Читать книгу: «The Bay State Monthly, Volume 3, No. 4», страница 8

As this was done and he turned fully to Katie again, a new mood, the effect of her sudden indifference, came over him. A few moments ago she had been almost fond, now she was languidly polite. Hope faded away from all points of his horizon. An easterly mist of doubt was creeping over him. His egotism at its height was only a mild satisfaction in his social impregnability and was readily overpowered by the recollection of personal defects to which he was acutely alive. In the atmosphere of Katie's coolness, he forgot his earldom and thought disconsolately of his nose. He was disconcerted, and after a few embarrassed words took his leave. It never occurred to him as a consolation that his tones and glances were growing a little too loverlike to be safely on exhibition before Elizabeth who had not noticed them in the moments that Bulchester had forgotten his caution, but who, as Katie knew, might wake up to the fact at any glance. Elizabeth bade him farewell kindly, she pitied his disappointment, and thought that he bore it well. But as she watched his half-timorous movements, she believed that even had her own marriage ceremony turned out to be a reality. Lord Bulchester would have had no chance with a girl who had been loved by Stephen Archdale whose wooing was as full of intrepidity as his other acts.

"Well! What are you thinking of?" asked Katie meeting her earnest gaze.

"Do you want me to tell you?"

"Yes."

"I was wondering why you tortured him. Why don't you send him away at once, and forever?"

Katie laughed unaimiably. "He seems to like the torturing," she said. Then she looked at Elizabeth in a teasing way. "Some girls would prefer him to Stephen, you know," she added.

"You mean because he has a title? You can't think of any other reason."

"Oh, of course I don't, my Archdale champion. How strange that you trust me so little, Elizabeth!"

"Trust you so little, Katie? Why, if any other girl did as you are doing, I should say she was playing false with her betrothed, and meant to throw him over. I never imagine such a thing of you. I only feel that you are very cruel to Lord Bulchester."

Katie cast down her eyes for a moment. "Some things are beyond our control," she answered.

"Not things like these," said Elizabeth. "Since you have suffered yourself, I don't understand why you want to make other people suffer."

"Don't you?" returned the girl. "That's just the reason, I suppose. Why should I be alone? But I shall be done with playing by and by, Elizabeth."

"Yes, I know, Katie," the girl answered. "I trust you."

Again Katie looked down for a moment, looked up again, this time into the face of her friend, and sighed lightly. "Don't think me better than I am, Betsey," she implored, the dimples about her mouth effectually counteracting the pathos of her tones. And at the words she put up her lips with a childlike air to her companion. Elizabeth's arms folded impulsively about her, and held her for a moment in an embrace that seemed at once to guard, and caress, and brood over her. Then she drew away, and sat beside her with a quietness that seemed like a wish to make her sudden evidence of strong feeling forgotten.

"Betsey, my dear," said Katie softly, "you're so good. I have seemed different to you sometimes. You must not expect me to be like you."

"I should not have done half so well," said Elizabeth hastily.

Katie smiled. After this they sat and talked some time longer; it was the first free interview that they had had since their estrangement was over, and Elizabeth's voice had a happy ring in it. After a time, Katie began to give an account of some gathering at which she had been present. At the sound of Lord Bulchester's name, among the guests, Elizabeth's attention wandered. She began to think of the young's man's strange reticence respecting Edmonson, and evident uneasiness about something connected with him. Why were they not friends still? Was it on account of this unknown something? All at once the light of conviction flashed over her face. She perceived at least one cause of the separation. Bulchester's attentions to Katie were distasteful to Edmonson, for he wanted Katie to marry Stephen Archdale, because he feared lest Elizabeth should grow fond of him, lest Stephen should come to find a fortune convenient. Elizabeth's unaided perceptions would never have reached this point; but in Edmonson's anger at her second refusal of him he had dared to intimate such a thing, so darkly, to be sure, that she had not seen fit to understand him, but plainly enough to throw light upon the estrangement of the two men. "Distasteful," was a light word to use in speaking of anything that Edmonson did not like; his feelings were so strong that he seemed always ready to be vindictive. Her feeling toward him for this intimation had been anger which had cooled into contempt of a nature like his, ready to find baseness everywhere. The suggestion was no reproach to her, for she had had no thoughts of disloyalty to Katie. As she sat there still seeming to listen, suddenly, it seemed to her, for she could not trace its coming, a picture rose before her with the vividness of reality. She saw Archdale and Edmonson standing together on the deck of the same vessel bound upon the same errand, always together; and she remembered Edmonson' muttered words, and his face dark with passion over all its fairness.

She went home full of secret trouble, trouble too vague for utterance. Besides what she knew and felt there had been something else that she had not got at, and that disturbed Lord Bulchester. The rest of the day she was more or less abstracted, and went to bed with her mind full of indistinct images brooded over by that vague trouble, the very stuff of which dreams are made. And more than this, out of which the brain in the unconscious cerebration of sleep, sometimes, drawing all the tangled threads into order, weaves from them a web on which is pictured the truth.

GROWING OLD

 
Growing old! The pulses' measure
Keeps its even tenor still;
Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,
And the brain obeys the will;
Only by the whitening tresses,
And the deepening wrinkles told,
Youth has passed away like vapor;
Prime is gone, and I grow old.
 
 
Laughter hushes at my presence,
Gay young voices whisper lower,
If I dare to linger by it,
All the streams or life run slower.
Though I love the mirth of children,
Though I prize youth's virgin gold,
What have I to do with either!
Time is telling—I grow old.
 
 
Not so dread the gloomy river
That I shrank from so of yore;
All my first of love and friendship
Gather on the further shore.
Were it not the best to join them
Ere I feel the blood run cold?
Ere I hear it said too harshly,
"Stand back from us—you are old!"
 

—All the Year Round.

EDITOR'S TABLE

Many a valuable work has been produced in manuscript by students and other persons of experience in special fields of practice which have never yet been put into type, and perhaps never will, solely because of the poverty of their writers or of the disinclination of publishers in general to take hold of books which do not at the start promise a remuneration. The late Professor Sophocles of Harvard College, left in MS. a Lexicon of Modern Greek and English, which if published would certainly prove a valuable contribution to literature as well as be greatly appreciated by scholars. We are aware of several instances of this sort.

While, in such instances, the authors are to be commiserated, it would be folly to blame the publishers, who, were they to accept for publication every unremunerative manuscript offered to them, would soon cease to be publishers and instead be forced into the alms-houses. It has been suggested that wealthy men can do themselves honor and assist creditably in building up literature by providing the means wherewith deserving, but poor, authors may print their books. Were the suggestion to be carefully weighed, and then, to be adopted, American literature would be made the richer. A great many rich men of the day seem to take great satisfaction in patronizing artists, athletes, actors, and colleges. Why is it not possible to derive as much pleasure in patronizing authors?

While writing on this theme, we are reminded that one of the most unsaleable books of the present day is a Town History: and, yet, however crude or dry it may seem to be, it is in reality an exceedingly valuable contribution to our national annals. Such books are as a rule declined by regular publishing houses, and, if published at all, the author is usually out of pocket by reason of his investment. There ought to be public spirit enough in every community to make the opposite of this the rule.

It remains to be seen whether the Hartford Courant and other newspapers of the same proclivities, will ever again wave the "bloody shirt" in the field of politics. This paper, viewing the events of the past month, has repeatedly thanked God (in print) that, "now we have neither North nor South, but one united country." Few events in ceremonial history, we confess, have been more significant than the presence of two Confederate generals as pall-bearers at the funeral of General Grant. This ought, if indeed it does not, to mark the close of the Civil War and of all the divisions and combinations which have had their roots and their justifications in it. The "bloody shirt" can be waved no more, except as an insult to the memory of the late first citizen of the Republic. On what basis, then, are political parties henceforth to rest? What, in the future, will give a meaning to the names Republican and Democrat, or make it national and patriotic for an American citizen to enlist in one of the two organizations and wage political war against the other?

We can detect only three great questions now before the American people. One is the Tariff, the other the reform of the Civil Service, and the last is the problem of labor. It is noticeable that the division of opinion regarding either of these questions does not correspond with the lines of the established parties. There are Protectionists, as also Free Traders, in both parties; both parties are equally puzzled by the labor question; and though the Democratic Party has hitherto been re-actionary on the subject of the Civil Service, a Democratic President is to-day the champion and the hope of Reform. On the whole, it begins to look as if each of the two great parties was in a state of incipient disintegration. On the one hand, the Independent Republicans, whose votes elected Grover Cleveland, although still professing allegiance to the Republican party, will never again ally themselves with those who supported Mr. Blaine. On the other side the Bourbon Democrats, who helped to elect Mr. Cleveland, are now in arms against him. The presidency of Cleveland is to say, the least the triumph of national over party government; and should he continue to go forward bravely in his present course, he may rest assured that the hearts of all good citizens will go with him, and that his triumph will be complete. The day is here when thinking men will have to brush conventionalism aside, and confront with open minds the problem which the course of events has now distinctly set before them for solution.

The records of our own time are being gradually embalmed in a permanent form. Mr. Blaine has given us his first volume of what perhaps are better classed as impressions rather than as memoirs pour servir; we are promised the Personal Memoirs of General Grant; and now at last, after many years' waiting, we have the completed works of Charles Sumner, the incorruptible son of Massachusetts, from the press of Messrs. Lee and Shepard, who have spared no expense as publishers.

People who have not yet examined these volumes, or at least have not yet looked through the volume containing the Index, have but a faint idea of their invaluable worth and character. It would be impossible to write the history of the early life of this people under the constitution without borrowing material from the papers of Hamilton and of Madison. Equally impossible will it be for the future historian to narrate, in just and equable proportion, the events from 1845 to 1874, without consulting the fifteen volumes which Mr. Sumner has left behind him.

But the distinguished senator from Massachusetts was not himself an historian; he was a close and painstaking student of history, as well as a rigid and critical observer of current events. He kept himself thoroughly posted in the progress of his generation, and possessed the happy faculty of seeing things not alone as one within the circle of events but as one standing outside and afar off. Consequently, his orations, senatorial speeches, miscellaneous addresses, letters and papers on current themes are not fraught with the transitory or ephemeral character, so common to heated discussions in legislative halls, but are singularly and as a whole among the grandest contributions to national history and growth.

These volumes cover, as we have already remarked, the period extending from 1845 to 1874, and they furnish a compendium of all the great questions which occupied the attention of the nation during that time, and which were discussed by him with an ability equalled by few and excelled by none of the great statesmen who were his contemporaries. The high position which Mr. Sumner so long and so honorably held as one of the giant minds of the nation,—his intimate connection with and leadership in the great measure of the abolition of slavery, and all the great questions of the civil war and those involved in a just settlement of the same, rendered it a desideratum that these volumes should be published.

Aside from their value as contributions to political history, the works, particularly the orations, of Mr. Sumner belong to the literature of America. They are as far superior to the endless number of orations and speeches which are delivered throughout the country as the works of a polished, talented and accomplished author surpass the ephemeral productions of a day. In one respect these orations surpass almost all others, namely, in the elevation of sentiment, the high and lofty moral tone and grandeur of thought which they possess. The one on the "True Grandeur of Nations" stands forth of itself like a serene and majestic image, cut from the purest Parian marble. There has been no orator in our time, whose addresses approach nearer the models of antiquity, unless it be Webster, whom Sumner greatly surpasses in moral tone and dignity of thought.

The works of a statesman, so variously endowed, and who has treated so many subjects with such a masterly command of knowledge, reasoning, and eloquence, cannot fail to be widely circulated. These elegantly-printed volumes,—which in their typographical appearance seem to rival anything of similar character that have come to our notice,—carefully edited and fully rounded by a copious analytical index of subjects discussed, topics referred to, and facts adduced, will prove an invaluable treasury to the scholar, the historian and the general seeker after truth. The librarians of every city and town library in this country should insist upon having the works of Charles Sumner upon their shelves.

On the 12th of this month will be celebrated the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the incorporation of the town of Concord, Mass. Judge John S. Keyes, whose father performed the same service at the bi-centennial celebration half a century ago, will preside. On the 15th of last May the committee of twenty-five made a report, which merits the attention of committees to be appointed in other towns in New England, on similar occasions. This report reads as follows:

"We have decided that it was not best to placard the town in an endeavor to make history; that with the sum at the disposal of the town, and those of the earliest dates, leaving to the future the memorials, if any, of recent events and more modern times."

For this purpose, the town appropriated one thousand dollars, and in connection with the celebration, it was suggested, and provided for, that a large fac-simile of the act of incorporation of the town, September 12th, 1635, should be procured and placed in the town hall in such a position that all persons might easily read it. The work of executing suitable memorials, to mark the most important spots in the history of the town, has already been done in a neat manner by a citizen of Concord, and we are informed that all the arrangements for the pleasant events are fully completed.

The following letter was laid on the Editor's Table the other day:—

"I am a farmer, and I own my farm free and clear. I also have two sons, both smart, capable and trustworthy. As I have been a sturdy and uncompromising Democrat all my life, I think the party ought to do something for at least one of my sons, who is fond of politics. Any appointment in one of the Government offices would suit them. Now, how shall I apply for a position, such as they want?"

No reasonable answer to such an inquiry as this will suit "smart, capable and trustworthy" boys, one of whom "is fond of politics," and whose father is disposed rather to favor than to discourage their misguided ambition. We venture to hope, however, that their father has lived long enough to become convinced that nothing pays so well on a farm as common sense and hard work, and that the rule holds equally in force in other fields of industry. Our friend seems to have forgotten that although the Democratic party is a very grateful old party, yet it has so much to be grateful for that, it has hardly enough gratitude to go round. He and his two sons can best keep their reverence for the grand old Party undisturbed, by remaining on the farm, aloof from the few millions of others who confidently believe that patriotism will be sooner or later rewarded by a postmastership.

We promise him that if he neglects to follow our wholesome counsel, and instead shall go on, to Washington to seek political gifts, he will return home mad. If he then will look about him, he will understand how this kind of madness works. There is a great deal of it just now.

Farmer's boys should not seek political gifts. For them there is no occupation so demoralizing as office-seeking, except office-holding. At the best, as a rule, they could become only Government clerks, liable to be turned out after they had served long enough to be spoiled for any other occupation except of a routine character.

The Democratic Party shows its gratitude best when it faces the infuriated office-seeker in his mad career and tells him that there is not even the smallest post-office open for him. It chastens but to save. Even though of Bourbon mould it has profited by experience; it has noted the demoralizing effect of office-holding on the Republicans! If it now and then gratifies the unruly demand of a Mugwump, it is because it knows,—and secretly gloats in the knowledge—that the Mugwumps are liable to rush to destruction during the next four years, and it therefore chooses the lesser evil. The Mugwumps are the guests of the Democratic Party. What a world of consolation for the farmer, always "a sturdy and uncompromising Democrat!"

A final suggestion to our friend,—write to some of the clerks in the Washington departments for information, and learn wisdom from what they say in reply.

The statue of Commodore Perry will be unveiled at Newport, R.I., on September 10th. Colonel John H. Powell will be chief marshal, and Bishop Clark will officiate. All the local societies and military companies, as well as the military at Fort Adams, have been invited to be present. The Secretary of the Navy writes that all the vessels of the training squadron will be here before that time, and that their officers and crews will be in line upon that occasion. The monument will be presented on behalf of the State and city by ex-United States Senator Sheffield, who will make an elaborate address. Governor Wetmore, on behalf of the State, and Mayor Franklin, on behalf of the city, will accept the gift.