Old Maids’ Dogs

To be fair, there are still men ranting about women who get too obsessed with their dogs (and people who get too obsessed with their dogs in general) though I highly suspect that this was much more common before. When I mean by that, even if sentimental dog ownership did exist before it wasn’t so consistent or universal or consistently universal back then. It’s like before where if you got a dog, it ought to be useful.

As in it had to to hunt, herd and guard, which’s still the case elsewhere to whatever degree. (Coincidentally, hunting and herding were those few occasions where people did walk their dogs in the past and dog walking for pleasure used to be an old maid thing.) The very dogs despised for their uselessness were often lapdogs but also poodles, terriers and curs. The former were often owned by old maids and the sentiment still recurs among some African Americans (some white people too) and Russians, Chinese and Taiwanese when it comes to stray dog feeders.

Such people are known as zoodefenders in Russia and dog mothers in Sinophone media. (Though not all black people dislike cats and dogs, among some African Americans if the dog’s there it’s there for practical reasons, some AAs make a big deal out of being cleanly and some AAs resent that whites prioritise dogs over them.)

It’s not necessarily wrong to own dogs but that the idea of them as sentimental companions first and foremost en masse emerged more recently if it weren’t for religious beliefs and preference for utilitarianism.

National Stockman and Farmer, Volume 9 (Google Books)

Chillicothe, O,

A Caution to Girls.-I have not written much of late, but I have been an interested reader of this department. I feel thankful for Mrs. Throp’s letters and am glad she has time and a will to write. Mrs. Throp is above stopping to fight every little poodle that barks at her. I am of the same opinion as Aunt Jane, about gossi If there is any class of persons I despise it is that class. If one cannot say any good of another, keep silent. I do not worry over not having a chance to vote, but I do worry over not having laws made to put down the saloon business. In the South they license gambling; in the North they license men to sell rum and brandy, which is the worst of the two evils. One takes your money, the other takes your life. I would rather my girls would be old maids than drunkards’ wives, Old maids are honored, but the drunkard is abominable in the sight of God and man. Some say “I am glad I have no boys these times,” and rest on their oars. If there was nothing to do to save other people’s boys, as Rev. Sam Jones says, they will be caught in their sons in law. So you had better work while the day lasts, for none of us have any time to spare. Girls, shun all young men who drink, gamble or horse race. All these three go together. I have no sympathy for any one who will marry such men. think it is very much out of place for a wife to com: plain about her husband, in the Household or anywhere else. As you make your bed so you must lie. Look before you o:

Trumbull co, Ohio,

7he Woisy Brother.—Thanks to “Lotella” for her advice in regard to my plants. They are doing nicely now. , Will she please tell me when is the best time to start slips for winter bloomers. Can anyone tell me how to care for young canary birds, I have two females and should like to raise some young ones but don’t know how. I tried “Aunt Fatty’s” recipe for lemon pies and found them delicious. Susan, if brother’s nicely cleaned rocm, on wbict, you spent an hour to make it pleasant and attractive, is in less than half that time covered with nails, hammers, boards and such things as boys delight in, don’t scold him; let him pound, and hammer, and whistle, and sing, and make all the noise he wants to. By and by he will be able to make brackets, frames for your flowers, and he will do a thousand and one little things that girls are always wanting done. If he is clier and has reached the age of manhood, study his tastes, have his room arrayed the way he likes it, his books where he can find them, brush his clothes, fix his ties, and do for him the many little things that you can do so much neater and quicker than he can and what ever you do for him do it in a way that will show him it is a real pleasure for you to do it for him. Keep yourself always as meat as circumstances will allow, always be pleasant and sweet tempered, and you will not lack a brothel’s love, MINNEHAHA.

The Literary American, Volume 2 (Google Books)

The Love of a Lady,

We have, in this world of ours, pets of innumerable kinds—living things, that seem created only to be looked at and listened to, —pet poodles, pet parroquets, pet canaries, #. love birds, and pet ladies. The Lady Rondoletia is a charmer, whose smile is full of witchery. Is she not quite as admirable as a love bird, or a Charles’s spaniel ! She assents to everything that everybody o and reiterates, “Bless me!” and “Dear me!” and, “Well, I never,” as melodiously as the goldfinch sends his notes upon the odorous air. She never thinks— no more does the pet poodle. She listens wonderingly and silently to every speaker— so do the love birds. She disclaims all privilege of thinking for herself, and professes to be no judge. She is, in fact, better than a picture—for she is alive. She seems to be aware of nothing but that she has a pretty face, indicated by the studied arrangement of her curls and dress. She can sing a little and play a little, and is sometimes great at crotchet. She can paint butterflies, and read a French novel—has written verses in an album, and been commended for them a little—and Lionel Semibreve has promised to set them to music, but has not done it. Is not Lady Rondoletia, then, a pet—a darling Is she not an individual worthy to be regarded with as much admiration, and treated with as much care, as a piece of Dresden china Is she not a love of a lady ?

Beauties and the Beasts,

A writer in the “London Lancet,” says that carnivorous animals invariably prefer men as food, to women.

The above paragraph has been going the rounds of the press for some time accompanied with various comments.

Some editors commend the gallantry of wild beasts, in always preferring to devour the ruder sex, while they spare the gentle daughter of Eve. Others find in this fact an illustration of the lines of the poet:

“’Tis said that a lion will turn and flee
From a maid in the pride of her purity,”

and consider that this tendency of the brute
creation, applies only to unmarried females
—being a kind of seal of approbation set
by nature on virginity. Others, old bache-
lors chiefly, insist that the preference given
by carnivorous animals to male flesh, is
simply another proof of the superiority of
men—a superiority, we may remark, in
passing, which, if true, the gentler sex will
not be inclined to envy them; these also
contend, with that great philosophical
whirligig, Brownson, that men are more
sensitive than women, and accordingly that
it is fair to infer that their flesh is tenderer.
Others, and these are principally henpecked
husbands, secretly insinuate that it is ow-
ing to the tremendous screaming generally
set up by a lady when in danger, while
men think it cowardly and undignified to
make any noise; while beasts resemble the
human species in the respect that they like
to take their meals in peace. Others con-

If the world affords any perfect felicity, it is in a middle estate, equally distant from enury and from excess—it is in a calm }. a secure tranquillity, a thankful enjoyment of ourselves and all that is ours.

Fashion makes foolish parents, invalids of children, and servants of all.

The Family Herald: A Domestic Magazine of Useful Information and …, Volume 31 (Google Books)

Sydney Smith, in a letter to Mr. Howard of Corby, once observed:—“The only acquaintance I have made at Taunton is that of the clerk of the parish, a very sensible man, with great Amen-ity of disposition.” There is a difficulty in finding a jury when an Indian comes before, an Omaha court. One of a panel, being asked if he had any prejudice, replied, “No ; only I’ve been chased by ’em, been in several battles with ’em, and would hang every every man-jack of ’em at sight if I could.” “Get out of my way—what are you good forf” said a cross old man to a little bright-eyed urchin who o: to stand in his way. The little fellow, as he stepped on one side, replied, very gently, “They make men out of such things as we are.” The bridesmaids at a recent wedding in Georgia are thus described by a local paper: “It is no idle compliment to say they are like three Graces, their faces mirroring back the purity and softness of the skies, their eyes floating in a light of dewy tenderness, or throwing radiant flashes from the inner shrines of thought like jewel-tinted sparkles caught from broken rainbows.” A School Board authority, while lately examining some young children, asked them the following questions: – “Are there any mountains in Palestine f” “Yes,” replied the children. “How are they situated?” inquired the examiner. “Some are in clusters, and there are some isolated ones,” they answered. “What do you mean by the word ‘isolated’ F’’ asked the examiner. “Why, covered with ice, of course!” was the quick reply. “A charwoman whom I employ,” writes a correspondent, “has a nice little boy, seven years old, of whom she is very proud, and whom she always dresses most carefully, and in the latest fashion. All the poor woman’s earnings are spent upon clothes for her child. As I was blaming her the other day and o: that she ought to think of herself more, ‘Oh, sir, she replied, ‘don’t Flame me! Just think of it—I took little Tommy into the Park on Sunday for a walk, and people took me for his nurse!’” London changes colour on the day of the Oxford and Cambridge boat-race. It is in the blues, light and dark. Everybody wears blue; even babies are borne about in robes of the colours of the fancy crew of the “mamma” and “papa.” On the morning of the last boat-race a fat poodle waddled up Belgravia with a gorgeous and massive dark blue tie round his neck. The spinster lady who proudly led it was much shocked when she was accosted by a butcher-boy, a partisan of the other colour, with “I’d soon make Cambridge of him if I had him 1″ She knew instinctively that he alluded to sausages.

In the year 1848 an actress at the Théâtre des Variétés, Paris–Mademoiselle Boisgontier—was extraordinarily fond of birds. She had set her heart above all others upon a magnificent canary belonging to the box-keeper, which sa almost without ceasing from morning, till night. Her affection for the bir became a perfect passion, and every o she implored the owner to sell it to her; but, although she offered a v andsome sum, her efforts were all in vain. . At length one day, thanks to the political excitement into which the 1st of February threw the whole population, the actress managed to make away with the splendid bird, replacing it with another that she had just bought. Some days afterwards, however, her conscience smote her, and she returned to the theatre. “Sell me your canary,” said she to the box-keeper, hoping to ease her conscience. “Oh, less than ever !” was the indignant reply; of the oor little creature has not sung a single note since Louis-Philippe’s departure.” }: was a hen bird that Boisgontier had bought !

Counsellor Higgins, of the State of —, U.S., who died many years ago, was exceedingly adroit in defending a prisoner, and would sometimes laugh down an indictment for a small offence. A fellow (one so being on trial for stealing a turkey, the counsellor attempted to give a good, humane turn to the affair, “Why, gentlemen of the jury,” said he, “this is really a very small affair; I wonder any one could bring such a complaint into court; if we are going on at this rate, we shall have business enough on our hands. Why, I recollect when I was at college that nothing was more common than to go foraging. We used to have a good supper in this way. We did not get the ło too often in the same place, and there was no harm done, no fault ound.” No.; this appeal, the jury convicted the prisoner. After the Court had risen, one of the jury, a plain …}farmer, meeting the counsellor, complimented him on his ingenuity. “And now, squire,” said he, fixing a rather knowing look upon him, “I should like to ask you one question: which road do you take in going home, the upper or the lower P” “The lower,” said the counsellor. “Well, then, it’s no matter. I only wanted to observe i. you were going my way I would just jog on before you and lock up my en-house,”

AN ANIMATED SEAT.-A bench of magistrates. QUERY.—Can a girl, when she is a belle, be said to have a ringing laugh. AN INCIDENTAL INQUIRY.—Would artificial teeth enable a person to sing false-sett-o: * HoME AFFECTIONs.—Talk about the modern falling off of home affections! Our wives are becoming dearer every day.

Historical, CoN.—If a doctor were to tell the Siamese twins they could be safely separated, and they consented, what Roman emperor would they name *—Severus.

KEEPING TIME.-A San Francisco paper tells of a gentleman who gave his Chinese servant five hours’ leave of absence the other day, and was somewhat amused by seeing him walk out of the gate with a twelve-pound clock under his arm, which he took with him to keep the “run” of the time and be back in season.

THE OLD LADY’s Advice.—“Girls,” said a worthy old American lady to her grand-daughters, “whenever a fellow pops the question, don’t blush and stare at your foot. Just throw your arms around his neck, look him full in the face, and commence talking about the furniture. Young fellows are mighty nervous sometimes. I lost several good chances before I caught your fond, dear grandfather, by putting on airs, but I learnt how to do it after a while.”

WHERE *—Where is the railway passenger who, when he leaves the train, is so uncommonly polite as to shut the door after him f . Where is the public orator who can ever keep his promise to say a “few words only” P Where is the builder who never lets his bill exceed his given estimate? Where is the organ fiend who will move from your door without your fetching, a policeman? Where is the barber, who can manage to content himself by cutting our hair simply, without making any cutting observations on its scantiness? Yo… is the woman who is content not to have “the last word” P And, lastly, where is the young lady who can pack her own boxes and not leave half her “things” behind her?

“THE MATTER ExPLAINs ITSELF.” —An awkward affair which once occurred to one of the judges on the Western Circuit, has been the subject of much mirth. It appears that, having finished his labours and cast off his forensic wig at his lodgings, he had retired into the next room to wait for his brother judge, whom he was about to accompany to meet some of the local . aristocracy at dinner. The female servant of the house had entered the bedchamber by a side-door, and, not knowing that the judge was in the next room, in a frolic arrayed herself in his wig. Just at the moment when the fair Mopsy was #. herself in the folio the † *. entered the room ; and poor Mopsy, catching a sight of the stern countenance looking over her shoulder in the glass, was so alarmed that she fainted, and would have fallen to the ground if the learned judge, impelled by humanity, had not caught her in his arms. . At this critical moment his brother i. arrived, and, on opening the dressingroom door, with a view to see if he was ready, discovered his searned brother with the fainting maid in his arms. The intruder quickly attempted to withdraw; when his brother judge vociferated, “For heaven’s sake, stop and hear this matter explained ” “Never mind, my dear brother—the matter explains itself;” and he left his learned brother to bring the fainting maid to as best he could.

MARK Twan’s StoRY of Poor LITTLE STEPHEN GIRARD.—“The man lives in Philadelphia who, when young and poor, entered a bank, and says he, ‘Please, sir, don’t you want a little boy P’. And the stately personage said, ‘No, little boy; I don’t want a little boy.’ The little boy, whose heart was too full for utterance, chewing a piece of liquorice stick he had bought with a cent he had stolen from his good and pious aunt, with sobs plainly audible, and with great globules of water running down his cheeks, glided silently down the marble steps of the bank. Bending his hoble form, the bank man dodged behind a door, for he thought the little boy was going to shy a stone at him. But the boy picked up something and stuck it j poor but ragged jacket. ‘Come here, little boy’—and the little boy did “come here;’ and the ank man said, “Lo what pickest thou up f” And he answered and said, “A pin.’ And the bank man said, ‘Little boy, are you good?’ and he said he was. And the bank man said, ‘How do you vote—excuse me, do you go to Sunday school P., And he said he did. Then the bank man took down a pen made of pure gold, and flowing with pure ink, and wrote on a piece of paper, ‘St. Peter, and asked the little boy what it stood for, and he said, “Salt Peter. Then the bank man said it meant ‘Saint Peter.’ . The little boy said, ‘Qh !’. The bank man took the little boy to his bosom, and the little boy said “Oh l’ again, for he squeezed him. Then the bank man took the little boy into a partnership, and gave him half the profits and all the capital, and he married the bank man’s daughter, and all he has is all his, and all his own too.–Story of Another Little Boy: My uncle told me the above story, and I spent six weeks picking up pins in front of a bank, I expected the bank man would call me in and say, Little boy, are you good?’ and I was going to say ‘Yes;’ and when he asked me what ‘St. John’stood for, I was going to say ‘Salt John.” But I guess the bank man wasn’t anxious to have a partner, and I guess the daughter was a son, for one day says he to me, ‘Little boy, what’s that you’re picking up f” Says I, awfully meek, “Pins.’, Says he, ‘Let’s see ’em.’ And he took ’em, and I took off my cap, all ready to go in the bank and become a partner and marry his daughter. But I didn’t get an invitation. He said, “Those pins, belong to the bank, and if I catch you hanging around here any more, I’ll set the dog on you!’ Then I left, and the mean oki cuss kept the pins. Such is life as I find it.”

Dorothea, a story of the pure in heart

Dorothea, a story of the pure in heart

The train started at about eight that evening, a Riviera
train de luxe. Sleeping-cars and restaurant-cars were newer in
those days than now; Dorothea had never seen them, nor had
she come in contact with the class of people who patronized
that superlatively expensive and uncomfortable modem mode of
travelling. A babel of nationalities filled the wide platform,
yet none of these presented any pleasing originality; rather
they all appeared parodies of one another. All of them were
self-conscious, and scornful (with reason) of their neighbors;
all of them gave themselves airs, probably because they had lost
the air of their ancestors; many were titled (with coronets on
their boxes) and most were too rich. Loud men and louder
women, carefully, and manifestly, made up to look younger

46 DOKOTHEA

than they were, clothed in the eccentricities of checks, capes,
caps, covert-coats, etc., the whole extravaganza of horsiness dear
to the sporting taste of the day, which revels in a general aspect
and odor of leather and stable-cloths. Pyramids of trunks were
being carted right and left round Dorothea, but what astonished
her most were the torrents of superfine hand-baggage, dressing
bags, despatch-boxes, bouquets, lap-dogs, canaries, rugs, overalls,
furs, air-cushions, tennis-rackets, hot-water bottles, pouring
down on all available spaces in what seemed a hopeless pell-mell.
Without these things you and I know our daughters cannot
travel ; let us be thankful that there still exists backwoods even
in Europe, where a girl may grow up quite simple, yet refined.

” ‘Now, here’s your sleeper,” said Colonel Sandring, turning
up, perfectly cool, in the hubbub, his interminable cigarette
between his lips. “There’s an awful crush, at this season. I
was very lucky in being able to effect an exchange.”

” And yourself ? ” asked Dorothea.

” Oh, I’m an old stager. I shall go on, by another train,
with your maid. There’s no danger, Dolly.” He laughed to her,
but she hadn’t understood.

” Here’s a couple of napoleons for the journey. Don’t speak
to any one, especially not your companion in this hole for the
night. Drive straight to the Grand Hotel at Nice on arriving.
My train comes in an hour or two later. It couldn’t be helped.
I tried hard enough to get a third — a second berth yesterday.”

” It’s your discomfort I was thinking of,” replied Dorothea.
** Please father, I must just speak to my maid.”

” I don’t mind,” replied Rebecca tartly. ” It’s you, Freule,
that’s going to be killed in that little box. Good-night.” She
went and established herself on a trunkful of luggage, from
which she had first carefully removed a black poodle, right under
the gold glasses and Wellington nose of its painted and pow-
dered proprietress.

” Marquise, it is a peasant ! ” explained a sickly little male
creature in a pink and white collar. “I can see that, mon
cher,” retorted the harridan, “but my father would have shot
the impudent dead ! ” The unconscious Rebecca sat grimly
confronting the poodle, which was a marvellous ” First Prize,”
curled, tasselled and trimmed.

” Satan ! ” she exploded, like a thunderbolt. The poodle
showed his teeth, not because she likened him to an angel, but
because she had thrust him from his high estate. Rebecca
smiled fearlessly back, and, as she gazed across her surround-

DOROTHEA 47

ings, the rugged smile broadened. She approved of the Devil,
and his doings. He fitted into her system. A sort of moral
shower-bath to the righteous. Bracing.

In front of Dorothea’s cabin a female voice, that was authori-
tatively summoning the conductor, stopped, in a loud rustle of
silk underskirts. A strong smell of violets filled the little
chamber. A big, florid lady, in black feathers and the fashion-
able hair-dye, obstructed the door.

” Ah, c’est ici,” she said. ” Bien I Bonjour, madame.”

Dorothea started to her feet, her heart full of a nameless
terror which she was doing her best to keep back from her eyes.
Stammering some incoherent apology, she pushed past the new-
comer, who was leisurely examining her quarters, and, breath-
less, caught the Colonel by the arm, where he calmly stood
buying a Figaro.

” Father I ” she stuttered, ” I can’t travel in that compart-
ment. There’s a person come in that — ^the woman with the
cloak!”

” Calm yourself, for goodness sake — people are looking,” said
the Colonel angrily. ” Good gracious, how pale you are ! ” —
all the anger had died out of his voice. ” Don’t be a fool, Dolly.
Of course there’s another passenger. She won’t speak to you.
And if she does, just reply, yes or no.” Thus far the Colonel,
who considered he had admirably solved a rather awkward
dilemma at no slight inconvenience to himself. He had been
very anxious that Dorothea should come away to him at once,
for fear of never getting her at all.

” But you don’t understand,” she cried in anguish. ” It’s
the woman we saw at the hotel. I can’t spend a night with that
woman ! ”

” Well, she was at the hotel last night, and she’s going on,
probably, to Nice. What more natural ? Are you afraid ? ”

Dorothea drew back a step. ” Afraid ? ” she said. ” Of her
hitting me? No.”

” Of her hurting you ? ” He smiled.

« Yes.”

” En voiture, s’il vous plait ! ” said a passing conductor.

” Come, Dorothy, you’re behaving like a baby. Look here,
I got this for you ! ” He ran after her, as she turned, feeling the
hopelessness of all argument, and pushed into her hand a dainty
parcel of chocolates. ” Sleep well ! Bon voyage ! Meet me at
Nice with a smile ! ”

Long after the train had started, Dorothea sat, squeezed as

48 DOROTHEA

tight as she could squeeze into the far corner by the window,
quite still, shrinking away. ‘She looked out a good deal into the
night, but you soon get tired of that. The cabin was full of the
heavy odor of violets; the neighbor, less immovable, rustled all
the time. Once, in turning to get something out of her bag,
which she was constantly opening and shutting, she put down
her white-gloved hand on a fold of Dorothy’s skirt. The girPs
heart gave a horrible leap, and went on bumping. As her
thoughts grew a little calmer, she felt ashamed of herself, yet
she knew there was no other impulse at work in her bosom than
grief and compassion, grief above all. Through the long, long
hours, when the light had been veiled and the train went crash-
ing through the darkness, Dorothea lay on her narrow top-shelf,
not undressed — she could not have undressed — ^lay with troubled
eyes she hardly dared to close. Yet, from time to time she
closed them, for long periods, praying with all her innocent
heart and soul, in passionate strainings of the lips, for the
woman tranquilly snoring beneath her.

And for herself she prayed, in deep humility, with tender
liftings of the heart to God, who had kept her from- great
temptation. She hid away her watch under her pillow, and also
the diamond star. !N’ot that she distinctly doubted the person’s
honesty, but she vaguely knew, from the Book of Proverbs, that
such women lived by plunder. She knew nothing, except that all
we like sheep have gone astray, yet that between this sort of
sinners and all others a great gulf lay fixed, into which her
flock could never wander, but from which, in all their strayings,
they shudderingly turned away. Sleep would have been im-
possible in any case. The train banged and rattled on with
frequent stops, loud bumpings, a blowing of horns that might
wake the dead: the air in the tiny compartment was stifling,
the cramping boards caused every limb to ache. And she lay,
through the lengthening hours of persistent creaking and heav-
ing, lay praying, praying, praying for the woman who snored
below.

She climbed down from her perch in ,the morning, stiff and
soiled, feeling as if she would never be clean again. Early light
did not suit the French lady’s complexion, but, being an ex-
perienced traveller, she got herself far more easily into some
sort of trim. She seemed to ignore the presence of anyone else
in the crowded car : she said ” Pardon, madame,” a good many
times, but otherwise acted exactly as she liked.

She rushed away for lengthy meals, and ate fruit and sweet-

DOKOTHEA 49

meats and other thmgs promiscuously in between. She also
drank something out of a bottle. In the early morning Doro-
thea profited by a moment of solitude to read her usual chapter
in the Bible, and, having finished it, turned with pardonable
curiosity to that same Book of Proverbs, which gives so graphic
a description both of the wisest woman and also of the wickedest
that philosopher can realize, exx>erience, or invent. She looked
up presently from the volume on her knees, to meet the French-
woman’s gaze fixed coolly upon her, and she gave a sharp start
of surprise, for it seemed to her, in her first alarm and embar-
rassment, as if her companion must have been perusing the
sacred passage upside down, or even now could read its meaning
in her face. As if Madame Blanche would have understood a
single word of it, even had it not been in Dutch I

” Pardon, madame,” said the Frenchwoman. Dorothea’s tell-
tale eyes glanced hastily away to the strange clear southern
landscape that had gradually revealed itself in the growing
morning light, the landscape of silver-grey olives and aloes, the
long grey stretches of rock and of clouded Mediterranean, the
whiteness and brightness of the houses under the strong grey
sky. She hid away her shabby little book and took out a
Tauchnitz volume. In those days the train de luxe — ^was there
ever name invented more appropriately vulgar? — did not reach
Nice till after noon; Dorothea, going to lunch, found herself
seated opposite a table at which two men were laughing loudly.
ITear her sat Madame, serenely pensive, behind a cup of coffee
and a glass of Chartreuse. Dorothea ate hastily off the dim-blue
plates : it was not till she rose to attract the waiter’s attention
that she found her purse was gone I

” Oui, madame,” said the waiter, standing expectant. ” Trois
francs cinquante et un seltz, qa fait quatre francs ving:t-cinq.”

” I have lost my purse I ” gasped Dorothea. She remembered
having put it in her pocket as she passed up the corrider. The
men stopped talking. Madame did not turn her head.

The waiter looked intelligent interest, without any personal
bias. ” Perhaps Madame had dropped it ? ” he pretended to L>ok
under the table. ” Perhaps she was sitting on it ? ‘No ? ”

” Well, there were always pickpockets at Marseilles. It was
written up everywhere. ‘ Beware ‘ ”

” I haven’t left the train since Paris I ” exclaimed Dorothea.
And then, to her amazement, the man turned nasty, with the
swift insolence of all these employes when once they see their
chance. ” Do you think that the company’s servants have taken

50 DOROTHEA

it? Or one of the passengers, the aristocracy of Europe? If
you haven’t the money to pay ^”

” Can I be of service? ” asked one of the men from the side-
table, bending forward — oh, he was manifestly a gentleman, and
plainly “no better than he should be” — a curious phrase, by
the bye, which shows with how exceedingly little the world is
agreed to be content. ” Don’t, pray, look so distressed, although
it suits you admirably. Pray iet me pay this man : it will be too
cheap a pleasure ^^

“Take your money and be gone,” said the Frenchwoman,
turning suddenly with a five-franc piece to the waiter. ” This
young lady travels in my compartment : we shall doubtless find
the purse there. Shall we go and look for it ? ” And she led the
way. Dorothea followed dumbly. Terrible visions had risen
up before her of magistrates and policemen. What fearful fate
was reserved for strangers who made debts of four francs
twenty-five and had no money to pay?

“It is no use looking: it is stolen,” she cried as she sank
back on the seat, her hands before her eyes. ” Oh, how shall I
ever thank you for your kindness, your very great kindness ? ”
She was humbled to the dust.

” Pooh, it is nothing I You will want a few francs on arriv-
ing: shall I put them down here, in your lap. Will you smell
these salts? I am going on to Monte Carlo. No doubt your
pocket was picked by one of these fine gentlemen in the corridor.
You must realize, mademoiselle, that you are now on the coast
where the cream and the scum of the world float uppermost.
You will find the worst editions of humanity here — ^hil hi I —
black letter inside, bound in gold.”

“I can never repay you,” said Dorothea, struggling with
her repugnance, “but still, you must give me an address to
which I can send these few francs.”

And now it was the other lady’s turn to look embarrassed,
under her powder. ” For ten francs I ” she said. ” Pooh ; it is
not worth while. You will give them to the poor ! ”

Dorothea drew herself up. “I cannot remain indebted to
you for more than your kindness,” she said.

The Frenchwoman paused, then, with an extra rustle she
wrote down a few words on a scrap of her ” Gil Bias ” and
handed them to Dorothea, who read:

“Madame de Barvielle,
” Poste Restante,

” Monaco.”

The Australian Journal: A Weekly Record of Literature, Science …, Volume 13 (Google Books)

THE STRATAGEM.

Fautt? Lenton sat stitching at some delicate embroidery in a luxuriously furnished apartment. She was companion to old Mrs. Rook, and had every comfort, kind treatment, and a good salary. But the dull monotony of her daily life was irksome to the girl, who was bright and young and. fond of frolic. To embroider Mrs. Eook’s collars and kerchiefs; pet the poodle, and take him out to walk; feed the canary-bird, and clean his cage, and dress Mrs. Eook’s white hair—-these v? J Fanny Lenton’s duties. But she was treated rather like a daughter than one merely hired. She had nothing to complain of.

“I almost wish I had,” she sighed. “It would be less tedious to be ill used than to settle down in this way to spend my youth as a sort of genteel ladies’ maid and dio an old maid at last.”

“My grandson, Fanny. Henry, this is my friend and companion, Miss Lenton,” said a voice behind her.

And turning she saw her patroness leaning on the ‘arm of a very handsome young man. She arose and bowed. He also bowed low. Very littlo was said. But afterward, when the young man had strolled away to smoke his cigar on the piazza, Mrs. Book said:

“My grandson is to live with me henceforth. We need some protection in this lonely house. I tremble with dread of burglars every night.”

So it began. And life that had been so dull grew bright. A new step, a new face, a new voice drove away the monotony. There was music in the parlour in the long evenings. The three went together to places of amusement—friends dropped in. Fanny felt that life was very bright indeed to her, even before Henry Book actually became her professed lover.

But this happened very soon—a month from the day on which Fanny Lenton bewailed her dull fate over her embroidery in Mrs. Book’s boudoir.

He had said: “I love you;” and she wore his engagement ring. Where Mrs. Book’s eyes had been before, or of what she had been thinking, it is hard to guess; but on the first day when this emblematic jewel sparkled upon Fanny’s fore-finger she pounced down upon her like a hawk, and cried out:

“Who gave youthat ring, Miss Lenton F”

“Your grandson, Henry Book,” said Fanny.

“So you’ve been angling for him, eh ?” cried Mrs. Book. “Is this your gratitude P But I’ll not bear it; it must come to an end. Take that ring off your finger, miss. If Henry marries you I’ll disinherit him, and he’ll be a pauper.”

“I do not want your fortune, madam,” said Fanny. “I regret that you are displeased; but unless Henry gives me up, I will not abandon him.

Away flew the old lady to her grandson.

“Henry,” she cried, “youVe acted liko an idiot. You must break off this affair with a girl who has not a penny. I want you to marry young Miss Diamond, who is a great fortune; and if you disobey me—if you actually stick to your engagement with this girl—I’ll send for the lawyer and alter my will, leave everything to a hospital, and cut you off without a shilling. You hear me?”

“I hear-you, madam,” said Henry. “I regret you disapprove of the step I have taken, but you must do with your money as you will. I am not thinking of it, I assure you. I have hands and brains and can earn my own livelihood; unless indeed Fanny declines to share the fate of so poor a man.”

“I fancy she will,” said Mrs. Book; “I fancy she will. Advise her to do so. Love in a cottage—what is it Tom Hood says ?—love in a cottage really is, leaky roofs and a draught under the door, I believe. No, no, that’s not her idea, I’ll be bound. And, mind you, I shan’t relent; I’m adamant 1”

Henry Book at once wont in search of his fiancee. He found her in tears, in the little boudoir, where he had first met her.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, have I destroyed your prospects of wealth I I cannot bear the thought. You would reproach me in your heart; let us part.”

“Because you fear poverty V asked Henry.

“With you I would fear nothing,” said Fanny. “But it is too great a sacrifice.”

“What would wealth be without you, my darling?” cried Henry. “No. Grandmamma has always been good to me, until to-day. I love her, but let her keep her money ; let us keep each other.”

“You will never repent?” sobbed Fanny.

“Never !” said Henry, and sealed the promise with a kiss.

Together they went to the parlour, where old Mrs. Book sat in State, fanning herself. J

“Madam,” said Fanny, “Henry refuses to give me up. What can I do? I love him.”

“Grandmamma,” said Henry, “this is my betrothed wife. Would you have me sell her for a fortune? You yourself told me how fair she was, how good, how sweet. You were right in your description of her. Keep your money, but give us your blessing.”

“Ah, very fine?” sneered the old lady. “Well, take my blessing. That is quite a cheap present. Now I shall send for my lawyer. I shall leave my money to the hospital for inebriates, or a foundling protectory, or something, or I shall adopt your cousin Peter, sir. As for a companion, I’ll never have another. Now, go and be married, and keep house on the blessing. Peter shall marry Miss Diamond. Peter is a plain boy, but he’ll obey me, I am sure. You can pack, miss. So can you, sir!” and she turned her back upon them.

Fanny went up to her room and began to put her few belongings into her trunk.

Henry stuffed his into his portmanteau. In the hall they met.

“I shall go to my aunt’s,” said Fanny.

“I shall see you this evening,” said Henry. “You must set our wedding day then, my dear, and we’ll begin life’s battle together.”

“Hey?” cried the voioe of Mrs. Rook. “You defy me, do

you?”

She stood before them shaking her old head.

“I must marry Fanny ; we love each other,” said Henry.

“He’s a beggar, young woman,” said Mrs. Rook.

“Then I’ll help him beg,” said Fanny.

Suddenly Mrs. Book’s face changed. She burst into a laugh.

“Why you silly children!” she cried “Have I been so good an actress? Do you really think me so mercenary a wretch P I have only been trying you both; and indeed I should have disinherited you, Henry, if you could have broken faith with Fanny for my money’s sake. As for Fanny, how did I know she did not want your fortune and not your love, until I tried her? But you have been tested, and have proved to have hearts of pure gold. My home must be yours. My heart you already fill. I have found that there is a little romance left in this world, and I am glad of it.

Then she embraced them both, and her face was as happy as theirs, upon their wedding day.

Punch, Volume 32 (Google Books)

POPULATION OF THE ANIMATED KINGDOM.

WE read that “in Austria the Census has begun for animals as well as or human beings!”. This is an improvement, we fancy, upon the English

It is true, difficulties might occur, and if there is a Woys Bw ELL in the |Austrian dominions, he will have to send in a tolerably long list. We can imagine the case of an old maid being awfully puzzled with her Census-paper. If one antiquated Fraulein, who lives near the LustGarten, in Vienna, sends in all the particulars of her domestic menagerie, it will present some such miscellaneous collection as the following:— “5 canaries, of which 3 are hens and the other 2 draw up their own | water by means of little buckets: 1 dormouse that is always asleep; one hedgehog in the kitchen to eat up the filthy blackbeetles; 3 guinea-pigs, that feed out of your hand; 1 Italian j.” that is always shivering from the cold, though, he has a beautiful pardessus on, made of the finest pink merino, and trimmed with blue rosettes and ribbons; 1 Malay parrot, that talks five different languages, and imitates all the cries of the town, besides giving all the words of military command quite as loudly as RADETsky; 1 cockatoo; l spaniel (real Blenheim); 1 French poodle (very clever—beats a drum, rings the bell, rolls a wheelbarrow, and fires off a small cannon); 1 Angola cat; 1 Persian ditto: 12 tortoiseshell ditto; 1 tame s uirrel, (follows you all over the house, like a Jo: 7 white mice; 28 kittens, of various ages, colours, and sizes, more or less ” ” The above list would be exclusive of the Cochin-chinas, bantams, and other pets of the poultry yard. You may be sure, there is an equal amount of brute wealth in England. If a similar Census-paper for animals were circulated here, we have a strong suspicion that }. returns would prove that in tame squirrels accomplished canaries, polyglot parrots, and encylcopaedical dogs poodles, we were the richest country in the world. Why in cats alone, we should lick the rest of the universe!

The Phrenological Journal and Science of Health: Incorporated …, Volumes 50-51 (Google Books)

“WAS ST. PAUL A BACHELOR?

BY MRS. H. Y. REED.

IT seems to be a pretty general impression that Paul was a bachelor, and many ladies of the present day have formed an opinion of him which is decidedly unfavorable.

Those who are strongly interested in the suffrage movement appear to be greatly exercised by his advice to woman, and disposed to rebel against it; but it must be that they who condemn him so rashly have not read all that he has written on the ” Woman Question,” and we protest against his being condemned unheard.

This article has been suggested by the words of a recent writer, who pitches into Paul without a bit of mercy, calling him an old bachelor and blaming men and women for ever believing in his instructions. Now, I am in favor of universal justice, and we women must always be careful not to condemn our friends.

I believe, and propose to show, that Paul was actually a married man, and a strong advocate of ” Woman’s Rights.”

The Corinthian church had written to him for directions upon the subject of matrimony in a time of great persecution, and, under tlie circumstances, he seems to think that for the time being the unmarried had better remain so.

No candid mind can think for a moment that Paul intended tc disapprove of God’s or

dinance. He gives directions for the greatest faithfulness and affection on the part of the married; but he says, ” I say therefore to the unmarried and widows that it is good for them if they abide even as I.” This is his advice— not by commandment, but by permission.

The word unmarried in the above text is agamm, and applies to those who have lost their companions, and Belshaiu renders it “widowers.” In this sense it is properly joined with Weera (widow), hence the idea of the writer is plain.

Eusebius, Clement, and other historians speak of Paul as a married man, and according to the best historical evidence we can get, he was at the time of writing this epistle a widower.

And thus he remained true to his dead, and admonished other men who had lost their wives to pursue a similar course.

Is there anything very objectionable in this advice? If there is a woman in America who is particularly anxious for her husbaud to marry again after her death, we should like to see her.

The Apostle’s “advice to wives,” in the fifth chapter of Ephesians, seems to be very offensive to some because he admonishes them to obedience.

Husbands, however, are very fond of quoting it. If there is but one text in the Bible with which they are acquainted, it is that; but do you ever hear the twenty-fifth verse from masculine lips? Listen: “Husband*, lore your wines, even as Christ lored the churcfi, and gam himself for it.” There, gentlemen, is your rule of conduct—don’t forget, and, by the way, how do you like it? Oh, where is there a greater love than this? and what an exalted opinion Paul must have had of woman to deem her worthy of such affection! Rest assured that obedience will gladly follow a love like that.

When men are honest, loyal, and true—when they tenderly love and shield even at the sacrifice of self, then woman will “honor and obey” without any objections or regrets.

Don’t look incredulous; some of us are blessed with just such husbands, and think we know how to appreciate them. You never hear this class complaining of rebellious wives.

If all men were what they should be, ” Woman’s Rights Conventions” would pass away forever, and wives would be too happy at home to ever seek the platform. Let those who are annoyed by these “manifestations” seek to abolish them by a radical improvement of the male sex.

But in the face of such advice as the above a lady writer says: “Though he might have understood the management of the women of Macedonia, he wasn’t quite up to the womanly intellects of the nineteenth century.”

My own impression is that Paul’s method of domestic management is just what the “womanly intellects of the nineteenth century” would best appreciate and profit by, but what, alas, few of them are blessed with. Any woman would be satisfied with an affection like that, and if she wouldn’t, why, Bhe doesn’t deserve any.

Let those who are troubled with unappreciative wives try Paul’s recipe, and if this tender care and surpassing love does not win them back, they are made of very different material from the rest of womankind.

Again, the lady says: “In my opinion an old bachelor, whether he be saint, apostle, prophet, evangelist, pastor or teacher, hasn’t the slightest business to express an opinion in reference to other men’s wives.” Well, it is drawing the lines pretty close in these days of free speech if a man is not allowed to express an opinion because he isn’t fortunate enough to have a wife. Is that to be the rule of action, or rather inaction, when women are candidates for office? To be sure, we arc not willing for

bachelors (o criticise other men’s wives very freely, nor shall we permit sharp-nosed old maids to rind fault with our husbands, or prescribe rules lor the management of our children. They may feed their canaries and train their cats and poodles as they please (provided of course the cats and poodles can stand it), but they can’t manage our babies.

And if they haven’t any room for the milk of human kindness in their veins, they needn’t spend their time in whining about Paul’s ideas of matrimony. His admonitions faithfully followed lead to the highest and purest happiness that mankind is capable of. He represents the husband as being the head of the family, and every man ought to be worthy of that position; then he exhorts him to “Lore his wife.” Ah, yes, Paul, that is the keynote of true matrimony—this never-failing, never-changing love— that lives through storm and sunshine, through prosperity aud adversity, always growing stronger as the years go by. Love which is founded upon mutual respect and the admiration of moral worth, will live when beauty is lost and vanity dead. Again, he says: “So ought men to love their wives even as their oicn bodies.” There’s another test. How many can walk up to that without flinching?

Tobacco and whisky would be neglected sometimes if this advice were followed, for women do like to have their husbands clean and sober. How many men, think you, would tolerate a wife that chewed tobacco, or kiss a rosy mouth polluted with the filthy weed f No wonder men can’t kiss each other!

Again, in the last verse of the chapter, the Apostle repeats his charge, to render it if possible more emphatic: “Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wile, even as himself, and the wife see that she reterence her husband.” We can’t object to that When man places himself upon the Bible pedestal, and shapes his conduct by the high standard that inspiration has given, woman will gladly reverence him.

No man who is truly worthy the affection of a noble woman is obliged to complain of a lack of respect on her part Woman will reverence man if he will allow her to do so. She clings to him even in his vices; and if ho filled the grand ideal of Paul, he would rejoice in a love and happiness of which very few of them have any conception.

Paul was one of the earliest advocates of “Woman’s Rights;” he says,” There is neither male nor female, but ye are all one in Christ” There’s equality for you—how can it be expressed more strongly? Because a woman is taught to respect her husband—because she was forbidden to habitually speak in public, or to interfere with matters which it was a man’s business to attend to, it does not follow that when God fitted her for any work she was denied the privilege of using her gifts. Anna was allowed to prophesy in the temple as well as Simeon, and Paul commends several women for their efficiency in teaching the Word.

His prohibition of a woman’s prophesying or praying with her head uncovered is certainly

an acknowledgment of her right to do so under proper regulations. He does not -claim that she is of less importance than man, but that she is and should be more modest, hen :e he desires her to be vailed, in accordance with the Oriental customs on appearing in public.

The Bible gives to woman a position of delicacy and also of dignity, while it admonishes her to act with becoming modesty and selfrespect. Surely she must be very far ” out of her sphere” who finds fault with its perfect consistency.

The Young Husband (Google Books)

CHAPTER XLIX, ‘Tis not the least disparagement To be defeated by th’ event. HUDIERs. NoTHING ever equaled the astonishment of

Lady Graham on receiving the announcement that Admiral and Mrs. Grey and suite had arrived in Connaught-place; and as she had intended that London should be a little preserve of her own, in which to hunt for great acquaint. ances and to pursue a career of amusement.* well as of triumph in the most fashionable circles it may be doubted whether all the pleasures” expressed on this occasion were perfectly genu. ine. It was rather an awkward prospect also” meet with Lord Edenthorpe, after havingsg” a certificate that she considered him derangel,

but Lady Graham had audacity equal to any

[ocr errors]
of higher enjoyment such as mine. My ambition in society shall always be, to illuminate my mind by the light of others, and to gather around me, if it be possible, all those who dignify human nature by their genius, their taste, their talents, and their principles. To assist me in such an object, and, I trust, to witness my success, you will not regret leaving for a time your rural happiness at Rockingham, forgetting your love of nature, your habits of retirement, your objects of benevolence, and your love of useful activity, for the sake of one already so much indebted to your friendship.” When the nature of Lord Edenthorpe’s request was fully explained to Admiral Grey, he unhesitatingly acceded to the unexpected proposal that he should spend some weeks in London immediately. Admiral Grey then expressed to the young peer, in a few short but warm-hearted words of kindness and sincerity, how gladly he coincided in any proposition which continued their intercourse, especially in one that promised so much pleasure to his family, and that did him so much honor. The worthy admiral at this moment saw a vision before his mind’s eye, which was by no means disagreeable to him, of the very arm-chair near the window of the Senior United Service Club, in which he had formerly spent some not very unhappy hours in grumbling over the state of the nation; and he rapidly called over a muster-roll of what friends he had still surviving there, with whom to discuss the Navigation Laws and the introduction of steam in the royal navy, which he persisted in considering an odious innovation, not to be tolerated or countenanced. Lord Edenthorpe took an early opportunity of explaining, in a very few words, to Charlotte, and with a look of diffittent pleasure, the plan to which he had got Mrs. Grey’s consent—that the present party should be immediately transferred to London; and ended by saying, “May I hope, then, Miss Grey, that what promises so much happiness to me will give you some pleasure ?” “The very greatest” replied Charlotte, frankly, and then added, fearing she had expressed herself too warmly, while she vailed with her eyelids the happy light in her eyes—“We shall see my brother again there before he sails; and I have always wished, like Hannah More, that I could visit London to see the bishops and booksellers. Never having yet been in the great metropolis, you may imagine, Lord Edenthorpe, how very glad I shall be to go there, and under such very great advantages.” “Then I am fortunate indeed,” observed Lord Edenthorpe, his handsome young countenance breaking suddenly into a smile of anticipated happiness. “I feel within me now a promise of success in life. In your family, Mrs. Grey, there is a sufficient motive to exertion, and a more than sufficient reward, should all my future wishes be as favorably granted. From this hour let me date the beginning of my actual existence; for now I shall run the race of life with others, and endeavor to win myself a place in their esteem.” “The greatest felicity of life is to pursue some great an good object, therefore ‘ is well chosen,” observed the admiral, looking over the edge of his newspaper. “Of all the wretched beings I know, the most so are those lying on a of roses, who have nothing for which to

$3

its’

[graphic]
[ocr errors][ocr errors]
emergency. She soon ascertained that for Anna
“erceval’s sake the story was all to be hushed
up, therefore she could keep it from Sir Edward;
and having written to Mrs. Grey what she called
a thorough explanation of the whole affair, lay-
ing immeasurable blame on Sir Fitzroy, who
had tricked her into unconsciously countenancing
flis schemes, Lady Graham summoned up cour-
age to call at Connaught-place as soon as she
ascertained that her uncle’s family were domes-
ticated there, and to give them all, including
Lord Edenthorpe, a rapturous reception. This
visit she ingeniously timed so as to arrive in the
midst of a grand review in Hyde Park, which
the party were all occupied in witnessing from
he window; so that in five minutes she con-
trived to conceal her confusion by uttering a
whirlwind of charming exclamations about the
firing and the maneuvers, the splendid uniforms,
the long lines of cavalry, the military bands, and
the loud roar of the artillery guns. The admiral
had too great a contempt for Lady Graham to
imagine her capable of any deep-laid plot; there-
fore, though his manner in £ her was
unusually dry, and he gave a growl of disappro-
bation to almost everything she said during this
her first visit, yet his anger was very apt to burn
itself out, and the whole of his ire became finally
concentrated on Sir Fitzroy, on whose account
he evidently thought that capital punishments
thould not yet be abolished. He several times
declared that hanging was only too good for Sir
Fitzroy, after planning so vile a conspiracy
against the liberty and reputation of his noble
young relative, who became every day and hour
more endeared to the friends of his adoption by
the candid, frank, and confiding disposition he
displayed, as well as by the yet brighter qualities
which gradually he exhibited, dawning like sun-
shine, brightly and warmly, through the mist in
which hitherto they had been shrouded.
If Charlotte, a “child of the heather,” such as
Ossian describes, and “a daughter of the mount-
ains,” had felt a momentary regret at bidding
adieu to all the tranquil pleasures of a country
life-the village school, the gay little garden,
crowded with birds and flowers, the hay fields,
and the very sunsets, which seemed brighter at
Rockingham than elsewhere—she, nevertheless,
gladly acknowledged that the untried resources
of the metropolis were a most ample recompense,
in the mean while, for all she had left. In the
very, spirit of merriment, almost resembling
her brother, Charlotte’s animated countenance
looked, when Lady Graham entered, like morn-
ing sunshine, as she stood under a tent, in a
large balcony, which very much resembled, as
the admiral observed, in external appearance a
four-post bed. While Charlotte remained there,
drinking in, for the first time, a real London fog,
admiring as much of the view as she could see,
and wondering at the endless stream of carriages
which, from day to day and year to year, wheels
slowly round the Park, she felt all the excitement
and surprise natural to a young mind, in behold-
ing, for the first time, the splendor of London,

on the great wilderness of bricks before her to flow out at random, for the amusement of those around, each of whom sympathized in her juvenile animation, except Lady Graham, who gazed superciliously round, as if she had been all her life accustomed to something much better, and as if the world in general were not certainly good enough for her. Before Charlotte had expressed half her interest or half her emotions on first beholding such a scene of strange confusion and multitudinous excitement, Lady Graham, whose own sensations were all that she thought worthy of any one’s attention, was giving her usual affected little shiver, and exclaiming, in her empty tone of childish annoyance—“It is cold! It is very cold! Charlotte, do you not find it cold?” “I have no time to be either cold or hot,” replied Charlotte, leaning forward to escape interruption, while her mind became crowded with thoughts and feelings too numerous almost to analyze—too rapid even to be expressed. “Lon don, you know, is as new to me as Rome, or Florence, or Hong Kong itself; and to-day I really feel as happy as if this were to be the only happy day of my life.” “Do you pretend to find it cold to-day, Lady Graham, when the glare on these windows this morning made every pane like a burning-glass? The trees are all fainting away with heat!” said Peter, fanning himself with the “Morning Post.” “You know what the poet says of such weather as this— ‘The sun, no trees the eye to shade, Glares full into the windows, And scorches you, I am afraid, Just as it does the Hindoos.” At this moment Sir Fitzroy, splendidly “got up,” and mounted on a prancing steed that looked as if it were borrowed from Astley’s, came past, followed by a very smart groom; and Lady Graham, turning pale, shrunk out of sight, with a glance of astonished consternation at this unwelcome apparition; but not before the baronet had time to kiss his hand toward the window, with a look of the most intimate cordiality, and then to take off his hat, with an air of burlesque respect, as if that were much too ceremonious a greeting to exchange between friends so very familiar. It was long before Lady Graham recovered the shock of so unexpected a recognition, and, during the rest of her visit, she continued absent, nervous, and irritable. While Charlotte frankly expressed, as well as words could do, all the curiosity, surprise, admiration, approbation, and disapprobation, which filled her mind to overflowing, she became gradually impressed with the feeling—so common on such occasions-a sense of her own utter insignificance in the center of such a multitude, to whose interests and affections she was unknown and to whose very names she was a stranger. Accustomed, as Charlotte had always been to live where every face among her humble neigh. bors became lighted up as soon as she appeared

—where the birds, the flowers, and the animals

its wealth, and its gayety.

were her companions, and where she could trace

Charlotte did not partake in the nature of those the visible hand of God in all the glorious scenes country-bred girls, not very uncommon, who are of nature—this Was to her a new and strange above being astonished by the novelty and grand-species of solitude. Brought up with scarcely

£ur of a great metropolis on first beholding it, any associates but her own family,

to whose

but she allowed all her exclamations and remarks happiness her presence had always been essen” N

[graphic]
and having only mingled for a brief season in the limited circle of Edinburgh, it was new and depressing now to be in so wide a world, and yet not of it—to have neither sympathy nor association with one among the thousands in sight —to feel conscious that, amid all this novelty and these wonders, an impassable barrier stood between herself and every animated countenance she saw. All around were unconscious of her presence, and indifferent to it; the busy scenes of life had been carried on from century to century on that wide field without her, and would continue for centuries, perhaps, hereafter, as busy, as gay, and as animated as now, when her brief span of life was over. Nothing that could ever occur to herself would make one atom of difference to any individual among the crowds she saw; and all were alike independent of her sympathy, her good opinion, or her good offices. “How different from dear old Rockingham!” thought Charlotte, as she listened to the busy hum of countless swarms, hurrying past to their innumerable avocations, and thought of her own pleasant home. “‘Tis a note of enchantment—what ails her? she sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove’s, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.” When Charlotte, after a few days, had become accustomed to the gay, moving pageant—a perfect rout in the open air—continually in progress under the windows at Connaught-place, she began to consider the ring in Hyde Park, splen# as it was, a scene of exceedingly monotonous amusement, if it could be called amusement at all. The wealth and magnificence of England amazed her beyond conception, as she watched the perpetual stream, like a river, several miles long, of brilliant carriages, stately horses, showy hammer-cloths, and party-colored footmen, while the numerous gayly-dressed pedestrians looked, in the distance, like a field of anemones in a gale of wind, and reminded Charlotte of some pictures she had copied, by Watteau. Nothing surprised Charlotte, however, in this grand coup d’ail of fashion, half so much as to see the multitudes of well-mounted equestrian ladies, careering about like a seattered army of Amazons, with habits long as the dresses worn by the ladies of Troy, whose garments swept the ground, and who sat their horses with such inimitable grace. It seemed to Charlotte as if, in every family, there were three daughters, at least, all well mounted, and attended by a groom quite “regardless of expense;” and nothing impressed more upon her mind the great wealth of London; while Peter suggested that they should be drilled into a regiment of light cavalry, though he feared it would be a very difficult corps to command. • . Admiral Greymourned over a great decay of grandeur in the procession round Hyde Park since the times of Brummel and George the Fourth, when the state carriages really were a sight to behold; but now he complained that it was a mere string of incognito one-horse Broughams. To make up for that, however, one great improvement he could not but remark, of which her majesty was the first to set an ex3. that there is, on Sundays, literally “No is now actually a breach in the law the law of religion, for any car.

riage to be seen in the ring; and, except a few hired equipages, engaged for the day by persons whose only holiday is on a Sunday, few now frequent Hyde Park on what was once its most crowded day. Every body walks there, but nobody drives on Sunday; therefore Lady Gra. ham, having performed one round after church, hurried home, quite shocked at herself for such a breach, not of religion, but of fashionable decorum. She always afterward got up a tableau of domestic felicity for Sundays, by spending the time in Kensington Gardens, walking with Sir Edward, and followed by Harry and Laura, as well as, much to her own dissatisfaction, sometimes by Captain Grey, when he could es: cape for a day from Portsmouth. Mrs. Grey thought that most of those ladies in the gorgeous equipages, daily parading round the ring, wore on their countenances an expres. sion of weariness and discontent, satiated, prol. ably, to absolute disgust, with mere amusement, and with searching in vain for that happiness which can only be found in active exertion and useful duties, “How many schemes of ambi. tion, hopes of happiness, and fevered dreams of aggrandizement, are all fermenting and boiling amid that mass of brilliant-looking individuals now in sight!” thought Mrs. Grey, one mom. ing. “Each dissatisfied, probably, with his own lot, and envying that of others.” “What a scene of happiness and prosperity.” exclaimed Lady Graham, with very opps# feelings. “One would fancy that every indi. vidual there had doubled his income, at least, by railway successes; and, indeed, scripisatagreat premium now in many lines, especially the Isled Man preference shares. Every mortal seems to me more than mortal on a fine day in the Park. with all their cares and vexations left behind.” “On the contrary,” said Mrs. Grey; “every individual, you may depend upon it is planning and feverishly desiring, some complete change in his situation or circumstances. In that rain. bow of carriages, circling round at a hearse-like pace, and among all those gorgeously-dress’ people, there is not, probably, one in ten tr’ happy. Those even who seem the most splendid and who are surrounded by a cluster of serva’s in gaudy liveries, are, I have no doubt, com’: ing of poverty, and grumbling about the times, “Then if they would only take sharesinthels’ of Mam Atmospheric—” Lady Graham stop’ for she saw an explosion gathering in Sir E ward’s eye; and merely added, “But p’ take a pride now in complaining of poverty. “Especially when asked for any chari’ donation,” added Admiral Grey, slyly. “It” wonderful how poor we all become on these” casions. Look at old Lord Didcot, whose “. certs, the only expense he does not grudge,” to cost more than 200l. a night, given o’ singers; but when he, once every year, bes’ iói in blankets and flannels for the poor £ own extensive estates, I become weat: ” reading in every newspaper what Lord Didcot, “with his usual liberality,” has done—or rather, with his usual illiberality, has not done. It would be quite as much in proportion from ” with my atom of an income, to give the “‘ shillings! How would it read thus:-‘Admi: Grey, with his usual liberality, has forwar.'”

yard of flannel and a cart of coals, to be distri.

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
uted, during this inclement season, among the poor on his extensive estates at Rockingham.’” “But,” observed Peter, “Lord Didcot’s soul is now so devoted to saving candle-ends and cheese-parings, that it is fit only for a mouse in a cupboard. He talks ostentatiously of giving ‘his mile; but as the widow’s mite was all that she possessed, his, in the same proportion, would amount to half a million at least.’ *… ” “Life is certainly difficult to comprehend,” whispered Charlotte, aside. “Why has not Lord Didcot my father’s large heart, or else his small means? What a cross-grained world this often seems; but we shall one day understand the why and the wherefore of all that appears now so perplexing.” “Nothing is more remarkable than the growing love of money in such men as Lord Didcot. It has increased since he lost his ouly son; and no one now remains to whom he can care for bequeathing his enormous accumulations. Bad health prevents his enjoying anything now, and

old age prevents the possibility of his enjoying”

any thing long. The whole goes, at his death, to Lord Leamington, a distant cousin, already only too rich, whom he actually detests, and yet he hoards with the most ferocious keenness, never relaxing his heart to do a generous action, or to bask in the sunshine of happy faces, caused by his own liberality,” observed the admiral. “I have seen a penurious housekeeper (not meaning you, Mrs. Grey) heard a box of apples till it became fit only to be thrown on a dunghill, or a box of game till it had to be buried; but these were not more useless to their owners than money hoarded until the avaricious possessor be himself cast into the grave. Certainl wealth is not his who merely holds it, but his who wisely enjoys it.” “Yes,” added” Peter; “the hoarded money never to be used contributes no more to real happiness than the contents of a gravel-pit; therefore, of all the lunacies in nature, Lord Didcot’s appears to me one of the greatest, for his very selfishness makes him the most selfdenying of mortals. He is like the ass that carried gold on his back, but fed on thistles. I feel myself often a perfect Cruesus beside him, throwing away half-a-crown with a sort of gentlemanlike indifference and chivalrous generosity that he never can know, and being actually extravagant in post-office stamps, while Lord Didcot, old as he is, would walk a mile to save one. It is amazing the shabby things rich people will do, by the way, to save a single stamp.” “A post-office stamp makes excellent paper currency for copper, and is quite the recognized coin of the realm now,” observed Harry. “Lord Leamington paid three at the Kensington turnpike yesterday, and the man scarcely looked surprised. I squander these little penny bank notes with the most extravagant liberality.” “Well, Harry, you and I are young and fool. ish now, with little to spend, and therefore spend it heartily,” said Peter, “but wait till we are nearly done with life, old and solitary, without heirs, relations, or friends, like Lord Didcot, and See how tenaciously we shall grasp the uttermost farthing, and watch that no one gains any pleasure or advantage by us.” “Not even by borrowing a book,” said Laura, laughing “During the few di’s we visited

lately at Lord Didcot’s, I took down a few old numbers of Blackwood’s Magazine from his immense library to beguile the time, and he said that it gave him a headache to see the gap, which looked to his eye like the loss of a front tooth; so I was actually obliged to replace the volume.” “There is nothing so foolish that a wise man has not said it or done it,” observed Sir Edward; “and we all lead a life of wondering at each other’s faults and follies; but my friend Didcot certainly is an eminent example that the less apparent motive people have for saving, the greater interest they seem to have in accumulation.” “But,” interrupted Lady Graham, eagerly, : forget that in the present day small sums which people used to squander without a grudge are now become doubly valuable. No one thought long ago of deliberately investing 20l., but now you may have a share in the Isle of Man Atmospheric Railway for it, which is, in fact, worth 50l., and will probably rise soon to 100l. It becomes a continual daily amusement, moreover, to watch in every newspaper the state of the share-market, which is like the rise and fall of the barometer, but much more interesting.” “To all whom it concerns!” interposed Sir Edward; “but if my lost arm could be restored to me, on condition of my taking a half-quarter share in one of these speculating concerns, I would rather cut off the other.” Lady Graham gave rather a frightened glance at Sir Edward, who spoke in a tone of more than . ordinary excitement; and she had, as usual, recourse, in her confusion, to Ditto, saying, “Well, my fat friend, what does Ditto say to that? Those who would catch fish must not mind the danger of getting, wet. You really are losing your looks, Ditto, darling-growing quite corpu. lent and unwieldy. I am ashamed of you. How I should like if I could bring my dear old horse into the drawing-room too! Nice old Ditto 1 Was it hungry? I wish you had seen Ditto when I gave him an ice at Gunter’s yesterday— he did so enjoy it.” “You asked him, I suppose, whether he preferred it cream or water?” “Now, darling Ditto! you have barked enough at those filthy beggars. You need not tear them in pieces. Poor wretches !—has any body got some copper? Those ragged children are too horrid. But look at this enchanting Italian boy —he is positively like Murillo’s picture that we saw yesterday in the National Gallery. Ah! but look what a smile he gives me for a shilling. It is worth double the money. He is too perfecti It is really quite a treat in this dull hum-drum world to see such a merry creature. English poverty only shocks one; but there is a grace and fun in the way that an Italian or an Irish beggar carries off his penury which makes it really a pleasure to relieve him.” “Just the remark I should have expected without meaning to be complimentary, from you, Emily,” growled the admiral. “You are exactly one of those ladies to encourage in yourself a capricious fancy for these wretched foreign boys-all entrapped here by designing men, to be enslaved, ill-used, and ruined in body and soul. You waste a great deal of time and money by talking bad Italian, to display your fluency their language, and throw away on the

[graphic]
sympathy and aid due to the distresses of our own suffering countrymen. People never encourage rats to overrun their dwelling-houses; but how much greater is the evil, and actual danger, of encouraging idle, vicious, and dissolute foreigners to overrun our country!” ; “I am sure!” exclaimed Lady Graham, affectedly, “beggars of any kind are an intolerable bore, and receive very scanty encouragement from me! No sooner does my carriage stop in any sti’eet than I am instantly surrounded by a sort of impromptu bazar of miserable wretches, thrusting in at my windows and doors for sale, roses, pin-cushions, scissors, prints, oranges, and night-caps. I saw a sickly-looking woman, evidently just out of a typhus fever, blowing and breathing into a moss-rose, but yesterday, that she might pass it off upon me for a full-blown rose, and I had just time to pull up the glass, or she would have actually thrust it in at the very window! As my system is any thing for a quiet life, I have the pocket of my carriage filled with half-pence, and desire my servants, m general, to buy them all off at the cheapest rate ho can, but cn any terms, to send them away, because I live in constant terror that they might steal Ditto!”

“And you flatter yourself, Emily, that, by the selfish distribution in that way of a few coppers, you do a very praiseworthy act of benevolence.” interrupted Admiral Grey, with the slightest possible smile. “It would be much too great an effort of thought and of self-denial for you to

, sit down some day and consider, during ten minutes, whether the money so wasted could not do some possible good to somebody. As it is, what

. 5’ou g’ve’s of no more real use than a side-pocket to a dog.”

“By sending any trifle to the Mendicity Society, it would escape the clutches of those ablebodied persons who, being out of doors, are probably lit for work,” said Peter. “And your fund, however small, would then reach those deserving objects too ill and wretched to help themselves.

“I mean,” continued Admiral Grey, “to establish, immediately, a society for the suppression of selfishness—vice-president, Lady Graham! The fundamental principle shall be that human beings take the precedence of dogs in our good offices, and our own countrymen to come before foreigners, while each member shall ask himself every morning, ‘what can I do for the,cood of others ?’ and again ask himself every nigfif,’what have I done?’ Certainly the most beautiful ornament of any woman is what, in general, naturally belongs to them—a principle of unselfishness; and, as far as my observation has yet extended, there really are, to do every body justice, very few women who live for themselves.”

“And, least of all, single ladies of limited income,” added Peter, good-humoredly. “Such persons are constantly putting promising prodigies of nephews to Oxford, or fitting out superfluous nieces for India. Who does not remember all his life, as I remember, aunt Susan, some dear old lady, the benefactress of his childhood, whose tca-drinkings during the holidays, and presents when he returned to school, were among the earliest and most delightful pleasures of his infancy, and whose image, probably odd and fantastic enough, is yet indelibly engraved on his memory, and perhaps cherished in his heart forever?”

“Yes, Peter,” replied Mrs. Grey, warmly; “you arc right not to forget my good old aunt, whose purse was like the widow:s cruise, equal to every demand.

‘Site still wns the kindest
When Fortune wns blindest,
And brightest in love mid the darkness of fate.’

There are more generously disinterested actions done by the little estimated class of old maids in moderate circumstances, unloved and unknown as they often are, than by any race of people you could name. Their generous plans and kind affections must, of course, however, be tamed down within their very narrow means; and one can scarcely wonder that, sometimes, when their kind schemes of usefulness are frustrated, as a last resource of desponding solitude they take to any solitary refuge from the thoughtless ridicule and satirical observation of those they would have most desired to serve. The young should never make a jest at the growing infirmities of a respectable and undisguised old .age, or even laugh at those who beguile their lonely hours in the only companionship which they can sometimes find—with their cats, poodles, parrots, or canary-birds. We are all the creatures of circumstance; and when wondering, sometimes, at the strange eccentric resources of many well-meaning, solitary persons, I have , reminded myself of what was said by a captive, when liberated from prison, to the friend who expressed astonishment at his having occupied much time and attention in taming a spider, ‘Only wait till you are the inmate of a dungeon !'”

“Well! we need not fear solitude here, as I could slate my house with the visiting cards left for me this morning,” said Lady Graham pompously. “The Duchess of Ascot, Lady Balmoral, Lady Newmarket, and a perfect load of old friends.” •

“People fit to fill your house, but not your heart,” said the admiral. “You know, Lady Graham, a pound of feathers is as heavy as a pound of lead; but as it takes a great many to make up the same amount, so a very few real friends would outweigh a million with such trumpery minds as these you speak of. To be deserving of the name, friendship should be built on a rock of adamant, but the mere cobweb ties of fashion are broken at every breeze. It is the utmost exertion of my fortitude to sit in the room with soi-disant friends, who measure every body’s merits as if they were before a jury at Almack’s. and have not an atom of nature left in their feelings and opinions. Positively the whole conversation of ladies in London seems to me made up of boasting what leaders in fashion have called upon them or invited them—how not merely exclusive, but inaccessible, they are themselves— and how very sorry they were not to be able for attending above three parties on the previous night, so that they were obliged to disappoint a foreign embassador and two or three duchesses of their presence, at different parties where they were probably never missed!”

“Well, admiral! we are not all like you. charged to the muzzle with wit I” replied Lady Graham, rising to take leave. “Why do you not go to sleep till we grow more entertaining? But somebody, in his turn, seems very tired of your society now, for look how impatient dear Ditto is to escape!”

“Poor dog!” exclaimed Peter. “He never committed a fault in his life, but when he does, how piteously he looks in your face, as much as to say, ‘Lady Graham! I’m afraid you’re ashamed of me!’ ‘Dear Ditto !’ he is like bad luck—every where at once; but do not leave him behind here, poor fellow, or he might say, like the poet—

‘All that hate me only left,
And all thai loved me gone!'”