies here. We liked Mr.
Ridgely, and have just seen enough of Mr. Eustace in his
college career to become interested in him. Then, too,

    

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

268 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

his beautiful sister, who is leaning on her father’s arm,
has added to my curiosity concerning your happy val-
ley.”

“Tt is the home of beauty and enjoyment, Miss Seaton,”
said Ida, “and no one can give you a better idea of the
perfection to be found in its limits than Mariana Eustace.”

“She is wonderfully lovely,” said Lily, as she gazed
across the room at Mariana. “I should idolize such a
being if I were much with her.”

“She is more like the angels than any being I have
ever known,” said Philip.

“Then she is so fond of you, Mr. Eustace,” said Lily.
“You ought to be very happy with so many sources of
pleasure. I have never known a person so singularly
blessed. I could not help thinking this evening, as you
were speaking, how well you could afford to feel thankful
and strive to do your duty, when everything conspires to
swell your felicity.”

“T have never repined at my lot, Miss Lily,” said
Philip, “and trust I feel grateful for the many blessings
I have enjoyed ; but I cannot see how disaster could alter
the nature, if it did the extent, of our usefulness.”

“T did not mean to convey that idea,” said Miss Seaton.
“You will certainly admit that we are creatures of circum-
stance, and happiness follows in the wake of gratification,
whether actual or prospective. Notwithstanding all that,
you have realized, you are buoyed by one bright particu-
lar hope, which I think the most charming of all incen-
tives to duty.”

“What can possibly be the cause of Frederick Comp-
ton’s being so grave?” said Ida. I have scarcely seen
him since we came, and he looks like he had lost his last
friend.”

        
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

Philip gone. out into the World. 269

“You must ask Miss Seaton,” said Philip, dexterously
avoiding an unpleasant question.

“ How should I know?” said Lily. “I have no means
of information as to Mr. Compton’s affairs.”

“Well, I knew that Fred, was smitten,” said Philip,
“and I have heard of many others who have come to grief
and long faces, in their admiration of the fair maiden
whom Compton loved.”

“Tt is too bad, Mr. Eustace,” said she, “to teaze me
about so many of those silly young men. I am not re-
sponsible for their folly, and of course must get rid of
them in some way.”

Thus passed Philip’s last night at the University. He
was full of tender emotion, as he wandered about amid
the gay throng, and felt that all the happy associations of
the place he had come to love so well would to-morrow
be things of the unreturning past. The flowing music
still rolled in voluptuous cadence to the giddy dancers,
and eyes, which had been so sparkling hours before, be-
came soft in the whispered vows exchanged. Pleasure
muffled the already noiseless wheels of time, as hour by
hour slid away, and midnight deepened toward morn.
Joy was yet unconfined ; full and rich poured the tide of
music; brightly as ever gleamed the lights until even
this scene of gaiety, mad as it was, found its conclusion.
The white-shouldered beauties gathered up their shawls;
the tired musicians left their places, and over the ball
room, as over all things human, came a change. The
lights were extinguished, and the holy calm of serene,
unchanging nature returned, as if in derision of the fad-
ing joys which for a few fleeting hours had oo the
repose of silent night.

    

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

270 - The Heirs of St.-Kilda.

CHAPTER XIV.

GRIEF AT ELLESMERE.

“ ALAS! that all we loved of him should be,
But for our grief, as if it had not been,
And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!
Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene
The actors or spectators? Great and mean
Meet mass’d in death, who lends what life must borrow.
As long as skies are blue, and fields are green
Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,
Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.”
—Adonais.

Putnip’s stay at the University had become a pleasant
memory of the past. He had nothing in his recollection
of the time spent there, to bring with it regret or self-
reproach. His opportunities had been faithfully met
and appropriated, and no slighted tasks remained as min-
isters of future trouble. No trust had received his neglect,
and amid his ancestral oaks he felt that he had done
nothing to lower the reputation his family had borne so
long in the land of their nativity. These high sources
of consolation were needed by him at this juncture, for
sorrowful tidings awaited the return of the family to
Ellesmere. Stanhope Eustace had fallen in Mexico. The
dauntless soldier had found a hero’s death amid the
shattered columns of the enemy, in the very moment of
victory : surrounded by dripping sabres, as the shouts of
triumph arose, a cannon-shot had torn him from future
fame and his country’s service.

This sad bereavement of course threw gloom over the
household. Judge Eustace exerted himself to cheer the

 

 

ed

. Grief at Ellesmere. . 271

drooping heart of his wife, but the wound was too fresh
for consolation. She could not erase from the tablets of
memory the image of him she had borne. It seemed to
her but yesterday that he was at Ellesmere, cheering all
with his gay and gallant presence ; looking forward with
confidence to the laurels to be won in this very war, and
now he slept in a new grave, amid his kindred at Elles-
mere. With many tears, in the solitude of her own
chamber, the fond mother bewailed the untimely death.
After the first few days she made but little allusion to
her loss; but grief was written indellibly on her brow,
and Philip turned away with a sigh, as he saw its ac-
customed light clouded and merged in constant gloom.
Judge Eustace sustained himself, as might have been
expected, in this calamity. He well knew that the
nature of his son’s life exposed him to constant danger of
a sudden termination of his career, and had been thus pre-
pared for the fatal tidings. He was a loving father, but
possessed much of that iron firmness of character Addi-
son has portrayed in Cato’s speech over his dead son.
Had the ex-chief-justice lived in similar times and been
actuated by a like creed, he, too, would have exclaimed :—

‘“ Thanks to the Gods ! my boy has done his duty—
Welcome, my son! Here set him down, my friends,
Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure
The bloody corpse, and count those glorious wounds.
How beautiful is death, when earned by virtue !
Who would not be that youth ?—what pity is it
That we can die but once to serve our country !

The general commanding that portion of the army
with which Col. Eustace was operating, wrote a letter of
condolence to the afflicted father, full of the appreciation

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

272 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

of the virtues of the lamented dead. Stanhope’s long
service had been unstained by any imputation, and his
fall carried sorrow to the hearts of all his brother officers.

He was as efficient in counsel as daring in execution; _

and, had he survived his last action, would have become
a general.

In this house of grief Philip found, in the few months
remaining between the solemn present and his departure
for Europe, need of all his philosophy. He had seen but
little of his uncle Stanhope, for the soldier had been ab-
sent almost the entire period since his nephew’s earliest
recollection; but what he had known of him was so
pleasant that he had come to look forward to the recep-
tion of his letters, and in this way he seemed to have
been a great deal more with the family at Ellesmere than
his rare visits implied. There had been, before the shadow
of death fell across the threshold, much innocent mirth
and enjoyment; now the hearts of all were unstrung to
such music, and they went about their separate tasks,
haunted by the memory that one who bad always been
mentioned in their prayers would return no more. This
was a fresh injury to the old wound in Percival St.
George’s heart; but the nature which had so long fed on
sorrow as its aliment seemed unchanged by additional
grief. He had loved Stanhope as a brother, but what was
such a loss to the disaster of that death which had dar-
kened the world in his youth?

Philip and his grandfather were almost insepara-
ble in their horse-back inspections of the estates. The
large intelligence, which had been so luminious at the
bar and in the Senate, had turned its far-seeing vis-
ion to domestic duties of life; on its greatest and most

 

 

nt POOR:

Grief at Ellesmere. 278
satisfactory mission, the culture of the soil. The manage-
ment of his plantations had long engaged the attention
of Judge Eustace, and the infinite improvement to which |
enlightened agriculture may be carried, had induced him
to leave public station to find a realization of his life-
dream of contentment at home. In the cultivation of
fields now yellow with ripening wheat or green for
miles around in the luxuriance of maize, lay the marks
of his improving presence; and to the young heir it was
of much importance to know their peculiarities. What
stiff, clay bottoms needed fresh liming for future crops;
what exhausted spots called for help from the muck beds
and barnyards; what drains were to be enlarged; and
how the long hollows which stretched from the river
needed continual work in strengthening the dykes pro-
tecting them from freshets.

It was now more than a year since Philip had seen
Rosamond, as their vacations had not occurred at the
Same time. When he was at Ellesmere she was in the
midst of her studies. This was a privation to them, but
they were faithful correspondents; and Philip found con-
stant pleasure in observing the continual enlargement of
Rosamond’s acquaintance with the forms and beauties of
cultivated intelligence. He had observed a change in
her demeanor towards him after the last happy Christ-
mas they had spent together, but he could not account for
it in any other way than to attribute it to the increasing
modesty of the maiden, fast approaching the age in which
the instincts and habits of the school girl give place to
the crowning perfections of womanhood. He, too, was
no longer the boy he had been when they talked so un-

“reservedly before others at Thorndale of the nature of

18

 

 

 

 

    

 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

274 The Heirs of St, Kilda,

their future relations. Rosamond had ever regarded
Philip, in her childhood, as the embodiment of that chiv-
alric nature of which she had read so much in the olden
chronicles and romances. But this homage of childhood
had been succeded by passionate love, born amid the un-
forgotten delights of that blissful yuletide. The strange,
imaginative girl became tender and considerate in her
attention’ to the actual; and her old disregard of mere
accomplisments no longer held her back from the study

of music and kindred graces. The powers of her voice

were becoming a matter of astonishment to herself; its
strength and compass were only equaled by its sweetness ;
and passages requiring exertion even from the most ac-
complished singers, Rosamond soon sang with smiling
ease. These things afforded her pleasure, because she
associated them with the idea that they were fitting her
for companionship with him, she supposed endowed with
qualities of extraordinary merit. He was her Bertram,
and she could say with Helena:

“Tt were all one
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me 5
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself :
The hind, that would be mated by the lion
Must die fur love.”

These subjects, which had been a theme of constant
allusion in their happy childhood, now became, with the
approach of maturity, too sacred to be directly spoken of,
although uppermost in the minds of both. While Philip
loved Rosamond, of all the girls he had ever seen, next
to Mariana, he was yet untouched by that sentiment

   

 

 

\ Grief at Ellesmere. 275

which glowed in the heart and reflected itself in the eyes
of his cousin. Nothing had occurred to develop the

grand passion in him. The desire, so freely expressed _

by all the family since his earliest recollection, that he
and Rosamond should some day be married, and her own
smiling acquiescence in his childish propositions, had
deprived his wooing of those love-provoking difficulties
which so much serve to call up and hasten the sentiment
in ordinary cases. There was, from long habit, no doubt
in his mind that she would in the future, when they were
both grown up, become his wife; so he had but few of
those romantic doubts and schemes for surmounting ob-
Stacles which largely contribute to the composition of the
pleasures of that most charming period of human ex-
istence. -

This certainty of future joy did not abide in the warm
heart of Rosamond. She knew at an early age the dif-
ference in the obligation to obedience between men and
Women. Philip, as the future heir of the greatest estate-
in the valley, and the headship of the family, would be a
very different personage from any maiden, whatever:
might be the extent of her inheritance. Her education.
had strengthened her original impression that her duty
required of her absolute reliance on others in such grave:
matters as the choice of a husband ; that while obedience
was not only graceful in woman, but necessary to her:
Peace; grand and unfaltering self-reliance must be the
crowning glory of matured manhood. No hand but God’s
Could lead the strong man in his search for the right way.
She considered it right that Philip, with ripened judg-
ment, should have it entirely in his own discretion,

Hh
(i
i
i

 

 

    
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

276 ‘The Heirs of St. Kilda.

whether he should sanction this family arrangement in
relation to their marriage.

Her duty in her own estimation, then, lay in submis-
sion to the known wishes of all who were dear to her;
while Philip’s, on the contrary, involved the question of
his own happiness and the amount of love he bore the
woman who was to share his destiny. He in virtue of
his manhood, and the very qualities which made him
dear to her heart, must be, in the very nature of things,
a free agent in this matter of such vital concern to the
lives of both. Thus with her daily increasing store of
personal and intellectual charms, pondered the maiden.
She heard from her mother and Mariana such stories of
Philip’s increasing worth that she almost trembled at
the thought of again meeting him in whose good opinion
she.was so deeply interested. Mrs. Courtenay had written
to her at school, desiring her to visit Thorndale for a
short time before Philip’s departure for Europe, and she
looked forward to their meeting with mingled emotions
of joy and fear. Her mirror showed her a great differ-
-ence from what she was a year ago, and the fond admira_
tion of her associates often intimated that others
appreciated more highly than herself the rapid progress
‘she had made toward that perfection of grace and loveli-
mess she was soon to attain.

Philip entered with enthusiasm into his grandfather’s
desire that he should embrace the present opportunity of
acquainting himself with the nature and peculiarities of
his future duties. 'The Summer waned in this search for
practical knowledge, and golden-breasted Autumn came
with her overflowing barns. The wheat fields were once
again to receive the seed for the next harvest, and this

 

Grief at Ellesmere. 277

was to be a new era in cultivation to St. Kilda Valley.
The “ wizzard of the Pacific” had reached even this se-

cluded vale. Liebig’s remarkable prophesy of the future _

production of a concentrated fertilizer which should in a
small compass contain all the stimulating properties of
huge bulks of ordinary manures, had been. realized in
Peruvian guano, now for the first time introduced into
the agriculture of this portion of the country. Judge
Eustace had procured a few tons for experiment on his
lands; and early in the morning he, with St. George and
Philip, repaired to the field where it was being scattered.
It was in that part of the farm lying along the turnpike,
in front of Mr. Glancy’s house, and was a portion of the
Grafion property. Upon their arrival they found Nathan
Dale in superintendence of the work, for he was overseer
of the plantation, and with him were Mr. Glaney and
Roger Earl from Vaucluse.

“Mr. Glancy,” said Judge Eustace, “ Solomon says, there
is nothing new under the sun, but I think this process
would have created astonishment on the Judean hills.”

“T have little doubt of it,” said Mr. Glancy, “ for it
amazes me to see you applying that small quantity of
dust, as a substitute for the heavy dressings we are in the
habit of applying to our lands.”

; 2 Well,” said Nathan Dale, “its consoling to think there
aint much work lost in this ere sprinkling process we
are going through.”

“We are in our infancy in such matters,” said Judge
Kustace. “The study of chemistry, apart from the search
of the old alchemists for the elixir of life and the secret
of transmuting metals, is but a recent thing, and is, of
all branches of science, more’ particularly the child of

    

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

278 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

 

 

patient experiment. Two hundred years from to-day
our posterity will be in the common possession of facts
and principles, the sudden production of which among
us now would create more astonishment than a box of
lucifer matches among our ancestors.”

“Judge Eustace,” said Mr. Glancy, “I think our atten-
tion to fertilizers is excluding a proper attention to good
drainage. The Goldsby meadows at Vaucluse are the
only lands, I know which are up to the mark in that
respect.”

“Ten years ago,” said Percival St. George, “ much of
that land was considered a hopeless quagmire, but it is
now as dry and productive as any in the valley.”

“My drains are mostly open,” said Judge Eustace,
“but I think, with good cultivation, not a gallon of water
should be suffered to pass over the surface of the fields.
The soil should be open enough to allow the water that
falls to pass through under-drains to the large, open
ditches. In this way there would be no washing of the
surface, but to carry out the idea would involve heavy
expenditure.”

“Philip,” said Mr. Glancy, “I hear you are going
abroad.”

“T shall start soon after Christmas.”

“T wish you much pleasure,” said Mr. Glancy, “and as
many laurels as I hear you won at the university. I
fear Frederick. Compton’s stay there was disastrous, for
he has become morose and dissipated, and I think his
father acted wisely in ‘acceeding to his request to send
him to another institution.”

Philip rode back to Ellesmere with his grandfather

rnc et

 

 

Grief at Ellesmere. 279

and cousin, and as they left the field Mr. Glancy re-
marked: _ )

“There goes a young man who will be so rich he will
be troubled with his wealth, and yet I have never seen
any indication of a wish in him to avoid labor and
exertion.”

“ Philip isa born gentleman,” said Roger Earl. “ When
he comes to Vaucluse he brings sunshine with him, and
Mr. St. George, now that Col. Stanhope is dead, seems to
care more for him than for anybody in the world.”

“T should like him better,” said Nathan Dale, “if he
weren’t so grand in the way he carries himself. I have
been living here on Grafton these ten years, but I ’aint
seen any failings in Philip yet.”

“So, you like a man better for having failings, do you ?”
said Earl. “I have never considered such things recom-
mendations; if a man does feel easier in a grandee’s com-
pany who, he knows, was as drunk as a loon last court-
week.

“T don’t mean,” said Nathan Dale, “ that a man should
belittle himself in that way; but I want to see a young

‘man be a young man. Why I am just as particular in

talking to Philip as I am to his grandfather.”

“Well,” said Mr. Glancy, “I have known him since his
childhood, and he is the same now-he was when I first
saw him. I honor his independence, and know that his
manner is no loftier than the accidents of his birth and
education justify.”

There was much talk of this kind in relation to the
young heir who was to become so conspicuous among
those living in St, Kilda Valley. His neighbors did not

fail to discuss his character as they viewed it, and it was

Ki

 

     
 

 

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280

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

not unnatural that Nathan Dale should wish for some
exhibition of human weakness in one so inferior in years
to himself who, nevertheless, inspired him with a con-
sciousness of superiority in other things. Dale was old
- enough for Philip’s father, and his testy nature ill-brooked
in youth a dignity and self-respect he looked for as a
matter of course in Judge Eustace. He had been an
overseer of negroes, and had acquired, by long habit of
command, considerable notion of his own importance.
It was repulsive to his nature to be brought in contact
with those whose virtue and knowledge, in spite of their
youth, exacted from him a deference he was only willing
to bestow on those of maturer years.

The improvement in Mariana’s eyes had continued,
until in her evening excursions with Philip she could
perceive the features of the surrounding landscape gradu-
ally emerging from the gloom of her previous blindness;
and the only disquieting element in her present happi-
ness was the reflection that he would soon leave her for
foreign lands. She loved especially to visit the lake in
the park, and to muse there in the soft twilight. She was
comforted with the knowledge that her father’s term of
office, as governor of the State, would soon expire, for
then she expected him to come to E!lesmere to live. The
loss of vision had seriously retarded her education, and
but for the help she received from the eyes of others, in
reading aloud to her, her knowledge would have been
extremely limited. Her blindness, however, interfered
but slightly with her musical attainments ; what she lost
in vision was more than compensated in her wonderful
development of the senses of hearing and touch.

Philip still retained much of his old fondness for his

 

 

Sel Pe eT

Grief at Ellesmere. 281
horses and dogs, and frequently followed the hounds, as
with wild clamor they drove their crafty prey over the
hilly slopes. Tempest had repeated his triumph at the
St. Kilda races, and had also won the sweep-stakes over
several other courses. Judge Eustace was unwilling .
that his grandson should make up matches for his horse,
for this or any other species of gambling was distasteful
to him. He approved of racing, no further than a proper
encouragement to those seeking to improve the speed and
endurance of horses, and was warmly opposed to betting
on the result. The silyer cups awarded to the successful
champion at St. Kilda, and the purses at other points, he
regarded as allowable inducements to subscription, and
had thus permitted Philip to send Tempest to several
distant fields where he had reaped fresh laurels. The
courser was now eight years old, and was, therefore, con-
sidered an old horse on the turf, consequently he had
been withdrawn, and confined to his paddock and stable.
Arthur Kean had surmised truly, when, on the recep-
tion of Mr. Somerville’s letter, he told Philip it was of his
opinion that Judge Eustace had been instrumental in
getting him the opportunity of immediate employment
in his profession. The business of his partner had been
so long lucrative he had accumulated a handsome for-
tune, and was now indisposed to continue the office duties
connected with his practice. The commendations of the
ex-chief-justice, of the diligence and good sense of Kean,
induced Mr. Somerville to make the offer of association,
and the young lawyer at once entered upon constant and
laborious duty. He willingly assumed all the trouble of
drawing up conveyances, contracts, wills, etc., and hunt-
ing up authorities on litigated cases. Mr. Somerville

    

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

282 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

became speedily convinced of the future prominence of
his associate, and did all in his power, by timely advice
to him, and judicious praise to others, to lay the founda-
tion of a reputation destined to culminate in the highest
legal honors.

Kean was not possessed of great original power in his
intellectual endowments, and in this respect was fortun-
ately constituted for a practising lawyer. While Lord
Bacon, Sir Thomas More, Alexander Hamilton, and a
few others, have been profound jurists, and, at the same
time men of grand natural proportions; there is some
truth in Junius’ strictures, when he remarks in his letter
to Lord Mansfield, “ Asa practical profession, the study
of the law requires but a moderate portion of abilities.
The learning of a pleader is usually upon a level with
his integrity. The indiscriminate defense of right and
wrong contracts the understanding while it corrupts the
heart. Subtlety is soon mistaken for wisdom, and im-
punity for virtue.” :

The young lawyer was too much engaged to be much
with his friends at Ellesmere, but occasionally spent a
day with much pleasure in the circle so thoroughly ap-
preciating his sterling qualities. They had all collected
in the library, one evening, after supper. It was early
winter, and the fire illuminating their countenaces show-
ed that time had brought alleviation of their sorrow.
The accustomed look of peace and satisfaction had re-
turned to every face, but that of Mrs. Eustace. The
fond mother’s grief was still fresh in her heart. Like

Constance pining for Arthur, the tender memory kept
whispering:

 

 

Grief at Ellesmere.

“Grief fills the room up of my absent child, ;
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; :
There’s nothing in this world can make me joy:
Life is as tedious as a twice told tale, e
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

“ Philip,” said Mr. Grey, “I almost envy you the pleas-
ure and instruction I am sure you will realize in the next
three years ; but beware of the insidious influence of Ger-
man infidelity, That nation is in many respects the
foremost people in the world; but a disbelief in every-
thing which is high and holy, seems to pervade the phil-
osophy of the country, and has reached the popular

heart.” :
“The Germans of our day,” said Judge Eustace, “have

but few characteristics in common with those who lived
there in Luther’s days. The reformers and their enemies
were all thoroughly in earnest, and were ready to die in
defence of either their religion or country; but in the
last century the two leading German minds have been as
devoid of trust in God as of enlightened patriotism.
Goethe’s leading characteristic was his skepticism, and,
great as he was as a poet, was but little interested in the
woes of his people. Frederick of Prussia was no better
than Voltaire, whom he imitated in ethics and warred
himself into immortality, totally disregarding his father’s
assent to the Pragmatic Sanction, and the tremendous
woes he thus brought upon his own kingdom.”
“Grandfather,” said Philip, “I do not think that all
the Germans of the sixteenth century were so much in
earnest. If you will recall the character of Maurice of
Saxony, you will recognize a man in every respect as
selfish and destitute of patriotism as Goethe himself, and
the want of the nobler instincts in him is more than

 

  

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284 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

atoned for in the genius and popularity of Schiller. I
know there is a want of faith in all classes of Germany;
and while I admire their research and acumen in his-
torical matters, I as heartily as any one condemn their
tendency to skepticism.”

“The strangest feature,” remarked J udge Eustace, “is

witnessed in the centrifugal aspects of their governmental .

history. They have been: for ages the most numerous
race in Europe; but such has been the uniform division
and discord among them, they have been, all the while,
inferior to the concentrated power of their French neigh-
bors. All their efforts for consolidation have proved
abortive; and Charles V., himself as emperor only
enforced the shadowy prerogatives of his position, by
means of his matchless Spanish infantry. The Smald-
kaldic League eventually triumphed even over him, and
the other kaisers were never anything but magnificent
pretenders. How a people, who would be of such ma-
jestie strength if united, should consent to dissipate its
power among petty principalities, is beyond my compre-
hension.”

“T doubt the policy of combining small comraunities
into large empires,” said Philip. “There must be con-
flict of interest between states sundered by long distances ;
how then can uniform laws of revenue and commerce
bear equally upon those having no object in common,
save that of defence against foreign invasion. Suppose,
for instance, that an agricultural people are attached to
a government whose legislation is chiefly directed to the
support of manufactures: can one interest be fostered
without injury to the other? and is it in the nature of

“man to so discriminate between antagonistic pursuits as

 

 

Grief at Ellesmere. 285
to weigh out in golden scales the damage and benefit
equally between them? We have in ‘the history of the
small Hellenic communities, when their cities were au-
tonomous, a state of prosperity which has probably never
been equaled, except perhaps by similar Italian republics
previous to the change of the trade routes from the East.
The same effects were repeated in Germany by the cities
constituting the Hanseatic League. I do not believe,
trammelled by general systems of revenue, these small
communities could have ever reached a tithe of the pros-

_perity which was the consequence of their individual

wisdom and freedom from restraint.”
“That sounds very plausible,” said Judge Eustace,

“but where is the necessity of any conflict of interest be-
tween communities owing a common allegiance to the
same government? Take your example of a nation con-
stituted as our own, of two great sections: the one devo-
ted to the cultivation of the soil, and the other to manu-
factures. I can see no necessity for undue depression or
exaltation of. either interest. I grant you, if one obtain
the ascendency in legislation, and disregards the rights
of the other, oppression the most hateful and intolerable
can be visited upon the community which is thus placed
at the mercy of its competitor. I know this spirit has
actuated many governments, and is not entirely wanting
in our own; yet it is the most abject statesmanship which
can be imagined. Instead of there being a necessary
conflict, there should be a lasting benefit involved in the
very diversity of pursuits distinguishing the two sections.
Political economists haye demonstrated that division of
labor is beneficial, for one portion of the nation produces
what the other consumes. Under a wise and economical

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

286 The Heirs of St, Kilda.

administration of the government, the only oppression
possible would be from revenue laws; if for the sake of
some interest, imposts should be laid on foreign goods:
but even in such cases the injury is so slight, it is scarcely
perceived in our present system.”

“That is all true,” said Philip, “but, grandfather, un-
der your supposition there is mutual concession and com:
promise of the antagonisms in interest. You presume
that great states are necessarily wise in their avoidance
of favoritism among the sections; but you must recollect
that nothing is so easily created and blindly maintained,
as the animosities which seem almost certain to rise be=
tween communities defined by habits or geographical
position, and ruled by the same government. How did
the Flemings and Spanards hate each other under Philip
I. or the English and Scotch under JamesI? The
people of England loathed the Dutch under William ILI,
as they did the Hanoverians under the first and second
Georges. I think it a poor reliance for the weaker to
trust the stronger party, if there be any chance of self-
protection and autonomy possible to the minority.”

“That may be the case, my son,” said Judge Eustace,
but the important problem, we asa nation are working
out, remains unsolved. I confess that these same jealous-
ies and animosities of which you speak are ill omens of
our ultimate success. They defy any system of govern-
ment, and when carried to excess in a free republic can
lead to but one result—the loss of liberty to all parties
concerned. Sectional hatred and free institutions are
incompatible with each other, and must sovner or later
result in bloodshed. Such animosities are the most sense:
less infirmities to which large masses of men are liable.

 

Grief at Ellesmere. 287
Like jealousy, they subsist on imaginary wrongs, and
like Othello discover, too late, the folly of their resent-
ments. One community which has seen but little of the
other, and often with many friends living in the hated
section, yet for some unaccountable reason, takes up a
deadly animosity, and is deaf to reason, until they have
imbrued their hands in kindred blood. Many govern-
ments have been ruined, because a few selfish men have
sown the seeds of future discord, expecting no direr result
than their own elevation to office. All other evils of free
government are slight in comparison to those which flow
from the machinations of demagogues. They are reck-
less of what may be the consequence of their teachings,
and with our natural proneness to evil we are too apt to

prefer such to better men. Such men have not been con-

fined to great states; in the small Greek and Haliea re-
publics, they flourished to perfection. Athenian Cleon has
furnished the model for many modern imitators, and
Dante knew many such in the Florentine troubles, whose
bad names have been preserved in unenyiable immortal.
ity in the Dwine Comedy.” ;
“How then, unele,” said St. George, “can you, knowing
that mob-rule is certain to gender and too often elevate
to office such curses as these men, still sanction de-
mocracy. I believe our American glorification of free
institutions is all delusion. We have erected the sense-
less masses into another golden calf, and our public men
vie with each other ‘iin their worship of an idol, which, in
scriptural language, haying eyes sees not, and ears hears

“not. It nauseates me to hear stump-speakers talking of

the voice of the people being the voice of God; I would

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

288 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

much sooner expect to find them registering the devil’s
edicts.”

“What wisdom can there be in looking for discre-
tion among those who have no opinions of their own?
and to low, dissolute natures for the preservation and en-
couragement of political virtue?”

“Your remarks, Percival,” said Judge Eustace, “ grow
out of your theory of government, which you know ex-
tends but little beyond affording protection to the enjoy-
ment of property and the punishment of guilt. You
have always maintained that the masses should be held
in quiet subjection to those who, by reason of their
superior intelligence and virtue are better suited for
framing and executing the laws. The true theory is, that
government should be instituted for the protection of the
helpless and weak, from the rapacity of the wise and
strong. Intelligence and capital very well take care of
themselves, and need but few safeguards from the law,
but ignorance, with all the help that can be afforded, will
suffer in the hands of unprincipled men. As the greater
portion of every community thus stand in need of pro-
tection, they are’ made the fountain of political power to

enable them as much as possible to counteract the schemes .

of crafty selfishness. That the people often blunder in
their ignorance is true, but they gain wisdom by experi-
ence, and what is found to be bad policy to-day can be
changed to-morrow. ‘Then, too, freedom of speech allows

any one who has enough of patriotism and ability to do

so to pull the lion’s skin from the shoulders of the dema-
gogue who seeks to mislead them.”

“T know that theory very well,” said Percival, “but
what punishment would follow such an exposure? If

 

en mconere

aad

Grief at Ellesmere. 289
he is nota high civil officer, nothing but his own con-
science reproves him for his misdemeanor, and the self-
reproaches of such a man are but slight. If, like Warren
Hastings, he fills a station of importance, and is guilty of
such enormities, another Edmund Burke may be fired
with indignation, and put in process impeachment, with
all its pageantry ; but you well know how enormous the
crime must be to produce such a state of things. It has
been two centuries since the Earl of Stafford suffered for
what his own violent political enemies alleged against
him, and his was the latest impeachment, I now recollect ,
which ended capitally. The pitiless and bloody man,
who had exhausted the catalogue of crimes in India,
was never punished; yet who, but God, can say, that
Thomas Wentworth’s motives were criminal, in his ad-
vocacy of the Thorough ?” i
“Tf we can trust to Stafford’s own declaration,” said
Judge Eustace, “he had labored for years to make Eng-
land what France then was under Louis XIV. The best
efforts of his life were devoted to the destruction of that.
assurance of liberty to the subject which had commenced
at the field of Runnymede, and by slow and continuous
struggle on the part of Parliament had assumed some
form and substance at that day. If it be treason to seek the
destruction of the barriers which protect individual right
against the encroachment of the sovereign, then he was
a traitor. His talents made him all the more dangerous
to popular liberty, and had he been successful in his de-
signs civilization would have borne a very different aspect
from what it does. ‘Trials for political offences are natur-
ally difficult and delicate, and should be as seldom resort-
ed to as is consistent with the safety of the state. The
19

”

 

    

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290

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

modern mind justly revolts at the sequence of bloody
vengeance upon the success of a party, for, however mis-
taken and criminal in their view, the conduct of their
fallen opponents—patriotism and purity of purpose may,
after all, have been the motives actuating their conduct.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Grey, “that charity which covers a
multitude of sins, should be in our hearts and soften our
judgments toward those in office. Without his own de-
clarations to guide us, a public man’s motives are often
only known to himself and God, and where our interests
are identical with his it seems to me unnatural that any
one should deliberately plot mischief when it is sure to
recoil upon himself and his posterity.”

“T know,” said Percival, “that Lord Bacon -has said,

‘that in his children a man has given hostages to fortune:
but the thoroughly selfish have small regard for those
‘who are to come after him. Imagine Catiline or Benedict
Arnold considering the interests of their grandchildren !
‘Why such men are utterly indifferent to everything except
themselves.”

“Cousin Percy,” said Mariana, “ do you think it pessi-
‘ble for men to become as sinful as that? How can they
‘thus forget God and their future accountability? I can-
not imagine anything desirable in high station, when
‘memory brings shame to the man who has thus climbed
‘a ladder of crime to reach objects which are only desir-
cable, after all, in the increased pleasure successful merit
imparts. ,

‘‘How e’er it be it seems to me
*Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.’

 

 

   

Grief at Ellesmere. 291

“That is the true philosophy, after all,” said Judge
Hustace, “ for Shakspeare makes Macbeth, even while re-
flecting upon his intended crime, acknowledge, that

“Vaulting ambition which o’er leaps itself,”

is after all insufficient, for, as the regicide declared,

**Tn these cases,
We still have judgment here, that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison’d chalice
To our own lips.”

Often in such discussions of the great problems of hu-
man life did the circle at Ellesmere spend their evenings.

This portion of the day had long been by Judge Eustace

held sacred to conversation and pleasure. It would have
been a matter of astonishment to Philip and Mariana to
have known how much of their information on all sub-
jects had been obtained on such occasions, for they were
ever eager listeners to their wise and affectionate grand-
father.

As the time of his departure drew near, Philip fre-
quently amused himself in inspections of the stables and
kennel. With all his interest in graver subjects, his mind
yet recurred to the days when these were the most pleas-
ant haunts of his boyhood. One evening, after returning
from a ride with his sister, he found Thompson at the
kennel gate, and remarked:

“Uncle Thompson, I am soon going away again, and
shall be gone for a long time; so I fear Ringwood and
Sweetlips will be too old to lead the pack when I return.
You must take good care of them in my absence, for the
good they haye done.”

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

292 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“ Shore and sartin I will, Mass Phil. Ise hearn tell how
yower gwine away agin, an’ it hurt my feelins, for if you
blieve me, I was hopin’ how you was to stay here a long
time. Whar you gwine to now, Mass Phil ?”

“ Away over the ocean to Europe, and I expect to be
gone at least three years.”

“ Well, Mass Phil, some how I ’aint never had much
opinion of dem folks sense de way dey served Mass Percy
ever dare. Why afore he went amongst dem he wasallers
a sky-larking one way or another. I never seed a young
man fuller of life in my born days, and when he got back
you wouldn’t er knowd him. You was a leetle bit of a
boy den, but he aint got over it yit; for sometimes I looks
at him settin’ upon his horse, an’ he is so solemn like
about de face, it hurts my heart to see him. Nancy said
*twas all about a young lady; but if you blieves me ef half
de women in de world was clean dead and gone ’twould-
n’t serve me so.”

“Uncle Thompson, you have never loved as he did.”

“Maybe not, Mass Phil, but I sets a heap er store by
Nancy, specially sense she’s lef’ off devilin’ me “bout
sperits.”

Philip had received, that day, a letter from Rosamond.
She was tender in her allusions to his expected absence
from the country, and besought him to allow her to see
him once more before he departed. There were many
things she wished to talk over with him, now that more
than a year had elapsed since they had seen each other.
She had met Lily Seaton, who had known him at the
University, and she had manifested much interest in form-
ing Rosamond’s acquaintance. They had spoken much
of him, and the heiress of Thorndale was very proud of
his college reputation.

 

 

Grief at Ellesmere. * 293

The happy days of thoughtless boyhood had passed
away, and the future lay before Philip, full of glowing
promise. :

The death of Stanhope Eustace had much increased
the prospective weight of responsibility which would
some day come upon him, and with a clear perception of
what would be his duties under the circumstances, he
went on with his work of preparation. Grief was under-
mining the health of his grandmother, and was reflecting
itself upon the strongly sympathetic nature of Mariana.
The prospect of his departure, under these circumstances,
brought with it many disquieting suggestions; but youth
is ever hopeful; so Philip, placing his trust in that unfail-
ing Providence which had thus far cared for him, calmly
accepted the sorrows of the present, and with golden
hopes awaited the future.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

294 ° The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER XV.

TITUS PAINE—THE OUTLAW.

“He chose the Sinner’s way, the Scorner’s mirth;
Now feigned contrition with obdurate tears,
Then wore a bravery that, betrayed his fears;
With oaths and curses now his Lord denied..
And strangled guilty shame with desperate pride;
While. inly rack’d, he proved what culprits feel,
When conscience breaks remembrance on the wheel.”
—Abdallah and Sabat.

Tue annual races near St. Kilda had passed with the
usual festivities, and Philip had looked on, as the high
mettled coursers out-stripped the speed of the winds. He
still found much pleasure in the noble animals, as in
conscious power they spurned the dust from their impa-
tient feet ; but it was no longer the absorbing interest he
had felt two years before, when Tempest was so all-im-
portant in his estimation. The honor of his family and
native valley had ceased to be dependant, in his opinion,
on the result of horse-races. With the lapse of time,
higher aspirations had come, and the horizon of his hopes
and joys had immensely expanded. No vague phantoms
ef unsatisfied ambition supplied the place of these buried
idols; but with grave and hopeful consideration of the
future, he realized, thus standing on the threshold of
manhood, that comfort and usefulness must be found in
higher walks.

The glare and heat of summer had given place to the
chastened glories of autumn, and under the weird touches
of the frost, the forest, with its unnumbered shades of
green, was now gay in a thousand yaried tints. The

 

 

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. 295

squirrel revelled in the boundless profusion of ripened
nuts, and the balmy air and dreamy voluptuousness of
Indian Summer gladdened the land. The softness of the
atmosphere and the gorgeous hill-sides filled the heart of
Philip with delight. He thought of Rosamond far away
in the dreary brick walls of the city, and longed. for her
to be with him, as he surveyed their native hills thus
robed in the pomp of mysterious decay. _ i

Alfred and Isabel Ridgely were visiting the family at
Ellesmere. Late that evening Judge Eustace returned —
from Grafton with the information that Mr. Grey had
been taken suddenly ill. Philip at once determined to
go and spend the night with his former instructor, and
Ridgely having joined him in this resolution, they were
soon at the house jointly occupied by Nathan Dale and
the good man. Mr. Grey protested they were giving
themselves unnecessary trouble; that he would very well
pass the night alone; but the hot, dry skin and unceas-
ing pain convinced Philip that the sufferer, who was but
feeble at best, was prostrated by a serious attack of bilious
fever.

“T am scarcely ever sick,” said Mr. Grey, “ that I cannot
trace my bodily distemper to some sorrow of the mind.
The death of poor Stanhope, and the prospect of your
own departure, Philip, have weighed heavily on my
spirits: added to this, Isham, in whom I have greatly
confided, from the apparent christian sobriety of his be-
havior, is implicated in hog stealing with a runaway
negro, and I ‘have been sorely tried in his apostacy.
Many good men think negroes incorrigible, and have but
little faith in their profession of religion, but I have not
limited the divine grace in such a way. I believe the

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

296 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

promise is to all men, and now to find that Isham, who
was, in appearance, one of the best of my little flock here
is a hog-thief, has brought me much disappointment and
chagrin.”

. “My dear Mr. Grey,” said Philip, “do not suffer your-

self to be distressed by this affair. Remember even one

of the ckosen twelve fell into the sin of denying his Lord,
and expect no more of this recreant negro. I know how
you trusted Isham, but there are others who at least have
not openly fallen.” °

“St. Peter sinned,” said Mr. Grey, “and bitterly repent-
ed his fall, but Isham is sullen since the reception of
punishment, and seems utterly indifferent to what God
requires. I can see no trace of penitence in his hard and
obdurate heart.”

This trouble was evidently uppermost in the good man’s
thoughts, but Philip’s tact gradually led him to the con-
sideration of other subjects, and the three consumed much
of the night in conversation. Alfred Ridgely retired to
an upper room, leaving his comrade to watch by the
bedside of the sick man. Mr. Grey had fallen asleep, and
as Philip sat in silence, many thoughts of his happy
childhood, so largely associated with him who lay moan-
ing in his troubled slumber, went and came through his
mind.

The candle had been so shaded in the fire-place that
but little light was in the room, when Philip was astonish-
ed to hear the sound of falling blows. He listened in-
tently, and smothered sobs of pain came to his ear. This
was followed by the sharp clatter of a horses feet approach-
ing at a gallop. He went to the outer door and noise-
lessly opened it. The moonlight rested full upon the

TO AR

 

 

Titus Paine—the Cutlaw. 297

trees round the house, and Philip distinctly saw Nathan
Dale dismount and tie his horse to a rack. He also
noticed a bright light in the kitchen, the door of which
was opened as the overseer approached, and a negro wo-
man came out weeping. :

“Miranda,” said Dale,“ what are you crying about,
what did you make a fire for in the kitchen this time of
night?” :

“Oh! Mr. Dale,” said the woman, “ Titus Paine is here,
and has beaten me almost to death to make me cook
something for him to eat. He made the fire and is in
the house now.”

“Who are you?” said Dale, as he stepped into the
kitchen.

“ Didn’t that woman tell you who I am ?” growled the
heavy voice of a gigantic negro as he arose from his seat.

“ How dare you come here, runaway and outlaw as you
are?” .

“T comes when I please, and I goes when I please,
does.”

Dale stooped to raise a broken chair which lay on the
floor, when Titus Paine, with the spring of a tiger, leaped
forward, and with a blow from a club he had held behind
him, struck down the overseer, and kicked his body from
the kitchen. The hardened wretch, without further at-
tention to the man he had slain, deliberately resumed his
seat to finish his interrupted meal. Prudence should
haye prompted Philip, after he had witnessed this scene
of violence, to have aroused Allred Ridgely to aid him
in the desperate resolution he then formed ; but the brutal
atrocity of the murder had aroused a nature which
brooked no delay in its wrath. He grasped a stick, and

I

 

 

5
iad

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

298 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

before Titus Paine was aware of his presence on the
plantation he was standing in the kitchen door. As the
ruffian raised his sinister eyes he beheld a minister of
vengeance, before whose awakened fury the stoutest heart
might well have quailed. Philip was in his shirt sleeves,
and Titus saw, at a glance, the power and activity of his
new antagonist. He perceived in the steady eyes that
regarded him a spirit before which one less determined
might have shrunk with apprehension. The runaway
exhibited no symptoms of fear, but at once sprang up
without a word to meet his advancing foe. The heavy
club was again brandished aloft, but striking the joist of
the unceiled room fell with diminished force on the stick
which had already inflicted a blow on the negro, but
glanced from his thick skull as if it had been iron.
Again the enraged Titan brought down the club, but its,
force was parried each time by the skillful fencer, until
blinded by the strokes which fell so fast upon him, he
dropped his weapon and rushed in upon Philip.

The extraordinary power of each was now strained to
its utmost, but Philip’s superior activity gave him the
advantage, and wit a shock that made the house tremble
the African fell with ‘his feet high in the air. The heavy
club was grasped before the negro could arise, and asingle
blow sufficed to end the combat. Titus Paine lay in-
sensible on the floor, as Mr. Grey and Alfred Ridgely
made their appearance. The unconscious ruffian was
tied, and on bringing into the light the body of Dale it
was found that life was utterly extinct, for the blow on
his skull had crushed it. Several of the negro men, in
the meanwhile, had collected before the door, attracted
by the outcry of Miranda at the commencement of hos-

 

 

 

at all

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. 299

.

tilities between Philip and the runaway. One of them
came in, and looking in Titus’ face, remarked : G

“Mass Phil, dat nigger aint no more out of his senses.
dan I is.” ‘

“It makes but little difference,” said Philip, “ whether
he talks or not.”

“Mass Phil,” said the foreman, “I didn’t b’lieve the
man was living calcerlated to throw Titus Paine, but I
seed you when you tuck de flyin mare on him, and bless
to heaven he nately shuck de yeth.”

“Philip,” said Ridgely, “did you grapple with that
huge man-mountain on the floor ?”

“ Yes, he ran in upon me, in spite of the beating I gave
him with the heavy stick you see lying there. Poor Dale
died under the first blow.” :

“Theerd Titus Paine say, day fore yistiddy, he were
gwine to kill Mr. Dale,” said one of the negroes.

Mr. Grey was too ill to remain up longer, but the two
young men watched over the dead body and the prisoner
the remainder of the night. At day-dawn Titus, evident-
ly in his senses, but obstinately silent, was conveyed to
St. Kilda jail. The fact of his commitment, and the
brutal murder he had just perpetrated, became known,
and a concourse of citizens, already acquainted with his
infamous character, demanded the keys of the jailor, that
they might proceed to summary punishment, but speeches
by Judge Eustace, and Mr. Somerville, induced them to
leave him to the law he had so often violated. It lacked
but a short time to the occurrence of the fall term of the
superior court, and he could then have his trial, There
was scarcely a man in the valley who had not suffered by
the depredations of the culprit who lay heavily ironed in

    

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

e
Ly

300 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

prison, and such was the determination that he should —
not escape justice, the men of the town and the surround-

ing country kept guard around the jail for fear he might
possibly break out, as he had done on previous accasions.

Titus Paine had for some time been looked upon as the
nuisance and terror of St. Kilda Valley. In some in-
stances, after forcibly entering houses, he had unmerci-
fully beaten the owners who resented his intrusion. He
was never known to labor, but carried such of the animals

as he needed for his subsistence to hisden. Frequent

attempts were made to arrest him, but he had contrived
hitherto to elude every scheme for his capture. No man
felt safe when he had reason to believe that Titus was in
his neighborhood, for if he failed to get vengeance on the
person of him he regarded as his enemy, he was apt to
take satisfaction on the live stock and barns by burning
the one and killing the other. The community was
highly gratified, when it was understood that this desper-
ate outlaw had been arrested in the midst of his crimes.
His great stature and unusual strength were well known
in the country, and it was thought a matter of impossi-
bility for any one man to cope with him successfully,

- unaided by fire arms.’

The community were astonished that Philip, unarmed
and by his own physical strength, had encountered and
overcome this son of Anak, and the popular admiration
of his spirit and power rose to frenzy. Nothing sooner
rivets the attention of the inasses than the union of
dauntless courage and great bodily vigor. This is the
secret of Richard of the lion-heart’s fame, and beyond
these qualifications there is nothing in the character of
Sampson to justify the admiration of men, and so

 
      
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

 

&
Pre

Titus Paine—the Outlav. 301

captivated even the grand genius of Milton that it led to
the composition of his Agonistes. Stanhope Eustace had
been correct in his estimate of Philip’s disposition. He
was as insensible to fear as any one having the same mo-
tives to desire a continuance of life. Unhappiness and
despair often create heroes of very common-place charac-
ters, and men have astonished armies with the splendor
of their daring whose disappointment and troubles had
made them weary of life. Philip had much to hope for
from the future, but this weighed nothing in the balance
when his controlling sense of duty led in a different
direction. He had periled his life in the conflict with
Titus, because he believed it incumbent upon every good
citizen to arrest the perpetrators of high crime. ‘The de-
liberate slaughter of Nathan Dale had excited his indig-
nation and hatred of oppression, for the overseer had fal-
len in the conscientious discharge of his duty.

On the evening succeeding the murder of Nathan Dale
all the family at Ellesmere were collected, for Mr. Grey
had been brought from Grafton ina carriage and was
now able to sit up.

“Judge Bnstace,’ said Alfred Ridgely, “I hear that
Titus Paine has long borne an infamous character. Do
you know much of his previous history ite f

“Titus Paine,” said the Judge, “ first came to my notice
when I wasa member of the supreme court. He had
been convicted of murder in the court below, and his
counsel had brought the case, by appeal, before us. The
ease was one of intense interest, from the direct conflict
between the facts deposed to, and the prisoners confes-
sions; and in this way my attention was strongly drawn
to the accused. I learned that Titus had been owned by

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

802 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

a man living in the eastern part of the State, and hired
to another who was getting shingles in that section of
the country. This is a business much followed in that
portion of the State, and in the same swamp in which
Titus was working, a man named Cullens, assisted by his
son, found his livelihood in a similar occupation. Amos

Cullens, being subject to epileptic convulsions, was, at —

best, very feeble in body and mind, and was at times sub-
ject to fits of melancholy. One Saturday afternoon he
told his son, Richard, to leave his drawing knife with
which he was at work and go home to his mother, as she
would need his services in procuring firewood. They
had no servants, and such labor fell to the share of the
oldest son. Richard obeyed his father’s injunction, and
left him alone in the swamp.”

“As night came on,” continued Judge Eustace, “ Mrs.
Cullens became uneasy for her husband’s safety; but as
it was two miles to the place where he had been left at
work by Richard, she forbore sending her son, who was
of tender years, to look for him, for fear he might come
‘to harm. She spent the night much troubled in mind,
and as soon as it was light on Sunday morning Richard
set out in search of his father. He’ went to the point
where Cullens had been left at work, and found the tools
with which their handicraft was prosecuted hidden where
they were accustomed to be concealed. At a small dis-
tance from them, the coat which the unfortunate man
had worn the day before, was found lying on a fallen tree,
and near by the boy discovered the dead body of his
father suspended by the neck toa tree. Horror-stricken
the son returned to his mother and informed her of the
calamity which had thus deprived her family of its head

 

 

nn

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. 308
and principal support. The coroner of the county was at
once made acquainted with these facts, and he summoned
‘a jury of inquest to determine, if possible, in what man-
ner the deceased had come to his death.”

“ Upon examination of the ground about the spot there
was no trace of a struggle, as would have been the case
had some other man been the author of the hanging.
The body, when taken down and examined, exhibited no
sign of violence, and the clothes Cullens wore were not
torn or injurned. His suspenders were used as the cord
producing death. The tree upon which he was hanging
was just rigid enough to lift his feet clear of the ground,
and upon his arms and legs were found small pieces of
moss corresponding to that on the tree, while on the
maple itself a portion of the parasites had been rubbed
off, The jury were-farther put in possession of the facts
in Richard’s knowledge, and I think were warranted by
the testimony in finding, as they did, that the deceased
had come to his death by his own hands.”
“ A few days after the jury of inquest had reached this
conclusion, Titus Paine went by the house of Mrs. Cul-
lens, and asked permission of her to drink at the well.
She deposed, in her testimony, that she had consented to
his request, and that after slaking his thirst, he told her
he had heard of her husband’s death and the verdict of
the coroner’s jury. He further said, though they might
think Mr. Cullens had killed himself, he, Titus, had good
reason to believe that some enemy had inflicted this in-
jury upon her. Mrs. Cullens said, she thought ‘no more
of this declaration of the negro, considering it idle talk,
and not believing for an instant that he really knew any-

    

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

304 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

thing of the matter beyond the facts already in common
possession.

“Several years after this,” continued Judge Eustace,
“the man with whom Titus was then at work, declared,
that late one night he was awakened by a conversation
carried on in a low tone between Paine and another negro
man who was spending the night under the same shed
with himself in the swamp. He swore that he dis-
tinctly heard Titus ask his comrade if he recollected
Amos Cullens, and upon his answering in the affirmative,
Titus remarked, ‘ The white folks thought he killed him-
self; but don’t you believe it, for I hung that man my-
self’ Some years after this, the accused went to a neigh-
boring county where his master lived, and while there
declared to the negroes the same thing. By some means
these facts reached the ears of the grand jury of the county
in which Cullens had died, and thus Titus Paine became
indicted for a murder alleged to have been committed
years before. When the sheriff arrested him, he inquired
of his prisoner if he knew any cause why he should be
taken into custody ; and Titus supposed it was to satisfy
some execution against his owner who was embarrassed
by pecuniary difficulties. Upon being assured that he
was mistaken, he seemed reflecting for an instant, and
remarked, ‘I expect it is about that old Cullens matter.’

“To prove that the physical strength of Titus Paine
would have enabled him to have hanged Amos Cullens
without much exertion, it was shown by the prosecution
that for some grave misdemeanor his first owner had, on
one occasion, determined to send him out of the State, to
be sold in the city of New Orleans, In carrying out this
object he was taken in chains to the nearest sea-port, and

 

 

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. 305
placed on a vessel which was about to sail for his point
of destination. arly in the voyage this vessel was
wrecked on the coast, and lay beached upon the barrier
of sand which there separates the ocean and sound waters.
For safe-keeping, after the vessel was stranded, the cap-
tain chained Titus by one of his legs to the anchor of his
bark, and went off with some wreckers to spend the night
at their house. Titus was so fastened to the large mass
of iron, he could not escape without sundering the chains
by which he was confined. None of the crew having re-
mained by the wreck, they discovered, the next morning,
that the negro and anchor had both disappeared. Titus
was traced across the banks toa house a mile off, to
which point, by his unaided strength, like another Sarn-
son, he had borne a burden supposed to be impossible to
human strength. Having found an axe there, he escaped
from his massive clog, and his master having relented
allowed him to resume his business of getting shingles.”
“Tt was further shown that his unaided strength was:
sufficient to lift a hogshead of molasses into a dray, and
it was a common feat with him to take hold of the two
ends of a full barrel of whisky and, raising it up, to drink
from the bung. This testimony was thought sufficient
in the first trial in the court below to justify the jury in
finding him guilty of the murder of Amos Cullens. Ex-
ception was taken to the ruling on some points of the
presiding judge, and we of the supreme court, having
granted a new trial, he was soon after acquitted.”
“What!” said Mr. Grey, “acquit such a monster of
iniquity after his repeated confessions that he had wan-
tonly slain the man Cullens?” :
“Yes,” said Judge Eustace, “the last jury acquitted
20

    

 

 
 

nent

306 The Heirs of St. Kilda. Whe Piiné—the Ouilat 307

acquittal and discharge, he, becoming acquainted with
these hasty nuptials, manifested displeasure only in his
scowling face, and said nothing indicating enmity toward
the unfaithful partner of his bed and board. He had been
at liberty but a short time when the house, in which she
and her paramour were staying, was burned during the
night, and two unconsumed hearts, with some of the
larger bones of the human body, were all that remained
of the couple who had lived there. Suspicion of course
immediately rested on Titus Paine, and though the evi-

mainly on the ground that there was no assignable reason
for Titus’ commission of the alleged felony. The facts,
outside of his confession, indicated, unmistakeably, suicide
on the part of Cullens, and a slight acquaintance with
criminal practice will satisfy any one that no species of
evidence is so liable to be false as confession of crime.
It isa singular aberration of the human mind, and hun-
dreds of cases have shown that under some strong delu-
sion men have confessed offences which were impossible
for them to have committed. Ido not believe that Titus
Paine really thought he had murdered Amos Cullens. dence was slight, there was but little doubt on the minds
His declarations to that effect were simple gasconade ; of the people that he had slain the objects of his resent-
‘but many have honestly been under the impression that ; i ment, and then fired the house to conceal the double
‘they had committed offenses of which there could be no : murder he had committed.”
‘doubt of their entire innocence. The human mind, in “A portion of the community,” continued Judge Eus-
‘dwelling upon some crimes, seems, by a mysterious tace, “went to the farm of his master, and having taken
fascination, to become convinced of participation in possession of Titus, proceeded to hang him without
things which they have never witnessed.” further aid of judge or jury. His great weight broke
“Grandfather,” said Philip, “how did Titus come to the rope, when a negro-trader, who happened to be pres-
live in this region of the State?” ent, offered, at this juncture, to purchase him and carry

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“ After his acquittal in the second trial,” said Judge
Eustace, “his temper, which had not been originally
-eruel, became fearfully malignant. For several years be-
fore he was arrested on the charge of murder, he had
been living with a free woman of color as his wife. He
had frequently told her he had slain Amos Cullens, and,
when he was put on his trial, she had no doubt of his
conviction and punishment with death. Upon his sen-
tence becoming known, she had, with the facility of that
class of our population for consolation in such distress,
listened to the addresses of a free-negro; and while Titus
lay in jail she became the wife of the new suitor. On his

 

 

him from the State, if they would consent not to kill him.
The crowd, fickle as unlawful assemblies always are,
agreed to the proposition, as Titus, in the meanwhile,
had solemnly sworn that if they would thus permit his
departure he would never return. Once more rescued
from impending death, he was heavily ironed and put in
jail until, shortly afterward, the speculator started with a
gang of negroes for the Gulf States. To make sure of
Titus this time, he was chained to another negro man of
whose fidelity the trader had no doubt. Paine passed
quietly through the country, and had gone fifty miles
west of St. Kilda Valley, when, late one night, the camp

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3808 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

was alarmed by the stifled cries of the man to whom
Titus was fettered. For the first time since starting, the
speculator had neglected to chain the legs of Titus. He
had arisen at midnight, and grasping his companion and
threatening him with death if he made a noise, he sprang
off into the darkness. The terrified negro made desper-
ate efforts, both by outcries and muscular exertion to im-
pede the flight of the giant who was thus bearing him off
against his consent ; but his struggles and the white man’s
pursuit were unavailing, for Titus made his escape, and
was seen shortly afterwards in this valley. No. one knows
the fate of him he carried off.

“ Since that time, he has mainly lived in the valley, in
open war with the white men and every negro unwilling
to join him in his desperate villainy. Four years ago
Silas Haines, a white man of advanced age and great
kindness of disposition, heard, late at night, some one
breaking into his smoke-house, and going out fired both
barrels of his gun to frighten away the thief. Titus Paine
deliberately cut his throat, and carried off the bacon he
desired. Many efforts have been made to capture him,
but his cunning and desperate courage have enabled him
to elude them all.

“Philip, you may congratulate yourself upon a feat of
which Hercules himself might have justly felt proud, and,
but for your knowledge of fencing, you would have met
. the fate of Nathan Dale.”

Philip was much bruised in his desperate struggle with
the outlaw whose heavy club, though in a great measure
parried by the stout walking stick, had beaten down its
defence enough to inflict several serious blows on his
arms and head. His prodigious exertions, when he found

 

 

aed

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. 809

himself in the African’s grasp, rendered him hoarse and
feverish for nearly a month afterwards.

For some time past, Mariana had ceased to improve in
her vision; for her health, at all times delicate, had eyi-
dently become affected through sympathy with her grand-
mother’s sorrow, and her own distress at Stanhope
Eustace’s death. Dr. Vane, of St. Kilda, who had long
attended her, wrote to her father recommending a change

“in her mode of life and surrounding scenes. About this

time the President of the United States, knowing that his
friend and supporter was nearly at the end of his term of
office, tendered Gov. Eustace the mission to Paris. He
had determined to withdraw entirely from political life,
but Philip would leave in a short time for Europe; and
here too was Dr. Vane, in whose sagacity he had much
confidence, recommending change of scene for Mariana.
Besides this, that love of office, which, like a second na-
ture, infuses itself in the dispositions of men, suggested
to him that he could be with his family and enjoy great
station at the same time by accepting the President’s
offer. Let moman sneer at this double purpose of the
brilliant politician, nor arrogate to himself superiority,
thinking he would have acted-differently under the reso-
lution Gov. Eustace had formed. Let him remember,
that of all the potentates of whom we have record, none
but Diocletian and Charles V., have voluntarily laid down
the purple.

Goy. Eustace had long desired to visit Europe, and was
convinced that it would be beneficial to his mother and
daughter to accompany Philip as far as Paris: added to
these inducements, the position offered him by the presi-
dent led him to visit Ellesmere at once, before taking any

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

310 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

further steps in the matter. The serene and passionless
judgment of the father still maintained its ascendency
over the conduct of the son, clothed as he was with the
delegated dignity of a commonwealth. His propositions
were soon acceeded to by the parents, and it was determin-
ed they should depart for the Eastern world as soon as
affairs could be properly arranged. Gov. Eustace was to
return in a few days to the capital, and having accepted

the offer of the French mission, to resign at once his ©

office as chief magistrate of the State.

The superior court, the next day, commenced its fall
session at St. Kilda, and the male members of the family
at Ellesmere were all in attendance. The grand jury, on
Tuesday morning, brought in a true bill against Titus
Paine for the murder of Nathan Dale, and on Wednes-
day he was carried to the court house for arraignment.
The ferocity and manifold crimes of the prisoner attracted
an immense concourse to witness his trial. The iron
firmness of his character still sustained him in his reso-
lution to be silent, and when asked how he would be
tried, the counsel assigned him had to reply for him, “by
God and the country.” He bore an undaunted front,
and met with unfaltering gaze the scrutiny of the multi-

tude thirsting for his blood. When called upon to plead -

he said nothing, and the plea of not guilty was entered
up by order of the judge.

The solicitor for the State opened the prosecution, aided
by Mr. Somerville and Arthur Kean. He remarked that
he was sure that men, who had acted with such extra-
ordinary forbearance in not taking the life of the prisoner
at once, on his capture, would now administer even-han-
ded justice in listening to and weighing the evidence to

 

 

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. 311

be laid before them. The law in its offended majesty
was ever merciful to the criminal, for men not interested

in slaves were not eligible as jury men on this occasion.

After a few other remarks the witnesses for the prosecution
were called and duly sworn, and a murmur of admiration
arose from the dense throng as Philip Eustace took his
place on the stand.

“ Now there’s a man as is a man;” said an honest old
daleman, “thank God old Titus met his match at last.”

“ Well! now ’aint young Philip as proper a man as ever
you see?” said the man at his elbow.

“You see that black bruise on his temple? That’s
where Titus struck him.”

“Yes, I sees it; it was a powerful lick, but from what
I’ve hearn, Philip paid him up for it when he got the
flying-mare hitch upon him.”

Philip’s testimony was soon given, and the calmness of
his demeanor was such that when the counsel for the
prisoner took up the cross-examination he was soon satis-
fied that nothing could be gained by persistance in his
interrogatories. The jury and audience exhibited signs
of impatience and displeasure at questions they consid-
ered ill-tinted and disrespectful to him they then regard-
ed as the most deserving of mankind. Miranda had been
seriously injured by the beating Titus had given her, and
was so weak she could scarcely stand, but she entirely
corroborated the testimony already given. She was un-
mistakably terrified by the scowls of the prisoner, being
unable to realize, even then, that she was safe from his
persecution. Two negro men swore they had heard Titus
Paine declare, on more than one occasion, that he would
take the life of Nathan Dale as a recompense for the over-

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

312 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

seer’s efforts to capture him. As the prisoner still re-

mained obstinately silent, no witnesses were introduced
for the defense.

Arthur Kean and the solicitor for the State made able
speeches, and were replied to by the learned and ingeni-
ous gentleman who defended the accused. He evidently
considered his efforts exerted in a bad cause, and there-
fore fell short of his usual eloquent persuasion. His
honor,in submitting the case to the jury, told them there
were no controverted law points for his decision; if the
testimony adduced in their hearing was believed by them
to be true, then Titus Paine, the prisoner at the bar, was
guilty of wilful and felonious murder on the person of
Nathan Dale, as alleged in the bill of indictment. He
charged them that however odious and criminal may
have been the previous character of the accused, they
should remember they were trying him on the merits of
the case then under hearing, and the prisoner’s former
misdeeds should have no connection with the matter
properly under their consideration in making up their
verdict.

The jury retired to their room for consultation, and the
dense crowd remained in breathless attention, awaiting
their return. For the first time since the commencement
of the trial the prisoner exhibited an interest in what was
transpiring. He lost his indifference, and his eyes seem-
ed riveted on the door through which they had retired.
His respiration became quick and distressing, and,
although the day was cool, big drops of perspiration col-
lected upon his low forehead. The lower jaw seemed to
lose its vitality and fell, displaying his strong, spotless
teeth. The huge frame, which had borne itself so defi-

 

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Minn

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. Slo:

antly hitherto, now drooped with an agony of apprehen-
sion; and monster as he was, Philip, who was observing
him, could but feel pity at his torture.

“ Father,” said he, “I have thought, until this moment,.
that Titus Paine was insensible to fear, but see how un-
manned he is at the prospect of the sentence of death.”

“You will find yourself mistaken when the jury re-
turns,” said Gov. Eustace. “ Here they come; now watch
him and you will see it was suspense which apparently
unmanned him.”

“Gentlemen of the jury, what say you?” said the clerk
of the court; “is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not
guilty ?”

“ Guilty !” said the foreman, and as he spoke the word
the colossal figure of the accused straightened itself as if,
in positive triumph. The keen, undaunted eyes seemed
strangely luminous as they roved over the assembly.
With one long breath the heaving chest resumed its
ordinary movements, and Titus Paine appeared as little
interested in the proceedings as any man present.

“Let the prisoner stand up to receive his sentence,”
said the judge, and without further orders the murderer
arose to his full height, towering like Saul, head and ©
shoulders above the people.

“Titus Paine,” said his Honor, “you have been duly
convicted by a sworn jury of your countrymen of the
felonious killing of Nathan Dale, then being in the peace
of God and the State. You have committed a heinous
crime, and we are told in the sacred scriptures and the
practices of all civilized communities that the murderer
shall surely be put to death. The court therefore directs
that you shall be taken from the jail, by the sheriff of

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

314 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

this county, between the hours of ten and three o’clock,
on the twelfth day of the ensuing month, and that you

be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and may God
have mercy on your soul!” :

The prisoner was taken back to his dungeon, and the
people retired from the court house. The judge and others
were seated on the piazza in front of the hotel rooms
occupied during court week by the lawyers from a dis-
tance.

“Nagle,” said judge Marsden, “ what was the matter
with you to-day? You were by no means yourself in
the speech you made.”

“Twas very much puzzled to talk at all,” said Mr.
Nagle, “and I think the people of St. Kilda valley de-
serve much credit for not hanging that wretch before the
court met. I felt, all the time I was defending him, that
he was the veriest scoundrel alive. Did you observe how
soon the jury and bystanders commenced looking indig-
nant when I was cross-examining young Eustace ?”

“Yes; and I knew you were injuring your case by the
questions you were asking. Young Eustace seems to be
as much beloved here as his father is all over the State.”

“He must be a Samson in strength,” said Nagle, “to
have overcome that gigantic negro in fair fight. I won-
der if his mental endowments are up to the traditional
mark of his family?”

“ He has the best balanced mind I have ever known,”
said Kean. “Governor Young, of the University, regards
him as the most promising youth of his acquaintance.”

“T recollect now,” said Nagle, “ that a neighbor of mine,
who was at college with him, spoke very highly of Philip
Eustace, the son of the Governor of the State. He must

 

 

Brn

Titus Paine—the Outlaw. 315

be very deserving, if the half of what Tom. Larkins told
me is true.”

“Tt is to be regretted,” said Mr. Somerville, “that Judge
Eustace opposes his practice of the law; for I am persua-.
ded he would become an ornament to the profession, in
the event of his turning his attention in that direction.”

“Governor Eustace is to make his farewell speech to-
morrow,” said Kean. “ Tis friends are preparing a din-
ner, and, after much persuasion, he has consented to ad-
dress them. You have heard of his intention to resign
his position as governor?”

“ Yes,” said Judge Marsden, “he told me he would ac-

-cept the French mission, tendered him by the President.

We must finish the court business in time to hear his
address.”

A carriage containing Judge Eustace and the governor
now drove up. Judge Marsden had promised to spend the
night at Eilesmere, and they went. off in that direction.
Ashton Eustace, George Marsden and Mr. Someryille
were members of the same class at the University. In
eloquence and native ability, the politician surpassed his
early friends; but both had achieved eminence by dili-
gence in study and unceasing attention to the details of
their profession.

“Marsden,” said Governor Eustace, as they neared the
park gate at Ellesmere, “is not this a glorious region to
live in and look upon? I was never happy out of these
mountain barriers, and the pleasantest hope of my life is
the prospect of spending the evening of my days amid
their unfailing beauties.”

“St. Kilda Valley is certainly full of charms,” said
Judge Marsden, looking on the noble views to their left,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

316 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“but happiness is rarely found in the loveliest spots of
creation, unless the higher cravings of the mind are sat-
isfied.”

“Yes,” said the Governor, “ but I have not thus sweet-
ened my toil amid my native hills. I have passed the
larger portion of my manhood amid the fruitless paths of
ambition, and now that I have the prospect of return, I
shall shortly be borne away by overruling circumstances
farther than ever before. Life is full of contradictions,
and is, at best, the sport of chance. I have been promis-
ing myself peace and happiness, but

“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time ..

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.’

Percival St. George and Philip were riding on horse-
back along the turnpike. They had been discussing the
incidents of the trial. Philip felt solemn with the knowl-
edge that through him a fellow’ creature had been drag-

. ged to punishment; but no foolish sentimentalism mar-
red his satisfaction in his consciousness of the benefit he
had conferred on his people.

“Cousin Percy,” said he, “is there no hope of your ac-
ecompanying us abroad ?”

“No, Philip, I have been of so little use in life, I am
determined, for this once, to strive to be of some service
to my friends. As your grandfather and father will be
absent for some time, I think some one of the family
should remain in the valley. Cousin Henrietta, too,

 

 

ee ad

Titus Paine—the Cutlaw. Ole

would be without an adviser, and she and Rosamond
need some one of us in their neighborhood ; so Mr. Grey
and I will remain and see that matters are properly man-
aged at Ellesmere, Grafton and Blenheim, and visit
Thorndale occasionally.” - i

The night wind was scattering the withered leaves in
the park, as they neared the house. The stag-hounds
bayed deep-mouthed welcome from the front porch ; and
the stars threw their feeble radiance on the carriage way.
Slowly, and in silence, rode the cousins, full of thought
and emotion. Life had taught lessons to both. To the
elder

‘One fatal remembrance—one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o’er our joys and our woes—
To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring,
For which joy hath no balm and affliction no sting.”

Both were largely gifted in whatever men consider de-
sirable. One in the dawn of boundless hope was yet
humble and contented with whatever the fates might .
bring; the other, with equal opportunities, had found the
promise of life all delusion, and the bubble of expected
joy had broken in his grasp. The youth in body and
soul yielded to heaven the submission of a child; while
the matured man united his womanly delicacy to the
obstinacy of Prometheus, and relied only upon himself.
Up beyond those stars, in the quiet depths of the infinite
dwelt merciful forbearance with the weaknesses of both.
One dreamed of the fates ever busy with their webs of
human destiny; the other of that divine love controlling
the nimble fingers of the children of the night, To the

 

 

 

 

 
 

    

be ee aed
318 The Heirs of St. Kilda. Gov. Hustace’s Valedictory. 319
christian youth, existence was full of boundless hope and ;
increasing joy; to the skeptic all was darkness, and he CHAPTER XVI.
could but
fe “ Chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night, pha shen Ba peers

Who, like a foul and ugly witch, did limp

: 8 dd swo.
So tediously away.” ONE rubbed his elbow, thus; and fleered, and swore,

A better speech was never spoke before:
Another, with his finger and his thumb,
Cried ‘‘ Via! we will do’t, come what will come!”
The third he capered, and cried, “ All goes well!”
—Love’s Labor's Lost,

Tue preparations for the public dinner to the retiring
governor were completed, and the entire population of
St. Kilda Valley, having donned their best clothes, were
collecting on the fair-grounds, near the village. There
was but little division in their minds on political ques-
tions, and in their support of Goy. Eustace they always
exhibited remarkable enthusiasm and unanimity. The

. merits of his ancestry, the virtues and position of his
father, added to his own winning manner, made him
almost an idol to those among whom he had been reared.
To vote against him was to incur the odium of a com-
munity highly appreciating social enjoyments, and even
his early opponent, Mr. Compton, soon discovered his
own road to popularity lay in graceful submission to the
general will. Many things had combined to feed this
popular fancy. The charity of himself and father; the
real devotion of his luminious intelligence to duties as-
sumed, and the fact that he was enough absent to make
his return always the occasion of congratulation, had con-
spired to fix him in the public mind.

This confidence of the people was warmly appreciated
by the impulsive leader.’ The depth of this feeling beamed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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820 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

in his eyes and trembled in his utterance whenever he
confessed to them the pleasure he thus received, and
hardy mountaineers would return to their humble homes
after listening to these impassioned assurances ; and eyes
which never lost their steadiness in the face of danger
‘would swim with tenderness, when wives and children
were told how Ashton Eustace had been talking that day,
It was, then, with great concern and regret that they
learned one so long loved and trusted was about to leave
their service. To many who had come to regard him as
necessary to the public weal, it was a source of unmixed
sorrow. The family afflictions at Ellesmere were known,
and disabled veterans who had served in Mexico with
Stanhope, returning, told the particulars of the dauntless
soldier’s death, satisfying all that these and other causes
justified the governor in taking the step they so much
deplored. In accepting the honor of the farewell dinner,
he had requested the committee who waited upon him to
make this the occasion for assembling all his friends in
the valley. He wished to see the good men there with
their wives and children, to rejoice with them that ere
long he would be free to return to his home in their
midst. —

At an early hour the place selected was thronged by
people from every nook and corner of St. Kilda yale.
The rustic swains came on horseback with their sweet-
hearts en croupe, and in waggons filled with all ages and
descriptions of the population. Each good woman well
reco)lected the smooth-spoken young candidate that was
years ago so fond of her children, and as she had heard
he wished to see her and her progeny, she had come to
hetp her husband do honor to him who had done honor

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Gov. Eustace’s Valedictory. 321

to the valley. Gov. Eustace spent a greater portion of
the morning in greetings and conversations with his
friends.’ He had the faculty of never forgetting a face
once seen, and all who were old enough to have attracted
his attention in his early canvasses were recognized and
addressed by him.

“ Make way, men!” cried a strong voice. “Aunt Polly
Dunn wants to shake hands with the Governor.”

A venerable woman, bent with the weight ef years,
came slowly wending her way through the crowd. A
long walking-stick was in one hand, and the other rested
on the shoulder of a lad who walked by her side, in
mingled: assurance and modesty. :

“Tam glad to see you, Mrs. Dunn,” said the Governor,
going forward to meet her. “ How are you and yours to-
day, madam ?”

“Thank the Lord, sir, we be all as well as we could
look for. Howis it with you and your folks, Governor ?”

“Tam well, but my mother and daughter are in feeble
health.”

“T have hearn as much,” said she. “ Well, Governor,
here is the boy, my poor son, Henry, named after you.
He wanted to see you, and I wanted to see you, so we
have come all the way here to lay eyes on ye once more.”

“How old are you, Ashton ?” said the Governor.

“Tam sixteen my next birth day, sir.”

“We are all troubled in mind about you, up in Laurel-
dale, Governor,” said Mrs. Dunn. “Some of us knows
what it is to have sorrow at the heart.”

“God has sent mea great trouble,” said the Governor.

“ Well, Governor,” said an old daleman, “I have always
stuck by you through thick and thin, and I tell you now,

21

 

 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

322 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

I believe you are taking away our best friend in going
over yonder to them French folks.”

Hundreds of such greetings and assurances met him
on eyery side, and he was often touched by manifesta-
tions of attachment and sympathy, but the next moment
his elastic spirits had recovered. Wherever he went,
there was a circle of admiring listeners who were eager
to hear all that he should say. The prosperous condition
of the people not supporting much litigation in the courts,
all the law docket had been disposed of, and the judge
adjourned the session. The large audience-hall was filled
to its utmost capacity, as the time approached for the
orator to commence, and his entrance was greeted with
loud and prolonged cheering. The beauty and intelli-
gence of the valley were present side by side with its
honest yeomanry. Every eye was bent upon him who
was now to make his last speech. A thousand hearts:
beat quickly*as he ascended the stage; and as the cheers:
died away, Gov. Eustace said he was unable to express
the emotions which filled his heart. “I confess to you,”
he continued, “I have never so painfully realized my own
unworthiness, as to-day in the face of this great and un-
merited honor you do me. I cannot find words to tell
my gratitude for your generous appreciation. I have this
day met you all, among whom I was born and reared,
and as I glance over this great throng I am reminded
that you are here to testify your affection tome. Was it
not enough, when I was young, that you took me by the
hand and gave me your confidence? Think you that
twenty years of loving trust are insufficient to gratify the
cravings of my heart? Hard, indeed, would I be to
satisfy, if such were the case. Then let me thank you,

 

 

Gov. Hustace’s Valedictory. 328

my friends, with all my soul, in this, perhaps, the last
speech I shall ever make, and assure you, that while life
lasts I: shall remember your kindness. When I came
home I had no dream of such a thing, and I should not
have consented to address you, as much as I desired
to meet with you all, had not the high and important
issues now being made, in my opinion, called for a part-
ing word of advice.

“ Fellow citizens, I am here, at your own request, to
give you my views on political topics. I came with no
purpose of my own to subserve. I am at the close of my
career as a solicitor of your suffrages, and the wide ocean
will be between us before you will cast your votes in de-

. termination of some of the matters which I shall discuss.

Then I know you will believe what I tell you to-day,
thus assured that I have no further interest in the matter
than what every good citizen must feel in the welfare of
the country.

“We have abundant cause for gratitude to heaven for
the unnumbered blessings we enjoy asa people. Less
than two centuries ago, our forefathers, led by the provi-
dence of God, came here to live in a wilderness. In the
interval which separates us from that time, we have seen
a republic, grand in allits dimensions, take the place of
previous discord and petty division. Year by year the
axe of the white man has been heard nearer the setting
sun. Slowly, in the same direction, has retired the red
man of the forest, departing like a shadow from the haunts
of his forefathers, and with his frail canoe yielding place
to the stately argosies of advancing civilization. This.
country, so vast in its extent, and so wonderful in the va-
riety of its resources, has been, by the wisdom and patriot-

—

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824 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ism of our ancestors, blessed with a government free and
beneficent in its nature. The statesmen who framed the
Federal Constitution, have left us a legacy which will
make us the happiest people in the world, if we are only
virtuous and wise enough to adhere to its directions.
Fellow citizens, shall we do this? Will the obstinacy
and selfishness of mankind allow us to preserve this char-
ter intact? I confess to you, I have many doubts on the
subject.

“A cloud has arisen upon our political horizon, which
was scarce discernible when we first knew each other;
but it has increased its proportions, until now it over-
shadows the land. You all understand me as referring
to the growing disposition of some people to interfere with
affairs which were in the most solemn manner guaranteed
to the several states, as things incident to their reserved
sovereignty. We all agree as to what our rights are; but
I wish to warn you against the insidious approaches of
this spirit, which, unchecked, will some day destroy the
liberties of us all. I declare to you, that in my opinion,
the constitution under which we live is worse than use-
less, unless its spirit and letter are observed. A people
who have agreed to a charter, which plainly declares the
way in which they should be governed, are supremely
‘blessed so long as that instrument is regarded; but when
sit.ceases to be observed, and the dominant majority de-
spise its restraints, the whole thing becomes a mockery
cand a delusion. :

“We have long been remarkable for the moderation
cand conservatism of our habits. We have preserved more
-of the laws and institutions under which our fathers lived
than any other American community, but it seems this

 

 

   

Gov. Eustace’s Valedictory. 825

season of contentment is about to pass away. There isa
wide-spread and persistent agitation of subjects dangerous
in their ultimate effects, and, full of evil omens for our
future happiness.”

Governor Eustace proceeded to explain the anomalous
condition of the Southern States. How, in a free republic,
they were yet filled with miilions of bondmen. That
question had been of serious import ever since the action —
of Mr. Jefferson and Virginia had initiated the policy of
the Federal Government as to the new States and Terri-
tories, The ordinance of 1789 was but one of a thous-
and other indications that the Southern men of that day
contemplated gradual emancipation of their slaves. But
this spirit had met with strange recognition. The early
abolition petitions to Congress had been followed by
movements, gradually increasing in offensive action and
comment, until the former liberal and philosophic spirit
of the slave-holders became lost in disgust and opposition
to all the schemes of the abolitionists. This alienation
of the sections was growing year by year. An enmity
which could only eventuate in bloodshed was evident to
the most careless observer. He besought his people to
discard such a spirit and trust to the better feelings of
the future for the healing of the great breach in the Re-
public’s life.

He advised his hearers to give less devotion to party
and more to the country. To cleave to their rights under
the law, but at the same time to abstain from those ani-
mosities and recriminations which availed nothing but to
increase the evil. He besought his people to act frankly
and mercifully with their bondsmen, and to remember

 
 

     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

326 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

 

that they were in no wise responsible for the dangers and
distractions of the time.

The subjects discussed by Gov. Eustace are generally
of passionless inquiry. The calm and deliberate political
economist studies them in the quiet of his retirement,
but the passionate leader discerned danger in the objects
of his animadversion, and, throughout the delivery of
his speech, exhibited the most intense feeling. No man
in all the concourse went away with a doubt of his deep
concern for the public welfare. The honest mountaineers
had never heard Ashton Eustace speak with so much
earnestness and solemnity before. Not an anecdote fell
from his lips, and they were confident that a great danger
was menacing the State. He was too much exhausted to
reply, at length, to the toast in his honor at the dinner
table; and this was generally regretted, as his fancy and
exhuberant feeling made his efforts delightful on such
occasions ; but other orators were present to make speeches
and offer toasts until late in the evening.

Tt had been a day of deep enjoyment to him who had
so long basked in the sunshine of popular favor, but with
his return to Ellesmere, came the whispers of that ever
present spirit asking, ‘ what is all this worth?” Ambition
had gained its desires; but applause and position must
perish with the morrow. Even then the shouts, which
had gratified him, were gone with the dying echoes that
followed, and he felt with the poet:

“The world is too much with us. Late and soon.
Getting and spending we lay waste our powers. ””

 

 

Outward-Bound. SW

CHAPTER XVIL

OUTWARD-BOUND.

« AprEU, adieu! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
‘We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land—Good Night!”
—Childe Harold.

Once more Christmas had eome and gone. Gov. Eus-
tace had laid down his magisterial honors, and another
filled his place. The families at Ellesmere and Thorndale
had yainly waited the coming of Rosamond ; sudden
illness had disappointed the hopes which she and they

* thad indulged, and Philip saw with regret that if he met

her at all before his departure it would be among strang-
ers. His father had now completed all his preparations
for the voyage save his visit to the President for final
instructions and credentials. Letters had been received
from the Secretary of State urging the importance of the
mew enyoy’s early presence at his post of duty. Titus
Paine had expiated the crimes of his life on the gallows :
meeting death with stoical indifference. Charles Loundes
had come from his home amid the orange groves, and
was once more an exile from the broad fields of cotton
and sugar-cane.

Everything was in readiness for the departure of the
family, and many of their friends were paying farewell
visits. Philip looked with melancholy interest on the

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

 

  

328

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

home he was leaving. Mariana was less affected than
her brother; her joy for years past having lain in the
serene domain of her own thoughts. The trees and
embowered walks, the beautiful lawns and the still waters
of the lake, were things she faintly remembered to have
seen and loved in @ time which almost seemed to
belong to another existence. Whether she remained
at ENesmere or crossed the ocean, her sources of peace
would remain undisturbed. She regretted to. be separat-
ed from Percival and Mr. Grey, and the organ in the
library. Init she had found a voice and reflection of her
soul, and its symphonies were to her what sun-light and
nature’s ever-varying loveliness were to others. Dimly,
as in a dream, her partially restored vision received at
twilight the outlines of forms; butas yet the soft, glorious
tints and delicate shadings of the picture were hidden in
darkness.

Judge Eustace gave bis parting instructions to the twa
overseers, to whose care the estates of Ellesmere and
Grafton were to be left during his absence. He fully
appreciated the nature of his. duties to his slaves and was
anxious that his long-established rules should be observed
during his sojourn in Europe.

-“You are both aware,” said he, “that E shall leave
home to-morrow. The period of my absence will depend
upon the health of my wife and granddaughter. I have
yielded to the suggestions of Dr. Vane, and shall go abroad
with the hope of their restoration. I need not tell you
what will be my anxiety in thus separating myself from
my interests here; but I have relied upom your judgment
and honesty, in committing so much to your charge.
Mr. Grey will remain, and I insist that you both treat

 

 

_ ea sewn
acs matte a

an ncn JE

Outward-Bound. 3829

him with all respect due his sacred calling. He will in
no way interfere with you in your duties, and I wish him
to be aided in all that he shall think necessary to the
comfort of the negroes who may be sick. My nephew, °
Mr. St. George, will exercise a general supervision, as I
have done, and must of course receive your respectful
compliance with his directions. I shall expect you to be
firm and at the same time forbearing with the faults of
the negroes. If their offences need punishment, equally
avoid needless severity and fruitless leniency. Do not
indulge in useless threats; but let your actions, not your
words, inspire fear of your resentment. Any weakness
on your vart will be readily seen and made use of by the
negroes. He who drinks with them or in any way sinks
himself to their level, at once. parts with his authority.
You cannot give too much of your presence in the fields
and barn-yards, but have no further association than oc-
easional inspection of their houses to see that they are
kept clean. Send for Dr. Vane whenever you have rea-
son to think they are sick, and compel others to give
them that attention they will rarely extend if left to the
promptings of their own humanity.”

The next morning saw the family group which had
elustered so lovingly at Ellesmere en route for a distant
destination. Mrs. Hewett, the house-keeper, and the two
bachelors were the only white oecwpants of the large,
silent building. The two stag-hounds, as the night deep-
ened, seemed conscious of the exodus, and frequently
howled their almost, articulate sorrow to the winter moon.
The cold winds whistled and sobbed around the angles,
and darkness as of the grave reigned in the unoccupied
roams. Nothing is more painfully impressive than the

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

330

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

stillness and desertion of buildings long known as the
haunts of pleasure. The mind realizes with difficulty
the absence of beaming eyes and cheerful voices, and the
hush of death is instinctively associated with the oppres-
sive quiet. Percival was accustomed to solitude, as Vau-
cluse had long ceased to be a centre of joy; but this ab-
sence of the friends of his lonely life weighed heavily on
the heart accustomed to look to them for its only social
epjoyments. The loss of another whose unforgotten
beauty stole up in strange distinctness, kept him silent.
Occasionally Mr. Grey had made overtures of conversa-
tion, but he saw that the mind of his companion was far
away. : ; ;

“Mr. Grey,” at length said Percival, “think you in the
other world there will be recognition among friends who
have known and loved each other in this life ?”

“T have no doubt of it,’ said Mr. Grey. “We are
taught in the instance of the woman who had seven
brothers as her husbands, that such relations should not
continue to exist; but this cannot imply that we are to
be oblivious of those who have been dear to us in the
present existence. On the contrary, we are told that
Dives, though separated by a great gulf, recognized afar
off Abraham who had lived ages before he was born into
the world. Whether our social affections survive or
perish, in the hour of dissolution, we can safely trust our
Creator in a preparation of bliss for the redeemed, the

adequate conception of which surpasses our present com-—

prehension. The variety of innocent and enduring joys
which await the devout mind in this world, is but a feeble
earnest of the supreme felicity to be enjoyed in the life to
come.”

 

 

nt i a te

Outward-Bound. 331

“T have found,” said Percival, “ more sorrow than joy
in the lives I have known; and in my own experience,
as I recall the past, it seems I have been journeying all
my years through a wide desert, where oases have been
rare. In the general sum of my emotions my blissful
moments have been to me as a few ineffectual stars on the
bosom of almost rayless night—a few small islands of
rest in a wide and weary ocean of toil.”

Late into the long, winter night sat the two men dis-
cussing these deep and mysterious questions of God’s
dealing with bis creatures. Years ago they were children:
one a desolate and friendless orphan in whom a fearful
disaster had seemingly destroyed the only chance of hap-
piness in life. Small promise of joy remained to the
little boy, already steeped in poverty and deprived of the
tender oversight of the mother he had seen depart in the
midnight storm on her fatal and unavailing mission.
Who was to teach the ways of Him who dwelleth in
thick darkness to this young life thus left alone in the
world. His companion had been born amid ail that men
consider desirable. The down of incipient manhood was
on his cheek, ere consumption had siowly removed the
fair and indulgent being who had pressed him to her
bosom, the first and only pledge of her wedded love. The
irrepressible admiration of all beholders had greeted him
in the lingering glance and gentle tones of affection ; but
with so much to give joy, he was now confessing that his
pathway had lain through a land of sorrow and the
problem of his own life shrouded to his scrutiny in im-
penetrable shadow. The wind had been tempered to the
shorn lamb, but had fallen with chilling coldness on the
warm and passionate nature of the child of wealth.

 

 

ad
at 2 ee
ae

— - es ed

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  

332 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Gov. Eustace and the family went by way of Washing-
ton, but Philip left the party to take leave of Rosamond.
The illness which had prevented her visit to ‘Thorndale
during the Christmas holidays had so enfeebled her that

_she was yet keeping her room when he arrived in the
city. She had been placed by her mother in the family
of one of her friends, the wife of an officer in the navy,
and the heiress of Thorndale had in this way never
known the discomforts of a boarding school. The com-
modore had been absent on a long cruise during her stay

~and Mrs. Leighton was very limited in her attentions to
the mere pleasures of society. Her daughters were in
attendance at the same seminary with Rosamond, and
they were very pleasant to her who was now for the first
time removed from the protection of home and the guid-
ance of her mother. Mrs. Courtenay had been with her
for some time, and had not yet returned to St. Kilda Val-
ley, much as she desired to take leave of the family at
Ellesmere. She warmly thanked Philip for the kindness
of his visit, and after some conversation withdrew, wisely
concluding that the young people would have much to
talk over after their separation for the past eighteen
months.

Rosamond was seated in a large, carved chair which so
intercepted the softened lamp-light that Philip could not
realize the wonderful development which had been’
wrought in the beauty of her he so much associated with
his dreams of the future. She was thin and pale but her
splendid eyes beamed upon him with a love that banish-
ed much of the weary languor seen in them previous to
his arrival. The mass of waving hair was brushed back
from her brow and with the snowy camellias in the

 

 

Outward-Bound. 333

dim light the fair girl seemed almost divine in her
beauty. :

“Philip,” said Rosamond, “I cannot tell you what a
relief it is to me to have seen you before your depar-
ture.”

“T should have come to you,” said he, “had we not
expected yon to be with us during the holidays. All the
while I was thinking of the happy time we spent two
years ago when uncle Stanhope was with us. To know
that you were sick and among strangers destroyed my
pleasure.”

“Poor cousin Stanhope,” said Rosamond, “I wept long
and sore when I heard of his death. You have not
forgotten his anxiety to have you educated for a soldier.”

“ No, he was always partial to me, and seemed more so
after my adventure with the wolf. He was a true-hearted
man and met a death all soldiers regard as the happiest
the accidents of life afford. I wish he could have lived
with us to old age.”

“Tam very glad you did not go to West Point as he
desired; you might some day have shared his fate.”

“ So I might, sweet cousin, but many soldiers come home
after all their dangers and hardships. Mrs. Leighton and
her daughters are so kind to you, your school days must
be very pleasant.” :

- “These long absences weigh heavily upon me,” said
Rosamond. My friends here are very good, but their
affection cannot supply that of my mother. Then I miss
you, and Mariana, and the dear faces at Ellesmere so
much, and now to think you are all going away across
the wide, trackless ocean, which will soon be rolling its

?

 

 
 

 

 

 

  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

384 The Feirs of St. Kilda.

great waves between us. Oh! Philip, I am so weak, it
makes me sick at heart to think of it.”

“Dear Rosamond,” said Philip, “I fear my visit has
brought you trouble instead of the satisfaction my own
heart feels in your presence.”

“Oh no,” said she, and the soft eyes with their depth
of feeling were unspeakably beautiful. “My happiness
in being with you is only clouded by the thought that it
is the last time I may see you for years, and perhaps for-
ever. I would not, if I could, interfere with your inten-
tion to visit Europe, but while you will be surrounded
by so much to absorb the heart and mind, do not forget
me in America, who will be thinking of you all the
while.”

“While I have life, sweet-heart,” said Philip, “I shall
never forget you. I have so long pictured you as my
central joy, that I should feel recreant to the past and
my better self if cireumstances could weaken or destroy
these fondest hopes of my life.”

The conference was long and loving, and when it was
finished both hearts felt the great calm which confidence
in this momentous question always brings. Nothing in
the accidents of life afford so deep and pervading a quiet
to the restless affections as the first full assurance of re-
quited love in youth. To Rosamond it wasa glimpse
of Paradise, for she nad for years past cherished Philip’s
image with all the strength of her nature. She had
always looked upon him as the dearest of playmates; but
this sentiment had deepened into a passion, forming a
source of joy almost necessary to her existence. The
large mirror behind them had never reflected two finer
forms, and Rosamond, as she leaned back with half.closed

 

 

Outward-Bound. 335

eyes amid the silken cushions of the chair, looked upon
her affianced lover and compared him with her ideal pic-
tures of the heroes of old romance. She felt assured in
her heart that neither Sir Lancelot of the Lake, nor Sir
Percival, in all their splendid attire at the royal jousts,
were nobler than Philip. Sir Galahad could not have
shown more tenderness than she felt in the glance of his
dark eyes; and in the fleeting moments yet remaining
she was storing away in her memory each tone and jes-
ture of the happy present to be recalled in the future.
Oh golden visions of unreturning youth, who can hope
to paint the glory and depth of your joy! The softest
breathing at evening of suinmer airs is not disturbed in
the whispered vow, and the rhetoric of him who sways a
senate is not so eloquent as the silent pressure of clasped
hands. Oh mystery of human emotion! wherein con-
cealed are the causes that clothe the universe with halos
of joy, and then shroud it with palls of despair! Oh
wondrous glamour! now everything is nothing to a
pretty eye-brow, and a smile contents the heart which in
eoming years may weep like Alexander, that there are
no more worlds to conquer.

“ Philip remained with his cousin until he thought her
weakness required his forbearance, and, summoning Mrs,
Courtenay, amid their tears and kisses, departed. The
next day he rejoined his father who was still in Wash-
ington. The President had long been the personal as well
as political friend of Gov. Eustace, for they were at college
together, and the intimacy there established had been
subsequently cemented by mutual esteem and good offices.
The influence and eloquence of the Governor had largely
contributed to give the vote of the State to his friend, in

 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

336 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

the great struggle for the chief magistracy of the nation;
and to his efforts much was due in the President’s obtain-
ing another high office, years before, when they were
members of Congress. It was not, then, with the formality
usual in such presentations, that Philip was introduced
to and kindly treated by his father’s friend ; and in after
years, when both statesmen were no more, he remembered
with gratitude these gentle amenities in one whose duties
allowed him so little time for their exercise.

The winter evening, with its cold wind and leaden sky,
had arrived, on which the steamship had been advertised
to start for Europe. As ifin noisy impatience to be on
her way, she lay at the dock with the hidden forces bel-
lowing through her escape-pipes. Soon the great wheels
were in motion, and, in the pride of her strength, the
good ship Baltic turned her head seaward. Swiftly through
the waters of the harbor glided this majestic result of the
genius and skill of foregoing ages. Philip and Charles
Loundes were on deck, watching the city as it gradually
became dim in the increasing distance. Ou they went,
through the narrows, and then, for the first time, they
beheld the ocean. In the ashen, colorless sky, which was
fast darkening with coming night, there were but few of
the beauties that sometimes glow in the gorgeous and
changing hues of the sunset. Philip saw in the wastes of
water before him an instantaneous suggestion of an end-
less eternity, and he could but remember that life, with
its largest illumination, is, after all, but a voyage through
unknown seas ever surging beneath doubtful stars.

There was but little roll beyond the breakers; but here,
as at all times, the din of the surf seemed an angry re-
monstrance against the further progress of the steamer.

 

 

assistant casas cetintahiheant meme rcsoinis shim sa nisin

Rens

Outward-Bounil. 337

Nothing impresses the imagination with the mysteries
of creation and existence like the deep and fearful sug-
gestions of a lowering twilight at sea. The tendency of
most minds at that season is, even under ordinary cir-
cumstances, disposed toward solemn self-examination};
and Philip had never experienced more vividly such
promptings, of which nature, and especially the sea, is so
full. He feit a depression and isolation of feeling unac-
countable to him. His interview with his cousin
afforded him unalloyed pleasure in its remembrance;
but now, as he stood silent in the increasing gloom, and
looked out to the dim horizon of waters, he was over-
whelmed with the insignificance of individual life in the
aggregate of existence. The sense of danger, which so
powerfully increases the sublimity of such occasions, was
but a small element in this dim perception of the infinite.

“Philip,” said Charles Loundes, “it is so dreary out
here, let us go down to the saloon.”

“Wait awhile,’ said Philip. “I see the clouds are
passing from the east, and we shall soon have a cloudless
sky in that direction. This dark and troubled appear-
ance nature wears has strangely depressed me, and I wish
to see the moon rise. I can never feel so pleasantly in
company when I enter its circle gloomy as this mysterious
sea has made me. I know, by the illumination to the
right of the ship’s course, we shall soon have these sullen
waters smiling as brightly as Rosamond did fipon me
when I last saw her.”

“T have never seen your innamorata, Philip, but your
grandmother says she can smile like an angel.”

“T would have invited you to have gone with me, when
T left the party to visit her, but for her recent iliness;

22

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338 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

 

and you must recollect the shortness of the pleasure I
then enjoyed: so you can pardon my desire to have her
all to myself.”

As Philip had predicted, the dense clouds that had
previously enveloped the ocean rolled slowly away. The
stars were seen glowing with all the more glory for their
recent eclipse. Up, as from the ocean, came the full-orbed
moon, and the scene, which an hour ago looked so full
of threatened disaster, now sparkled and danced in the
pervading light. Across the great waters, from shore to
shore, fell that glittering pathway; the ship sped on her
way toward the storied orient, and as the night advanced
the two young men, who had been in the meanwhile in
the saloons below, returned to the deck with Governor
Eustace.

The voyage, so far, had been delightful, not even the
ladies had been troubled with sea-sickness; but the wind
freshened up, and upset many of their newly-formed ideas
of the pleasures to be found on the rolling deep. Wind
and wave were alike powerless, however, to stop for an
instant the engines to which hundred-armed Briareus
was a thing of weakness. Swiftly and steady on her
course, went the good ship with her freight of life, and
it was announced that the next day, in case no accident.
occurred, would show them the Irish coast.

Mariana, though somewhat enfeebled, was still as beau-
tiful as ever, and the heart of Charles Loundes, from his
first beholding her, had been strangely attracted. Mrs.
Eustace, in the company of her son, had been more lively
than at any time since the death of Stanhope, and all
were eagerly expectant of the morrow’s incidents.
For the last two days the voyage had been remarkably

 

 

pracsrets

ees ad

Outward- Bound. 339

pleasant with the smooth sea and constant social enjoy-
ment. There seems to be some peculiar result of voyages

and travel, which develops itself when near the close, .

and, if people have been companionable in the mean-
while, is very apt to produce strong attachments. Itisa
redeeming feature in life at sea, that sailors, who have
gone around the world together, come to love each other
as brothers. Companions in arms, who have survived
the dangers and carnage of war, become strangely attach-
ed. It was something of this feeling that gave a tender
interest to the occasion in the heart of Mariana. She
knew that ere Jong Philip and his friend would leave
them for Germany, and she was more than usually pen-
sive, as they stood on deck enjoying the pleasant air
and the hills of the Emerald Isle now full in view.

Her vision was not yet sufficiently restored to afford her
a full perception of the welcome sight, but as the state of
the air and ‘the mellow light of evening were not likely to
prove injurious, she had been induced to leave the saloon.
with the remainder of the party. She and Loundes were
standing apart from the others, and his frank and hand-
some face, instead of beaming with the satisfaction visible
on others, seemed really troubled in its expression. They
had been talking on indifferent subjects in which Mariana
had been the principal speaker, for he seemed contented
to lean over the railing and gaze at her.

“Mr. Loundes,” said she, “you are so quiet this even-
ing, you must be affected by the neighborhood of the
brave people who live on that unhappy island, who, with
all their genius and valor, have been denied the gift of
liberty, and to my mind so needlessly oppressed.”

“No,” said he, “the Irish and their wrongs were not in.

ee

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

840 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

all my thoughts. Iwas looking at you, and wishing that
this voyage could be pleasant enough to you, for us to
turn southward and circumnavigate the world before we
stop. Jam really troubled at the prospect of its being so
soon ended.”

“Indeed, we have had a charming time, when the sea
was not rough; and I too feel regret that we cannot
all remain in the ship together until we reach Paris;
but I should scarcely be willing to undertake a trip
around the world.”

“ You have not the unspeakable pleasure, which is mine,
of seeing one to remind you of the winged angels in
Paradise ; of beholding a sweet, thoughtful face that seems
ever aglow with some heavenly light. You cannot real-
ize the happiness of one who is contented to look on the
object of his idolatry, and feel that while it is wellnigh
hopeless to expect more, she is yet near at hand, and ever
full of tender consideration. Now we are so near the
busy cities and throngs of men, I know that we shall
speedily separate, and I beg you to believe me, when I
say, you have been long dearer than my own existence.”

“Oh Mr. Loundes, you make me happy and sad at the
same time! Iam full of joy, that any one can find plea-
sure in my poor darkened presence, and sad that you
nourish a sentiment which experienced in moderation
adds to our happiness, but allowed to pass into extrava-
gance is sure to bring pain both to him who cherishes it
and to the object of his unreasonable attachment. Let
me ask you, as the dear friend that you are, to love me
in the calm and equable spirit which should ever charac-
terize those owing a higher and holier allegiance. I dis-
like the idea of losing all this pretty comfort and quiet

 

es ad

 

Outward- Bound. 841

we have been enjoying and the pleasure of constant asso-
ciation on ship-board, but do not let us dignify a mere
shadow of the heart’s natural repining, into a real and
acknowledged cause of grief.”

Charles Loundes looked at the sinless face, and knew
that a full perception of his passionate words had not
reached Mariana’s heart. She evidently regarded his
declaration only as a protestation of extravagent friend-
ship, and with difficulty he restrained himself from say-
ing all he so much longed to utter. He was abashed at
the thought of analysing the promptings of his passion in
the presence of one so little lower than the angels. With
a sigh he locked his secret again in the recesses of his
heart, and accepted the friendship of her he so much
longed to make his bride. With all his love and delicate
attention, she had never regarded him as her lover; so
with resolute patience and but slight hope of eventual
success, he determined to wait for future developments.

There was but little time given to their enjoyment of
the scenery and historical attractions of England. A
few days were spent in London, and then, as fast as steam
could carry them, traveled the envoy and his party to
their destination—the center and focus of civiliza-
tion, the gay capital of the world. Paris, which has been
wittily said to be very near heaven and next door to hell,
was at length reached, and they all were charmed with
the elegance and grace so lavishly scattered around. The
throngs along the Boulevardes, and the brilliant gas-
lights at night, made it more Jike a fairy scene than a
reality.

To Philip the world’s metropolis was full of subjects
for new thought. He had been reared in the quiet valley

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342 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

of St. Kilda, where the river-side hills with their tall
back ground of blue mountains constituted the scenery
he had known and loved. The quiet of the woods, and
the voiceless charm of still lakes, had fed his taste, until
he passionately enjoyed the beauty and repose of nature.
These old scenes were not forgotten, as he gazed upon the
thronged streets, but his chief pleasures now were found
amid the lavish adornments of Versailles and Fontain-
bleau, where he sometimes wandered in the midst of
beauties, the creation of which had resulted in such woe
to France.

Gov. Eustace was living in Place Vendome, and the
family soon settled into something of home-feeling, amid
the splendors of the French hotel they inhabited. The
envoy devoted all the time he could spare from the duties
of his mission to the comfort and happiness of his mother
and daughter, and his efforts were crowned with the in-
creased health of both. Mrs. Eustace could not forget
her son sleeping in his far-distant grave, and had lost
much of her sunny disposition, but was still cheerful and
pleasant. The oculists, after a careful examination of
Mariana’s éyes, were confident of their complete restora-
tion.

Philip Eustace and Charles Loundes were soon quietly
pursuing their studies at a German university. Both had
learned the language before attempting to avail them-
selves of the advantages there afforded. Before their de-
parture, Loundes had often been with Mariana and wished
to tell her all he felt, but as yet he despaired of success.
They went a portion of the way along the beautiful
Rhine; and but for the ruins of the old castles perched
upon the hill-tops, Philip could have almost imagined
he was again among his native mountains.

  

aes ob te

a ahd

 

a

New Faces.

CHAPTER XYIII.

NEW FACES.

“O my good Gonzalo,
Ms true preserver, and a loyal sir,
PG i te I will pay thy graces
Home, both in word and deed.”
—Tempest.

No propre in the world equal the Germans in their
understanding and appreciation of the true comforts of
life. There is, perhaps, more genius in Italy, and cer-
tainly more wit. among the French; but mankind are

‘largely indebted to the Fatherland for many other bene-

fits beyond the production of Martin Luther and the art
of printing. There is scarcely a department of human
excellence in which Germany has not illustrious instances
of successful cultivation ; and in real research and acquire-
ment they are, without exception, the foremost people
in all the living world. In their university training they
have equaled and surpassed the advantages afforded even
the ancient Athenian youth. No philosopher has lived
in the last century wore profound and original than Kant,
and in poetry Goethe and Schiller have equalled the
proudest, while Jean Paul has traversed the enchanted
boundaries hitherto separating the realms of poesy and
philosophy. In historical research they have created a
system under which the myths of profane story have been
so scrutinized that admiration has been earned from all
men. But this analysis, which has eliminated truth and
discarded the fables from the recorded traditions of an-
cient days, has not been content with this eclecticism

   

 
 

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

344

 

The Eeirs of St. Kilda.

among the mythological dreams of the poets; it has ex-
tended its unhallowed touch to those awfel and hidden
mysteries of revelation, and become skeptical to every-
thing which does not conform to human probability.

Living in the midst of this cultivated people, the two
young Americans found an abundance of amusement
and instruction. The quaint, old city in which their
university was situated, with its olden associations and
habits, was full of unfailing interest; and the castle-
erowned hills surrounding it were to Philip like the faces
of dear friends. Fair landscapes on every side were stud-
ded with hamlets and with frequent remains of the feudal
ages, in the romantic and ivy-clad walls of ancient strong+
holds.

On one of the eminences in the city stood the house of
Counsellor Strauss, the friend in whose home the pleasant
student-days of Arthur Kean had been passed. His two
friends, at his request, were installed in his former apart-
ments, and from tall windows they looked over the city
at their pleasure. A host of memories of the past were
connected with that little sea of gables. What days of
busy toil and traffic, and what pleasant nights of gaiety
and song, had it known! What times of oppression and
wrong had it experienced in those long vanished eras,
when the wishes of iron-hearted burggraves were the law
of the land! Many traditions, dim with the centu-
ries they had survived, still haunted the great tower, and
seemed as black to modern view as the noisy rooks clam-
oring around its summit. The grave, beer-drinking
burghers pointed to the marks of cannon shot made by
an angry kaiser who was balked in his fury by the stout-
hearted supporters of a rebellious kurfurst; and further

 

 

ivan

nen EE

 

 

New Faces. 345

on the trace of an old breach in the wall was exhibited,
which would have given the city over to the horrors
shortly before endured at Magdeburg, had not Gustavus
and his Swedes arrived that very evening, and forced the

enemy to withdraw.
The beautiful creations of art were so abundant that

even in the busy haunts of trade elaborate fountains

were to be seen, rich in the unfading glory of sculpture.
Huge, iron-bound linden trees, some planted by ancient
queens, still bravely withstood the storms which swept
from the mountains in the distance. Effigies of medize-
val prelates surmounted the cathedral doors, as if guard-
ing the marble hosts asleep within, and basking in the
gorgeous tints of stained windows. Cherubs and satyrs
gazed with their eyes of stone, and seemed eloquent with
the truth that human life is ever compounded of good
and evil.

The city had known many vicissitudes in the course of
its history—sometimes the residence and capital of
mighty princes, and then relapsing to the smaller dig-
nity of a provincial town. At intervals, the Kaiser him-
self had held=his court there; but the memories of all its
potentates and councils were but insignificant shadows
of the past, and its chief glory survived in the names
of the poets and artists who had loved the place of
their birth, and still lived in the deathless works of their
hands.

Counsellor Strauss was prosperous in his affairs, and
lived a busy, pleasant life. He had been absorbed in
business in his youth; but now that he saw his children
growing up to maturity, and he was getting to be an old
man, he held in virtue thereof, that he was entitled to

ee ee ee ey

     

 

 

 
 

    
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

346

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

relaxation when official duty permitted. His residence
was a stone building, and had been previous to the Re-
formation part of a monastic institutiion; the forefathers
of the present proprietor having inhabited it for many
generations. The family, in whose increase’ he felt he
was becoming such a patriarch, consisted of a son and two
daughters. Their mother had been dead for years, but
the widower concluded that his peace of mind and that
of his household were of too much importance to be en-
dangered by the introduction of a step-mother for his
children: so M. Strauss, though he was admired and
caressed by a large portion of marriageable ladies of his
acquaintance, continued obstinately blind to their charms
and content with the comfort he found at his own fire-
side, and in the opera-house hard by. In the shade of a
tree which grew in the court of his establishment, the
counsellor entertained his friends on summer evenings,
and in the flowing moonlight and music quaffed his
wine and blest his propitious stars, that their radiance
should have hitherto rested upon him with such slight
interruptions, He was a pleasant-looking man, of medium
size; while’ his daughters Ernestine and Sophie were
pretty, rosy-cheeked damsels, always ready to spend the

larger portion of the night in flirtations and the swift-

movements of German dances. Gustave, the brother, had
been educated to succeed his father in the traditional

calling of his family, which for ages had seen one of each
generation a counsellor,

The geniality and kindness of these new friends soon
made the home of the two students full of pleasure. Just

opposite to where they lived, dwelt a large family of
Jagerndorfs, which after a long series of brothers and sist-

 

a ad

 

sone ih OE BE A ETS eI ric

New Faces. - 3847

ers wound up the roll with a large-headed, long-armed
dwarf, named Sigismund. The counsellor managed to
keep on the amiable side of this little monster, and was
sometimes sent for to induce him to abandon an obstin-
ately maintained position astride the weather-cock.

Philip had received as a present from his father, two
superb English thoroughbred horses which he kept in
the same stable with counsellor Strauss’ span of Flanders
mares, with which that dignitary, together with his
daughters, sometimes went in state to their possessions
beyond the city limits. If Anne of Cleves in any way
resembled those great, spiritless brutes, Henry VIII. was
somewhat excusable in refusing her as his bride. With
the clean-limbed, fiery barbs, the two Americans some-
times made excursions into the country, enrapturing
Sigismund Jagerndorf with the lofty movements of their
horses, and transferring a large portion of his admiration
of the animals to their owner. Philip pitied the urchin
who so eagerly greeted his coming, and he soon became
a pet of both students. Nature had compensated the
dwarf’s feeble lower extremities by a prodigious develop-
ment of his chest and arms. His head was frightfully
large, and his mouth would have graced the most savage
of the carnivora.

This new life in a strange land was full of promptings
to thought in Philip. His love of the beautiful in the
arts was gratified in the countless paintings and sculp-
tures he saw, and his appreciation of those things not
merely useful was so different from the usual character-
istics of his countrymen, he almost felt translated to
another sphere of existence. The weary laborers, as they
walked in the twilight from their work in the fields, made

 

 

|
}
i}
it

 

    

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

  

848

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

the air musical with deathless hymns or songs of patriot-
ism; and the city artisans, with full voices reproduced
the grand harmonies they had listened to the night be-
fore at the opera-house. Philip felt in his heart that
whatever errors there might be in the theology of such a
people, the all-absorbing worship of mammon, at least,
had not removed from their view the cheerful and half
religious love of the beautiful. One evening, in the
pleasant light of the declining sun, he was riding alone
along the road in sight of a fine old castle still partly
inhabited by the Schulemburg family. The vintage was
at its height, and the odor of ripe grapes pervaded the
air. The soft autumn atmosphere was deliciously sooth-
ing, and the young student was thinking of her who had
been much in his mind since their last interview previ-
ous to his departure from America. The pure white brow,
so blanched and transparent in the shaded light of that
evening, he had endeavored to picture to himself in its
matured beauty, when health and happiness had restored

its roseate bloom. The effort was wholly unsatisfactory,

for in the uncertain light in which he had seen her, he
was unable to amplify and define the mental image to
his wish.

He noticed the beautiful figure of a lady on horse-back
enter the road from the grounds surrounding Schulem-
burg castle. She was followed bya groom riding a little
distance in the rear; and Philip saw at a glance that
horsemanship was a thing but little known to him. He
was evidently ill at ease on the impatient animal, whose
temper was only aggravated by his awkward attempts at
conciliation. The horses of the young lady and her at-
tendant were far inferior to his English steeds, but were

 

 

New Faces. 349
the finest of the German breed Philip had seen, and his

interest in them and the trim, graceful figure of the fair

rider, drew much of his attention, as he restrained the

impatience of Hamlet, who was unwilling to follow when

others led. ‘The groom was evidently growing more un-

easy at every movement of his horse, which, happening

to pass a heavily-loaded hay wagon, with a sudden start,

fairly dislodged the rider, and with a snort of triumph

sped forward in pursuit of the fair equestrian. The rush

of the riderless steed from behind at once started the
spirited animal she was riding, and from her fruitless
efforts Philip saw that she was unable to check the head-
long speed with which she was being borne along. He
gave rein to his horse, which speedily narrowed the dis-
tance between him and the fugitives; but he was doubt-
ful of the result of his attempting to run down the one
the lady was riding, for fear a sudden start might unseat
her.

By this time she looked back, and uttered an implor-
ing cry for help, for she well knew a dangerous curve and
descent a mile ahead made it necessary that she should
be rescued before reaching that point. Bus the fifty yards
still intervening would require fierce riding to be over-
come in that distance, and as Philip had never fully
tested the speed of the powerful animal he was riding, he
was *by no means certain the feat could be accomplished.
As he pressed both spurs fully home into the tender sides
of his horse, he felt the mighty frame spring forward, as

if the previous gait had been but child’s play. The size

of the rider would have been a serious drawback to most
horses, but Hamlet’s prodigious power was equal to any
emergency ; for he had been selected with a view to the

     

 

 

 
 
 

 

  
    
   
    
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

3850 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

weight he would have to carry, and most fully did he
answer every expectation. In less than three-fourths of
a mile, he was alongside of the flying horses, and the
next instant Philip had grasped the reins still bravely
maintained by the trembling beauty. With gradual re-
straint, lest the lady should be thrown, the wild career
was surely and steadily moderated, until, at an order from
his master, Hamlet stood still. The presence of mind,
which the sense of her situation “had hitherto forced upon
the beautiful girl, now forsook her entirely, as she looked
forward and saw the hill-side she feared. The sunny head,
with its golden curls, drooped, and she became totally
unconscious. Philip with one hand held the horses, and
with the other sustained the helpless form of the fainting
maiden.

He looked into her face as it rested on his arm, and was
filled with admiration at the perfection of its lines. Her
eyes were of that rich, deep blue which so completely
finish the contrast of colors in the radiance of a full

blonde. The lustrous hair waved over a brow rivalling .

the lily in purity, and the rich, warm lips pallid in syn-
cope, when Philip first beheld them, recovered their
bloom, as the queen-like being resumed her erect position
in the saddle.

“ How can I ever hope to thank you enough, sir, for
this timely aid?” said she in French, and a blush over-
spread her features, as the position to which her helpiess-
ness had reduced her became fully realized.

“T_ beg you to feel under no obligations,” said Philip.
“ My satisfaction at your safety more than compensates
for any efforts in your behalf.”

     

New Faces. 35h

“© do not think I can so forget my name and duty as
to undervalue the great service you have rendered me.”

Philip saw the necessity of his escorting the countess
home, for the fiery animal his strong arm had arrested
in flight was still unsubdued, and needed other restraint
than that of the fair rider. Through the mellow light of
the autumn evening they rode back to the ancient palace
of the Counts of Schulemberg, the title of which, by the
death of her father, had descended to young Theresa.
Some of the most important seigniories which had long
been attached to the proud house had by reason of the
Salic rule of succession, lapsed to the Baron Waldemar of
Keiningheim, her father’s younger brother. He was a
bachelor, and spent a greater portion of his time with his
niece. In early life he had been a soldier, and had served
with credit under Blucher and other German command-
ers. He participated in the disasters of the double defeat
at Jena and Auerstadt, but was avenged, and lost his arm
at Waterloo.

The beautiful grounds and -vast size of the castle were
observed by Philip. He noticed that a portion of the
establishment was uninhabited aud ruinous. The eastern
wing was a palace within itself, and presented many evi-
dences of wealth and elegance. They dismounted, and
Philip accompanied the countess through a host of do-
mestics; and, having traversed several apartments full of
splendor and modern comfort, they found the Baron
Waldemar. He warmly thanked Philip for his opportune
services, and expressed astonishment that the countess
should have ventured out with an attendant so ignorant
of the management of horses. She told him that one
groom had been sent to the city; another was sick; and

ee er ee ee en

 

 
 

     
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

352 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

thinking there was no danger in a short excursion, she
had gone forth thus poorly attended.

Philip returned to the city. It was nearly dark as he
passed along the streets, and, being occupied with thoughts
of his recentadventure, did not observe Sigismund Jiigern-
dorf hanging by one hand to the projecting balustrade in
front of his father’s house; but the antics of the dwarf
were a source of terror to his horse. Philip, to correct
this foolish dread ef what could really do him no harm,
forced the animal close under the uncouth figure, when
Sigismund, with the agility of a monkey, loosing his hold,
' alighted behind the saddle. This was more than Hamlet
could withstand, and he sprang forward with a cry of
mingled fear and rage. Many of the burghers witnessed
the scene, and as horsemanship was no part of their ac-
complishments, they certainly expected to see both of the
riders thrown. But they knew little of the firm seat and
muscular power of Philip, and nothing was surer than
while he kept his place the dwarf was not to be shaken
off. The horse was soon ‘subdued, but ever afterward
manifested the utmost abhorrence and fear at the approach
of his singuiar foe. The half-witted creature laughed at
Philip’s remonstrance, for fear of bodily injury had no
place in his thoughts.

Philip had been anxious to return from the castle to
witness the production of a German translation of Shak-
speare’s masterpiece, for he had agreed to go to the theatre
with the family of Counsellor Strauss that night. He
had often admired its beauties by the fireside, but had
never seen it represented on the stage. The great drama
lost many of its exquisite beauties in its change of lan-
guage, but preserved enough of its vigor to enchain the

 

 

er ad

New Faces. 353

attention of the audience, as they listened to the majestic
utterances of-him whose genius was for the world and all
time. Sophie was seated by Philip, and was awe-stricken
as the ghost glided upon the stage. She wept at the
madness of Ophelia, and was indignant at Hamlet’s re-
proaches of her own. sex.

Ludwig Jigerndorf, the oldest of Sigismund’s brothers,
was present, and was becoming a fast friend of the two
Americans, who could but admire his genius as an artist.
He was connected with the university where he labored
to increase the funds realized from his paintings, in order
that he might visit Rome and Florence to study the
Ttalian masters. Ludwig was enchanted with the play,
and when it was over went home with his friends. After
the three young men had seated themselves to the enjoy-
ment of their pipes and beer, Philip related his evening’s
adventure with the countess of Schulemberg.

“She is the greatest beauty and the richest heiress in
all this principality,” said Ludwig, “ and has shone the
star of Baden Baden and other spas, for the two last
seasons. It is said that the Baron Waldemar, though her
guardian, has never attempted to induce her to accept
any of the many offers of marriage which have been
tendered by nobles of different lands.”

“ He has never married himself,” said Philip, “and it
may be his own indifference to the nuptial tie is the secret
of his forbearance toward his niece.”

“ Yes,” said Ludwig, “I am persuaded some such feel-
ing of consistency restrains him, for he knows, ‘in the
event of her dying childless, the titles of Schulemberg
and Keiningheim will both lapse to the Grand Duke.”

“Philip,” said Charles Loundes, “ you are always hap-

23

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

354 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

pening to some such good luck as this. Had I foregone
my evening’s flirtation with pretty Ernestine, I should
have also made the acquaintance of this great beauty you
and M. Ludwig are making me crazy to see.”

“One of my pictures,” said Jaigerndorff, “illustrates a
wild story connected with that old castle of Schulemberg.
There was a spectre-lover, said to have haunted the
northern portion now in ruins, to whom one of the
daughters of the house had plighted her hand on the eve
of his departure for the siege of Belgrade, under Prince
Eugene of Savoy. She had promised to be his in life
and death, but when she heard he was slain by the infidel
Turk she forgot her vows and wedded another. In the
midst of the feastings, the pale figure of him who had
died in the Paynim trenches returned, and though invis-

ible to others was recognized by the bride. He steadily

regarded her, and lifting his helmet exhibited the marks
where the fatal scimetar had severed his head. He dis-
appeared from the revel, but each evening returned, and
beckoning to the false one slowly withdrew, until after
many visits, she was so maddened by conscience she fol-
lowed and {was never heard of more. We laugh at such
stories now, but fifty years ago they were a portion of our
creed in this part of the world.”

“What new light has come to you,” said Loundes,
“that was hidden from the eyes of your forefathers? Is
there any reason that you disbelieve in the manifesta-
tions of the supernatural, beyond the fact that you have
not seen the evidences upon which the ancient belief
rested ?”

“Every person of intelligence now laughs at ghost

 

        
      

i mt Bn

 

New Faces. 355 ;

stories,” said Jiigerndorf. “ You surely have no confidence
in the old wives’ fables.” <a ‘ :

“Suppose,” said Loundes, “we strip this subject of ie
ludicrous aspects, and look at it seriously and reasonab y-
You admit there is an existence after death, and, with all
mankind, feel in spite of your skepticism, that Ge is a
conformity with the course of probability in the play we
have been witnessing to-night. If this were not the be
the whole plot of the great dramatist would be a tissue 0
folly. If we fully believed the dead king could not, under
any circumstances, have communicated with his living
son, we should be incontrollably disgusted at the recital
of a foolish and impossible absurdity. The human aa
in all preceding ages has instinctively recognized this
life after death, and the possibility of communication of
the dead under certain circumstances with those living,
This mysterious affinity between life and death is termed
the supernatural, but is it after all anything more than a
legitimate development of nature itself? If the same law
of existence which controls us in life, preserves our 1m-
perishable spirits after death, what is it more than a con-
tinuance of those causes and effects that we call nature?
We hold there is a prolongation of the soul’s existence,
after the fact of physical dissolution, but we know noth-
ing of the limits imposed by the laws which control the
disembodied spirit.” a

“No,” said Jigerndorf, “some confine it in purgatory,
like dead Hamlet to-night declared :

“To fast in fires, :
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,
Are burned and purged away.

 
 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

856 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 

And others say frankly, they have no information on
the subject.” a

“Well,” continued Loundes, “ you are then forced to
the conclusion that, after admitting there isa continuance
of spiritual existence, there is no evidence to indicate the
conditions of that state, how then can you assert that one
of the most enduring convictions, which finds no conflict
with probability, is after all unreasonable.”

“ Because,” said Jiigerndorf, “ we do not see such phan-
toms without sufficient grounds for the belief that they
‘are only optical delusions and the creatures of excited
imaginations.”

“You reason,” said Loundes, “like the king of Siam,
when told by the Dutch minister that the rivers, and
lakes of his country became so hard in winter that men
could walk upon them. The Asiatic prince, living in
the tropics with no knowledge of northern latitudes,
laughed him to scorn, and deemed the whole story a
pure fabrication, because it violated his knowledge of
natural habits. I believe the rarity of supernatural ap-
pearances is a mercy of Providence, for the human mind
is oppressed and awed to such a degree in the realization
-of such a presence, that life would become insupportable
were men brought in frequent contact with what they
believed to be the spirits of the dead. We feel awe in the
presence of the corpse of a little child, and I believe this
‘sensation is the result of the soul’s recognition that the
dead have entered upon a higher stage of existence.”

“T do not believe in ghost stories,” said Jigerndorf,
“jut I confess I have enough superstition in my nature
to relish their recital, and to feel a little tremulous some-
times at night, when alone I haye been startled by things

 

 

pcan ardise. a ee

rs

New ane 357

for which I was unable to account. I suppose, however, this
weakness is due to early education in the nursery where
all children hear those wild legends which have been
transmitted from other ages.”
- “Tt seems strange to me,” said Loundes, “to hear you
confessing this, when all the lessons of your training and
reason combat such a belief. Do you suppose the Creator
would have formed men with this pervading and irre-
pressible conviction that there is a possibility of some
dreadful apparition coming forth from the womb of mys-
terious night, unless there was a solemn reality to sanc-
tion the sentiment? Can the wisdom and teachings of
education amount to so little as to leave us to a miserable
deception of the imagination which you instance as the
source of sensations you are powerless to escape? There
is no such incongruity in the natural economy, as this
wasteful creation of a great leading emotion among men,
after all amounting to nothing when examined in its
inner significance. There must be some corresponding
reality in the realm of possibilities, to justify and account
for such wide-spread and lasting convictions among
men.” rf

“T think,” said Philip, “that it is unreasonable to deny
the’ probability of such things, simply because we have
not seen or heard them, while other men may have done
so.” :

The next day ashowy equipage stopped in front of
Counsellor Strauss’ office, and the countess of Schulem-

berg, for the first time in several months, called on him °

whose professional aid was frequently given to the young
mistress of the ancient barony. The business concerns,
which were apparently the occasion of her visit, were

SRP TRIP Se — iain enmes a

ee

 

 
 

     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

358

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

discussed to her satisfaction, and she had arisen to return
to her carriage, when she paused and remarked :

“You have two young gentlemen from America living
at your house, M. Strauss. I saw one of them yesterday
evening, and his aid was so valuable in a serious emer-
gency, I have invited him to visit me at my place. Will
you please tell me who Mr. Eustace is?”

“ He is the son of the American embassador at Paris,
and comes recommended to me by those in whom I can
place implicit confidence, as a gentleman. His ancestors
have long been eminent among the wealthiest and most
talented of the Americans, and I think him worthy of his
lineage.”

The countess seemed satisfied with this information,
and at once passed to her carriage. She was much pleased
with the politeness of the American stranger, and the
counsellor’s commendations increased her interest. The
coolness and grace of his bearing in the embarrassing
circumstances of their first meeting, added to her grati-
tude, created a strong desire to see him again. She knew

from the costly simplicity of his attire and the self-pos- .

session of his manner, that he had been differently bred
from some of his countrymen at whose mingled assurance
and bashfulness she was often amused in Baden Baden.
Although she had rejected many suitors, there was no
beauty in Europe who more highly appreciated the ad-
miration her charms excited; and the pleasure she thus
received was one of the chief causes of her remaining
unmarried. She had been reared and educated in her
own ancestral halls, under the watchful guidance and
advice of her uncle; and while this training had not un-
fitted her to shine as a belle in maiden freedom, yet the

enn ETE,

 

 

_— fasta rena ns Se ee

New Faces. 359
honest opinions of the old soldier had disgusted her with
the habits of European married women. She was fully
convinced that, with matrimony, came an obligation to
forsake the general, and rely upon individual love and
admiration as the sources of her pleasure. She frequently
expressed her abhorrence of the conduct of many she saw
around her, and resolved she would never bestow her
hand in wedlock until prepared to forego the charms of
love-making from all but one man.

Philip was utterly unconscious of the interest he had
inspired in this lovely and high-born maiden. The
studies he was pursuing did not absorb his time, and he
wisely concluded that much improvement would result
in attention to the habits of the people among whom he
was sojourning. He was one evening in the opera-house,
listening to Weber’s fine music in Der Freischutz, when,
looking across the hall, he saw the Countess Theresa in
her box, and, receiving a glance of recognition, passed
over and accosted her.

“Tam very glad to see you again,” said she. Re You
have not hurried yourself in redeeming the promise you _
made to visit us at the castle.”

“T can assure you,” said Philip, “it has not been from
a want of inclination, but I have been somehow im-
pressed with the idea that I should not take advantage
of the acquaintance commenced in such an unusual
manner.”

_ © You distress me in speaking thus, Mr. Eustace. Could
you think me wholy insincere in the invitation and as-
surance I gave you?”

“Not at all; we may be entirely honest under some
imagined obligation in our efforts to discharge the debt

    

 
 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

560

 

The Fleirs of St. Kilda.

of gratitude we owe, but it does not follow because we are
grateful for benefits conferred, we should desire-to see the
author of the kindness very often.”

“Well, Mr. Eustace, suppose fyou forget that adventure |

with the horses—I assure you I shall not—and imagine

_ we have met for the first time, and hear me again declare
Testeem your presence a pleasure, independent of any
gratitude I feel. My uncle authorizes me to say as much
for him, but he will be here ina few minutes, and can
speak for himself.”

“Fam truly obliged to your ladyship,” said Philip,

“for this kindness. I shall do myself the honor to visit.

Schulemberg castle.”

A passage in the music here drew their attention, and
they listened until the song was finished. The countess.
was a passionate lover of the creations of genius, and did
not visit the. opera-house so much for small-talk as for
the enjoyment of the harmonies and soul-pictures of the
great maestros. Philip felt assured of the fine nature of
the beautiful being before him, and was convinced that
the artificial forms of high life had not been able to warp.
and destroy the passionate intuitions which still controlled
her in all her graceful existence. She was the impersona-~
tion of winning elegance in her manner, and he soon
learned the high tone of her principles. To admiration
of her beauty, was added esteem for the freedom of her
mind in matters merely conventional, which often so
influence the sentiments of women and men that they
become a second nature, enthralling the mind and pois-
oning the heart to all that is noble and unaffected in
nature.

The autumn frost had stripped of its foliage the lindem

 

 

    
 

 

pac at A A IB TT NIE rm Sass ints

New Faces. 361
tree that stood in the court yard of Counsellor Strauss’
house. The air was too cool to enjoy out-door pleasures,
so largely appreciated in Germany,and the two, who had
become thoroughly domesticated in. their foreign home,
were sitting in the pleasant glow of a fire with Ludwig
Jiigerndorf and the family. Philip had commenced his
first original picture, and he and the artist had been look-
ing at it that evening. ge

“T like your treatment of the subject very much, said
Ludwig, “especially as itis your first effort at composi-
tion. The attitude of the two figures is full of passion
and meaning, and I can almost weep to think it is proba-
bly your first and last effort in a calling I think worthy
of any man’s life-time devotion.”

“What is your subject?” asked the counsellor. :

“Tt is,’said Philip, “the last interview between King

- Arthur and his guilty wife, Guinevere, previous to the

battle in which the chief of the Round Table was wounded
unto death. According to the ancient chronicle, the

queen had fled from the court, and was at first supposed
by Arthur to be with her lover, Lauucelot, beyond the

seas. After war against him of the Lake and fruitless
search in that direction, she was discovered in a nunnery,
and the king is represented in the picture as supplicating
the blessings of heaven on her who lies grovelling in
silence at his feet.”

“Your countrymen,” said the counsellor, “do not cul-
tivate the arts for instruction and amusement as you do,
Mr. Eustace.” lee

“No,” said Philip, “our system of education ignores.
the prosecution of studies opening to the human gaze the
neyer failing enjoyment of the heautiful in art and nature.

    

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

362 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

The majority of our people are blind even to the gorgeous
American sunsets, which are generally richer than those
seen in Europe, The loveliest scenery is to them only
attractive in the probability of its fertility; and in music
their taste is satisfied in the reels and jigs of negro fid-

dlers. They have but slight appreciation of what Milton
calls

“Strains that might create a soul
Under the ribs of death.”’

Here the party were disturbed by cries of fire, and this
announcement was soon followed by a bright glare upon
the windows. They went out and found that a neighbor
was removing his furniture, while the devouring element
was rapidly destroying his house. The engines were, as
usual, too late to save the building and limited their
effort to prevent the spread of the flames to other tene-
ments. The burning house was taller than its neighbors
and its roof so difficult of access, that without consider-
able exertion it could not be reached. Those who had
been engaged in saving the furniture of the upper rooms
made a timely retreat by the stair-way already in flames}
as were all the lower windows. The crowd were con-
gratulating themselves that every one had escaped, when
a cry of despair was heard from the topmost story. No
one could imagine from whom it proceeded, until Ludwig
Jagerndorf missed Sigismund, who had been with him a
few minutes before, and thought he recognized the voice
of the dwarf still faintly heard from high above. The
next minute the window sash was thrown up, and far up,
was seen, like a demon amid the ascending smoke and
flames, the ill-shapen figure. He was thoroughly terri-

 

14
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New Faces. 363
fied, and made hideous outcries for help. None saw a
chance of rescue, for the ladders were too short, and the
three lower stories were so far consumed that the walls
might fall in at any moment. The conviction was set-
tling in the mind of all that Sigismund must certainly
perish, when a sudden thought struck Philip, and he ran
into a house standing next on the right. He was soon
on its roof, and by others was lifted high enough to grasp
the balustrade that served asa parapet to the burning
building. By this means he drew himself up and reached
the roof, Thecrowd below, who were watching his move-
ments in breathless suspense, were terrified when they
saw him seize the parapet above the low window in which
the dwarf stood and lower his tall frame in its front.
Sigismund grasped the feet within his reach, and with
the agility of a cat passing along Philip's body and over
his shoulders, with a cry of exultation leaped upon the
roof. He then turned to assist his rescuer who was soon
beside him. As Philip once more regained the roof, a
shout of applause arose from the astonished multitude
who were almost frantic in their demonstrations, as the
vo, unharmed, regained the street. k

Ludwig Jigerndorf could only grasp in silence the hand
of his friend who had thus periled his life for his poor
brother. The next day, the whole city was informed of
the dangerous feat, and every one was wondering at
Philip’s recklessness. His reputation for courage was as
well established in this city of strangers as in his native
valley,and many became much interested in the handsome
American who was pointed out as the hero of the fire,
and whom they also saw frequently basking in the smiles
of the Countess of Schulemberg, now fonder than ever of

      

 

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364 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

the opera. She had heard the particulars of his conduct
at the fire, and from Charles Loundes such lavish praise,
that the heart of the warm and impulsive maiden became
strangely fascinated.. The deference of his conduct to-
ward her was marked, and bore abundant confession
of his appreciation of her charms. ‘There wasa difference
between his admiration and that of other men she had
seen, for all had yielded to the resistless attraction of her
presence. Philip, however, always preserved a certain
manliness and reserve which served but to increase the
countess’ regard for him; for she, like other beautiful
women, keenly relished the power she was conscious she
possessed over those of the opposite sex. Circumstances
and observation had clothed him in her view with nobler
attributes than she had previously witnessed, and yet
with all her preference for himself she could remember
no expression of his beyond what gallantry and good
breeding justify.

Philip perceived her evident kindliness coward him,
but persisted in attributing these tokens of regard to her
gratitude for his aid on the evening of their first acquaint-
ance. In his own heart there was growing up asentiment
he never stopped to analyze, or he might have at once,
through his high sense of duty, become unhappy with
the extent of his attachment. His love for Rosamond
was in his heart fresh as ever, and it did not, for a mo-

ment, occur to him that he could possibly transfer his
fealty to Theresa of Schulemberg.

 

    
      
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

Halcyon Days.

CHAPTER XIX.

HALCYON DAYS.

“0, sux, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
To pay this debt of love, but to a brother,
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft,
Hath kill’a the flock of all affections else

i ”
That live in her! —Twelfth Night.

Tur German winter with its festivals and quiet, fire-
side pleasures had happily glided over the heads of the
two young students who had arrived, a year before, ae
the strange faces of an unknown land. During the
Christmas holidays, by help of railways, they made a fly-
ing visit to the family in Paris, then settled into en-
joyment of home-life amid the noise and gaiety of the
great hive of fashion. Philip saw with delight ne
Mariana’s eyes had lost their look of abstraction. : The
darkness, which had so long shut him from her vision,
had passed away, and her blindness existed but in the
memory of the past. In the lapse of time and with in-
creasing health, came a further development of her ma-
donna-like beauty. ; Sy

Philip had last seen Rosamond in the faint illumina-
tion of a sick chamber, and he could but judge, from the
pure, pale brow, the remaining perfections of a face he did
not see: but the magic of his cousin’s attraction had but
little in common with that of Mariana. The Countess
of Schulemberg, too, afforded delicious suggestions as
he looked upon the swiftly changing evidences of passing
emotion, He noticed with his awakened artist percep-

  

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366 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

tions the full blue eyes aglow with the splendor of joy,
and anon swimming in the soft languor of maiden medi-
tations. Philip saw much difference in these two. In
his sister, an ethereal Minerva-like exemption from the
fluctuations of feeling; in the countess, ever-active sus-
ceptibility to the changing complexion of her own heart-
yearnings. In one, sensuous promptings seemed bound
in the golden ligatures of sleepless wisdom ; in the other
passion was continually asking of supervising discretion
limits to the extent of its joy. Innocence and beauty
were alike possessed, and the hand of Providence had
rested heavily on the hearts of both. Mariana had seen
the world with its flowers, its sunsets, and its gleaming
lakes, fade as she thought forever from her view; and the
mistress of Schulemberg castle yet bewailed the loss of
her parents. Both had grown wiser in these afflictions;
but in their original natures, were planted the seeds
which, though in the final harvest they might yield kin-
dred sheaves, yet in youth necessarily presented a divers-
ity of bloom.

Philip returned with a heart freshened by recent com-
munion with those who had been so happy in welcom-
ing him to their Parisian home. Charles Loundes had
at last told his love, plainly, and unmistakably to her
who was to him so full of inspiring beauty ; and Mariana
had so tenderly received his homage that he was wholly
unable to fathom the soft yet changeless nature of the idol
he worshipped. She seemed pleased with his devotion ;
and yet he felt, after all he had said, that in her present
determination he could never induce her to become his
- bride. That she experienced a large and increasing in-
terest in the friend of her brother, was evident not only

 

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:

 

ee

a

Halcyon Days. 3867
to himself, but to those around her; and that this attach-

ment was stronger and more abiding than those usually

producing betrothal was true; but while Mariana recog-
nized in her own heart this growing interest, she never

thought of Charles Loundes in connection with marriage,

until with fervid eloquence he told her how necessary

she was to his future peace. Philip had often talked

with him in relation to his hope, and such was the con-
fidence reposed \by the brother in the honor, and such

were the endearing qualities of his friend, that he was his
choice of all the world as the husband of his sister, in the
event of her own wishes toward such a marriage.

Of this much Charles Loundes was assured; but was
also acquainted with Gov. Eustace’s opposition to any
such change in the relations of his daughter. Now that
her vision was wholly restored, the father, who had al-
ways loved her with the tenderest affection, was annoyed
at the slightest probability of her removal from his pres-
ence. The nature of his public duties had separated him
so much from his children, that since she had reached
maturity, and was restored to a full possession of her fac-
ulties, he manifested repugnance to another’s interfering
between himself and his daughter. He appreciated the
passionless serenity of her disposition, and felt that the
young men who frequented his saloons could fall in love
With-an angel with as much propriety as with Mariana.
He knew she had lived for years in an atmosphere which
was utterly beyond the comprehension of most people,
and the idea of disturbing the composure of this sinless
being, with the profaning company of man, seemed to
him a thing unhallowed and not to be permitted.

    
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

368 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

From Philip’s representation and his own observation,
Goy. Eustace saw much in Loundes to attract his com-
mendation ; but in this matter of surrendering his heart’s
idol, who now reproduced to his gaze the beautiful mother
who had long ago faded from his arms, was a subject full
of pain. That Philip should love, and some day marry
Rosamond, was one of the chief wishes of his heart; and
both of the young people were well aware of this desire.
The father and son had a long conversation on the sub-
ject during the Christmas visit, and Gov. Eustace was
happy in the belief that there was nothing in the con-
duct of either to weaken the trust that ere long his wishes
in this respect would be gratified.

The awakening influences of spring were as joyous to
Philip in his German home as in his own native valley,
and he was full of satisfaction as he traversed the smooth,
broad roads leading in a!l directions around. Sometimes
the gentler of the two English horses, called Exile, car-
ried on these evening excursions a curious looking rider.
Sigismund, from the peril he had induced Philip to un-
dergo at the fire, since that event seemed to have grown
strangely in his favor, and the dwarf regarded him with
a devotion truly wonderful. No errand was troublesome,
if Philip requested it, and his mother, whose tender
blindness to his deformity in stature and disposition,
made her ever gentle, saw with sorrowful astonishment
that her own child now preferred this stranger to herself.
But recollecting Philip’s services, she told Sigismund,
with a sigh, the gentleman was kind and noble hearted,
and deserved all the love he gave him. The people would
smile with kindly salutations as the American passed
through the streets on horseback, thus strangely attended.

 

 

 

nds Se sis nse eaia

Haleyon Days. 369

The story of his kindness, and the wild attachment of the
dwarf, became known; and all wondered at this conde-
scension of the cavalier from beyond the seas, to one so
many of themselves regarded with aversion.

Sigismund was a great lover of the theatre and opera,
and, for the first time in his life, had full opportunity to
gratify this passion for the bright lights and music which
seemed to constitute the chief attractions of the whole
affair. He was sometimes noticed to exhibit delight at
the brilliant and unusual costumes of the actors, but the
drama itself was entirely beyond his comprehension. He
occasionally came to Philip as he was sitting at the play
with the countess, who was interested in the dwarf from
the fact of his devotion to one she so much admired her-
self; but she could not, with all her beauty and winning
kindness, prevent his growing restless in her presence.
Ludwig was fearful Sigismund would prove troublesome.
in his attachment and sometimes remonstrated with
Philip for not sending him off; but this would have been,

such a grief to the half-witted creature, the advice was:
not taken. -As Charles Loundes occasionally teased him,,
he was but little loved by the dwarf, who was slow to for-.

get anything he regarded as an affront.

Philip and Ludwig kept their easels in the same room,.

and the more the American, who painted for the pleasure
of mastering a beautiful arl, saw of the calm, assiduous
attention of him who was working for sustenance in life
and immortality afterwards, the more was he attracted
toward him. He had never seen such enlightened devo-
tion to a mere calling; for beyond his love of music and
sculpture, the whole pleasure of the artist seemed centered

in eager study of the forms of beauty in nature, and their

24

    

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370 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

delineation. Apart from his recreation from toil at the
easel, he seemed to care for no pleasure in life. His even-
ing excursions on the streets were made tours of observa-
tion on the varying effects of light and shadow, and the
shop-doors were observed, for new folds in his draperies.
Philip’s horses, with their elegant forms, were to him al-
most as great a source of delight as they were to Sigis-
mund, and he sketched them in almost every possible
attitude.

One evening Philip and he were standing amid the
sculptured memorials of the dead, in an old cathedral
long ago hoary with age. The mellow light of the de-
lining day came in glory through the lofty arches of
the stained windows, lighting up the marble effigies of
those who had slumbered for ages in this venerable fane.
Just before them was a reclining figure, with its crossed
legs denoting a crusader, and beyond it some half-forgot-
ten saint. The light from the gleaming marble was re-
flected up into the dim, lofty depths of the vaulted roof,
disclosing the wondrous beauties long ago wrought by the
hands of the matciless builders of medieval days. Philip

remembered and repeated Congreve’s beautiful descrip-
dion:

‘* How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancientipillars rear their marble heads
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made steadfast and immovable,
Looking tranquility. It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chilliness to my trembling heart.’?

““ Ludwig,” said Philip, “I shall sadly miss these grand
temples, when I return to America. Years ago, before I

 

Reece ATER

 

seeing mamas i Ninian

Halcyon Days. 371

ever stood beneath them, I had imagined, with Milton,
how sweet it was

‘To walk the studious cloister’s pale,
‘And love the high embower’d roof,
With antique pillars, massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.’

I shall wander in our great forests, and imagine myself
in some huge cathedral again. This noble pile will be
frequently in my recollection, I can assure you. But
solemn and majestic as are the untouched forests of my
native land, they are less impressive than this stately
home of religion and death.

“Tudwig,” continued Philip, “a deep and unquestion-
ing faith in the divine sources of their religion must have
led those great ancestors of yours to conceive and erect
this beautiful and stupendous temple of worship; for
every portion of it seems to me stamped with impressions
of the soul. How is it, that you Germans of the present
day have come to believe in nothing but what you can
see with your own feeble eyes, when so many of your
noble forefathers were willing to die in the crusades?”

“ We are wiser than our simple-hearted ancestry,” said
the artist. “COredulity and faith are to my view synony-
mous terms, and, with their sister superstition, were pro-
duced at the same birth. Priest-craft and feudal tyranny
conspired to fetter the minds of men for a Jong time, and
were for ages successful; but since the advent of good
Doctor Martin, their empire has been waning.”

“You must admit,” said Philip, “that Luther taught
nothing to justify such skepticism ; for his whole daunt-
less life was one long and eloquent evangel of this very

    

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3872 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

principle which you pronounce the sister of credulity.
His central idea was that men are justified by faith ;
but the Germans of this day would make his whole mis-
sion a senseless disturbance of the world’s creeds, to estab-
lish a dogma which is after all simple credulity, the
ancient Romish stepping stone to dominion in spiritual
matters.”

“Tt is not reasonable,” said Ludwig, “to expect men to
believe things contrary to their knowledge of the possi-
bilities of nature.” ;

“You acknowledge there isa necessity for a religious
belief of some kind ?”

“Oh yes. Men turn instinctively to some religion,
and I think it clearly evident, that by the constitution
of their natures there must be some form of worship.”

“Tt is passing strange,” said Philip, “to hear you thus
confess this necessity, and then say there is wisdom in
any skepticism as to the revelation we possess. It is in
the first place a system (even conceding it is of human
origin) of such consummate wisdom and benefit in its
practical injunctions, that on any other theory of morals
the world would become utterly debased. Add to this,
it claims to be the revealed will of the God whom I know
you acknowledge; then in what an awful position you
place yourself by infidelity and rebellion to His known
commands. If Islamism, Boodhism, or the vanished
creeds of the ancients, is either of them preferable in your
estimation to this system which all enlightened nations
have received in the spirit of its high claims, then to be
consistent you should turn to that creed which in your
belief most nearly approaches the truth. It seems to
me preposterous to ‘acknowledge the need of some

 

Halcyon Days. 373

religion, and. then raise difficulties and doubts as to the
truth of a moral code you confess to be the best which has

yet been made known to the world.” ‘

“T have no objection to christianity itself,” said Lud-
wig, “for I acknowledge the wisdom and purity of the
Decalogue and the teachings of Christ. I have no desire
to weaken the reverence of men for this system of morals
to which I endeavor to conform myself; but I do object
to the persecutions which christians have visited upon
each other, and I cannot believe in the wild stories of the
Exodus.” y

“My friend, how do you fail to perceive the damaging
nature of these very objections? You must know that
the whole drift of Christ’s teachings on earth was utterly
opposed to the spirit of persecution. With what justice
¢an you confound human misdeeds and want of charity»
with the sublime patience and meekness of Him whose
life among men was a long lesson of unobtrusive humil-
ity, and who, preaching peace in every imaginable way,
denied that he had come to force men into His doctrines.
How then can you hold Him or His true followers re-
sponsible for the bloody folly and intemperance of those
who falsely persecute in Hismame? Again, you main-
tain that the system, resting its claims to divine origin
on miraculous attestations of its truth, should be subject-
ed to the same canons of criticism you apply to mere hu-
man statements. I maintain that Mahomet imposed a
snare and a delusion upon men, because there are no
divine sanctions to the truth of his teachings. I am
satisfied that Jesus did not transcend in his claims the

real truth of his descent, because through ages of the

world’s history there had been a series of miracles and

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

874 The Heirs of St. Kiida.

prophecies corroborating the great truth that Messiah,

in the lapse of time, should come and suffer death at the

hands of man. When I point you to these extraordinary

evidences upon which I rest my faith, you turn upon me
and ask me to prove them by the very rules of probability,
the violation of which attest their divine origin.”

“JT have never taken that view of the subject,” said
Ludwig, “and I admit that Moses’ statements, that the
Israelites were led by the hand of God, are not amenable
to similar tests of examination as those allowable in de-
termining the truth of Homer’s statements concerning
the Trojan war.”

“Then,” said Philip, “if we are to accept the Bible as
true in part, it is our duty to receive itas a whole. If
the statements upon which christianity rests its claims
to authenticity are proved in some respects, then
should come into exercise the faculty of faith which
trustingly accepts the truths over which reason is power-
less in its efforts at dissection. You say you caunot be-
lieve what you fail to understand in religion; but you
forget how little of the true operations of nature we really
comprehend. Are not our technical terms after all but
ingenious devices to hide our ignorance? In physics,
we set out with the assertion, that all material bodies are
subjected to the law of gravitation ; but uo man pretends
to explain the secret of this attraction. The mariner in
his wanderings upon the trackless deep, while clouds may
have hidden the stars from his view, is confident in all
the perilous darkness that his needle is still pointing
northward. Do you know why it obeys this law? And

~ yet with this inability to penetrate the hidden significance
+ of things around us, that men should hope to fathom the

 

            
     
  

See rennin einen e

ee eT en

Halcoyon Days. 375

deep purposes of infinite wisdom, seems to me as illogical
as itis impious. You do not understand the lost process
by which your ancestors stained that gorgeous window,
and yet you see its glory,and know how futile are present

attempts to equal it:

©All garlanded with carved images,
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,

And diamonded with panes of quaint device,
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, te?
‘As are the tiger-moth’s deep-damask’d wings.

The artist, in the careless habits of German skepticism,
had never reflected upon these questions in the earnest
manner he saw actuating Philip, and their profound im-
portance now engaged the speculations of the worshipper
of the beautiful in a manner entirely unusual with him.
He had witnessed his friend’s disregard of danger, and
yet this youth, who seemed to attract all hearts with the
resistless generosity of his nature, could pause amid life’s
blandishments and seek the support of an unseen arm,
when so many things conspired to bring the suggestion
of thesufficiency of his own power. If this heir to abound-
ing wealth and the favoring smiles of beautiful women
could feel the need of such support, how could the poor
artist continue in his unthinking self-reliance? Ludwig,
that night, fell asleep pondering these weighty matters,
and visions of beautiful forms went dancing through his
brain. The great dream of his life was to secure 1m-
mortality for the works of his hands, forgetting that
within his own breast was a creative faculty in the
very nature of its being, deathless whether he recognized
it or not. Oh blindness and poverty of human concep-

 
 

   
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

376

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

tion! thus to lose sight of the Infinite and Eternal, in
futile idolatry of the swiftly vanishing present.
Ludwig Jiigerndorf was, as usual, busy at his easel, and
Charles Loundes was lounging about the room. White
clouds of smoke arose from his meerschaum, while he
patted the silken head of a spaniel which was fawning
upon him.

“Where is Philip to-day ?” said the artist.

“Visiting the countess,” said Loundes.

“He musi be loving the charming creature. I wish
she would sit to me for this unfinished head of Mary
Stuart.”

“Who is the man in the foreground, with the sword
through his body ?”

“David Rizzio, the queen’s secretary, who was assas-
sinated by Darnley and others.”

“T see now, it is the murder of Rizzio you are paint-
ing. I thought you had finished that piece.”

‘No; I have taken it in hand again, to retouch the
queen’s head. I was looking at the Countess of Schul-
emberg at the opera a few nights ago, and she so com-
pletely realized my idea of the Scottish beauty’s doveli-
ness, as she sat conversing with our friend, that I am
putting some touches of her face in my picture. By the
way, did you ever know another man like Philip Eustace?
He is.a puzzle to me.”

“Tn what way do you fail to comprehend him ?”

“Well, in the first place, he seems to enjoy almost
everything in which you could reasonably suppose a man
could find amusement; but with it all he is so just and

moderate, that I cannot discover he has any particular
hobby. The Countess Theresa, and half the women who

 

    

 
    

Haleyon Days. 377

have seen him, are in love with his handsome person ;
yet he never slights his studies, and finds time to caress
poor Sigismund. With his love for horses and dogs,
he has real enthusiasm for art; and with all these enjoy-
ments, is as conscientious as a divine.” é

“ He is the best and bravest man I ever saw.

“T fully admit his admirable qualities,” said Ludwig,
“but that does not enable me to fathom his disposition.

A third person was in the artist’s studio, apparently
absorbed in the paintings, old pieces of armor, and drapery
scattered around. But intently as he surveyed these
things, his whole soul was stirred by portions of the con-
yersation to which he had been listening. He was ele-
gantly dressed, and seemed deeply interested in ee crea-
tions of Ludwig’s fancy. He had a look of inwar' pa
as if some memory of the past, or unsatisfied hope, was
aiding intemperance in marring the smooth front of this
man of the world. The severity of expression about his
thin, colorless lips, and the cold glitter of deeply-set gray
eyes, repelled the interest arising 1n the breast of ge
Jiigerndorf, who was easily flattered by the appearance 0.
admiration for his works. This stranger was well known
to Loundes, who had never liked Frederick Compton
when they were together in America. He had traveled
out of his intended route, to visit his acquaintances, for
whom he expressed unbounded attachment. He said he
had come to make the tour of Europe, but had passed,
with little delay, from Liverpool to Paris ; and there
having learned where he could find ‘Philip, had started
two days afterward for the German city. He was cee
rently actuated by strong friendship and desire to be wit a
his former associates, to judge from these movements of

ee en

 
 

        
  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

378 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

one who had come to visit and survey the wonders of a
continent. His small, white hands smoothed his yellow
locks, as if satisfied with his inspection of the room; and
with an air of indifference to what had been said, he sat
down where he could see Ludwig moulding into greater
loveliness the face of the radiant and unfortunate queen.”

“Qoundes,” said he, “ you and Philip must have a very
pleasant and easy time here.”

“ Yes, that is the case with myself; but Philip manages
to keep himself busy.”

“ How is it he can find so much more todo than you?”

“ Monsieur Eustace,” said Ludwig, “is getting to be an
artist, and then he has to look after so many friends.
There is a beautiful young countess who lives in the castle
on the hill on the outside of the city ; if you will walk to
that window in the northern end of the room, you can see
its towers and battlements.”

“T have just been looking at it,” said Compton. “ Do
you think Philip cares for this countess?”

“Yes; he likes her as would any man with half a soul,
seeing she values him so highly.”

Charles Loundes somehow did not fancy this discussion
of his absent friend by Compton; so, by a series of ques-
tions in regard to matters in America, the young gentle-
man from St. Kilda, who by no. means desired to create
the impression that he was more than casually interested
in the nature of Philip’s feelings, was forced to talk on
other subjects. If his heart could have been seen, it would
have disclosed so much desire for all the particulars in
relation to this matter, that one less astute would have

~ immediately returned to a subject as yet so unsatisfac-

torily understood.

 

 

 

 

    

Halcyon Days. a78

Philip had gone out early in the morning in the aes
tion of Schulemberg castle, and as the countess i re-
quently requested him to pring Sigismund, he He cn
plied with the earnest entreaties of the dwarf to that e ee
So after solemn assurance that he would be on his goo
behavior, the two had set out on horseback. When ie
reached the castle, there were grave smiles of astonis i
ment among the servants at the uncouth appearance i
his attendant, and Sigismund half repented his visit,
when he was taken by the hand and led to the saloon
where the countess and Baron Waldemar were es
At the request of the lady, he took a chair and meee
for sometime quietly surveying the high, Uae a ing,
with its sculptured vines and flowers enclosing glowlag
frescoes; but the restraint was too much, and ee
promised not to break his neck from any of the ee
was soon enjoying the sunshine and freedom of the

grounds.

Schulemberg castle had been, jn the remote past, one

of the largest and most magnificent of feudal Lats
Its most ancient -portions had been constructed Ww oe a
massive strength and simplicity which still ee :
majestic charm in the lofty towers and projecting B -
tresses breaking the continuity of the vast peer s.
The hill upon which it stood had been once held soca
tified by the Romans asa military post, and traces a me
works were yet discernible. The central portion : ne
huge pile had been a splendid palace in the ae a we
dolf of Hapsburg, but was ruined in the wars W oe
stroyed the short-lived prosperity of the ae ae
The mighty houses of Hapsburg and Hehenzollern .

both sent brides to grace its stately walls, and the Countess

EC

a

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

380 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Theresa could thus trace her descent from the great em-

perors and kings of the shadowy past. Although the
latest male representatives of the line had been engaged
in continuous opposition to Napoleon, Schulemberg castle
had escaped the ravages of that fearful period in which
so much German blood was shed, and which so frequently
saw their armies smitten with disastrous defeat before the
conquering legious of France.

The form of Baron Waldemar, already bowed with the
weight of years, would seem to stoop still lower in grief
as he recalled the fearful incidents of such routs as his
comrades endured. at Jena and Austerlitz; but the fire
would come back to his eyes, and the feeble frame dilate
with triumph at the mention of Leipsic and Waterloo.
Philip was astonished at the mingled fear and hatred still
lingering in the memory of this member of the old no-
blesse, whose tenure of power had been so fearfully inter-
rupted and jeopardized by him who was yet regarded as
a Corsican adventurer.

The day had passed rapidly away in the pleasure the
two young people found in each other’s company ; and as
the shadows from the towers commenced stretching them-
selves to the east, they came out into the golden sunshine
for a ramble among the trees. From one of these Sigis-
mund, on seeing Philip, made a hasty descent, leaving
his perch amid the boughs where he had been gazing into
a nest of young birds. Philip and the countess passed
along the marble balustrade on the edge of the terrace,
down a flight of steps between two stone dragons couchant
_ upon massive slabs of the same material.

They went slowly on in the mellow evening light, fol-
lowed by the dwarf; The old duenna, Madame von Ess-

 

 

Halcyon Days. 38i

ling, who had long been the guide and companion of the
countess, as she looked on the three figures from her
window, was reminded of an old German allegory of
Youth and Innocence, pursued by the ill-shapen genius
of Malice. Philip and the countess paused ina Hite
shady dell over-hung and darkened by mighty trees.
Under the hill-side was a grotto in the silence and gloom
of which, beneath the sparkling waters of a oe
reclined the statue of a beautiful girl. She was timorously
looking up, while the water poured over her figure from
a shell she held in her uplifted hand. ;

“The face of the figure,” said Philip, “ reminds me of

a ”
a picture I noticed in the castle.
“Tt represents Undine,” said the countess. “There ig

an old story of her love for a knight of our house, who
was the younger of two brothers, and became famous as
one of the Teutsch Ritters. He was known as Conrad
von Miltiz, and survived the great disaster of his brother-
hood at Tannenberg, ultimately becoming hochmeister
of his order. It is said that he found the pretty nymph
playing in the waters of this very spring, and they came
to love each other very dearly. Whenever Conrad could
visit this home of his birth, he would come to this spot
and look all day into the eyes of Undine, who sought no
higher bliss than to be caressed by the handsome soldier.
They met here, and continued in their love for years,
until Kurfurst Johann, the alchemist, happening to be
the guest of Cassimer von Schulemberg, the elder aa
er, by some magical spell banished the beautiful lady 0
the woods; and Conrad failing to find her erected this
grotto with that sweet little statue to commemorate his

lost love.”

ee

 
 

     
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

382 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“The expression of her eyes is exceeding tender,” said
Philip. Ritter Conrad must have been very happy in
such looks of love.”

If Philip had looked in the face of the fair being at his
side, he would have seen it aglow with a love which
sculptors have vainly endeavored to portray, in the cold-
ness of their marble images.

“Think you,” said she, “that man ever becomes truly
happy in the knowledge that he is loved by woman ?”

“ Most assuredly, to him whose heart is pure and pos-
sesses the capacity to appreciate the sources of true hap-
piness, there can be no earthly boon conferring such utter
ecstacy as the confession from her he loves, that his
affection is returned. Place and station may be grateful
to the ambitious, but the memory of the first, full assur-
ance on this subject has ever been acknowledged by good
men as the supreme height of earthly felicity.”

“T have thought,” said the countess, “ that this roman-
tic bliss belonged exclusively to the experience of my
sex.”

“Those who, like yourself,” said Philip, “ are so full of
goodness and beauty, I doubt not, experience higher joy
in anything tending to the production of such emotion,
than men can feel; for I believe our enjoyment. is
always deep and complete just as we are innocent and
pure.”

“Then, Mr. Eustace, you must be very happy,” said
the countess, “ for every one esteems you, even little Sigis-
mund ; and if I can trust my own belief and the declara-

- tions of those in Germany who know you best, you must
be very good.”

“T am very happy in your ladyship’s good opinion, and

 
 

 

Rena

     

- a

Halcyon Days. 383
wish I deserved it. Sigismund first fancied me on ac-
count of my horses, but I really think he has much grati-
tude for my getting him out of that burning house in
which he came so near being roasted.”

“That was so reckless and daring in you; I tremble
for your life, whenever I think of it. You are a ey
hero with the city people since. I hear they ca
you the American prince. I once thought titles and
nobility very essential, and the evening we first met ;
half regretted that you did not belong to our class, but
have come to regard all these distinctions of rank as hu-
man vanity, and you, Mr. Eustace, have taught me this
lesson.” i é

“Philip raised the soft hand which was crossed over its
mate upon a marble urn, and kissed the rosy fingers in
token of his thankfulness. Looking into the clear depths
of the beautiful eves which still rested upon hin, he read
full confirmation of all she had said. Who could listen
to such words under similar circumstances and remain
unmoved? Philip Eustace’s heart was entirely appreci-
ative of the kindness and charms of the young countess,
and he told her with all the simplicity of his nature how
deeply he felt. He had no intention of making such a
declaration as to lead Theresa to believe she was the sole
object of his affections; but she knowing the deliberate
moderation of Philip in all things, thought it full of love,
for him from whom she did not expect the usual vows
of eternal devotion. A light of satisfaction, calm and
entire, glowed in her face as they slowly returned : the
terrace where Sigismund was impatiently awaiting them.
They promised to meet the next evening at the opera-
house, and the stalwart figure, with its strange attendant,

      

 
  

 

    
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

3st The Heirs of St. Kilda.

passed swiftly through the gathering gloom toward the
city in the distance. Up the broad flight of steps between
the great stone dragons went the maiden as radiant as an
angel to dream of her new-found joy.

Philip was surprised, on his return, to fiud Frederick
Compton in his room awaiting his arrival. He had many
questions to ask in relation to the good people of St. Kilda
valley, now not seen for nearly two years. Mr. Grey and
Percival St. George were well, aud Arthur Kean was soon
to wed Ida Somerville. This was not unknown to Philip,
for he had received a letter from his friend, stating that
they had obtained Mr. Somerville’s consent to their mar-
riage in the ensuing fall. He had also written with
bright hopes of his professional success, for he was fast

rising to eminence, both as an advocate and jurist. Philip,

also having recently received a long and loving letter
from Rosamond, and knowing she would not leave school
until midsummer, asked no questions concerning her.
Compton had seen her just before leaving America, but
said nothing of his visit to the city in which she was
living.

Philip had never dignified Fredrick Compton with any
Jealousy as his rival, although he had long known the
chief desire of the young man and his family was to win
Rosamond, if possible. In the conscious security of her
love, and the oft expressed wishes of her mother, the
young heir of the house of Eustace had smiled at the
aspirations of his less favored competitor. Compton was
not a man to be easily discouraged, and had never yet
‘surrendered the hope of one day making himself the
master of Thorndale and Ramilies. Rosamond had fre-
quently assured him that she loved her cousin, and would

  

 

— pinnae eterna emt
——— a :
ninrcatreatirinaicne te —

Halcyon Days. 385

someday become his wife, if he desired it; yet suet AM,
als, plain as they were, failed to shake etn Re a
purpose; for he believed his rival cared ae ss :
family arrangements. He supposed from Philip’s ae
silence on the subject he was at least indifferent, a c
was with a thrill of pleasure he heard Ludwig Jiigern or
intimate that his long expected means of success was, in
some degree, assuming a promise of realization. en
Charles Loundes had too much delicacy of feeling to
refer to the subject of Philip’s visits to the countess, -
the presence of others, and, on his friend’s arrival, simp. a
inquired after the health of the countess and Baron Wal-
demar. This was a keen disappointment to Com
for he had expected from the friend’s love of raillery, an
the usual disposition of young men on such Cen
that there would be something of the kind to give him
insight into the true state of the case. The gravity a
Loundes’ inquiry and of Philip’s reply completely upse .
his calculations, so after further conversation, promising:
to see them again on the morrow, he left for his SPORES
Philip was too thoughtful to be Se ae ph
evening; so Charles Loundes left him to his solitary
meditations, and went in searc
who were singing near by. To most men of his eh
Philip’s position would have been one of unalloyed pleas-

ure. The countess’ Jove had been too plainly evinced,

that day, for him not to perceive it; with all his pee
and self-depreciation. He had never spoken of il
gagement with Rosamond to the proud dencenannt o 2
many belted earls, simply because he had never dreame

of the possibility of her expecting under any circum-
stances an offer of marriage from an.un
25

h of the lively young ladies.

titled foreigner,,

     

fo

jee
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

386 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

who, whatever might be the social eminence of his family
at home, was after all only a plain citizen of a republic.
He did not even then feel satisfied that this beautifal
and noble-minded woman, as much as she prized the
privilege of following the wishes of her own heart, would
disregard the long-reverenced traditions of her family,
in accepting his hand, were he disposed to offer it.

Then it occurred to him to ask of himself what was to
be the effect of this attachment on her, and in this sug-
gestion he found the pain and difficulty of his position.
He did not desire to throw any shadow across the previ-
ously sun-lit pathway of beauty and innocence; but it
distressed him to think of ending the pleasant and harm-

less intercourse between them. He very well knew, as

jong as he continued to treat her with the deference ard
admiration he couid not withhold, and she was convinced
of the feelings on his part he had that evening avowed,
‘so long would she entertain every sentiment she then
experienced. Whether she had ever thought of him in
connection with wedlock he was wholly ignorast; so
trusting to her purity and good sense he hoped for the
best and looked forward with pleasure to their next
meeting.

The next day was the Sabbath, and after attending
‘church, Philip and Ludwig, with the declining sun, again
visited the old minister. The artist was soon to depart
-on his long-desired visit to Rome; for Philip had pur-
chased many of his finest pictures and sent them to his
father, thus enabling the friend to accomplish his inten-
- ction, which was to give finish to a mind already richly
‘stored with the great lessons of the beautiful. This would
probably be their last free conference together, and it was

ee ee ee

Haleyon Days. 387

long and fall of touching assurances of esteem from
both. ;

Philip had promised to call for Frederick Compton on
his way to the opera-house, the evening he expected to
see the countess. Sigismund, as usual on such occasions,
Was with him, and while Compton was perfecting his
elaborate toilet, to meet a crowd of strangers, the dwarf
amused himself by swinging by his teeth from a table in
the corner of the room, greatly to Frederick’s horror, who
imagined, when he first noticed the proceeding, that the
imp had contrived really to hang himself. At last, when
these preparations were completed, and they had reached
their evening’s destination, the performance had already

“commenced. Philip noticed, as he conducted Compten

tea box, that the countess had just arrived; so apologi-

zing for leaving, he went to her side.

“ We are both late this evening,” said he.
“Yes” said the countess. “I thought at one time, I

should be unable to fulfill my promise, as my uncle was

indisposed, and I was unwilling to leave him. He, know-

ing my engagement, suggested I should take Madame
von Essling as my escort.”

“Permit me to say you are looking unusually well this
evening. It must be the excitement of your coming al-
most unattended which has given your eyes their addi-
tional lustre.”

“Tam happy that they please you,” said the countess ;
and the beautiful orbs rested upon him for a moment
with an expression which put to flight half of his good

resolutions.
The opera for the evening was Mozart’s Don Juan, or,
as the Italians call it, Giovanni, the most wonderful and

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

388 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

comprehensive work’of such character yet created for the
amusement of mankind. The countess was in that state
of delicious contentment which is satisfied with a limited
amount of speech; and as Philip had not witnessed
previous production of the musical Shakspeare’s chef-
d’oeuvre, they, were frequently silent: he rapt in the
progress of the scenes, and the radiant beauty in silent
observation, as the grand and ludicrous, so strangely
blended in the great performance, were depicted in the
varying expressions of his countenance.

“We seem very attractive to the gentleman who sits
opposite,” said the countess. “Do you know him?”

“He is an American acquaintance of mine,” said
Philip, “and was doubtless attracted by your appearance ;
but he seems now very much engrossed with the stage.”

Frederick Compton was manifestly determined to see
everything his opera glasses would disclose of what passed
between Philip and the countess, for he had been indus-
triously gazing in their direction the whole evening,
whenever Philip was not looking toward him; at such
times he became apparently absorbed in the proceedings
on the stage. The countess, like a true belle, was of
course alive to the necessity of seeing who of her ac-
quaintances were present, and had thus several times ob-
served the closeness of Compton’s scrutiny.

The opera was finished, and the ladies of the ballet had
retired from view, and doffed their tinsel finery. The
manager had recovered his temper, and the musicians
had ceased to labor at their instruments. The lights were
all extinguished, and the hall, a few minutes previously
a fairy scene, was now as dark as Erebus. Like other
human vanities, the splendor had all vanished into ray-

 

 

erence IC AAAS eed EO RII IN: TTL RTE ET NETS CENTRIC IN I AONE ee Sal ON ENEE crak,
menu Siew CaSs ie

ed

Halcyon Days. 389

Jess darkness, and a trembling mouse crept from under
the stage, the sole occupant of a room so shortly before
gorgeous enough for Titania’s revels. Philip accompanied
the countess and Madam von Hssling to their home. As
they left the carriage they paused to gaze upon the castle
glorified in the splendor of a full-orbed moon.

“Schulemberg castle never appeared to me so fair as it
does this night,” said the countess, leaning upon the arm
of him at her side; and then softly added: “ For you were
not here to view it with me.”

Philip’s only answer was a silent pressure of the hand
the held in his own. He was strangely moved with the
weird loveliness of all things around him, and was loth
to lose the beauty which seemed born as of some subtle
enchantment. Hc thought of Melrose Abbey:

+‘ When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white,
When the cold light’s uncertain shower
Streams on the ruin’d central tower ;
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seemed framed of ekon and ivory.”

 

 

aft,

Ss

 
— aa + Bile scree incest te taht Dene nso Nar sane TR NENA DME et ene nse strenenes eeteniemensaain —

 

a ed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

390 The Heirs of St. Kilde.

CHAPTER XxX.

PALLIDA MORS.

“Wat is it that will last?
Atl things are taken from us, and become:
Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. _
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil. Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave,

Tn silence ripen, fall and cease.’
Fhe Lotos-Eaters..

Tue summer glided by, until the increasing wealth
ef vegetation reached its climax of development, and
then, with the gradual shortening of the term of each day’s.
light, commenced nature’s process of deterioration in the
freshness hitherto observable in the witching domain of
Flora. In his observation of the changing aspect of the
fields, this was always a season of saddened interest to:
Philip Eustace. Having watched with joy the beautiful
progressions ever going on in the summer months in the
myriad forms of vegetation, he continued his scrutiny
through the autumn. In the spring he watched the ten-
der shoots and half opened buds conveying prophecies.
of almost impossible beauty in the coming hour of ma-
turity and fruition. At such a season the very songs of
the birds seemed to him redolent of some delicious expec-
tation, all the more charming in the fact of its dim and
unascertained character. He had often wondered at this.
vague and shadowy longing in his own heart, and felt
that there must be some law of affinity controlling and
connecting all God’s creation. He knew that certain

 

 

 

Pallida Mors. 391

dreamers in philosophy held that all organic life consists
but in a series of developments from one and the same
inferior source, but no such pantheistic subtleties mingled
in his steady and delighted attention to those things
which in-his heart he was assured had been placed on
earth for gratification and instruction.

Frederick Compton made but a short stay with him
for whose society he had manifested so much anxiety, in
his hurried approach. A look of satisfaction, wholly new
to him, was observable, and he went off, to loiter away
months of listless inactivity. Ludwig Jigerndorf had
been for some time in bis new studio at Rome and wrote
Philip long letters describing his residence in the old,
mouldering palace so typical of the waning glories of
the city in which it stood. The Countess of Schulemberg,
also, was temporarily absent. As much as her heart
yearned to remain, there were still duties which affection
for her uncle compelled her to regard, in spite of their
conflict with her own inclinations. The brave and time-
worn soldier had given the best efforts of his declining
years to the furtherance of her fortunes and happiness.
Among the few gratifications he had left to himself, in
his devotion to his neice, was his annual trip to the wat-
ering places, and even in this he was mindful of her,
as much as he enjoyed his game at the roulette table and
the society of the surviving comrades of old campaigning
times.

He considered that her brilliant loveliness needed an
airing thinking her young life must grow dull in the
quiet and seclusion of the castle. In these views he had
been entirely right, and conformable to the desires of the
countess until that season; but she knew it would seem

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BOzaee The Heirs of St. Kilda.

unreasonable to the baron, to appear unwilling to keep
up this habit and complied with his wishes, with a show

of the utmost cheerfulness. Among people gathered from
so many different countries, Theresa of Schulemberg, in
the bloom of her radiant youth, lived in the realm of her
own thoughts, even while laughing and coquetting with
her admiring beaux. Baden-Baden supposed that her
triumphs of that season were brilliant enough to satisfy
an empress, and the giddy throng went on with its danc-
ing, its gambling, and double intoxication from loye and
wine; but there was one who shone as the queen of the
revel, who in her heart felt and despised the emptiness
of all such pageants. :

Philip was now profiting to the utmost of his ability
by the opportunities yet remaining to him at the uni-
versity. The arts and Roman jurisprudence were his
principal studies, and as Charles Loundes and he would
leave the institution ina few months, they both more
than ever appreciated the pleasure of their lives for the
last two years. The seats under the linden tree in the
court yard had not yet been abandoned by the family of
Counsellor Strauss, and cheerful repasts were still spread
beneath its protecting shade, though the velvety sward
around had lost much of its freshness. One evening as
the family were seated there, Philip and Loundes came
in from a walk and found a telegraphic dispatch, stating
that Gov. Eustace lay dangerously ill in Paris, and desir-
ed his son to come at once to his bedside.

Philip knew that his father had long suffered from an
organiv derangement of the valves of the heart, and had
been frequently told by him that physicians thought
that while by prudence his life might be prolonged to

ones s .

 

 

Jere PT Aa ae AINE ee erp sna Sea

a, aad

Pallida Mors. 393

old age, yet such was the uncertainty of his malady, he
was prepared at any moment to die under its effects. He
did not wonder that this dreadful uncertainty brought
with it but little terror to one who thus continually faced
the most direful of all human apprehensions but was
filled with admiration that his father could still preserve
his genial warmth and humor. To the careless observer,
Goy. Eustace seemed gifted with an unfailing supply of
pleasant fancies; but Philip well knew under all that
charming mirth lay the watchful intelligence which, as a
sleepless sentinel, was ever looking for the death which at
any time might be close at hand.

As the young student traversed the famous region of
the Rhine, though he looked out upon its beauties and
saw the tall battlements of ruined castles, yet he was
too profoundly depressed for the enjoyment of either art
or nature. Grief was an emotion to which he was unac-
customed ; for his mother had died when he was so young
he failed to appreciate the extent of his loss at the time;
and his uncle Stanhope was the dearest friend he had
ever mourned since he was old enough to value the worth
of those beloved for their own merits and the ties of kin-
dred blood. But few hours elapsed from the reception of
the telegram, before the dying father was gladdened in
the arrival of the son, Philip had ever been dutiful and
was now peculiarly the centre of all those fading hopes
so long cherished by him whose lease of mortal life was
near its termination. In the stalwart and affectionate
brother, Gov. Eustace was assured that Mariana would

find abundant love and protection.
The envoy had been an ambitious man, but the taint
of selfishness was not in his nature. He had been much

Se ee

}

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

394 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

separated from his children, but this grew out of his de-
votion to their well-being. Had he consulted his feelings
he would have kept them with him; but he knew that
his own mother would better supply the place of her who
was sleeping beneath the sod of Ellesmere than any one
whose services could be secured for money. Another
man would have probably supplied his own and his chil-
dren’s wants by the selection of a second wife. It may
have been a romantic and ill-advised idea in him, but
Ashton Eustace could not forget che being he saw renewed
in his daughter, and there was a strong conviction, which
he never sought to weakeu, that somewhere amid the
isles of the blest her tender eyes were looking upon him
and awaiting his coming. The thought of giving this
love to another, which still was hers, was revolting to his
sensitive nature. The subject of his marrying again was
the only theme upon which he was noi full of pleasant
badinage, for he tarned with disgust from unions of mere
convenience, considering the nuptial tie, when unsancti-
fied by absorbing love, a degrading and brutal relation.
On his arrival, Philip was met at the door of the sick-
room by his grandfather who could only grasp his hand
in silence, and to the eager inquiry as to the father’s con-
dition, Judge Eustace replied that he wasstill alive. Mrs.
Eustace was supporting the head of her son, as Philip
entered the room, while Mariana knelt by the bedside
holding one of the feeble hands. Gov. Eustace had fallen
into a gentle slumber, so Philip, with silent kisses to the
two watchers, took his seat and looked at the pale face of
the sufferer. The doctor, who was present, had been un-
- remitting in his attentions since this last fatal attack, and
sat realizing the futility of his art in the treatment of

 

eres AAAS eA NO te ACTER. SEAN AOE aT IO AE TI NT AI - eeereuans

as

Pallida Mors. 395

organic disorders like that under which his patient was
now sinking, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary.

Anguish filled the bosom of the son, as he gazed on the
unconscious face of him who was the author of his being,
and whese devoted kindness had been so invariably at-
tested through all the period to which his memory ox-
tended. He recalled the numberless instances of his
father’s tender regard,and now that everything indicated
he was about to lose him on the verge of their long-antici-
pated tour of Europe, and from the quiet home life after-
ward in St. Kilda valley, arose an agony of grief in his
soul. With a strong effort he put back the tears which
were welling up, and had recovered some degree of com-
posure, when he observed his father’s brow contract as if
in pain, followed by his starting up from sleep and gasp-
ing for breath. Gov. Eustace appeared to be dying, but
his crippled heart still preserved enough vitality to dis-
gorge itself, and, with a look of exhaustion, the envoy
fell back with closed eyes in his mother’s arms. He was
silent for a minute, when he fondly kissed the tear-
bedewed eheek above him, and remarked:

“Pear mother, this is a cruel blow to you, already
bowed under affliction. How long have I slept?”

“ Nearly a half hour, my son.”

“Tt must be time for Philip’s arrival.”

“You seem to rest more easily,” said the doctor, who
had led Philip behind the head of the bed during his
father’s paroxysm. “I expect, sir, your son 1s close at
hand by this time; but pray do not yield to your emo-
tions when you see him.”

“T understand the necessity of caution,” said the

sufferer.

tb

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

396 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

 

“M. Philip, then you can speak to your father.”

Their greeting, with all this precaution, strongly
affected both, but in a few moments they were calm
enough for the slight conversation allowable under the
circumstances. The physician cautioned them against
prolonged conferences, and haying other duties requiring
his attention, took his leave for the morning. For several
days the fluctuating tide of life alternately gave promise
of recovery, and then by return of the spasmodic action
of the heart these newly-formed hopes were dissipated.
Gov. Eustace, fearful of injury to Mariana’s recovered
vision, would not allow her to watch long by his bedside
at night, so the task of continuous vigilance was divided

» between Philip and his grandparents. Late on the third
night after his arrival, the son was keeping solitary vigil.
Judge Eustace was asleep in an adjoining room, and the
watch-woern mother was taking a short respite on a lounge
near the bed. For several hours the sick man had slept
peacefully, but Philip observed the ominous contraction
of the brow, and the next moment the gasping for breath
had commenced. The struggle for sometime seemed
hopeless, and it awakened Mrs. Eustace, who was fast con-
cluding all was over when Goy. Eustace again spoke.

“These sufferings will soon be past,” said he, taking
the hands of each, “for a new sensation of relief, and at
the same time of further weakness, has come upon me.
Tam confident I shall not live until daylight.”

“Dear Ashton,” said his mother, “do not give way to
your feelings.”

Goy. Eustace told his mother that he felt as calm as if
he had never experienced a trouble in his life. He assured
her that her own teachings in childhood had guided him

 

 

Pallida Mors. 397

through all the devious windings of his course, and that
the death he knew to be near at hand, was thus shorn of
terror. Dr. Velpeau had cautioned him against talking,
but that was when the physician had hopes of his recov-
ery. Now he was dying, he would not longer forbear
what had been previously withheld throwgh respect for
the opinions of his medical adviser.

“T have so much to say to you, Philip, that I fear my
strength will be unequal to the task. You have been so
dutiful all your days, and have given me 80 much com-
fort, that it is now my only source of satisfaction and
content in this dispensation of Providence. I should be
troubled for Mariana, but I know that in you she will -
have a protector in whose kindness and forethought I -
have all confidence. I leave her to your charge, my son,
when age shall have removed the loving supervision of
my own parents, and I know that I need say nothing of
your conduct toward them. They have been the authors
of your own excellence, and I am confident, while they
live, you will continue to heed and reverence their wishes.
Thad promised myself much comfort in your society
during the remainder of my life, for my resignation of
the post I now hold was forwarded to Washington a month
ago; but it has pleased God I should die in the harness
which has so long galled me. It has pleased Him to de-
stroy my anticipations, and I uncomplainingly submit to
His decree. If you, my son, and Rosamond love each
other, as I hope you do, always recollect that my last ex-
pressed wish was for your union. I have only now, dear
Philip, to give you my parting blessing, and pray if you
shall live to have a son of your own, he may be of as
much comfort and pride as you have ever been to me.”

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

398 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Philip, at his father’s request, summoned Judge Eustace
and Mariana, and from his calmness they thought him
mistaken in the nearness of approaching dissolution.
After a half hour spent in loving assurances, haying
taken leave of all, he fell into quiet slumber, and as the
faint gleam of morn shone through the closed windows,
the watchful mother noticed that breathing had ceased.
Upon examination they found that the orator and states-
man had closed his mortal career, and was fast asleep in
death.

The gloom that settled on the foreign home of the
family, previously so happy, was too deep to desire obser-
vation; so, with as little ostentation as possible, in view
of the public importance of the position recently filled
by the distinguished dead, the body was removed by the
stricken father to the quiet of the family burial place at
Ellesmere.

On the evening previous to Philip’s departure from
Paris, he was alone in one of the saloons of the large sil-
ent house, wondering at the fortitude displayed by his
grandmother under her present loss, when she had so
nearly perished in her grief for his uncle Stanhope. He
well knew if there was any difference in her love for her
two sons, it was in favor of her first-born; yet the dis-
position which had been so full of sunshine previous to
the soldier’s death seemed almost hopelessly clouded sub-
sequently, but now after a passionate flood of tears she
manifested a serenity in striking contrast to the tremu-
lous, unspoken despair evident in every lineament of her
husband. The tenderness of the wife locked up the

~mother’s grief in her own heart, and found comfort in
her efforts to bring alleviation to the bruised heart of the

 

 

a ee ren an carne eo SS ora

a

Pallida Mors. 399

suffering father. He had now surrendered to the good
of the land he had so faithfully served both of the sons
whose own worth and reverence for himself had been so
dear to his declining age. The wise, undemonstrative
man wasin an agony of desolatlon unknown to more
elastic and imaginative dispositions, and his wife and
grandchildren found that he needed all their loving
sympathy in his dire extremity.

Philip returned to Germany with a heavy heart and
his sad face told the story of his loss. Charles Loundes
had a double cause for joining in his melancholy. He
was grieved for the sake of the friend, and felt that
Europe was shorn of attraction in the departure of Mari-
ana Eustace from its limits. Usually hope is an import-
ant clement in the passion of love, being the fuel which
continually adds to the pictures of expected joy, and with
its destruction in most breasts, the adored object becomes
a dim remembrance of the past. Petrarch loved his
Laura, and Dante his Beatrice, long after the stimulus
of this emotion had passed away, and the emotions of the
great Florentine appeared to have deepened with the dis-
appearance of his mistress from the land of the living.
Charles Loundes had much of this tendency in his nature.
He still cherished a hope, however faint, that there would
be a change in Mariana’s disposition, and that she would
mingle more of earthly emotion in the purity of her re-
gard for him. He felt certain she was not indifferent to
his happiness, and this assurance was to him a source of
the most delicious dreams of his life.

With the falling leaves, returned to the halls of her
fathers the brilliant Countess of Schulemberg. The gay
life she had been recently leading hed necessarily induced

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

400 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

many reflections as to the nature and probable result of
her still fondly cherished regard for Philip Eustace, and
there was a modification of her disposition toward him.
Her admiration was in nowise decreased, but in the

throng of men and women among whom she had been ~

latterly moving, were many like herself, belonging to a
titled aristocracy, devoted to those ideas which sustain
the long-established gradations of society. The solitude
of her life among her dependants in the-old castle had
created, with the dawn of great emotions, a feeling of in-
dependence and disregard tor her own caste. Amid the
close comparisons which always force themselves upon
the mind in resorts where persons of mixed claims to the
world’s respect jostle each other as they do at watering
places, the countess’ disposition to disregard her own sta-
tion was weakened. She had seen no, one among the
noblemen to whom she was willing to give more than a
fleeting thought; but as she recalled the warmth of many
of their protestations of devotion, she could but remember,
with some pique, that Philip had been but chary in those
avowals which.are such delicious incense to every pretty
woman. Blushes of dissatisfaction with herself would
sometimes mantle her face when alone, and it occurred
to her that perhaps Philip had thought her too demon-
_strative toward him ; so with fresh convictions of the duty
she owed her rank as the Countess of Schulemberg and to
herself as a beautiful, all-conquering belle, she returned
to her home. Having been several days without seeing
Philip, she was at a loss to account for his failing to visit
her, when one morning the Baron Waldemar, who had
~ been to the city, remarked :
“T have seen our friend, Mr. Eustace, to day, and found

 

 

 

evn GAMA SAE CO LENE nA NEI ES ETT NIECE a Oe OSI

Men et OE

Pallida Mors. 401

him suffering from indisposition and. affliction at the
recent loss of his father.” ;
“Tam very sorry for him,” said the countess. “It is
very strange that an enyoy’s death should not have been
’ announced in the papers.”
“Tt doubtless was, but when did we think of papers at
Baden-Baden. He says he will soon leave us to com-

mence his travels.”

“Did he promise to see us before he leaves?”

“Yes, so soon as his health permits.”

Philip had been sick for several days, and had not left
his room when the baron went to visit for him. There
were mutual feelings of respect between the two, and
though at times the embodiment of the exclusive pride
of birth in Europe was slightly uneasy at the evident
interest manifested by his niece toward the citizen strang-
er from America, it was attributed to grateful remem-~
brance of services rendered at their first interview.

He recognized in Philip Eustace a brave and consci- ,

entious man, and toward such he was ever kindly appre-
ciative, and in this way reposed much confidence in the
young representative of democratic sentiment, to the
growth of which he was thoroughly opposed.

Philip, in the first full appreciation of his loss in the
death of his father, had felt very sorely the extent of his.
privation; but that higher trust which had so often lifted
him above the tainting influences of success now became
a support and consolation in the hour of his bereavement.
Goy. Eustace’s death had not been unexpected, and he
had heard from the lips of him who was now gone fre-
quent premonitions of the stealthy enemy ever ready for
the fatal attack. Weeks had stolen by and the cruel

26

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

402 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

freshness of the gap in his heart was healed over by the
blessed soothing which God in his mercy has granted to
the effects of time in the direst calamities. The loving
father was still fresh in his remembrance, but it was with

that softened recollection which in well ordered disposi-—

tions occasions little suffering, as the mind recalls the
image of the cherished and the lost.

His innocent pleasures were now as sweet as before, and
his satisfaction, consequent upon a sense of duty dis-
charged at the close of the day, was as full as ever. He
was alone, one evening, when a gentle rap at the door was
heard, and in the deepening twilight Sigismund came
quietly into the room. The dwarf had understood he was
about to lose the company of Philip and his horses, and,
for the first time in his life, the half-witted creature ex-
hibited concern at what yet lacked days of its accomplish-
ment. He had seemed, hitherto, wholly to fail of appre-
ciation, when told by his mother that at some day he
would suffer for misdeeds in life. He seemed powerless
to grasp any joy or sorrow of the future, and never antici-
pated the morrow’s pleasures. Philip was much astonish-
ed that Sigismund should manifest feeling at his early
departure, and wes touched by the mute sorrow which
‘was apparent in the large, strange eyes.

The subject of his final interview with the Countess of
Schulemberg was much pondered. He was not certain
that any explanations would be necessary. If she regard-
ed their intercourse in the light he hoped, all would be
well. He could say farewell, having assured her of his
admiration and esteem, and his departure would, perhaps,
be marked with no sadder consequence than her shedding
a few bitter tears. Then he reflected what he should do

pure greenery ess

 

 

Rene

Pallida Mors. 403

in the event of her saying something calling fora full
confession of his disposition toward her. In that case he
resolved she should know all the story of his love for
Rosamond, the wishes of his family, and his own plight-
ed faith. Then if blame should be attached to his not
making this avowal earlier, he would tell of his unwilling-
ness to obtrude his own individual concerns uncalled for
upon her notice. He hoped, with these reasons for his
conduct, he could take his leave and still be remembered
with no bitterness.

He regretted that Charles Loundes had not told the
countess the story of his love for his cousin; but he had
never directly asked his friend to do so, and once, when
he had intimated such a thing, Charles had opposed it,
saying Philip should not thus make a gratuitous exposure
of his affairs, which might be considered unnecessary
and impertinent under the circumstances. Philip, of
course, said nothing to his companion conveying the im-
pression that he thought the countess would be distressed
at his departure, and Loundes never considered that pos-
sible with a lady of fashion. He held that with belles,
who have experience and tact, it was legitimate to flirt to
any extent short of a positive engagement to marry, and
with Philip he knew such a thing was impossible. :

Thoughtful of his demeanor in this interview, which
he felt was to be their last, Philip had accepted Baron
Waldemar’s invitation to dine at the castle. The countess
had formed many resolutions as to her conduct toward
him ; but as soon as she saw the traces of grief and re-
cent illness, from which he was still imperfectly recoy-

‘ered, grew half-repentant as she met his frank gaze. She
greeted him with expressions of tender sympathy, and

sialic inhi

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

404 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

they were soon discussing the intended route of his
travels. He was to send his baggage by railway to Paris,
and, with Charles Loundes, to pass on horse-back down
the Rhine into Holland, as he desired to send his horses
to America from some of the Dutch seaports. In the
evening the countess and he made an excursion over
the road she had gone the afternoon of their first inter-
view. Theresa, in her black velvet riding habit, and the
long sable plume drooping over her golden hair, was
never more lovely; and Philip could but gaze at the
beautiful figure aglow with health and grace. She was
very quiet and thoughtful, evidently thinking of his ap-
proaching departure, a subject he was disposed to evade
in his conversation.

“T hear,” said he, “ that your stay at Baden-Baden was
unusually pleasant this season.”

“Yes,” said she, “I feel some pleasure in the little
rivalries which spring up at such places between persons
of my age and sex. I know it is 1 small thing, but one
cannot help being pleased with victory on such occasions.”

“T believe any species of emulation is attractive to
both sexes, and think it quite as reasonable that a lady
should enjoy the honor of the largest attendance, as for
men, who have already money enough, to waste the night
on the chance of winning more at roulette.”

“Tam called a belle,” said the countess, “and am
honest enough to confess I find pleasure in the knowl-
edge.that I possess qualities which usually attract at-
tention. I know this is vanity, but what is hu-
_ man. life but vanity? You men frequently wear your-

selyes down with long speeches, but is not the orator’s®

 

 

a

Pallida Mors. 405

eharm found in the consciousness that so many are hang-
ing upon his words?” ;
“Yes, there are many men who make speeches with
no higher motive, but in such case I have never known
ene to rise to heights entitling him to the grand appella-
tion of orator. Demosthenes, periling his life in denun-
ciation of the Macedonian’s designs upon his country ;
Cicero, disregarding the danger of Catiline’s resentment
and exposing conspiracy; or Edmund Burke, fired with
the knowledge that Hastings had waded to riches through
the tears and blood of oppressed millions, were the occa-

sions when great natures, ip the glory of integrity, be-

came superior to the petty vanity of hearing themselves

speak.” i
“T expect you will be an orator yourself, if you can

defend them so eloquently to so poor an audience as

myself.”
“No; my father assured me, as I valued my peace of

mind, I should avoid publie life. There will be hundreds
of human beings dependant on my sense of justice and
care for their happiness, and as they are my hereditary
subjects, I shall strive to domy utmost for their comfort.”

“Tf the world were composed of such men as you, I
should be in love with your American system of slavery,
which, in that event, would afford the weak and ignorant
so much protecting kindness.”

“ You are very kind, lady Theresa, but I fear you over-
estimate my worth. Wherever I shall bear rule in life, I
shall consider ita high duty to be thoughtful of those
having a right to expect attention from me.”

“That is what I know,” said the countess, “ and I wish
you had been born the sovereign prince of this duchy.”

ee ade ee resins oe

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

406 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“Tn that event,” said Philip, “the ruler would have
soon been subjected by some of his subjects.”

* “You would need have but little fear on that score. I
think you have managed to remain your own master, in
spite of the glamour you sometimes say resides in my
glance.”

“Tam sure I have been long ago overceme in its

splendor.”
“Tet us understand each other before we part, it may

be, forever,” said the countess. ‘‘ Do not speak to me in
language of mere gallantry, when I am sorrowing in the
thought I shall no more see you after this evening.”

“T am speaking to you, dear lady, in all the sincerity of
my heart, which beats as warmly towards you as the cir-
cumstances attending us could possibly justify.”

“You made me very happy at Undine’s grotto,” said
the countess, “for I then thought you loved me, but I
have concluded that you are only my good friend.”

“JT have been troubled very often,” said Philip, “lest I
might be thought too bold, lady Theresa, in daring to be
considered even your friend, and I have not mentioned
things which perhaps ought to have been said, for fear
you might deem them unnecessarily obtruded on your
consideration. I shall never cease to love you as long as
I live,” and Philip went on telling her of his higher love
and plighted faith to his cousin, who relied upon his
honor in the fulfillment of their engagement. The beau-
tiful head, with its black plumes and lustrous hair shin-
ing in the light of the setting sun, drooped very low as
the recital centinued, and when he had finished she was
bowed and silent still.

 

        
    
      

Pallida Mors. 407

“Oh! speak to me,” said Philip, “and say you have not
ceased to regard me, for I now know this avowal should
haye been earlier made.”

“ While I was in the gay world of Baden-Baden,” said
the countess, with a low,sad voice, “I thought I had
found pride enough to sustain me under this confession ;
which somehow I feared you would at last make. Ioften
had the foreboding that you would tell me you loved
another, yet I haye lacked the fortitude to ask you di-
rectly if my dim dread was well founded. I suspected,
from the reserve of your manner, you were thus fettered,
while I have believed that you cared for me, and have no
doubt of it now; but I almost wish you had left me to
my fate the evening we first met.”

“ Lady Theresa,” said Philip, “you are planting thorns
in my heart. I shall never forgive myself for having
brought you this unhappiness. Oh! that I should have
been so weak not to have told you all before.”

“No,” said she, and the fair face was lifted until her
gaze rested fall upon him, “I am glad you have not
done so, for this great joy I have known would have been
otherwise never experienced. The thought of marriage
has not been connected with you, for I well knew I would

not relish a home in America, and it was too much to
have expected you to surrender your ties and kindred.
I have recognised in you the true nobility of nature, and
have not sought to curb the joy of myheart. I shall
remember you with no bitterness, for you did not seek
my love, and what I have given you has been the result
of my unsolicited bounty. It may sound strange to you,
to hear me, a woman, making these confessions, and to

PRA ESEM SOLE ISPD ERI TE pe ARSON RS Hine INS RT SPOOR CEE tA

 

i ci

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

408 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

any one but you, I think I should die before my heart
sbould be thus exposed.”

* “You make me very happy in this last statement,”
said Philip. “Iam sincerely glad I have known one of
the truest and most beautiful of God’s creatures, and have
had the good fortune to attract her esteem.”

“T shall teach myself,” said the countess, “ to remember
you as my dear brother, and I know your happy cousin,
if she could see my heart now that I fully understand
her claims upon you, would have no objection to the love
I still bear you, which I promise to cherish while I have
life. I have never been anxious to enter that domain
which seems so full of charms to young women. I have
despaired of making myself happier, and am unwilling
to cloud my existence by assuming obligations for which
I feel no inclination; so when you are married, if you
will bring your bride to Schulemberg castle, I promise
you I will not feel jealous of her happiness.”

With many such assurances, rode on the two who were,
an hour ago, so much like lovers in appearance, but were
now linked in that almost as holy relation of friends.
The lengthening shadows of twilight fell around them,
and the clear autumn moon had stolen up into the
heavens, as they passed the great ruins of the northern
wing of the castle. As it was his last visit, the countess
would not consent to Philip’s departure until the queen
of the tides was far advanced on her starlighted journey.
They went out fora last look at the grand battlements
now silvered in all their broken lines with all-hallowing
light. The night was cloudless; but in the beautiful up-
turned face at Philip’s shoulder, was a serenity as deep
and undisturbed as that which fell upon it from the in-

 

     
       

|
j
1
|

 

   

Pallida Mors. 409

finite depths above. He gazed upon the mournful beauty
of the lifeless ruin, and turned from the contemplation of
its majestic stillness to look for the last time upon eyes
in whose light he had known so much happiness. In
their liquid depths he saw there was sorrow, but no cloud
of despair. They still rested fondly upon him, but the
old look of passionate entreaty for the avowal of his love
was gone forever.

Philip’s heart was ‘too full to speak his good-bye; so
he bowed his head and kissed the pure brow, and the
next minute the rapid footfalls of Hamlet were swiftly
bearing him away. On through the lights and shadows
of the stately approach, glided the lone horseman. On
the marble platform still lingered the queenly form,
between the stone dragons guarding the portal. They
had witnessed many arrivals and departures, but never
in all their history had they seen a great joy so sweetly
surrendered as the golden-haired maiden, in the strength
of her goodness, went slowly up the broad steps. Oh!
wondrous power of human loye, and more divine gift of
unselfish wisdom! Oh! fathomless mystery of changing
life, what man has the capacity to grasp the heights and
depths of your mighty significance! Who in the midst
of crowned joy, listens for the footsteps of coming
Nemesis, or sees the promise of Paradise in the very
bosom of woe? Strange miracles of compensation await
us at every turn. Hidden in supremest satisfaction, are
the germs of future despair; and from rayless depths a
feeble spark of hope is nourished until it grows into a
flame illuminating the ages of unending bliss.

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER: XXI.

ROSAMOND’s SORROW.

AND weeping then she made her moan,
“The night comes on that knows not morn,
When shall I cease to be all alone,
To live forgotten, and love forlorn.”

—Mariana in the South.

More than four years have elapsed since Rosamond
Courtenay, then a girl of fourteen summers, made her
first appearance. This interval of time is no inconsider-
able portion of the term usually allotted to human ex-
istence, and, in the season of youth, is long enough for
marked changes in the feelings and appearance of both
sexes. In the life of a female, it is a season of such won-
drous transformations that it often becomes difficult to
realize the changes we behold in the full-grown woman.
When Rosamond met Philip at the door as he came up
to Thorndale cottage after the fox chase, he saw before
him a tall, angular girl, striking in the contour of the
head and face; but with all the charms-of dark, brown
eyes, she could not be considered, even by his indulgent
eyes, as beautiful as rosy-cheeked Ida Somerville.

The thoughtful boy had often sighed for this want of
beauty in her he had always been taught to regard as his
future bride. He saw she was even less pretty than Mae
Glancy, and was far inferior to the perfection of form and
feature observable in Mariana: but there was some inde-
finable charm which made her very different from others.
She seemed to live in an atmosphere wholly removed
from that in which they existed. The dark eyes would

 

    

  

:
Hy

 

Rosamond’s Sorrow. 411

light up with a splendor boen of her own sweet fancies,
and there was a low, passionate fervor in her tones which
imparted fascination to her wild stories, when her cousins
sat spell-bound as her audience.

Rosamond had now finished her school-days, and had
been at home for several months. She had recently re-
ceived a letter from Philip, who had left Europe for the
East. His letters often expressed a desire to return to
America, but he was also eager to visit the cradles of hu-
man history before his final departure from the old
world. He had frequently spoken of the Countess of
Schulemberg’’s kindness to him, and the admiration with
which he regarded her was not hidden. Rosamond was
sometimes a little piqued in reading these fervid praises ; ©
but, having unbounded trust in the honor and loyalty of
her betrothed, gave herself no uneasiness on the subject
of his fidelity.

Ellesmere had again become the home of the family,
so sadly returning from their long stay abroad. Judge
Eustace was busy on the farms needing his attention.
During his absence his agents had discharged their duties
as well as could have been expected; but who has been so
happy as to delegate his cares and still find everything
executed as if he had been present? Large and varied
interests now became a great alleviation to the sorrowful
heart of the childless old man. The people of St. Kilda
valley testified much sympathy for him in his sorrow,
and it was affecting to see their grief when they first
learned that the man who had so long been their idol had
become but a shadow of the past. They had obeyed, to
the letter, his last passionate appeals against political
views he believed dangerous to their peace, and in many

 
 

 

    
  
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

412

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

a rude home on the mountain sides, bitter tears stole into
the eyes of stern men as they recalled the genial smile and
‘pleasant words of him who, with all his reputation and
success, bore so much love for his early friends. Life’s
fitful fever was over; but of the throng who had been so
lavish ‘of their favors, how many would continue to
cherish his memory? Alas for the stability of the struct-
ure for which thou laborest, O public man !

If life itself is a fleeting exhalation, what shall be said
of that volatile incense of popular favor for which so
much toil and care are undergone? Is there a dream
that the applause of to-day will outlive the morrow?
“So long?” says Hamlet. “Nay, then let the devil wear
black, for I’ll have a suit of sables. O Heavens! die two
months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there’s hope
a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year.”

When the breath of spring came upon the awakening
fields in the misty, dream-like glow of the life-giving
warmth, two forms could be frequently seen at the grave
of the dead statesman. Rosamond and Mariana were
planting flowers and watering them with their tears.
Both in their hearts called him father. To one unac-
quainted with them, had he first seen the calm and pas-
sionless beauty of her who had been for years shrouded
in darkness, he would have been ready to conclude earth
contained no lovelier being; but turning to the taller
stature of her companion, he would have seen another, in
whose clear perfection all other forms were dwarfed and
eclipsed in attractiveness. To say that Rosamond Courte-
nay was beautiful, seemed but a feeble commencement
of a portraiture in the completion of which the power of
mere words became utterly tame. Her radiant and super-

 

 

S

     

 

ree inerceoonm sinh YOR GS Ala ER a es a he eee ee

Ranier

Rosamond’s Sorrow. 413

lative loveliness of form and feature instantly riveted the
gaze of all beholders. Mariana had often seen the vast
range of delineation of female beauty in the Louyre.
She had stood in almost breathless admiration before the
madonnas and angels of the great artists of the past, but
when, after her return from Europe, she beheld her
cousin, she seemed spell-bound, and could but murmur,
“© Rosamond, if Philip could only see you!”

Mariana recalled from the period preceding her blind-
ness the image of a little girl who was shy and plain,
and while loving in her disposition, evidently more at
home with an old romance than even with the admiring
attentions of Philip and herself, unless they were listen-
ing to some story of hers which realized to the young
dreamer more vividly the wealth of her fervid imagin-
ings. She saw in the Rosamond before her a greater
transformation than was ever wrought by the archest
enchanter; a blooming woman, fairer than her own mir-
ror reflected in the mysteries of toilet, and clothed with
such watchful consideration for others that the charm of
physical perfection soon became secondary to the magic
of her manner.

During the last year of her stay, Rosamond had seen
much gaiety in the city in which she was educated. The
commodore, in whose family she lived, having returned
from the command of the squadron on the African coast,
his daughters, previously secluded by their mother, at
once went forward into the round of pleasures upon which
young ladies usually enter. There was too much po-
liteness among those who visited the house for the dis-
play of any marked preference, at first, for either of the
three maidens ; but Rosamond’s beauty was so unrivalled

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
 
 

414 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

she was recognized as the attraction which had converted
a family, but little visited before, into leaders of fashion.
If the good lady who had acted so much like a mother to
Rosamond, had been liable to the usual weakness of those
who see their daughters eclipsed in the superior charms
of another, the heiress of Thorndale’s stay might have
been embittered by exhibitions of jealousy,but she had be-
come too dear to the whole family for any such feeling, and
it never occurred to their minds that any one could hope
to behold unmoved the splendor of the beauty they had
seen developed among themselves. Rosamond’s engage-
ment and romantic devotion to her cousin were not un-
' known, and, therefore, they looked for no interference
with any of their own expectations. Nothing in the
range of the usual incidents of life more severely tries
the affection of woman than the knowledge that one is
surpassed by another in attractiveness.

‘*Men hate because in act or strife
'They cross each other’s path ;
Short is the space for jealousy,
And fierce the hour of wrath:
But woman’s hate runs deeper far,
Though shallow at the spring ;
Right seldom is it that they forget
The shaft that galled their wing.
A fairer face, a higher place,

More worship, more applause, .

Will make a woman loathe her friend,
Without a deadlier cause.”

In Rosamond Courtney, Mrs. Leighton and her daugh-
ters saw an entire absence of.a desire to win the love of
gallants surrounding her. She was ever kind and con-
siderate, but no token of the usual coquetries of a pretty
woman was discernible in the simple sweetness of the
queenly maiden. She accepted the incense ever arising

  

 

 

 

Rosamond’s Sorrow. 415

around her in society with such meek and deprecating
remonstrance, they could not in their hearts find an ex-
cuse for envy. God and her own nature had clothed her
with glorious attractiveness, and it was the resuit of no
exertion of her own. The vanity sometimes allowable
in young belles was wholly wanting in her earnest and
graceful demeanor.

William Compton, the father of Frederick, was consid-
ered by his neighborsa happy man. His long-cherished
desire for public station had been gratified in his election,
more than a year before, to the House of Representatives
in Congress. Pepin, after his defeat at the St. Kilda
races by Philip’s horse, Tempest, had a career of brilliant
success over different race-courses, and though Mr. Comp-
ton was known to gamble habitually no one thought he
lost much money at cards. He was supposed to be much
too astute for that.. Sume of his acquaintances feared he
was injuring his health by strong drink, but no one ever
saw him under the influence of liquor, when not in such
goodly companionship that his own departure from so-
briety seemed rather the effect of social feeling than any
confirmed weakness. He would sometimes confess he
did not think itan unpardonable sin for a man to be in
such condition when many of his friends were in a similar
state.

Mr. Compton had become the oracle of the valley, and

now that his former competitor was dead and his father:

disabled by age from attention to public affairs, the long
desired leadership had been obtained. No man in all
the St. Kilda region was more consulted and looked up
to, than Mr. Compton. Many parents would have been
troubled at the traces of dissipation in Frederick, who,

Aish teen to crop RENN ROBY Lise eye whe sTd mem angen etme

ee ee

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

416 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

though to the eyes of the uninitiated, a thoroughly re-
spectable young man, was yet not entirely indebted to
study and attention to business for his bloodless face,
and meagre figure. He had recently returned from
Europe, on hearing that Thorndale cottage was again
cheered by the presence of Rosamond. To marry this
heiress, was now the object of his otherwise purposeless
life. To all things else he manifested an indifference
strange in one so young. He did not positively dislike
the rival who had baffled and outstripped him in the con-
test his own vanity had suggested, if his own words could
be trusted. He was commonly profuse in his praise of
the noble character ascribed to him whose unselfih kind-
ness was too well known to be openly assailed ; but in
his heart the young schemer would have rejoiced if the
wild Bedouin of the desert had closed the career of the
antagonist upholding the hopes of continued ascendency
"in the house of Eustace.

According to the latest accounts in the possession of
these two men who were consulting together concerning
him, Philip was among the Arabs indulging his fondness
for horses, and surveying, on their native plains, the
steeds long celebrated all over the world. They were un-
able to ascertain when he was expected in America, and
this seemed to trouble them as they were deeply interest-
ed in his movements. Mr. Compton was restlessly walk-
ing to and fro on the plush of a Turkey carpet in the
gaudy pattern of which he appeared to have become fas-
cinated, for his look had been several minutes bent on
the floor. He was revolving some subject engaging the
attention of every faculty, and, pausing before his son,
who was reclining on a sofa, he remarked :

 

 

 

     

ch ae PRR NEO ERE OR TENA EO SE ITN ES RTOS TEES igh stlosnansnromytanisateane

Rosamond’s Sorrow. ALT

“ Frederick, I shall be a ruined man in less than six

months unless you can marry Rosamond Courtenay. My
liabilities now due and those rapidly maturing will reach
ninety thousand dollars. I cannot renew my notes in
bank unless I can pay at least twenty thousand dollars;
and if it were to save my life I would be unable to meet
that claim which Col. Ridgely holds against me. With
the large sums belonging to Rosamond you could easily
extricate me from this dilemma to which my own folly
has reduced me.”

“ What do you call your folly, father ?”

“Why the madness of risking the money I iene) lost
on that horse in the great match just decided, and the

double-dyed simplicity of giving thousands to a senator

and a professional gambler who, Iam now convinced,
united to fleece me in Washington last winter.”

“T have not before heard of this latter misfortune. To

what extent did you suffer?”

“ At least thirty thousand dollars. I had great sue.

cess at first, and was hoping I should realize enough to
pay my debts, but was swindled out of the last farthing I
could raise.”

“Could not the farm in the South be sold ?”

“No; Ihave a considerable amount to pay on that yet ;
and the man from whom I purchased has alien upon
both land and negroes, and movements of that sort would
be certain to precipitate my creditors upon me. I thought
from what you wrote me from Paris, Philip Eustace would
marry that German countess. How is it you now have
doubts?”

“When that letter was written,” said Frederick, “I

had visited the city in which is the university he was at-
27

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

418 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

  

tending. I there saw and heard enough from Eustace
himself and his friends to convince me he was greatly
interested in this young woman. I looked at them as
they sat together in an opera house, and saw that she
loved him too deeply even to conceal it there. I have
never known anything to divert Philip from his purpose,
and I certainly counted upon their marriage ; seeing she
was an heiress and the uncontrolled mistress of her per-
son. I even visited Schulemberg castle, and bribed a
servant to communicate to me at Paris everything he
should observe indicating the true status of affairs between
the countess and him. I grew uneasy when she went to
Baden-Baden, and I repaired thither to observe her. She
was surrounded by admiring nobles, but I saw her dis-
satisfaction in all the adulation her beauty excited. I
knew she was thinking of Eustace, but when she went
home, I soon heard that Philip seldom visited her, and
that she seemed troubled about something, the nature of
which was unknown. Finally my faithful spy reported
that he saw them part in front of the castle, and though
they were so tenderly attached that he kissed her brow ;
yet they spoke words in his hearing which indicated the
love-making was all over. She was very sad after his
departure, but not a line has ever passed between them
through the post ; and I-am convinced, though they real-
ly loved each other, the affair has had to yield to the ac-
cursed good faith whieh this man persists in keeping with
Rosamond.”

“Why have you not used this love passage of young
Eustace with the German lady to prejudice Miss Courte-
nay against him? Have you tried that yet?” and the

 

  
        
  

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Rosamond’s Sorrow. 419

eyes of the father sparkled with the thought that flashed
upon his mind.

“No,” said Frederick, arising from his recumbent po-
sition, “I have not thought it prudent to take a step
which would be sure to awaken furious resentment in
this son of the giants. I can assure you any one may
well pause before he creates in Philip Eustace’s mind the
belief that his honor has been assailed. I never saw a
man whom I should not prefer as my opponent in such
circumstances. If necessary he would suffer ten deaths,
or beat me pees mince-meat, if he caught me tampering.
with his name.”

“Well, if you are afraid of him, I suppose I need not
say anything more of what I think can be safely effected.”

“T am not afraid of Eustace or any one else; but I am
unwilling to place myself in the power of a man who.
values his life as nothing to his good name, and would
be certain to blazon my shame to the world if he de-
tected me in using unfair means against him with Rosa-
mond. Let me hear what you have to propose, it may
be I will approve your suggestion, after all.”

“You say you do not dare to take any but fair advan-
tage of young Eustace in this matter. That remark con-
veys a slur on myself; but I suppose I need not quarrel
with you, when we are discussing a plan for my relief,
even if you do indirectly insinuate I would have you act
dishonestly.”

“ather, we know each other,” said the young man,
with an ill-concealed sneer. “Go on, if you please, and
let me hear what you will propose to weaken the attach-
ment between these young people every one else is.so,
anxious to see united.”

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

420 The Heirs of St. Kida.

“Tapree with you,” said Mr. Compton, “ that this affair
must be delicately managed. The young lady is too in-
telligent and her cousin too dangerous, to be interfered
with in any weak and bungling manner. But you say
you know that Philip Eustace loved this young German
girl, and she reciprocated his affection. Now it is noth-
ing but fair that Rosamond Courtenay, the affianced bride
of the gay deceiver, should be informed of his untruth to
herself. Moralists are agreed that the essence of a false-

hood consists in the deception practiced. If we satisfy ”

the heiress of Thorndale .that Philip loves a woman in
Europe, it does not involve a necessary violation of the
truth. If you could manage to convince her mind on
this subject, I think the mere instrument of that convic-
tion ought not to be such a matter of scruple that a man
should suffer his conscience to be hurt thereat; provided,
always, he manages with enough tact to keep himself out
of an ugly difficulty with the rival, who would of course
be furious at the disturbance in his affairs.”

“ Wather, if you please, cease talking like a Jesuit, and
let me hear, in so many words, how you would accom-
plish this thing. I would almost be willing to accept the
torture of the damned, if it would bring Rosamond
‘Courtenay to my arms.”

“Well,” said Mr. Compton, “suppose you obtain an
opportunity for uninterrupted conversation with the
young lady. As you have not recently appeared in the
«character of her lover ; assume that of a friend. Appear
unwilling to say anything to disturb ‘her, but intimate
that you have information which should, by all means,
-be in her possession. Speak of the sacred nature. of a
double friendship, in which duty is divided between two

 

      

  

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. Rosamond’s Sorrow. 421

persons. Suggest that she is in danger of incurring un-
happiness through life by ignorance of facts in your
keeping; yet such is your affection for a friend, you can
searcely bring yourself to the disclosures you half believe
it your duty to make. If she exhibit any desire for the
information, exact a solemn pledge that, under no cir-
cumstances, are the revelations to be repeated ; and then
tell her how you saw Philip Eustace and this German
woman billing and cooing. If you have a specimen of

his hand-writing, I could produce you a letter which

would work like a charm in the matter.”

“What! commit a forgery?” said Frederick, and his
cavernous gray eyes grew luminous with excitement.

“There you are again making your disparaging inu-
endoes, my son. Do you think mesuch a fool as to think
of committing an offence for which I might become in-
famous? By no means commit a forgery! Write a let-
ter, but sign no name to it. Read only a portion of its
contents, and intimate that the remainder is of such a
nature she should not see it. You need not say at all it
was written by Philip; let that inference be drawn from
the subject matter and chirography. Follow these di-
rections, and [am very much mistaken if both our de-
sires are not accomplished.”

The summer was at its height of heat and gaiety.
Rosamond had received a letter from the daughters of
Commodore Leighton, and with Percival St. George as
their escort, Mrs. Courtenay had accepted an invitation
to meet them at the seaside. Mariana accompanied them,
and, with oft-expressed wishes for the presence of him
who was now wandering, they knew not where, they took
up their abode under the shadow of a great fortress.

Ae ERR SETS

 

 
 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

422

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

The commodore and his family were there, with many

.other friends Rosamond had known before leaving their.

circle. The beauty of the two heiresses from St. Kilda

_ soon made them centers of attention, but the adulation
of admirers was not the music to which they loved to
listen. There was indeed one who could have awakened
rapturous bliss by a few words in the ears of Rosamond,
but he was far beyond the ocean rolling full in view.
With Rosamond and Mariana, Percival, still retaining
many of his youthful attractions, would go forth to listen
to the murmur of the restless waves, and enjoy himself
more than he had for years past in the presence of these
lustrous beauties who were so full of tender appreciation
of his infirmities. They saw with regret that the ruth-
less hand of time was scattering a little silver in his dark
brown hair, and about the sad eyes were furrows which
had been planted by the touch of sorrow; but his pres-
ence there betokened much alleviation from grief. If
St. George was not so handsome, he was far happier than
at any time since his early loss.

“T am very glad,” said he, “that Philip is forearmed
against disaster in his attachment for you, Rosamond. If
he could see you now, I would not fear all the beauties
of the world bringing him to such trouble as I have
known. The men of our family seem able to love but
one woman, and I know of none who have entered into
a second marriage; where their hearts are once given, it
is for life.”

“Such were the sentiments of my dear father, cousin
Perey,” said Mariana. ‘He never gaye me another

mother after he had lost my own.”

 

      
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  

ARR Dna eR SEI EET FRO OR a aa sna

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Sea he ae tear siasae eo are aerate ee rere nate eee

Rosamond’s Sorrow. 423,

“Tam sure,” said Rosamond, “that mother proves the
same trait in the females. She has married but once,”

“ Yes,” said Percival, “I fear some of us are too indif-
ferent to this relation, which, when blest with the love
that often hallows wedded joy, is the highest bliss deriy-
able from human affinities. Mariana, I think you are
utterly careless about, if not averse, to the thought of
marriage.”

“J really never thought seriously on the subject but.
once,’ said she. “My dear friend, Charles Loundes,
(whom you do not know, Rosamond), 1 believed really
loved me, and his entreaties for my promise to become
his wife so disturbed me that I was forced to ask myself
if it was my duty to make the pledge he desired. I did
not feel, under the circumstances, I should add to the
happiness of either by so doing. I love him for his devo-
tion to Philip, but my feelings never recognized the ne-
cessity of his presence, and I think I was right in not
acceding to his request.”

“ Of course you were, St. Cecilia!” said Percival. “ Who
ever knew you to be wrong ?” :

“Cousin Percival,” said Rosamond, “there goes my
friend, Mr. Hastings, an acquaintance of mine when at
school. I am sorry he is going to leave the country, for
he has a charming family, and they are fond of me. He
is an author too, you know.”

“ Yes,” said Percival, “I have read some of his pro-.
ductions; he is very genial and pleasant in his fancies.”
“ You must know him personally,” said Rosamond.

The season at the watering place was nearly over, and
in a few days the visitors from St. Kilda expected to leave
for their homes. Just previous to their departure they

 
    

 

 

 

 

424.

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

were astonished by the arrival of Frederick Compton and
his sister, Edith. Rosamond observed a change in his
demeanor toward herself. For years in the past he had
never failed to embrace opportunities to tell her of his
love. The last time she saw him, before his departure
for Europe, he had, indeed, said but little on the subject,
and in his visits previous to her leaving Thorndale for
the sea-side, he had but once referred to his love. She
congratulated herself on the pleasant change from a
despairing lover to a good friend ; and was consequently
more than usually kind in her demeanor toward him.
The beautiful victim was wholly unsuspicious of the toils
into which the heartless and selfish man was leading her.
The party was promenading on the parapet of the forti-
fication. The military friends of the ladies had shown
them the flight of several shells fired from a huge colum-
biad. They wondered at the ease with which a few
cannoneers traversed the great piece on its circular car-
riage, and were still more at a loss to understand how
men could be brought to submit patiently for hours to
bombardment from such frightful projectiles. At the
request of Compton, Rosamond walked with him to the
next piece, also mounted en barbette, and the two sat down
on the carriage.

“T do wish Philip would come home,” said he, “ for I
should be rejoiced to see his face once more. Iam

afraid he is having such a happy time among those pret-

ty countesses his anxiety to return is not as great as it

should be.”

“T am confident,” said Rosamond, “ instead of his be-
ing in the midst of pleasant society he is at this very

 

    
 
 

  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   

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Rosamond’s Sorrow. 425

moment among the descendants of Ishmael, on the de-
sert.”

“Oh! he has returned to Schulemberg castle long be-
fore this. Of course he will not be letting those at home
know all his movements. Did you ever hear of the
Countess Theresa ?”

“Certainly ; Philip has written me glowing accounts
of her beauty and kindness to him. They were excellent
friends during his stay in Germany.”

Compton looked up and smiled in a manner peculiar
to himself. Rosamond noticed it, and it told her as
plainly as so many words, he pitied her want of under-
standing. She had never relished the idea of the coun-
tess being so fond of Philip, and she was instantly anxi-
ous for an explanation of the silence with which her last
remarks were treated.

“You must excuse me,” said Frederick, “I cannot be
saying anything about the way we young men behave
when our fathers and sweethearts are notin sight. Philip
is my friend, and I mam honor bound to keep my knowl-

edge to myself.”

“T am sure Philip would have no objection to my
knowing the truth; whatever it may be.”

“Oh! but you must recollect my former folly, when
I dared to have a hope in connection with yourself! Now
if Philip Eustace, good as he is, were to hear I had been
telling you of any of his love matters, he would never
forgive me and always believe I acted from sinister mo-
tives.”

“J know very well he has done nothing at which I

should be distressed.”
“Tam your friend as well as Philip’s, but I know you

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

    
  
 
    

426

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

will believe me when I declare my greater regard is for
yourself. Then you are a woman, and I have long felt
it was my duty to guard you from possible unhappiness,
by warning youin time. I have thought my motives
would be misconstrued, and even now I fear you are dis-
trusting me. If I tell you anything it must be with the
understanding that it is to be mentioned to no other
person.”

“ Go on, Frederick,” said Rosamond, “I promise you I —

will not even breathe it to Philip.”

“ Before I say anything more,” said Frederick, “I must
insist that you ought not to hold Philip to the same rules
of devotion lovers are usually expected to observe. You
must recollect his engagement to you is a family affair,
He has been taught to regard you as his love, but the
heart cannot be controlled in this matter. I have every
reason to believe he tries to be faithful to you. He is
the most sincere and dutiful son I ever knew, and as he
is acquainted with his grandfather’s and father’s wishes,

for his union with yourself, of course he will submit to
their desires.

These artful words of praise sank into Rosamond’s *

heart like the sound of shovelied earth on the ears of
listening friends as the last sad rite is performed for the
dead. He was praising Philip so much, that she was
completely devoid of suspicion, and her noble head droop-
ed with the first dull throbbings of a great sorrow.

“Go on with the facts you promised me, Frederick, and
spare me, if you can, these cruel observations which,
though you may intend them kindly, sink like daggers
into my heart.”

“You must not take these things, which you know as

 

 
 
    

  

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Rosamond’s Sorrow. 427

well as I do, so much to heart,” said Compton, and his
bitter eyes danced with joy as he saw the grief he had
caused. “You must accept facts in the way of the
world; for family-made matches were never supposed
to carry much love with them. Parties to such affairs of
convenience look not to each other, but elsewhere, for
affection. I have seen enough of European life to know
this is almost always the case. Philip clearly recognizes

‘this sensible view of his position in the world. He has

always been engaged to you, but this did not prevent his
making love to Lily Seaton while we were at college.
Poor girl! she loved him too.”

Here was another cruel stab, for Rosamond remem-
bered the visit of Miss Seaton to herself, the young lady’s
manifest interest in everything relating to Philip, and
she had a strong suspicion of the truth of Frederick’s
concluding remark.

“And then,” continued Compton, “how could he be
expected to remain insensible to the evident love of the
beautiful countess -who, unasked, gave him the heart

which even dukes were unable to win? I saw her in,

the glory of her triumph at Baden-Baden where she re-
mained unmoved amid all the adoration of her titled
gallants. But you should have seen the dreamy languor
of her loye-lit eyes when Philip was at her side.”

“ Have you any reason to believe that Philip returned
her love ?” said the low voice of Rosamond, and her eyes
eagerly questioned his face as if this were her last hope.

«JT never heard Philip say as much, but his friends, the
closest and dearest, distinctly declared it in so many
words in my presence. I will show you a portion of a
letter I received while in Paris. I know it is a gross

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

428 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

breach of the confidence the writer reposed in me, but
you may read it, and see what I have told you is true.”

He held the paper folded over in such a way that she
could read only a part. A few sentences sufficed, and
the blood fled from her face.

“Tt is enough,” she murmured. “ You have told and
shown me enough. Oh! Frederick, if you had only
killed me before you destroyed my hopes in life. I wish
I could die and be at rest, and release Philip from his
vows. Frederick, I have a sinful wish to throw myself
into the waves of the sea out there. Think you it would
be unpardonable?” ;

The soft, dark eyes gazed with such a look of wild long-
ing upon the gray caps of the breakers, that the wretch
who had occasioned her terrible despair, was frightened
at his own work, and with passionate words besought her
to be reasonable.

“What a fool I have been to talk to you in such a way.
I thought you would view the matter as any one else,
and not go frantic like some tragedy queen about the
little flirtation of a young man who is, after all, so much
better than any of us. But remember, you have prom-
ised to say nothing of what has passed between us.”

“Yes, I remember,” said Rosamond, still looking out
on the sea. ‘Your words shall die with me, Frederick.
Oh, I can surely not be burdened long !”

It was nearly dark when they left their seats ;

* And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapt in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain
The moon arose.”

 

       
    
    
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  

{
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Rosamond’s Sorrow. 429

“The party went to the hotel, and Rosamond at once
retired to her room, excusing herself on the plea of sick-
ness, which Mrs. Courtenay and Mariana feared was
serious when they saw the pallor of her face. They re-
turned to St. Kilda valley, but the spirit of the beautiful
heiress of Thorndale was darkened in a manner unac-
countable to her friends. In her warm, imaginative dis-
position she had been all her life building up fancy
structures of future bliss in which Philip was so largely
associated that now she had come to distrust his love,
existence became a blank, and she seemed sinking daily
to deeper depths of gloom.

 

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The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER XXII.

A NEW GODDESS IN THE PANTHEON.

“JT LOVE thee not the less: from thee
By Juno’s smile I turn not—no, no, no—
While the great waters are at ebb and flow.
I have a triple soul! O fond pretence—
For both, for both my love is so immense,
I feel my heart is cut in twain for them.”
Endymion.

More than a year had elapsed since Philip Eustace
and Charles Loundes started on their pilgrimage. They
passed through France and Spain, and at Gibraltar took
berths on one of the steamers of the over-land route from
England to India, and thus reached Egypt and the Holy
Land.. They had gone as far into the desert as Tadmor
and returning to the haunts of civilization, traversed
the cities of the Levantine coast. Greece had been the
latest field of exploration, and, then after a long chapter
of moving accidents, they were safely arrived in the
Eternal City.

This had been a laborious expedition to Philip. He
had undertaken it with a determination to enjoy himself
as much as he could; but study of the monuments of the
past was his chief object. In the shadow of the Pyra-
mids he realized the folly of human vanity; and amid
the scenes of hallowed Israel, found the moonlight still
placid on Olivet and the summer winds gentle in
Gethsemane as in the days of the Saviour. Athens, with
crumbling marbles was the most mournful picture of all;
forin this chosen haunt of deathless genius men had
accomplished all that is attainable by uninspired wisdom.

 
 

 

 

Serre raters NEDO SSE BREE ee to Hn Cae ce

A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 431

After all his wanderings, he had come to the grandest
of all cities. Shorn of her olden precedence, Rome of
the present day has not, without reason been called
eternal. Philip had so much to muse upon in the story
of its long-waning glories that he determined upon a
month’s stay, and soon found Ludwig Jigerndorf busy
as ever at his easel. The enthusiasm of the artist had
deepened since his friend had last seen him, and his stay
in Rome was a period of passionate enjoyment. With
a devotion remarkable even among artists, he had been
giving his time, when not at work with his colors, to the
study of the relics of Italian genius. There had been
much to transfer to the subtle realm of his own fancy
amid the well-preserved beauties of art in his own native
city; but here creative faculty had been so lavish in its
accomplishment that things prized in other lands were
left to perish unnoticed. Mutilated torsoes, and the dis-
jecta membra of antiques worthy of immortal care, were
scattered around and destined, ere long, to follow many
another precious remnant to the lime-kiln.

Ludwig was overjoyed to meet Philip, for he had known
of his departure from Germany, but fora year past had
heard nothing of his movements. This reunion brought
no less, happiness to the heart of the American, for he
had but few acquaintances in the city. The minister-
resident from the United States had gone on a visit to
Naples, not intending to return for several days, and
thus Philip fortunately found a friend to direct him in
his explorations. He had not forgotten the location of
Ludwig’s studio, described in the artist’s letters, but he
at first feared he had returned to his home, and was
therefore delighted when he had passed down the Corso

 

 
     

    
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

432 ‘The Heirs of St. Kilda.

and diverged into Via della Ripetta, to find on a tablet
‘the name of him he was so eager to meet. On the walls
of the studio was abundant evidence of enthusiasm and
patient work. Rough sketches and completed pictures
were scattered in endless confusion; some, exposed to
view, having received their last touches; others, being
unfinished, were reversed. Here was a sure and pleasant
retreat for Philip whenever he should tire in his explor-
ations and feel the need of a place filling that craving of
the human heart which is ever unsatisfied until there is
some home-like asylum for refuge among strangers.
Ludwig readily surrendered his time, to act as guide for
his American friend, in surveying the wreck of that
‘proud metropolis which is yet an object well worthy of
all admiration.

Philip had purchased, while among the Arabs, two
horses so remarkable for their beauty he had been at
great pains to have them shipped to Malta, and by means
of a courier, sent to his agent on the island, received
them at Rome. He and Loundes had taken them out
one evening for an airing on the Pincian Hill, when they
met the American minister whe had just returned from
Naples. Mr. Maitland had been known to them in
America, and more than once his two young countrymen
had met him at the house of Gov. Eustace in Paris. The
three were conversing together, when a horseman riding
an animal of singular power and elegance approached
the group. He was accosted by the American envoy and
introduced as Lord Vernon, the English embassador at
the Papal court.

“Mr. Eustace,” said he, “were you related to the late
enyoy to Paris?”

 

 

PS I OT REA ALL UG EMV ALERT EIR FO FE IPN

Wei Godda vandNi Rantheon, 433

“ He was my father, sir.”

“T met him frequently,” said his lordship, “and re-
gretted to hear of his death. I have several times this
evening observed those fine animals you and Mr. Loundes
are riding. They must be genuine barbs, or I am mis-
taken.”

“They are, sir,” said Philip, “I purchased them in the
desert from an Arab sheik.”

“ You have won a prize,” said Lord Vernon, “richly
rewarding you for all the trouble such a journey must
have occasioned. Gentlemen, how long will you remain
in the city ?”

“ Wor several weeks,” said Philip.

“TJ am glad to hear it,” said Lord Vernon, “and, as I
am fond of horses, and have a portion of my English
stud with me, I will have your horses cared for in my
stable, if you desire it, You will find Italian grooming
sadly out joint.”

“Tam a thousand times obliged to your lordship,” said
Philip, “for I have ~been sorely troubled on that very
score.”

Lord Vernon, having invited the three to dine with
him on the morrow, bade them good evening and rode
off amid the gay costumes and equipages which gave life
and animation to this haunt of modern pleasure resting
upon the bosom of ancient decay. The Americans hav-
ing accepted the invitation, Mr. Maitland assured Philip
he had found a friend in the British embassador, who
carried his fondness for horses and field sports to such a
pitch, that he highly regarded men sharing such feelings.

It was in the early days of delicious Italian spring; and

while the iron heart. of winter was yet unbroken in
28

 

RS

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

434 .. The Heirs of St. Kilda.

- northern Germany and England, here, in theclosing hours
of February, many spots in the Eternal City exhibited
the slowly-accepted influences of coming rejuvenation
among the trees and flowers. Philip and Jagerndorf, on
their way to the Castle of St. Angelo, beyond the Tiber,
found themselves in front of that best-preserved and most
impressive of all the relics of the imperial past—the huge,
rotund and time-blackened Pantheon. The two so full
of the pleasure born of devotion to study of the beautiful,
paused to gaze upon the massive temple which, in the
grand idea of its first dedication, seems to have contained
a prophecy of its enduring adaptation to all the exigen-
cies of the world’s changing creeds.

“Tet us go in,” said Ludwig, “‘here is the tomb of
Raphael.”

“ A fit mausoleum,” said Philip, “for him whose min-
gled tenderness and strength must make his name dearer
to you modern artists than any of the old masters.”

They were surveying the vast dome, exchanging recol-
lections of the great deeds and changes it had witnessed
and survived. Philip was wondering how there could be
such an air of majestic simplicity amid so many things
taudry in its minor accessories, when he observed, under
the circular aperture in the far-off roof, a party which
had just entered. The group consisted of a man and
three females; one, from her manner, he supposed to be
the wife, and the two others daughters. Philip and Ja-
gerndorf, as they passed them simultaneously paused to
look upon one of the young ladies. She was gazing up
silently at the sky through the opening above, and the
magic of her wondrous beauty instantly enchanted both.
The lines of her face and figure were ideal in their per-

 

 

A new Goddess in the Pantheon - 485

fection; but sorrow hallowed and exalted attractions
they had never seen equaled in the human countenance,
Philip observed a scarcely perceptible movement of her
lips, which he thought were breathing some sweet prayer
to Him whose all-seeing eye was typified in the aperture
through which her half-uttered yearnings arose. It oc-
curred to him he had surely met her before, and he was
striving to, recall where it could have been, when her
eyes rested upon him with joyous surprise, as if in recog-
nition; but the next instant their expression had changed
into that cold indifference with which great beauties re-
ward the admiration of strangers. Philip felt chagrined
at his earnestness, fearing he would be considered rude,
but could not rid himself of the impression of their pre-
viousacquaintance. As they were reaching the entrance,
he glanced over his shoulder, and the dark, lustrous
eyes still followed his movements.

«The expression of the taller of those young ladies re-
minds me of Guido’s Beatrice Cenci,” said Ludwig. “It
is even more beautifully sad, and I would give the world
for the opportunity of painting her.” :

* Titian,” said Philip, “ would have prized such a privi-
lege. She is most divinely lovely.”

“ Byen fairer than the Countess of Schulemberg,” said
Luewig.

“ Byven so,” said Philip. ‘The countess is very attract-
ive, but not so beautiful as this goddess of the Pantheon.
It occurs to me I have seen her somewhere before.”

“ T have beheld such faces and figures in my dreams,”
said Ludwig, “ but never in my waking moments. Such
perfection does not exist in two women at the same time,.
and it is sad to think we may never meet. her again.”

sibel cake eT RR Te aN TES RN ROREAT MTs

 
 

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

e

    

436 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

  

With many such remarks about the girl they had seen
in the heathen temple, which had been for twelve cen-
turies full of christian shrines, they went to the Castle of
St. Angelo. Mr. Maitland and his two countrymen, ac-
cording to their promise, proceeded to the British em-
bassy. Lord Vernon had introduced much English com-
fort into the dreary palace he inhabited, and his manner
was charming to the pleasant company that had gather-
ed before the arrival of the Americans. He seemed wait-
ing for some one else, and soon a Mr. Hastings and his
family were announced. Philip felt a thrill of unaccount-
able pleasure as he met the glance of the lady who had
so attracted his attention that morning in the Pantheon.
He noticed that a portion of the shadow had passed from
her brow, and in the short conversation before dinner he
learned that Mr. Hastings had been recently a British
‘consul in the United States.

Philip sat next to Mrs. Hastings at the table, while Mr.
Maitland occupied the opposite seat, with their eldest
daughter, who had been introduced as Miss Venetia
Hastings. The conversation first turned upon the recent
visit of the two young men to the desert, but Mrs. Hast-
ings and Philip soon became deeply engaged in a discus-
sion of her stay in America. To him, who had been se
long an exile from his native land, this was a delightful
theme; and he was remarking how the home of his
childhood, with its dear faces, overbalanced all the attrac-
tions he found in Europe, when he happened to glance at
Miss Hastings, and the same tender look was in her eyes
that filled them when they first rested upon him in the
Pantheon. She was silent at the time, but turned to Mr.
Maitland with some remark connected with his visit to

PES RARER SARIN RENO TEI OPER SAIS INES eM eg

A new Goddess in the Pantheon.. 437

Naples. There was such surpassing grace in her manner
Philip could not forbear observation, and when the ladies
arose to leave the table he thought he had never been in
such presence. There were several very attractive faces
and forms among them, but they seemed.dwarfed in the

* queenly stature and movements of fair Venetia. He felt

relieved when the gentlemen returned to the drawing
rooms and took his seat at her side. Hours glided away
as he sat conversing with her, and when Mr. Hastin gs,
previous to his departure, saying his long stay in America
caused the citizens of that land to seem personal friends,
invited Philip to visit him often during his stay in
Rome, he who was slowin forming attachments gladly
promised he would do so. His last thought before sleep-
ing, that night, was of the sweet tones of Venetia’s voice,
adding her own request to that of the ex-consul.

The next morning the two Americans were in Lud-
wig’s studio. The artist was at work, finishing a superb
picture of Iphigenia in Aulis. The daughter of Aga-
memnon stood adorned for the horrible oblation, and
stern confederate kings, awaiting the costly sacrifice, filled
the middle ground. The victim, in the bloom of her
youth, seemed almost resigned to the necessity of her
fate; but in the pensive face was. knowledge of her im-
pending departure from the warmth and light dancing
upon the blue Agean waves. White-robed priests and
clouds of incense filled up the remainder of the scene.
Jiigerndorf was full of his subject; but this did not pre-
vent interchange of ideas with his friends.

“Qo,” said he, “you met our Pantheon divinity at Lord
Vernon’s ?”

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

438 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

“ Yes,” said Philip, “and she lost none of her attributes
on closer scrutiny.”

“She is the most superb woman I ‘ever met, so far as
external appearance and grace of manner extend,” said
Loundes. “I was almost dying to speak with her, but

she was evidently so absorbed with Philip, I forbore to ~

disturb them. How is it, Don Giovanni, that you man-
age to interest these ladies at first sight? I could see
even at the dinner table, you had attracted her attention,
and while you were talking to Mrs. Hastings, there was,
at times, on her brow a light beautiful enough to have
streamed out of Paradise.”

“You are in love with Miss Hastings,” said Philip,
“and imagine these pretty things you so happily describe.
I found fair Venetia kind, but very grave and lady-like
in her manner. I have never seen a young woman who
more impressed me with the evident ‘absence of all
eoquetry which you seem to imply in your remarks.”

“Not at all,” said Loundes, “I saw nothing indicating
such a thing; but she somehow seemed strangely inter-
ested in your society, and there were passing glimpses of
a great joy in her heart; which I am certain has known
some deep sorrow in its history.”

“JT noticed,” said Jagerndorf, “in the Pantheon the
same expression, and it was such sublimated grief that I
fancied she must owe a portion of her beauty to its pres-
ence. Iam trying to give my Iphigenia a trace of the
same feeling; but my poor memory bas lost much of the
original charm which moved me so yesterday. Philip,
the last evening we were together in the dear old Father-
land, you were telling me of a cousin you loved at

 

    

sce eh een PE PETS SRY OTR LSR Se TT Ny

a ae

A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 439

home. Are you still determined to marry her on your
return ?”

“Most assuredly ;” said Philip, “whatever may be the
pleasure I find with others, I have never yet faltered in
my allegiance to Rosamond. She has not written to me
for some months now, and as I shall go to America so
goon, in my last letter I intimated I would soon follow.”

“Philip,” said Loundes, “I hope you will not be so
much like an old maid here, as you were in Germany.
You never made half.enough love to the countess, and I
think ought to have forfeited her esteem for the spiritless
manner in which you received the undisguised admira-
tion of a princess. If it had been myself, I should have
exhausted my eloquence long before the first ‘season was
over atthe opera-house.”

“Charles,” said Philip, “do not jest. The Countess
Theresa and myself were friends; but how could I pre-
tend to feelings I never possessed? It would be a sub-
ject of bitter regret that any levity of mine had created a
false hope in the heart of a man, and much more in that
of a woman.”

“You are entirely too matter of fact in such affairs,”
said Loundes. “If the world ‘were to follow your ex-
ample, we should have no more flirtations, and the girls
would become very insipid things. It is folly in them to
believe all we tell them, and they generally know very
well how far to trust us.”

“T find my love and my flirtations,” said Ludwig, “in
the creations of my own handsand brain; but when J
was almost aman I was also attracted by pretty eyes.

They are now to me only subservient to my art. If they

suggest anything I have not before delineated, they make

mk a

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

440 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ame happy; but they are generally so common-place that
only when I see some rare perfection like this peerless
Venetia’s do I stop for a second glance.”

Lord Vernon manifested continued interest in Philip’s
beautiful Arabians, and one evening they made an ex-
eursion into the country, to enable the Englishman to
test their habits under the saddle. They were both of
large size for their breed, and but for the sheik’s cupidity
would have yet remained the pride of a desert tribe. The
horsemen took their way through the gate of San Sebas-
tiani along the world-famous Via Appia. This noble
highway which had been constructed two thousand years
before suggested to Philip a throng of stirring memories.
Through the malarious and now deserted Campagna,
along this very road, what mighty hosts had marched in
triumph or fled in terrified retreat! Here went Pompey
in his flight from Rome, and in his rear followed the
imperious and conquering Cesar. Its granite blocks had
echoed with the returning tread of Scylla’s veterans and
with the flying feet of those bearing intelligence of the
fatal disaster at Cannae.

“ What conflux issuing forth, or entering in,
Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces
Hasting, or on return, in robes of state ;
Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power,
Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings >
Or embassies from regions far remote
In various habits on the Appian road.’”

As they were returning to the city they were overtaken
by the carriage of Mr. Hastings, and were passing along
slowly together when Lord Vernon remarked :

“Miss Hastings, do you not admire these horses of Mr.
‘Eustace ?”

 

 

 

ani oe TE cto enue ORR Esa Ete

a id

A new Goddess in the. Pantheon. 441

“They are very beautiful,” said Venetia. “ What are
their names, Mr. Eustace?” :

“Teall the one I am riding Selim, the other Rosa-
mond.”

Miss Hastings turned her face from him as he finished
the sentence, and Philip did not perceive her altered ex-
pression. Then looking up, she said :

“ Will you stroll with me to-morrow on the Pincian ?”

“TJ shall be very happy to do so?”

The next day Philip was too much engrossed with the |
beauty of Venetia to linger in the studio of Jigerndorf,

_ and went early to the house of Mr. Hastings. There was

a warmth in his invitations which strongly contrasted
with the usual polite indifference of strangers, which was
very pleasing to the weary young traveller. Indeed he
noticed a freedom from restraint in the conduct of those
he met in Rome, entirely different from the society in
which he had mingled elsewhere. There seemed to be a
general consent that people should live in a way that
seemed best to themselves, without that troublesome
espionage too many in other places exercise in their neigh-
bors’ affairs. Even Lord Vernon, representing the most
reserved people in the world, had from the first shown a
kindness and frank disregard of mere conventionalities
grateful to Philip, who had in the last year seen innu-
merable faces, but was all the while impressed with the
fact that his existence to them was a subject of utter
disregard. The Englishman was doubtless more inter-
ested in the horses Philip had obtained with so much
trouble than with himself, but this did not appear in the
respectful attentions he bestowed upon the two young

men.

 
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

449 . The Heirs of St. Kilda. :

Edward Hastings was a man of culture and attain-
ments. His life had been spent in literary industry, and
he had attained some celebrity asan author. To further
his desire for a stay of considerable extent, his friends in
power had accredited him as consul to one of the south-
ern cities of the United States, and he was now able to
live in elegant ease. on the income received from the sale
of his books. He found a more congenial home beneath
the glorious light and azure skies of Italy than in the
clouds and humidity of England, and thus lived at
Rome.

“Mr. Eustace,” said he, “as you have been in the old
world.for three years, and have latterly seen so many
ruins, I suppose Rome is less striking to you than to my-
self who have so long lived amid the prosperous and ex-
panding states of your country. I saw nothing of decay
there, but everything bore the impress of earnest utility
and recent creation. I made scarcely any stay in Eng
land, hurrying here for the benefit of Mrs. Hastings’
health, and you may imagine how grand and gloomy to
me the Eternal City appears.”

“Rome is very mournful to me also,” said Philip, “but
I do not experience the tender regret for her fate which I
felt as I stood amid the ruins of the Acropolis. The very
gradeur and duration of Roman rule should have been
enough to satisfy the claims almost of a world, much less
those of a city.”

Philip and the divine Venetia went on their stroll to
the Pincian. If the city was saddening in its aspects
elsewhere, here were beautiful verdure and shade, and
the grounds were full of gay people. The fountains threw
up their jets of water; and above all, was the incompar-

 

 

A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 348

able Italian sky. The colors of the picturesque costumes
were more brilliant than one could imagine the same_
material could possibly appear seen in a different climate.
The scene, with its lawns, marble basins,and avenues
bordered with busts of those who have made Italy the
admiration of all the world, was:so. fair and full of ani-
mation, they could but feel happy. Philip, as much as
he enjoyed such things, as he glanced at the thoughtful
face at his side, confessed in his heart that after all here
was the highest effort nature had yet shown him of all

-her gifts. The richness of the dark mourning Venetia

wore heightened the effect of her calm and noble pres-
ence, and her companion observed a gradual disappear-
ance of the cloud he had seen on her brow when he first
beheld her in the Pantheon.

“ These clustering trees and beautiful flowers,” said she,
“are so refreshing to me, I feel as if coming from under
the shadow of death intoa new-born immortality. This
great mouldering city with all its fame and remaining
beauty impresses me with its look of voiceless grief. It
seems to me as if it were really what Lord Byron called
it, ‘the Niobe of nations ;’ yet these trees, and plants, and
the green sward, are as fresh as those gladdening our first
parents before their sin in Paradise.”

“You must be fond of nature,” said Philip, “and I am
sure there ought to be a sympathy between yourself and
all other beautiful things; for 1 am persuaded there is
some general law of affinity linking like unto like. I am
not astonished that you should prefer the eternal fresh:
ness of God’s creations among things inanimate to the
crumbling traces of human genius and ambition.”

“ Do not understand me,” said she, “ as undervaluing

 

 
 

     
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

444 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

art. I love the old Pantheon where we first met, and I
feel inexpressibly moved, Protestant as I am, whenever I
visit St. Peters. I love to enter some of these many
time-worn basilicas when the choir chants its evening
hymn to the Virgin: I listen to the tender music and
see the glorified light coming through the great windows;
Ilift up my own heart in prayer, and:it seems then I am
nearer heaven than if I had not received the beautiful

influences coming to my soul so thickly at such an
hour.”

“T fear you will be so captivated with these striking.

accessories which the Roman church throws around her
worship, we shall lose you from our faith. I can very
well understand your feelings; and the danger is not
great if you are watchful enough to separate your emo-
tions evoked in the merely earthly music and architec-
tural effects from the spirit and claims of the religion
itself.”

“Oh do not think I can ever worship a saint or imagine
a wafer the body of our Savior; but there is such a balm
to the troubled spirit in many of the Catholic forms as I
am away here from our church I think it no sin to forget
the differences which divide me from the theology of this
people, who, after all, worship the same God with myself.
If you will come often and lead my poor thoughts into
the right channel, I am confident my occasional prayers
at vespers will not mislead my heart.”

Philip looked into the dark eyes raised so trustingly
to his own, and thought he had seen them in all the
sweet dreams of his life.

“That would be the most delightful task I ever as-
sumed; but how could the teacher hope to resist the im-

 

Batok

sssaenenobentvsessativeasntacinsti immerse pe iocopce a ae encima aN

en re

 

A new Goddess in the Pantheon, 445

pressions of such a pupil? I fear I should soon surrender
the control of my heart in efforts to guard your mind
from the approach of error.”

“T pray you, do not mock me with gallant speeches.
I have felt so lonely before I met you, Oso lonely !”

The meek head bent over, and the bright beams of the
Italian evening rested upon it. Philip felt for the first
time in his life that here was a being in whose presence
existence would become one long study of the holy and
beautiful.

“T have become very weak,” said Venetia, “ full of emo-
tions beyond my control; and, Mr. Eustace, I have felt a
calmness in your presence that is very pleasant. I have
hoped we would become good friends.”

“TI would be in despair,” said Philip, “if I thought
you could regard me as in any way indifferent to your
welfare. Iam impressed, whenever I look in your eyes,
that I have seen you before, for they are to me like some
dimly remembered dream of the past. I not only enjoy
your presence, but there steals upon me a sense of delici-
ous bliss. I fear I am doing wrong in this very joy I
experience, for duty should control us through life, and
mere happiness should be subordinated to its control.”

“T can assure you there can be no harm in our joy.
God never intended us to be unhappy, unless we make
ourselves so. Yes, we can,” said she, with a thoughtful
pause. “The only great sorrow I ever knew came to me
out of the bosom of innocent bliss; but that grief may .
have been the child of misapprehension. I am hoping
fora joy which shall be more lasting, and in its sunshine
I shall be all the happier that a fleeting cloud intervened
between me and the source of my illumination.”

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  

446 .. ‘Lhe Heirs of St. Kilda,

She looked up with a countenance which the divinity
of hope was surrounding with an aureola of its own efful-
gence, and Philip thought of his duty to Rosamond as he
felt love deep and uncontrollable for the saintly beauty
at his side. The realization brought a pang to his heart
which pictured itself on his face as he turned sorrowfully
away. When his glance again rested upon her, Venetia
was looking across the Borghese gardens upon the mys-
terious and sullen outline of the Egyptian obelisk. She
was regarding, with all that touching sadness which had
so moved him in the Pantheon, the strange relic of an
age so vast that Abraham may have seen it on the Nile.
He felt that he was in a painful dilemma, for if he con-
tinued these conferences, he would become more hope-
lessly fascinated by her who so freely opened her heart
to his inspection. He was conscious that her delicacy of
perception had instantly taken cognizance of his momen-
tary throe of self-reproach, for he saw a return of grief to
her face; so with a resolution to restrain such thoughts
while in her presence, he remarked :

“T would almost give my life to lift this shadow which
Tsee on your brow. I do not seek to know this grief to
which you have referred, but if you will rely upon one
who cares too much for your happiness to add to his own,
whatever I can do consistent with my duty to you and
myself, shall not be withheld. I have sorrowed in the
loss of a dear father and the former blindness of my sister,
. and know what itis to be burdened with grief; but you
have hope that the clouds which have rested upon you
will soon disappear. I beseech you to disperse them all,
and trust in that superintending care which has promised
to bring good out of all things.”

 

A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 447.

’ “Tam so grateful to you. for that remark,” said she.
“ The suggestion of an evil which my soul dreads worse
than death obscured my vision for amoment. Now Iam
willing to risk all to Him who “ tempers the wind to the
shorn lamb,” if you will only promise to often give me
such good council in the future.”

“My stay in Rome is necessarily brief,” said Philip,
with a sigh. “I must return to America; but in the
meanwhile, whatever I can say or do to add to your
pleasure shall not be withheld.”

They returned in the twilight through the Piazza del
Popolo, passing under the black shadow of the overhang-
ing obelisk. They were just leaving the Corso for the Via
del Babuino, when Philip observed aman who was pass-
ing them start. as if in astonishment. He locked back,
and the figure had stopped and was gazing after them. As
they slowly proceeded on, Philip several times caught
glimpses of the man stealthily hanging upon their tracks
as if observing their motions. The moon was beginning
to gild the domes of St. Peters and the Pantheon, and they
paused to look on the beautiful scene, now so full of light
that the archangel on the summit of the Castle of St.
Angelo was almost distinguishable. Philip haying seen
Venetia home, walked rapidly back to encounter his mys-
terious pursuer, but he had glided off in the shadows
and all trace of him was lost.

Day by day Philip realized more fully to himself that
he was in love with the beautiful being who, if he could
trust her own words, was so unaccountably attached to
himself, One evening when alone with Mr. Hastings,
having been talking of America and his approaching
return, he told him of his engagement to Rosamond. He

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

443 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

  

was fearful the interest Venetia evinced in him might
lead her into unhappy hopes, but this disclosure occasion-
ed no dimunition of the kindness previously shown him,
and Philip felt half ashamed at what he supposed the
‘suggestions of his own vanity. He remembered his ex—
perience with the Countess of Schulemberg, and while it
gave him a false confidence in his own power of self-
control, yet it caused him to recognize the possibility of
Venetia’s love.

For a mouth he surrendered himself to the delicious
joy of her presence. Together they had explored the old
palaces of the Doria, Borghese, Corsini; and were one
day examining pictures in the Colonna when Philip,
who had been for some time half-convinced that Venetia
was loving him too well for her own happiness, resolved
on his departure for America. She had been as lovely
and bright that day as the sunshine of Italy ; and so con-
vinced was Philip that he must leave Rome if he ever
expected to be happy with Rosamond as his wife, he told
Venetia of his intention. Tears came into her eyes and
the old Pantheon shadow settled on her brow; but there
was evident determination in the drawn lines about her
mouth, as if she were preparing her heart for a great sac-
rifice. Philip’s resolution was much shaken as her
slender hand trembled in his grasp, and he would have
given the world to have told her the love in his heart;
but, at all events, his plighted faith must be kept. Defer-
ring his departure would be only increasing his and her
torture; so, with steady voice and a glance which sought
to convey only a brother’s kindness, he walked away.

Philip could not resist his desire of seeing her once
more that evening, and waited in the street, near the

 

A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 449

church at which she usually attended vespers until he
saw her approach. He stood in the shadow, so she was
unconscious of his presence when she passed, and he saw
she was in deep sorrow. The beautiful head which rose
so queenly whenever a gleam of joy entered her soul,
drooped as if in despair, and following her was a form
instantly recognized by Philip as the man who had so
persistently pursued them on the evening of their first
stroll on the Pincian. The strange figure followed
Venetia into the building, and his face was so concealed
by a slouched hat and other disguises, Philip’s suspicions
were aroused that in some way this person must have
been the cause of her sorrow. ‘The possibility of his
haunting her asa mysterious persecutor awoke the indig-
nation of a heart ready to face death in behalf of those
much less beloved, and he kept his post of observation
until the sorrowing maiden came out of the church, fol-
lowed by her strange attendant.

Philip could not resist the impression that his duty re-
quired him to keep Venetia in sight until she reached
home, and fathom, if possible, this secret surveillance of
one she had never mentioned to him. It was growing
dark, and after passing some distance he could perceive
that the pursuer was rapidly approaching her. Philip
heard him speak, and the next instant he had seized her.
She made an effort to scream, but the hand of the villain
was on her mouth. The profaning touch was speedily
removed, for a strong atm doubly nerved by love and
rage struck the aggressor to the earth. As he fell a pis-
tol was fired by a confederate from behind, the ball from
which grazed Philip’s temple. He turned upon his new
assailant, but he immediately fled, and the man on the

29

 
 

 

 

 

 
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

450 ' The Heirs of St. Kilda.

ground in the meanwhile drawing a revolver discharged
one of its balls into the shoulder of him who had thus
baffled his purposes. The assassin was stricken to
tbe ground by a blow dealt by a policeman. His
wounded antagonist turned his attentiom to Venetia, who
was bewildered by the violence of the scene. Philip
stated the circumstances to the policeman who, for a
wonder in Rome, was prompt enough to be of service,
and, giving his own and Mr. Hasting’s address, went with
his fair charge toward her home.
Venetia was so stunned she did not discover at first
that Philip, who was trying to soothe her agitation, was
wounded ; but when they had nearly reached Mr. Hast-
ings’ house, she became aware of it by the dripping of
blood from his clothing. With a great effort she master-
ed her agony of apprehension, when entering the door he
became so faint he would have fallen but for assistance.
A surgeon was soon procured, who insisted that the
wounded man should stir as little as possible: Philip
was anxious to return to his lodgings, but Mr. Hastings
would not consent to this. He said it was his duty and
pleasure to take care of one who had protected his adopt-
ed daughter.. To these solicitations the fair Venetia ad-
ded such sweet entreaties that the sufferer, who could not
think of being so near her without pleasure, was forced
to consent. Charles Loundes and Ludwig Jigerndorf
having been sent for, were soon at his bedside to aid the
fairer nurses. The patient the next day became deliri-
ous and in the wanderings of his mind, was constantly
talking of his double love for Venetia and Rosamond.
The grief-stricken maiden was tireless in her attentions,
and often as the two friends sat watching the beautiful

 

A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 451
figure, hovering over him they loved, strange gleams of
joy brightened her face, as some murmur of the pallid
lips breathed her name in accents of affection. Mr.
Hastings surveyed, with the eye of a philosopher, this
rare devotion Philip seemed to inspire in all who ap-
proached him, and it recalled to his mind George Her-

bert’s declaration:

* More servants wait on man

Than he'll take notice of. In every path,
He treads down that which doth befriend him
When sickness makes him pale and wan.

Oh mighty love! Man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him.”

eave te PN ERP TNA Nea ONDE ETON ETE enero

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

CHAPTER XXIII.

LIGHT IN THE COLISEUM.

“Tr after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds plow ’till they have waken’d death!
And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas
Olyimpus-high; and duck again as low
As hell’s from heaven! If it were now to die,
> Twere how to be most happy; for, I fear,
My soul hath a content so absolute,
That not ariother comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate.”
—Othello.

ITALIAN sPRING was each day calling from the bond-
age of its silken sheath some new miracle of beauty in
the luxuriant foliage. The opening buds gradually be-
came more gorgeous, and with this fulness of restored
perfection in the flowers, returned the first faint glow of
‘coming health to the pallid face of Philip Eustace. Hav-
ing safely passed through the crisis of his danger, with
his natural endowments of strength and health, it was
seen there was no longer a necessity for his confinement
to the sick-room. The gentle watcher, in whose defence

he had received his hurt, had never manifested a look of |

weariness in all her vigils. After conferences with the
surgeon and Charles Loundes, concerning herself and
Philip, he, who had been so long his dear friend and
fellow-wanderer yielded precedence in the direction of
affairs, as if she possessed superior claims. The artist
and he would sit quietly for hours at a time, and gaze
awe-stricken on the beautiful maiden, the light on whose
‘brow had become as that of an angel. Ludwig had studied
this sorrow chastening the antique elegance of her out-

 

Tight in the Coliseum. 453

lines until in his studio was now a picture far advanced
towards completion, preserving the expression which had
so fascinated him in the Pantheon.

To Philip’s two friends Venetia became half divine,
deepening and entirely exceeding their previous concep-
tions of the sacred purity and tenderness of a true wo-
man’s love. JLoundes had known the rare perfections of
Mariana, but’ in his recollection of her there was nothing
to parallel this self-forgetfulness and devotion which
seemed suspending the frailty of human nature. He al-
most realized the old fables of immortal beauty descend-
ing from Olympic courts to watch over and sustain suf-
fering heroes. Mariana was pure as the driven snow, but
in Venetia every movement and expression was indica-
tive of a love which had converted the woman into an
angelic guardian of the object of her attachment. Mariana
had never exhibited capacity for a sentiment on the con-
tinuance of which her own existence depended. In no
earthly source were the fountains of enjoyment to her
who had walked so long in blindness, but it was plain to
all that the very life of Venetia was involved in that of
Philip, and she seemed to have no thought but of him.
There were no yisits to the churches at vespers for pray-
ers: from her heart was rising a continual incense of
supplication for the life and happiness of him who

** Lay like one in trance,
That hears his burial talked of by his friends,
And cannot speak, nor moye, nor make one sign,
But lies and dreads his doom.”

The delicate perception of Jiigerndorf read t he secret of
her calmness in the upturned face, and felt that he was

 

 
  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      
  

454

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

in an atmosphere to which all his previous conceptions
were gross and earthly.

Philip’s reason was too weak to resist the emotions of
his heart whenever he saw Venetia at his bedside; and
with low, feeble tones told the story of his love for her.
As he looked into her tender eyes, resting so unfaltering-
ly upon his own, he read more of her heart than her own
maidenly confessions conveyed. To his mind sometimes
half reproachfully stole up the image of his cousin as he
had seen her in their last interview, but that period
seemed to belong toa life long gone by. The Rosamond
he had loved was in some strange way lost and con-
founded in this superb Venetia, who had broken down all
his strong resolutions, and drew from him, in spite of all his
struggles to the contrary, the long withheld story of his
over-mastering devotion to herself. There was a dim con-
viction in his mind that Providence was in some myste-
rious way sanctioning this love from which he had at first
shrank as contrary to his duty. He now had no thought
of what should be the result of all this present happiness ;
it was so full and complete it seemed to him its very re-
collection would compensate for years of subsequent sor-
row. Hé wondered if he could ever again grow unhap-
py under any circumstances with the knowledge of such
devotion having been lavished upon him. Venetia’s
family knew of his engagement to Rosamond, yet they
made no objection to the tie which was in their very
eyes, day by day, growing stronger between himself and
their adopted daughter. This was all mystery to Philip,
and in his weakness he turned from anything so difficult
to grasp, as wearisome and hopeless of solution. He ac-
cepted the present as he found it, and surrendered him-

 

   

 

Light in the Coliseum. 455

self to the delicious interchange of those nameless endear-
ments which hallow and sweeten the glamour of youthful
attachments. Barren have been the joys of life to those
who, in the golden memories of that vanished era, fail to
recall some such visions of bliss.

Lord Vernon and Mr. Maitland were very kind to
Philip in his days of suffering. ‘They had exerted them-
selves to discover the names of his assailants. One had
escaped, but he who fired the pistol-shot which wounded
him, though confined to a dungeon since that night, had
obstinately withheld his name. Mr. Maitland, from what
he could learn, supposed the prisoner to be an American.
The Papal system of criminal procedure was so secret that
few disclosures were made by the authorities, in relation
to the case, and these were obtained with difficulty. An
officer connected with the courts, having taken the de-

_ positions of Philip and Venetia, was kind enough to pro-

eure for the injured man a sight of the pistol with which

he had been shot.
On pleasant evenings Lord Vernon frequently sent a

carriage in which Philip and his fair companion basked
in the loveliness of the skies and found fresh delight in
the face of now fully-attired nature. Philip in his ill-
ness had lost the bronze imparted by long travel and
exposure, and his pale cheeks and flowing brown hair
caused him to resemble some of the old pictures in the
city. : ‘

Ludwig Jigerndorf was gratified in the wish expressed
for the opportunity of painting Venetia’s portrait. One
day as he was at work on this engagement, Philip, having
heard Charles Loundes refer to a beautiful Ginone which
had made its appearance in the studio since his illness,

 

 
 

  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

456

 

The Heirs of St. Kida.

asked Ludwig to show him the work. The artist put
down his pallet and brushes, and brought from the other
end of the room a full-length picture which had been
turned to the wall in their previous visits. Philip was
astounded to behold a complete reproduction of Venetia
as they saw her in the Pantheon.

“This,” said Jagerndorf to the maiden, “is Ginone after
the desertion of Paris. Can you imagine who suggested
* my subject ?”

“Yes,” said she, “it much resembles myself; but I
surely never looked so sad as that white-robed figure.”

“Ludwig,” said Philip, “I must by all means. possess
ibe,

“JT have intended it as a present for you,” said Jigern-
dorf, “as a memento of your kindness to Sigismund and
myself.”

“ You have more than repaid me,” said Philip, “long
ago, in your own kindness; and I shall never be able to
tell you how much I prize this picture. It is almost as
beautiful as the new goddess of the Pantheon.”

“He will spoil me with vanity,” said Venetia, “if he
speaks in this way, Mr. Ludwig.”

“There can be but little harm,” said Ludwig, “in your

. hearing such speeches when every eye that beholds you
is eloquent with the same sentiment.”

“ How can you, Ludwig,” said Philip, “with so much
appreciation of the beautiful, have hitherto failed in pay-
ing that last and supreme homage to its claims implied
in the term love? You are attracted by the loveliness of
nature, but how have you failed of that. higher affinity
between two hearts? The calm of your life may be less
‘disturbed, but the very monotony of your sensations

 

 

     
    

Light in the Coliseum. 457

must, at Jast, pall in their want of fruition. Repose and
immunity from the usual disturbances of life are low
pleasures—at best but little surpassing the unreasoning
content of well-fed animals. We find in the precarious
tenure of human love those higher joys the more prized
in the very knowledge they can be so easily lost. ‘ The
bird which has never known the pleasures of a pinion

may be quiet in the cage,

“ And what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth ;”

but after all we owe our happiness to a conformity with
natural laws, and they point to the necessity of man’s

‘looking to his other self for the bestowment of content.”

“You are doubtless happier,” said Ludwig, “ than I
have ever been at any time in my life; but not having

‘found one upon whom to lavish my affection with the

prospect of its return, art has come to me in its stead; and
I find pleasure in toil, which so increases with years, my
dearest hope is to be undisturbed. It gives me Joy to see
you happy, but I should fear to risk my own frail bark
on such an untried sea as the whole subject would be to
me.” : ‘

«Ah! M. Ludwig,” said Venetia, “I fear you are a
hardened old bachelor, but I know you can love your

friends very dearly. You were as tender as any woman

to our patieut in his illness.” se

Several weeks had passed away since Philip felt any
inconvenience from his wounds. The surgeon and his
friends remonstrated whenever he proposed starting
homeward, insisting he was not yet sufficiently restored

   
   
   
    
    
  
    
 
 
  
 
    
  

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

 

 

 

    

458 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

for the long journey across Europe and the Atlantic
ocean. His mirror exhibited a face so thin and wan, he
was forced to agree with their advice and his own incli-
nations to remain longer in the presence of Venetia.
Now he found himself so much restored, he removed to
his own lodgings, and conscience was beginning to whis-
per the wrong of longer delay in his departure. If he
had analysed his feelings, he would have been puzzled
to account for the madness of deferring a separation all
along recognized as inevitable and not remote; but still,
with a feeling that was unreasonable to himself, he ling-
ered for a few days longer. Life beyond that time had
but little promise. He still remembered Rosamond with
kindness, and he never thought of blaming her for the
the painful position to which his own weakness and the
force of circumstances had reduced him.

Much of his time was spent in the company of her who
became dearer as the hour of parting approached. The
last time he had seen Venetia, on referring to his deter-
mination, he was surprised that she manifested so little
of the old grief which once clouded her brow whenever
he spoke of their separation. More than two weeks ago,
he had sent his horses, by way of Paris, to the sea-coast,
to be ready to go with him to America; when one even-
ing he was alone, and was surprised to receive a letter
which had been lying for months uncalled-for in the
French capital. He recognized his grandfather’s hand-
writing on the envelope, and was afraid of sad news
from home, as he hastened to break the seal. It began
with a statement of the good health blessing the family
at Ellesmere, and the anxiety with which they awaited
his arrival for he had written he would be at home about

SS a ina naan

 

 

 

Light in the Coliseum. ~ 459

that time. Philip felt conscience-stricken as he read, “I
have something painful to relate in relation to your
cousin Rosamond, in whom, until recently, we were ail
so proud and happy. She left school, the most lovely
and attractive young woman it has been my good for-
tune to see in all my life. We were charmed as much
by the sweetness of her disposition as by the perfection
of her beauty, and I often reflected, as T looked upon her,
what joy would be yours in such a wife. She was de-
voted to you, and I was astonished that, having seen you
so little in the last four years, she should cherish such
romantic attachment. Surrounded by many admirers,
who would have eagerly linked their fortune to hers, she
seemed above all the weaknesses incident to pretty wo-
men, and was as true to you as if already your wife. She
went with her mother and Mariana, under the charge of
Percival, to the seaside, radiant and happy, and a month
afterwards she returned in sorrow so profound and mys-
terious, we are yet wholly unsatisfied as to its origin. I
am assured by her mother and Mariana that it grew out
of no unhappy attachment contracted there. She steadily
refused to account for the depression destroying her life,
until her mother discovered, from language uttered in
her sleep, her belief that you were forgetful of her, in the
love of another. Percival says there was a long conver-
sation between herself and Frederick Compton, on the
evening she first exhibited symptoms of melancholy, and [
have since learned that, on one occasion, when his father
was intoxicated, at St. Kilda, he declared to some gentle-
men that he was satisfied you were about to be married
to the German countess of whom you have so often spok-
en. Although I ‘know the falsehood of this story, I am

   
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 

 

 

460 - The Heirs of St. Kilda.

satisfied young Compton has used ‘it to destroy the hap-
piness, if not the reason, of our beautiful Rosamond. We
know you too well to think you could so far forget your
plighted honor in this way.
“ Percival, at the request of Rosamond and her mother,
has accompanied them to Europe, where, I hope, travel
and change of scene will remove this corroding grief
from the heart of the young sufferer. As soon as this
letter reaches you, I desire you to find them, and remove
this impression from the mind of this dear girl, whose
unusual devotion to yourself has occasioned her distress.
_ IfI believed you capable of deserting her for any other
woman, I should be shamed in all my nature, that my
grandson, in whom I have rested the hopes of my
childless age, was so lost to his own honor as to think of
such a thing as these false and malicious men have as-
cribed to you. Were you capable of such a thing, it
would dishonor our name, and bring my own gray hairs
in sorrow to the grave. Forgive my warmth on this hor-
rible and impossible subject. I am not, dear Philip, for
a moment shaken in my trust of your good sense and
claims to the name of gentleman. In all my long ex-
perience, you have been so far the most faultless youth I
have known, and I am confident you will continue in
this career of truth and self-respect. In that trust I com-
mit you to the keeping of God; praying him to bless
-you, and while life lasts.
Your grandfather,
Putte Evsracer, Sr.”
It would be difficult to imagine the feeling of thorough
humiliation Philip experienced in reading-this letter. He
felt that he was not only amenable to the censures of his

     
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

  

et

paca

 

Light in the Coliseum. 461

grandfather, but the energy and good sense of the epistle
recalled his own faculties which had been eclipsed and

benumbed of their former vigor by passion and sickness.
He considered himself the slave of an ignoble thraldom,
and remembered with shame that when he was two years
younger he had resisted all the fascinations of Theresa of
Schulemberg. Now to fall a helpless slave into a roman-
tic attachment for one of whose parentage he was igno-
rant, profoundly humbled him. He was dismayed at the -
prospect of his return to Ellesmere ; for how could he face
his grandfather with a knowledge of such weakness in
imself?
eal too, the fair brow of Rosamond, which he had
dimly seen that night when they had ratified the vows
of their childhood, stole up in his memory. He thought
of all the suffering the sensitive and imaginative girl had
undergone on his account, and now its first intelligence
reaches him in the midst of a passion to which his love
for the German countess was only child’s play. He was
stung to the heart, and horrified to think his position
would soon become known to the world, thus exposing
im to the contempt of all good men. He felt the throb
of a wound deeper than that lately inflicted by the assas-
sin, and, for the first time in his life, wished his existence
ended. ;
He went out into the soft Italian air and mingled with
the throng on the Corso; soon wearying of that, he passed
on amid the mouldering old city now less mournful in its
aspect than his own face. ‘The glances of men who per-
ceived his trouble only increased his uneasiness, and he
paused not until he reached the bridge of St. Angelo.
The yellow water of the Tiber went on its course to the

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 

         
 
 

\

 

 

 

462 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

sea, disregarding his sorrow as it had that of countless
other men who, in the ages since Romulus, had lived and
come to grief in the great city. As he stood pensively
gazing into the water, heartily wishing himself asleep
beneath its waves, one of Gcethe’s songs stole up to his
remembrance:

“Feart, my heatt, O what hath changed thee?

What doth weigh on thee so sore?

What hath from myself estranged thee,
That I scarcely know thee more?

Gone is all which once seemed dearest,

Gone the care which once was nearest,
Gone thy toils and tranquil bliss,
Ah! how couldst thou come to this?”

He looked around upon the relics of the past, and returns
ing passed by the Fountain of Trevi. In the midst of a
ruined temple of the far-off heathen age he sat on a fallen
column, which, in its massive and enduring strength,
seemed almost as intact as when fresh from the hands of
those cunning artisans who had been resting from their
labors so long. Philip, in the presence of this voiceless
and neglected representative of a forgotten splendor, felt
rebuked that he, who was the architect of his own trouble,
should thus, like a child, shrink from what he had
brought upon himself; so, with the hour of sunset, he
returned to his lodgings in a calmer state of mind, but
fully resolved that the morrow should witness his depar-
ture from Rome. He was busy in his preparations when
Loundes and Jigerndorf came in from a stroll. Noticing
the gravity of Philip’s countenance, Ludwig asked:
“What are you doing with your trunks?”

“Preparing to take leave of you, Ludwig. I have this ~
_ evening received a letter from home which makes me

 

  
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Light in the Coliseum. 463

ashamed of loitering longer here, so I shall bid you adiew

to-morrow.”

He made no further explanations, and the artist was
grieved to see the determination first announced adhered
to as Philip and his servant continued to pack the trunks.
Ludwig sorrowfully took his leave to prepare the pictures
belonging to his friend for his departure.

“Philip,” said Loundes, “we have promised to meet
our friends in the Coliseum to-night. Have you forgot:
ten our agreement?”

“No. I shall be ready in time, but you are not pre-
paring to start in the morning. Are you unwilling to go

then ?” ‘
“Not if you are still intent upon it when we return

to-night.”

Philip was galled at this last remark, considering it a
reflection on the thraldom of which he was now heartily
ashamed. He made no reply, for he felt that his friend
was reasonable in this lowered estitnation in which he
was held. Sorrow and shame but no resentment throbbed
in his heart as he silently continued his labors. When
these were finished, they went on their way to the vast
amphitheatre to which, in the morning, Philip was ex-
pecting to go as light-hearted as any man among the
multitudes formerly there celebrating their bloody satur-
nalia. As he walked silently by the side of his friend, in
his heart was a gloom, deep as ever clouded the brow or
dimmed the eyes of doomed gladiator repairing thither to
amuse a remorseless populace with the sight of his dying

agonies. 4 :
The moonlight fell gloriously on all objects, hallowing,

_with silvery radiance, hundreds around which cluster

 
 

 

 

” 464 The Heirs of St, Kilda.
a world of memories. In its soothing influence Philip’s
burdened heart recurred with anguish to the thought
that, on this night, he should look on the beauty of Ve-
netia for the last time. As they approached the colossal
ruin, in whose vast area huge armies could be seated, the
tender mournfulness of Byron’s description recurred to a
mind then filled with darker despair than ever haunted
the mind of the noble poet:

“The trees which grew along the broken arches
Waved dark in the blue midnight, from afar
The watch-dog bay’d beyond the Tiber; and
More near from out the Czesar’s palace came
The owl’s long ery, and interruptedly,

Of distant sentinels the fitful song
Begun and died upon the gentle wind.”

As they entered the shadow of the great walls, they
heard the voice of Venetia, singing an English ballad,
and Philip knew from the sadness of the song she was
hurt at his delay in coming. Carriages, at the entrance,
showed that they were not to expect silence in contem-
plating a scene so full of majestic stillness, and sounds of
laughter from the enclosure itself, in his present mood,
jarred on his ears. The arches rose tier over tier between
him and the moon, and he tried to realize the wondrous
beauty it had inspired in other imaginations; but there
was either too much light or, possibly, his heart was un-
strung to the enjoyment of anything. Here, in the
world’s greatest charnel-house the nations once sent to
their conquerors, wild beasts, strong-limbed gladiators,
and unresisting christians, that imperial Rome might see
them die on this very area. From the central point,
where the earth had received such seas of blood, now

      

Paes

     

Light in the Coliseum. 465 *

arose the tall, black cross emblematic of a faith once so
persecuted there. ‘ :

After some pleasant raillery on their late arrival, the
party, which the Americans had joined, settled themselves
amid fallen columns, and chatted on, merrily as people
should, who visit places so long dedicated to amusement.
At Philip’s request Venetia accompanied him around the
shrines, for what he felt to be his last conference with
her. :

“T am yery glad you have come,” said she. en I feared
you were ill, and [ should not see you to-night.” :

“JT have been very busy this evening,” said he, “in
the most sorrowful labor of my life. I have been prepar-
ing to take leave of you and Rome in the morning.”

“Why this haste, dear Philip, have you ceased to love
me?” :

« Alas no! I love you better than my own life, which
T have been half tempted, this evening, to throw away in
the Tiber.”

“Oh! Philip, you are not talking like yourself. How
can you, who have sustained me in my great trouble, and
whose noble trust in God restored my soul to joy, thus
madly contemplate the most unreasonable and sinful of
all human transgressions?”

“Venetia, I am in a cloud so black I have no hope for
the future. In my love for you I have lost my self-rever-
ence, and, Oh! God, that I should say it, I know not how
to meet the face of my grandfather.” ae

The strong man paused, shaken with a mighty convul-
sion, and Venetia realized his torture.

“Oh! Philip, my life, my dearest of all hopes, tell me
this trouble, and I will be willing to die, if I do not make

30

 

 

 

 
 

   

A66. The Heirs. of St. Kilda.

   
 

  

it all clear. You shall see your grandfather as proudly
as you ever met him if you will only trust me. Remem-
ber the abyss from which you have lifted me, and let me
know all this grief.”

“Tt is too late, Venetia. The day of hope has passed
forever from my reach, and life, once full of promise, has
become an utter wreck. I am stranded on a barren.
shore from which there is but one escape, and in that, I
agree with you, is such sin I dare not think of it. Let
us go to the cross in the centre of the arena and I will —
tell you all.’”

They went to the spot indicated, and seated themselves.
The moonlight was streaming full upon Venetia, and
Philip gazed sorrowfully into eyes in whose tender love-
liness a worse man would have felt half-absolved from
the most atrocious blood-guiltiness.

“Venetia,” said he, “you are all the more beautiful
now that I feel we are talking together for the last.
time.”

 

“Your’ beauty is your beauty, and I sin
In speaking, yet oly grant my worship of it
Words, as we grant grief tears.”

“T wish I haddied when that unknown wretch wounded
me. I should have left the world in all my integrity ;
but now, to my shame and grief, I haye the knowledge
that what I must say to you will seem reproachful.”

“T promise you, Philip, I will not feel hurt at anything’
you say. I have much to urge in extenuation of my
conduct, and yow shall have my story when you have
finished.”

“T am the only male heir,” said Philip, “of a family of

    

Light in the Coliseum. 467

large wealth, and my grandfather, who reared me,
has lavished upon me, since my earliest recollection, a
love so tender and such wise counsel I have been favored
with all the benefits my heart could desire. I have a
dear cousin, named Rosamond Courtenay, and our friends
have told us from early childhood we should some day
be married. I have ever loved her, and when we were
little children we exchanged vows afterward ratified on
the eve of my departure for Europe. I left my native
country, having gone to Germany, and was there but a
short time when by chance I rescued ya young countess,
from probable death. There amid strangers in a foreign
land she gave me such kindness and love I should be
brutal to forget it. I loved her for the nobleness of her

heart; but we parted only as friends. I told her the ~
story of my love for Rosamond, and kept my honor as a -
gentleman, with no regrets to poison my future happiness.
I went forth into the world on my travels, and after
wandering: in different climes I came here, and by acci-
dent saw you in the Pantheon. I was at once irresistibly
attracted, and soon resolved to fly from a presence that
promised to unfit me for the love of my cousin. The
desire to see you again that evening detained me at the.
church near which I was wounded, and through your
dear guardianship robbed of my manhood. I had hith-
erto maintained the silence duty suggested, but in my

weakness you learned all the secret of my love. I have.
been unable to recover from the glamour your beauty:
and goodness has thrown around me until this day..
A letter which I received from my grandfather has.
recalled my faculties to a proper appreciation of my

course. Some one has convinced Rosamond that I

 
 

 

 

468 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Jove the countess of Schulemberg, and the belief has

-erushed the heart of my dear cousin. She is in Europe

‘with her friends, seeking to regain her former peace.

My grandfather has written me to go at once in search of
ther and refute the slander which has caused her grief.

But, Venetia, how can I approach her pure presence with

-a lie on my lips. I was never other than the friend of
Theresa of Schulemberg, but you are dearer fo me than
my existence ; and thus, when called upon to save myself
from dishonor by denying one imputed breach of my
plighted word, I am self-convicted of yielding to my love
‘for you. Oh! Venetia, to what straits has your beauty
brought me, and what shall I say to my dear sorrowing

cousin to raise her drooping head? My grandfather de-
clares if he thought me capable of deserting her, and
thus dishonoring myname, it would bring his gray hairs
with sorrow to the grave.”

“My stay in Rome,” continued Philip, “has almost
yealized the old Greek idea of destiny; for while I have
struggled to do what I felt was my duty, accident and ir-
repressible heart-proclivities have overruled and baffled
me. I told Mr. Hastings of my engagement, that he
might know my duty and help me perform it. How
haye you aided me in this matter, Venetia ? Your adopt-
ed father must have told you my situation; why then did
you not drive me from your presence when you saw the
fatal infatuation which was stealing my reason and honor?
What hope have you left me in the world, and how can I
become the husband of my cousin, having left my heart
swith you in Rome? How can I meet the wisdom and
jmnocence of those at home? Venetia Hastings, I call
heaven to witness, with all my love for you, I would a

i lll ncn

 

——————

Light in the Coliseum. 469

hundred deaths had come ere I saw your fatal beauty.
You have made me happy in disregard of my duty, and.
destroyed my self-respect as a man. I doubt not you have-
been-kind in intention, but you now know the ruin you
have wrought. I know not how to say farewell, but I
leave you forever this night, and may a diviner pity than
I shall find bless you through life. If it were right, L.
could lie down at your feet, in this blood-stained arena.
and be happy forever; but I must sin in this love no.
longer. I shall start in the morning to look for Rosa--
mond to tell her all.”

“ Where will you find Rosamond, Philip?” said she,. «
detaining him as he arose to leave. “My heart's dear
love, Iam your Rosamond;” and with a flood of happy
tears the beautiful maiden, no longer Venetia Hastings;.
but the peerless heiress of Thorndale, wept upon his
bosom. AlJl disguises were now ended,.and the burden
lifted from Philip’s heart. As she looked in the dark
eyes so tenderly regarding her,. she felt. astonished that
there should have ever floated a.cloud of doubt into her:
atmosphere of love, now seemingly. as clear’ as the star-
gemmed Italian heavens. Over the mute and bloody
arena in the shadow of the black cross, sat the lovers.
From this same spot, in ages long ago dead and lost in
the eternity that lies behind us, whats voiceless-agonies -
had arisen toward the sources of infinite pity !: Here the
gladiator had felt his eyes swim in death,.and heard.the-
shouts of brutal applause grow faint in the throes of dis--
solution. Up into those same quiet heavens had gone:
the last faith-illumined glance of unresisting and yet tri-

: umphant martyrs. Here, in the hidden mystery of Him,

whose eyes had seen all this holocaust of woe,,were these-

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

470 The Heirs of St. Kida.

  

two beings in the fullness of their youth, basking in the
joy born of the most tender and innocent of all human
emotions. The two were for some time silent, for
Philip was too happy to heed the voices of visitors around
them. Rosamond had promised to explain the mystery
he was so anxious to unravel.

“Our good friend, Mr. Loundes,” said she, “has told
me that the Countess of Schulemberg sometimes called
you Don Giovanni. You need not wonder then that my
affections, when almost a child, should have clung so
closely to you. I have been in dream-land a large por-
tion of my life, and all my fancies have taken you and
your plighted love as their source of happiness. Instead
of the wild old romances I was so fond of rehearsing to
you and Mariana, my visions early rested upon you, and
my joy in you when I should come to live in your smiles.
In those days I was pained whenever I approached a
mirror, and thought surely Philip cannot love me as I
would have him, unless I grow more winsome. I prayed
heaven to send me beauty for your sake, and as the years
went by in which I could only see you iu my dreams, I
watched the changes in my appearance, and saw with a
great joy God was answering my prayer. My own eyes
and the words of those who loved me too dearly for flat-
tery, assured meI was no longer plain. I felt confident
that when you saw me, and knew how dearly I loved you,
there would be no regret for the vows we had so often ex-
changed.

“ Dear Philip,” continued Rosamond, “God has pun-
jsned me for this vain confidence. I became convinced,
in a way Iam not at liberty to explain, that you repented
of our engagement, and had given your heart to the

 

    

Light in the Coliseum. 471

Countess of Schulemberg. I was too weak and faint-
‘hearted to see through the falsehood, and the conviction
that you had ceased to love me shattered my hopes. I
was so sinful I longed and prayed for death. Knowing
your high sense of honor, and fearing you would carry
out our engagement, even though you loved another, I
felt the possibility of my becoming a burden on your life.
I was fast going to the grave I so earnestly desired, when
mother learned the secret of my grief. Idid not break
my promise to say nothing of what had been told me,
‘but I was so heavy-laden in my sorrow, J talked of you

‘in my dreams. f :
“Through her came a gleam of hopeful distrust of the

statements which had been weighing upon'me as a fear-
fal certainty. I determined I would come to Europe and
see you under another name, and if possible win your
Jove. Tt occurred to me you might not be loving an-
other, and still, in your dutiful regard for the wishes of
the family, be willing to fulfill our engagement. I was
determined to become your bride on no such grounds.
You must love me for myself and no other reason. Oh!
Philip, I am so thankful I came to this determination. I
am now fully assured of your disposition toward me. I
came to Rome, for I knew you had not been here, and
you had written me you would be certain to do $0. Mr.
Hastings had been a dear friend of mine in America, soT
told him all my story and plans, and he eagerly seconded
them. He adopted me as his daughter, and J had been
here but two weeks when we went to look at the Pan-
theon. I did not perceive you at first, and was silently
praying for our meeting, when {felt a strong conviction
of your presence, and, looking around, saw you. Ob

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

AT2 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

the joy of that moment! I felt that heaven had answer-
ed my prayer; but, from the eagerness of your glance,
fearing you had some suspicion of my identity, I looked
coldly upon you to destroy thisimpression. I saw, at the
embassy, that you did not recognize me, and regarded
this second meeting by accident as cminous of joy.

“T need not tell you now, dear Philip, that much of
Mr. Hastings’ kindness and my own conduct, which must.
have seemed strange to you at times, has been prompted
by my desire to obtain a full confession of the love I
sometimes saw in your manner, but which you so reso-
lutely forbore to. speak. I was in despair at your going
away, for I had really ascertained nothing but what you
had told Mr. Hastings; so when in your delirium you
spoke of a double affection mysteriously divided between

. Venetia and Rosamond J was made happy in full assur-
ance. I desired the surgeon to let me tell you all, but.
he said it might destroy your life in the excitement it
would create. I was afraid your friends would think me
indelicate in my claims to watch over you when another
was in possession of your troth; so,on the promise of
keeping my secret, I told them I was Rosamond Courte-
nay. Since your recovery I have been eagerly waiting
for an opportunity, but your silence concerning Rosamond
has puzzled me to tell you. I wasa little hurt, dear
Philip, for fear you had almost forgotten the little girl
who so loved you in your regard for Venetia. You have
now shown me your truth and nobility, and I thank
heaven for all we have suffered—it has only strengthened
our love.” ‘

“How long,” said Philip, “ would you have left me in

 

mee

 

|
\
1
1
\

i

7 Wee

Light in the Coliseum. 473,
this cruel uncertainty had I not determined to leave
you?”

“This very meeting was planned by myself that I

mieht here tell youall. To this end I have written to
my mother and cousin Percival, who have been staying
with Count Orsini at Lake Como. They reached the city

)
this evening and are here.’ :
They crossed the arena to one of the shrines where they

found Percival St. George and Mrs. Courtenay. When
the greetings were over the master of Vaucluse remarked,

“Philip I must congratulate you on this scenic denoue-
ment of the prettiest melodrama in actual life I have ever
had the good fortune to observe. You and SONS
have kept me holding my breath for months past.

«Well Philip,” said Charles Loundes,

“Can ‘these things be.
And overcome us like a summer's cloud,
Without our special wonder?

“What say you now; shall we leave Rome in the

7 o?”
ine id Philip, “I have found the fair Rosamond
for whom I was to search. Charley Towe you something
for the pains you have taken to keep me in the dark, and
I will get Mariana to pay off my debt when we reach
” :
sae Venetia,” said Percival, “ we are all too happy
to think of retiring sooner than the moon. I brought
your harp in the carriage, and you must help us to cele-
brate your happiness to-night. Though we are not at
the capitol, and have no bays ready for your coronation,

 
 

  

 

474

 

‘The Heirs of St. Kilda.

we can easily imagine you another Corinne if you will
sing us that pretty fantasy addressed to Philip.”
Rosamond stood by the instrument, in the full glow of
the moonlight, and in her flowing draperies seemed some
noble priestess of extinct creeds reverenced in past ages,
She looked up to the great arches high above her, and

in a voice so full and rich all merriment was hushed inte
silence, sang this

MIDNIGHT FANTASY.

““The stars of heaven are gleaming”
On sleeping land and sea,
With all their bright rays teeming
With joy for you and me. :
Oh love! they seem, with each sweet beam,
To kiss the happy sea;
Their loving eyes look from the skies
Of deep infinity.

“The stars of heaven’ are gleaming :”?

Dear one I wake for thee;

Thou art wear when I am dreaming
With thought and fancy free.

From this sweet home, to thee they roam,
Oh bear me gentle river

Unto his side—[ am his bride
Forever and forever.

“The stars of heaven are gleaming ”

Upon the distant lake ;

The swan has hushed her sereaming
Until the birds shall wake ;

The shadows deep now softly sleep
Upon the moveless tide;

Its crystal waves in stilly caves,
The sportive Naiads hide.

“The stars of heaven are gleaming ”

Amid the bowery glade ;

A nightingale is seeming
From Paradise estrayed 5

How wild and free her melody,
Oh love! this summer night

Would that my lay could bear to thee
Such story of delight.

 

 

    

Light in the Coliseum. 7 415

j Ps
«The stars of heaven are gleaming: 2
No sorrow of the day.
Comes to me softly dreaming
Of my lover far away. |
Over hazy lea, and languid sea
From shining realms above se
With softer gleam, upon auch ream,
Look down O star of love!

Gt ars of heaven are gleaming,
see rke eastle’s ruined hall
The moon beams soft are streaming,

Splendor through the ereviced wall
The long light breaks, in snowy flakes,

J he marble stair; :
Ser catoentit sweet, with silent feet

‘Are swiftly dancing there,
“The stars of heaven are gleaming”

”

"Long battlements on high , |

here banners once were streaming, F
aka shrilled the battle-cry ; »
In ceaseless glee. could we but see

The fairy armies go
Above the moat, they gayly float

To music soft and low.

a of heaven are gleaming,
aaa with softer light,
The sad moon too is seeming

‘ “9 faint with fleeing Nizht,
To me they seem, some fading dream,

As golden morn comes on,
The breezes wake, upon the lake:
Another day is born.

“The stars of heaven are gleaming”
Oh Love within thine eyes ;
I know a light is beaming, |
Whose death my soul denies,
It e’er shall glow, as round us flow
The full, joy-brimming years ;
I trust in thee, and Him we see
‘Alike through smiles and tears.

”

o ars of heaven are gleaming,”
athe dew-washed willows weep
Mists from each gorge are streaming’

Where babbling runlets creep
Oh! look, oh! see how splendidly
Flames all the orient sky.
‘As star by star in realms. afar
Fade slowly all, and die.

 

 

 
 

   

   
    

 

 

476 p ;
Heatran Sela. The Wedding Bells 477
y le e Coliseum. Philip had RA
; gone there with a Ve 5 ;
ae He ee left it serene and contented as any of all r é CHAPTER Sle
. : countless hosts entering and de “ ; j
F parting in t .
Bett ake As he rode ns ier oan He het he atin
osamond’s side, his g] i
now more beautiful Pa a lingered upon the vast arches umyan their exceeding mirth may not be told!
moon EB at ul in the softened light of the sinking Suffice it here by signs to understand
, arty . "4 5 Th 1 + knitting of love’s band.
ad no promise of greater joy, Hilbaherse sngdt Ihe ichight Hoare did hold,
P d of his lady’s heart an hand;
ad ae cae nis eye did her behold,
His heart did seem to melt in pleasures manifold;”
. ~The Faery Queen
: a7 Erreswers, in all its long history of alternate joy and
4. prief, had never witnessed an occasion of su nalloyed
ae satisfaction as had been visible throughou he day in
3 5 every face belonging to the large establishment. The
; (ane gloom which had come upon the stately homestead after
ete ie its double loss by deatb and the departure of the family
had disappeared on the return of the wanderers. On the

  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

previous evening the rooms at Thorndale cottage were
fled with friends to witness the bridals of Philip Eustace
and Rosamond Courtenay, and there was momentary ex-
be pectation of thevarrival of the wedding party. It was a
- general holiday among all the negroes of the family, and
they were showing by their uproarious hilarity how
much they sympathized with this return of joy to the
“white folks in the great house.”

_ They. had come by hundreds, not only from Grafton
and lenheim, but Thorndale, Vaucluse and Ramillies
a swell nearly deserted, to allow them an opportunity of
participating in the feast of barbecued pigs and roasted
oxen. Fiddles and banjos were freshly strung for the
night’s revel, and on every side were indications of

  
 

 

 

 
 

 

478. The Heirs of St. Kilda.

boundless satisfaction among the joyous slaves, Thomp-
son still maintained his authority with no perceptible
dimunition of his huge stature. In so large‘a gathering,
_Where many were consulting him as the oracle in whose
response all their ignorance could be enlightened, he as-
sumed an importance equal to the occasion, and with
unfailing good humor answered a thousand questions.

“Unk. Thomson,” said one, “how long “fore all dem
folks down at Thorndale gwine to git here?”

“Well, Tony, to de best o’ my information it will he
*twix sunset and dark.”

“ve hearn say,” said another, “ole master has done
and gin up everything to Mass Phil; and all us niggers
down at Grafton belongs to him now.”

“That's e as gospel, Luke,” said Thompson, “ ole

master tole me no longer dan las’ week dat he and Miss
Henretta Courtenay was gwine to make over everything
to Mass Phil.” :
_ “Mass Percy tole us,” said one from Vaucluse, “ dat he
wanted everybody Mr. Earl could spare from tendin’ to
de horses an’ mules to come here to Mas. Phil’s weddin’,
He said if nothin’ happened Mass Phil was some 0’ dese
days boun’ to be de master o’ Vaucluse an’ we colored
folks over dare.”

‘Judge Eustace was opposed to any bridal tour on the
part of the newly-wedded pair. He thought they had
travelled enough, and they fully agreed with him. This
was the second night of a series of dinner parties and
evening entertainments in honor of the young people in
whose joy so many participated. Even Percival St.
George determined to disturb the solitude of his house
with the merriment of this festive occasion. Mr. Somer-

 

soenee

ad

The Wedding Bells. 479

ville and Col. Ridgely had also issued invitations, and
with all these merry-makings St. Kilda valley was half
mad with excitement. 5

At nightfall, as Thompson had predicted, came the
long retinue of carriages from Thorndale. Every room
in the house was lighted-up for the numerous guests par-
ticipating in the family joy. Friends had come from
distant homes to mingle in the gaieties, and boundless
satisfaction palpitated in every heart. Mrs. Eustace who
had drooped so much for the loss of Stanhope haying
found the death of her remaining son had so shattered
the father that he needed all her native sunshine, con-
cealed her sorrows, and in the love she bore her grandson
not only participated in his enjoyment but transferred
much of her happiness to her very quiet and dignified
husband. Judge Eustace had not shown so much
satisfaction even at the wedding of his son Ashton as
now in this union so long an object of his solicitude, and
at one time so jeopardised by the falsehood of Frederick
Compton. e

Philip, after his recovery, had examined the pistol with
which he was shot, and on its silver mounting he found
engraved the stnall initial letters F.C. The officer who
took his deposition had made this discovery, and showed
them to Philip, asking him if he had an acquaintance to
whose name they applied. The truth flashed upon his
mind, and on his return to America, having learned that
young Compton had followed Rosamond to Europe, he
was convinced of his villainy and complicity in the at-
tempt to murder. He never communicated this informa-
tion to Rosamond, knowing it would occasion her dis-
tress to think she had been even partially the cause of

 

 
 

 

 

480 The Heirs of St. Kilda,

the life-long imprisonment to which the bafiled abductot
and assassin was sentenced by the Roman tribunals. He
was unwilling to let the world know that any one, who
had ever hoped for the hand of his bride, had fallen so
low ; so the fate of the mad and guilty man was a sealed
mystery to those among whom he was reared. The elder
Compton, in spite of all his schemes, had been deprived
of the greater portion of his property, and with a small
remnant dishonestly fled from the country. The hand-
some residence and farm at Gatesley were now offered for
sale by those who had attached them, and not one of the
family remained in St. Kilda valley.

At Ellesmere were gathered many of those who have
largely occupied the earlier pages of this narrative. Ar-
thur Kean and his wife, formerly Ida Somerville, were
talking with Philip and Rosamond. The lawyer had al-
ready secured position at the bar, and by diligence and
probity was surely and steadily approaching the highest
honors of his profession. Mr. Grey was there, the most
cheerful and animated spirit of them all. In his sacred
functions he had knit the holy tie between the lovers,
and the good man seemed almost as much delighted in
this happy event as the bridegroom himself, He still
devoted his life to the humble flock long ago  se-
lected as his spiritual charge, and with unfaltering zeal
had so far persevered in what he believed his special duty
toward them, At times unlooked for apostacies, as had
been exemplified in Isham, were repeated by others, and
thus brought sorrow to the heart of the faithful shepherd}
but he was too well satisfied with the good effected to
abandon them as incorrigible.

Percival St. George had slowly outlived the great sor>

 

 

The Wedding Bells. 481

row. which. had blighted his youth, and had become in
many respects as other men. While much of his time
was still spent in the solitude of Vaucluse, it grew out of
no disgust with the usual enjoyments of men. He did
not seek promiscuous communion, but by no means_

‘shunned the usual interchange of neighborly cour-

tesies. His interest in Rosamond had overcome much
of his aversion to mingling with strangers. In his
efforts to console her in the midst of her gloom conse-
quent upon their visit to the sea-side, he had largely pal-
liated the sting of his own long treasured grief. He now
mingled with the gay throng with all his former grace of
manner. Alfred Ridgely and his affianced bride, Mae
Glaney, were also present. Honest Roger Earl was there,
too, to share in the festivities of the family he had solong ~
and faithfully served. Philip happened to be passing,
found him alone, and at his request Roger entered
the blaze of fashion and loveliness. He approached Rosa-
mond and congratulated the bride, who was, according to
his statement, even more beautiful than Leonora Orsini’s,
portrait in the closed room at Vaucluse. ,

It would be difficult for persons who have dwelt in
other portions of the world to realize the joy:and free-
dom from restraint pervading this large assembly. All
thought it their duty to make themselves as pleasant as.
possible, rightfully considering gravity and sour visages.
as much out of place on such occasions as a death’s-head
at a revel. The loveliness of the bride had never before:
shone so transcendently above all competition. She ac:
cepted the duties incident to her central and supreme im-
portance in the throng with such charming grace, that
even Philip was surprised at her vivacity. The story of

31

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

482 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

her love and suffering being known to those present, it
elicited an admiration and fervor of regard which her
delicate perception recognized in those who half forgot
cher dazzling beauty in the superior merits of pure and
passionate devotion. Philip’s resctte of Sigismund from
the burning house in Germany, with his previous feats
of daring, made him a modern Guy of Warwick to the
people of St. Kilda valley. No theme could be dearer to
Rosamond than praise of him; and she was gratified on
every side, not only by the spoken truth, but the very
expression of mute, eloquent eyes unable to conceal the
pleasure of beholding hisstalwart figure. Judge Eustace
with all his placidity of manner, could not conceal
Ibis satisfaction at this boundless esteem manifested

’ for the grandson, in whose character and attainments. he
jhad ever been so absorbed.

Philip and Rosamond were all in all to each other, but
Ipad too much appreciation of the pervading sympathy
surrounding them to fail in a proper recognition and re-
‘turn of the kindness. The young wife could now follow
ithe promptings of her heart without danger of forming
false hopes in the breasts of her male friends. She
had never known the usual weakness of pretty women in
itheir love of admiration and had frequently blamed her-
‘self for declarations which in spite of her prudence fell
from the lips of those who had the pleasure of her radi-
ant presence.

Charles Loundes and she were standing a little remoy-
ed from the gay party, and she saw from the thoughtful
brow that something was engrossing his soul.

“You are looking,” said she, “as if but half participat-
ing inthe spirit of this closing scene of what cousin

 

    
  

 

san aS tact Sa eS Ke atresia RSE R ENT Cel tt ye ng bat

ee ee ce es ee Oe ed ae

Tr ee

   

The Wedding Belts. 483

Percy calls our melodrama, Will you tell me, who
as Philip’s wife am in duty bound to love you, how
I can put to flight that shadow from your brow?”

“Yes, Rosamond,” said Loundes, “ make Mariana love
me with half of your devotion to Philip, and I promise
you my face shall be a picture of happiness the remainder
of my life. I have endeavored to control my love for
her, for I see in spite of all her kindness she does not ap-
preciate it. I have resolved to make one last effort to-
night, and ask her once more to become my wife.”

“Tshould be very happy, dear Charles,” said Rosamond,
“if you and Mariana would love each other. I have not
failed in telling her how much Philip and I prefer you
to any one else as her husband, but I dare not encourage
you to hope. I think Mariana will never marry. She
lives in a sphere above our usual human reach. Beyond
her love for kindred and friends I do not believe she has
at all experienced the pleasure and pain which so early
visited me in my devotion to Philip.”

“Rosamond,” said Philip, approaching them, “ the col-
ored people Lave requested me to take you to the scene of
their festivities. They wish to see the bride.”

“Of course,” said she, “we must comply with their
wishes.”

“ Now here’s a young master and mistiss worth seeing,”
said Thompson, who was waiting for them at the door.
“ Mass Phil. our folks has axed me to invite you and Miss
Rosamond to please give us one look at you. We all

' thinks it’s good for sore eyes to git sight o’ anything nice

as young mistiss. I was tellen’ dem how I seed her las»
night at Thorndale, a lookin’ so much like de blessed

 
 

 

484 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

angels; an’ dey all wants to see her in dem bride’s clothes
‘ she’s got on now.”
“Uncle Thompson,” said Rosamond, “I am very much
-gratified in your good opinion. Has Philip told you
how often we spoke of you when we were across the seas
among all those strange people in Europe ?”

“Yes, mistiss, Mass Phil. has told me all ’bout it, and
the heap of nice things you and he fetched for me and
Nancy made us de proudest niggers in de valley.”

They had by this time reached the banquet hall of the
negroes, which was filled to repletion. The dancing had
been suspended on information of Philip’s and Rosa-
mond’s approach, and they came forward to pay their re-
spects to the young master and mistress in whose known
kindness they had ample earnest of future good treat-
ment.

“Mass Philip,” said one, “I want you to fix up de
house an’ you an’ Miss Rosamond stay some down at
Blenheim.”

“What you talkin’ ’bout, Jack?” said another, “ of
eourse dey are gwine to stay all dare spare time down at
Thorndale.”

“We shall visit you all frequently,’ said Philip.
“Uncle Thompson has enough horses to carry us around
the world.”

“An” de best horses on de yeth,” said Thompson.
‘“Miss Rosamond I wants to show dem to you. Mass
Perey keeps Hildebrand here, and Tempest is jes as good
as he was de day you seed him beat dat otttlandish horse
o’ Mr. Compton’s. Den dares dem two fine fellers we calls
Hamlet and Exile, and if I was gwine to die de next
minit I couldn’t tell which I likes best, dem or Selim and

 

 

 

eta ih La ree ala tie i

The Wedding Bells. 485

Rosamond what Mass Phil. fetched home wid him.
Mistis I’m afeard for you to ride dat young mare yit.
Blanche is sure-footed enough for any ridin’ you'll do, so
I want you to give her an airin’ sometimes, for Miss
Mariana don’t take to my horses much no how. Mass
Phil: is sorter tired o’ old Sultan, but he’s as good as ever.
He aint a day older dan Gray Friar he gin to Mr. Kean ;
an’ he rides him to dis day.”

“T hove to ride Black Sultan many times more, Uncle

‘ Thompson,” said Philip, “but I should hate to give him
such a day of it as when we followed the dogs from Satan’s
Nose to below the stone bridge.”

“ Mass Phil.,” said Thompson, “ Kitty showed me dat
same varmint when I was over dare yistirday, an’ he
looks pint-blank like he did ’fore a dog’s mouth ever
siled him. I should be feard o’ hurtin’ Sultan myself;
but some ole horses can stand a heapo’ hard ridin’. Dare
was old Marlboro good most to de day o’ his death, an’ it
takes a horse as is a horse to carry me. I’ve bin ridin’
one o’ dem lumberin’ coach horses dat I counts mighty
near next to nothing ’cept tis to pull a carriage full o’
ladies. Mass Phil>I hope you aint gwine to give up de
country to de foxes now you’s married ?”

“Oh ne, we shall stir them up often,” said Philip, “and
you will find it as hard a matter to follow Hamlet and
Selim as you ever did Black Sultan if you take a coach-
horse into the fields.”

“Well master,” said Thompson, “I am _ gittin’ so ole
an’ heavy I carry too much weight for dem thorough-
breds. I am glad you like de young dogs, for now

think my trainin’ won’t good when you was gone.”

Sweetlips an’ Ringwood is both dead, I was afeard you'd —

 
 

 

 

486 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

Philip assured him he was in every way satisfied with
his attention, and with the bride returned to the drawing
rooms. The negroes were dazzled in the splendor of the
gentle beauty, for she seemed to them a being almost de-
serving their worship. The fiddles and banjos recom-
menced, and soon the clatter of resounding feet told of
fresh life and mettle in the sable dancers. What a care-
less, half-reasoning race were those contented slaves of
St. Kilda valley? with no thought for the morrow, they
passed through life as if care had no part in their organ-
ization.

As the night wore on Charles Loundes determined
more strongly on renewing the suit, in which he had
such slight hope of success. Mariana never seemed so
beautiful to him as on this occasion. He had not on his
return from Europe been pressing in his solicitations, for
he had spent the larger portion of his time since that
event at home with his mother, and he had but recently
returned to witness the marriage of his friend. He well
knew thatin case Mariana accepted him her family would
have no objection to their marriage. His talents and
good character, together with the high position and
wealth of his lineage, made him worthy of any woman’s
choice. To all these recommendations was added his
long friendship for Philip. They had been for years to-
gether in strange lands, and were now loth to be separ-
ated. He had no doubt of the esteem in which he was
held by the object of his devotion, but her strange im-
munity from usual faults seemed to have rendered her
superior to any necessity of communion with others in
hours of depression. Mariana was entirely removed from
any such ills as grief and melancholy, and knew

 

 

seine has anneal aii aa we

The Wedding Bells 487

nothing of those dim and unaccountable hours of dejee-
tion often incident to her own sex. Her only distress was
an occasional suggestion of her own heart that she was
not sufficiently absorbed in her devotion to heaven. No
earthly pleasure or care obstructed her view of the celes-
tial courts, and there centered the sources of her cloudless
serenity. The organ she still so much used was under
her touch the utterance of some beautiful prayer. She
had confessed this one evening to Rosamond when no one
but themselves was present.

“ Mariana,” said Rosamond, “ what is passing through
your soul when you are making that wild and solemn
inusic ?”

“ Rosamond,” said she, “I can scarcely tell you how I
feel when alone with my organ. It has beeome the voice
of my soul, and I come here to forget the world. I can
then express things my tongue is powerless to utter. I
know God can understand all my longings, whether they
assume the form of words or ascend in this other incense
of worship.”

Rosamond, with all her devotion, could not rise to the
comprehension of this complete abstraction of a soul sur-
rounded by so much to bind it earthward. She was too
much absorbed in Philip to understand how a world, so
gloriously beautiful to her, should become of such small
moment to a lovely young woman like Mariana. She
had once tired of life, and longed for oblivion and rest ;
but she now shuddered at herself for entertaining such
sinful disregard of her duty. Mariana’s blindness had
not been without its lessons. She had come to the light
again, but was unwilling to forego one atom of former
consolation. Had she been of the opposite sex, and lived

 
 

488 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

in such an age, she would have realized the beautiful
character of Sir Galahad:

; ‘““ A maiden knight—to me is given
Such hope, I know not fear ;
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
That often meet me here.

I muse on joy that will not cease,

Pure spaces clothed in living beams.
Pure lilies of eternal peace, £ :

Whose odors haunt my dreams.’’

Charles Loundes and Mariana were standing in the
opened bay-window of the central drawing room. The
moonlight fell upon their faces, and the happy voices of
the katydids were busy in their night-music.

“ Philip and Rosamond,” said Charles, “ are so happy I
almost envy them. A singular succession of happy inci-
dents have combined to render him contented with his
lot. Everybody seems to love him, and when I first met
Rosamond as Venetia Hastings, I was confident she could
not remain indifferent to him. Think you this Don

Giovanni, as we sometimes call him, could have won your
love had you not been his sister ?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mariana, “I should have loved him for
his noble nature, just as I regard you, dear friend, because
you are true and good. Iam easily won by those | ad-

mire, and wonder why you should ask meif I should not
esteem Philip as every one else does.”

“TJ do not refer to friendship, Mariana,” said Loundes.
“One can have many friends, and esteem them all. I
mean that greater and more absorbing devotion which
has been separated from mere good-will and well defined
in the term—love.”

“T understand you,” said Mariana, “ but, at the same

 

 

      
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

q

Mla Scho

* sane caer

The Wedding Bulls. 489

time, I fail to appreciate your meaning. I can easily
realize how I might become attached to one for other
reasons than admiration of his goodness, but I could
never see why Rosamond should have been troubled
when she thought Philip was loving another. Tam sure
the Countess of Schulemberg was worthy of his regard.”

“ Oh! Mariana,” said Loundes, “ if you were fully aware
of the despair I feel in hearing that declaration amid all

‘this joy; I know in your heart you would pity my suffer-

ing. I met your brother when I had been just shot down
and preserved, almost by a miracle, from death. I was
in the midst of a wild, unthinking course of vice and
folly ; but learning lessons of wisdom from him, became
another being. Great as was the change, there bas been
and still is abundant room for improvement; but when I
first met you, I was impressed with the idea that you
were fore-ordained to the work of my further regeneration
and disenthralment from the empire of evil. I accepted,
with all joy, this promise of my own rash heart. I was
confident I should. find peace and happiness in your
presence, could I but call you mine. For more than a
year I kept these fond hopes locked in the recesses of my
breast, and it was not until we were nearing the close of
our yoyage to Europe that I told you of my love. From
your kindness, I hoped I was not indifferent to you, and
in that trust found my happiness; but you destroyed
much of hope even then. I consoled myself in the fact
of your youth and affliction; trusting that when you had
grown to full womanhood and the free use of your dear,
darkened eyes, I might yet find my joy. That expecta-
tion has never forsaken me since; and, whatever I seem
to others, you have been present in all my thoughts. As

EEO ae in eee

 
 

  
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
  
 
  

 

    

490

 

The Heirs of St. Kilda.

I studied to make myself worthy of you, your image fol-
lowed me through all the mouldering cities of the East;
and I have brought this love, still fresh and ever increas-
ing, again to your notice. Can you fail to appreciate the
value of such an offering? Can this devotion of my heart
not stir some answering throe in yours? In the name of
your goodness and pity for all things else, do not over-
look this necessity I feel for your love,”

* Alas! my dear friend,” said Mariana, “ how unhappy
you make me in speaking thus. I have not hidden my
love for you, and after all my assurances you seem dis-
satisfied. You have been almost as dear to me as Philip,
and with him you have been ever in my prayers; how
then can you think me indifferent to what you call your
necessity for my love ?”

The moonlight was streaming through the window
upon the two, and the lover, with bowed head, was fast
surrendering those hopes which had hitherto, with doubt-
ful effulgence, illumined his dim glimpses of the future.
Sore and bitter was the task in thus uprooting from his
heart a trust he had considered so feeble, He remained
silent for a minute, as he felt that the golden pateway of
bliss was being closed upon him forever.

“Mariana,” said he, “if I loyed you less, I might be
eapable of persuading you that with these sentiments of
sisterly regard you have expressed for me, there was still
affection enough to warrant our marriage. I shall urge
nosuch plea. While I believe your esteem is greater
than that which leads to most marriages, I cannot think
of degrading’ the holiest and sweetest of ties to such a
level. In this relation there should be some such deyo-
tion as seen in Philip and Rosamond. I have been too

 

The Wedding Bells. 491

long in sight of the Aidenne of their Joy, mot to have
caught some of the roseate hues streaming through the
open portals. I dare not, with all the lave I bear you,
ask you to becomé my wife without feeling some of the
importunate necessity I experience for your presence: In
reaching this determination, my sensations are those of
some despairing seaman perishing amid the sea with the
isles of the blest in full view, but ,alas, forever unattain-
able!” ;

“ You will some day smile as you remember this fervor,
dear friend,” said Mariana, ‘and when you shall marry
a fair girl who can appreciate these feelings which seem
so strange to me, you will rejoice that I have not con-
sented to assume duties for which T have no inclination.”

“J shall never marry,” said he, “until I can teach my
heart to regard you as nothing dearer than a friend.
When Ishall have accomplished this I shall look around
me in the world fur some one in whose love I can expect
repose and happiness. To accomplish this task of self
mastery I shall not, like a coward, fly from your presence,
for it will ever be one of my dearest pleasures to behold
you in your goodness and beauty. I feel no trace of Te-
sentment that you have not loved me as I desired, for it
has been no fault of yours. You have lived too close to
heaven not to have lost much of earth, and you are too
exalted for me to disturb your serenity by sympathy with
my poor joysand griefs. My greatest consolation is the
thought of the slight possibility of another winning

the prize which I feel is beyond my reach.” : :
“You may rest safely assured in that trust,” said Mari-

ana. “If I have refused to marry you, so long dear to
my thoughts, there is sinall prospect of change in my

 
 

 

 

492 The Heirs of St. Kilda.

determination. You possess all the qualities which I
have seen engaging the affections of other girls around
me, and, if after endeavoring to realize similar feelings
toward you, I have failed in this, the season of our youth,
Iam confident my disposition will remain unaltered in
riper years. I have long examined my heart to see if I
was so disposed toward you as to justify me in becoming
your wife. While there was pleasure in the contempla-
tion, I was all along convinced I possessed but little of
the attachment which would fit me fur your bride. So
we will be the dearest of friends. Iam very glad to hear
you have purchased Mr. Compton’s place, and as you will
live near us I know I shall love your mother.”

“She has consented to come to the Valley of St. Kilda
as her future home,” said Loundes, “and will be doubt-
less very fond of one she has hoped to call daughter.
But that is all past now; help me to bury these dead
hopes out of our sight, and if in coming years these fond
dreams which have followed me to so little purpose shall
steal up unbidden, you shall only see them in the passing
glance. I expect they will sometimes revisit me in the
pale glimpses of the moon, but they shall come and go
as silently as ghosts, and like those flitting shadows of
the night shall fly before the sunlight of my reason and
determination.”

“ Bravely and manfully spoken, dear Charles,” said she.
“Persevere in such resolution and we will both be happy
in our love as friends.” =

They left the moonlit seclusion of the window, and
mingled in the flowing happiness of the merry dancers.
The quiet stars looked down with the same aspect of
eternal and changeless heauty they wore on the evening

:

The Wedding Bells. — AIS

of their creation. What difference could it make in the
universe, whether joy or woe filled the haunts of men?
What was even the sum of all life in one planet to the
countless worlds thronging the vast spaces of infinity ?

“These our actors
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air, |
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherits shall dissolve ;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind: We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”

THE END.

 
 

 

 
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