TO OCEAN. BY CHARLES GRINDROD. TO WATCH thee, Ocean, from the level shore, And be caressed-by turns to laugh and brood, This, Ocean, is the way thou must be wooed. "TO FAMILIES OF DISTINCTION." BY ANNIE THOMAS. I HAD always admired my Aunt Barbara intensely for her wonderful gift of seeming the thing she wished to be at the moment! But I had never seen her make such a stupendous use of her exceptional power as she did on the occasion of this advertisement to families of distinction first meeting her eye. "I will answer that before I'm an hour older—or, rather, Edith, you shall do it for me," she said, handing the newspaper over the breakfast-table to me, and pointing out the paragraph with a finger that trembled a little from pardonable emotion. "But you're not a family of distinction,'" I humbly suggested. She looked at me as if she felt sorry for the weak grasp I had of possibilities, and replied: "My position as the widow of your uncle, a man whose whole life was devoted to the study of that momentous question of the merits of vegetarianism, gives me some little claim to distinction, I trust." This being a vexed question between us-for my lamented uncle had never practiced the vegetarianism he preached-I put it aside and proceeded to read the ad vertisement. It ran as follows: passages in unexpected places. And these rooms and passages were filled with furniture and pictures that had been accumulating in Aunt Barbara's family since the days when James II. was King. It was not the modern high art revival furniture, but it had about it that higher art of perfect truth and harmony which things that were really made in the period they affect to represent are apt to have. There were four sitting-rooms in the house-the comfortable crimson-hued dining-room, with its massive carved mahogany appointments; the drawing-room, that was patchy and scrappy with its variously-dated pieces of furniture, but that was still wonderfully pretty; the breakfast-room, where we spent half the Winter days, because its wide windows let in all the morning sun there might be in the skies, and "the study," as dear Aunt Bab persisted in calling a little room of old-fashioned luxurious comfort that was the resting-place for the couple of dozen books that she possessed. "It is the very thing for us, Edith," she said, pursuing her idea with ardor. "A wealthy, refined, middle-aged gentleman will be a great acquisition to me in many ways. He can have the study for his own room, the cab-stand is just outside, the bath-room would satisfy a real prince, and "But how about the cheerful society ?" I interrupted. "You are always sweet and nice; but if I were told to 'dance before the King,' my feet would cleave to the earth." "I shall never request you to dance before him, Edith," she said, gravely; "but you sing and play pleasingly, and I shall occasionally have little friendly gatherings, which I hope he will enjoy." "You've made up your mind he's coming, Aunt Bab ?” "Quite, my dear! I feel convinced that, at last, I am going to do a very prudent and remunerative thing, and you shall benefit by it, my child. I shall be able to make you a better allowance, and it will be a greater pleasure to me than I can express, Edith, to see your pretty face When I die, you shall and figure set off by better dress. have all I have, of course; but while I live I want to do more for you.' The loving tears were in her gentle eyes as she spoke, and in the teeth of so much thoughtful affection I could not bring myself to give expression to the strong feeling of aversion I had to being benefited by means of the pos "TO FAMILIES OE DISTINCTION-A middle-aged gentleman desires to meet with accommodation in a well-appointed house, where he can have cheerful society when he pleases, and his privacy be perfectly undisturbed at other times. Private sitting-sible boarder. room, bath-room, and a cab-stand close at hand, absolutely indispensable. Liberal terms will be given, and first-rate references required." Dear Aunt Barbara was one of the sweetest-natured and kindest-hearted of women, but she was not endowed with any great gifts of prudence or discernment. During the five years I had lived with her in her pretty, thoroughly old-lady-like and comfortable house in the Brompton Road, I had been obliged to employ all the arts and science of which I was mistress in order to keep her out of debt. Her extravagances were all so entirely unselfish, and so harmless to others, that I frequently had hard work with my own feelings to check them. Her income was not a large one. The house and furniture was her own, and she had just £400 a year to keep it on. As she had generously burdened herself with my maintenance since the death of my father, it may be imagined that at times we had to draw the purse-strings rather tightly in order to tide over current difficulties. It was a tall, straight house to look at outside, exactly like its fellows apparently; but inside, the architect had given play to his imagination, and had devised rooms and Accordingly, without further let or hindrance from me, she responded to the advertisement, and the air of wellbred veracity and simplicity conveyed in that response, I suppose, struck the advertiser, for, without waiting for further references, he agreed to come, and came! His terms were very liberal-seventy-five pounds a quarter, paid in advance, and for this he did not seem to require much in return. Well-made coffee and a roll at eight in the morning; the privacy of his own sittingroom sacredly observed whether he was out or in during the whole day, and a dinner well served at eight in the evening. Mortal man, paying seventy-five pounds a quarter, could not ask for less! It was promised to him with promptitude, and before either Aunt Barbara or I had even seen him, the middleaged gentleman had become an inhabitant of our house. When I did see him, the day after his arrival, at dinner, I was favorably impressed with him at once. He had the most benignant expression of countenance I ever saw out of Seymour's sketches of "Pickwick," and his manner was as agreeable as his face. Dark eyes, hair slightly silvered, and a fair, smooth, pale skin on the top of a tall, well-grown figure, made up a most prepossessing appear ance. How was it possible, I asked myself, that such a man should have lived to unmistakable middle age without giving hostages to fortune in the form of wife and children? He did not join us in the drawing-room this evening, but waited in his own room—“the study ”-till he heard the dinner-bell ring. Then, as Aunt Bab and I crossed the little hall, he came out and followed us into the dining-room, where he was introduced to me as Mr. Fletcher, and he was told that I was Aunt Barbara's very dear niece and companion, Edith Haviland. Aunt Barbara and her old cook had given grave thought and consideration to the dinner, and it was a triumph in its small way. There was a something about that oystersoup that would have tempted the strictest abstainer from shellfish to break his or her vows of abstinence that day. The turbot was boiled to perfection; the sweet-bread, the roast capon, the crowning bonne-bouche of snipes, and the rice-pudding, were each and all perfect as freshness and cookery could make them. Mr. Fletcher manifested further facial development as he partook of each delicacy, and, when dinner was over and we were taking our winding-up cup of fragrant coffee, Aunt Barbara said, in a glow of satisfaction : "Your society to-day has made such a pleasant charm, and given such a pleasant promise of sociability to my nicce and myself, that I do think nothing will occur to put an end to our existing arrangement for a long time, Mr. Fletcher." He bowed his nice-looking, silvery-haired head, and acquiesced in her hopes; and then I ventured to say: "But we don't fulfill the chief one of your advertised requisites, Mr. Fletcher; we can't claim to be a family of distinction ?" He smiled upon me with a forgiving, superior air, that I found hard to bear, as I felt that I was not his inferior, and had not done aught to offend him, and said, delib-| erately: "I merely inserted that clause in order to protect myself from the herd of boarding-house people who would have replied to my advertisement if I hadn't taken some such precaution. As it is, I may safely affirm that I have struck oil.' To find myself admitted into the sacred centre of such a household as this, is a boon I had no right to suppose even money would have procured for me." Aunt Barbara blushed and smiled approbation of the laudatory sentiment. She was as fresh as a girl in her feelings, and I felt the more time-worn woman of the two as I began perplexing my brain as to the probable causes which had conduced to make Mr. Fletcher settle down at such a sumptuous rate of remuneration into our humdrum life. "Shall we have the pleasure of your company in the drawing-room to-night?" Aunt Bab said to him as we were separating; and he lifted his hands and shook his head in gentle deprecation of any such festive intention being his. "I am a mere student-a mere student," he said; "my whole time is devoted to the acquisition of knowledge of various sorts, and I greedily devour every work I meet with that may help to enlarge my mind." My late husband's library was small, but well selected," Aunt Barbara remarked, with proper pride; and again Mr. Fletcher bowed his benevolent head, and smiled his bland smile. Haviland more especially devoted ?" he asked, patronizingly; and when I hastily answered, " Chemistry!" at random, he lifted his hands aloft and murmured: "Singular, singular! I, too, am an ardent and indefatigable seeker into the mysteries of chemistry; indeed, Science in all her branches is the sovereign whose sway I own." Mr. Haviland was just like that; he and you would have got on so well together," Aunt Barbara, said, delightedly, and then our interesting and sympathetic inmate shook his head in sorrowful resignation and remarked : "Such a happy conjunction was not to be; my dear brother-lover of science has departed from this world of uncertainty and small motives, and all I may ever glean of his lofty aims and earnest aspirations will be from your graceful reminiscences of him, my dear lady." "Uncle Haviland was a great lover of art, too!" I blurted out-not that Uncle Haviland had ever expressed any rapturous feeling on the subject, but simply because I wanted to find out how many tastes in common this redoubtable stranger possessed with Aunt Barbara's dear departed husband. "A lover of art! Doubtless a painter, or a sculptor, or, at any rate, a creator of something beautiful and true in color or form ?" Mr. Fletcher said; and as we had slid unconsciously almost into the drawing-room, he sent his eagle glance round the room, in search of anything that might serve as a clew. "My husband's talent was not executive," Aunt Barbara said, modestly, "but he had a rare eye for beauty." "That was proved by his choice," Mr. Fletcher said, bowing to my dear, sweet aunt, who, at fifty, was so devoid of vanity that I believed she blushed more with pain than pleasure at the implied compliment. It is a fact that, despite his blandness and benevolence, I began to hate the man from this moment. A premonition of something evil that would happen to us through him flashed into my mind, and I had work to suppress all appearance of the groundless suspicion I felt of him. His suavity, his politeness, the way in which he went on being satisfied with everything as, day after day and week after week passed, satiated and sickened me. 66 I saw his influence growing over dear Aunt Bab, and intuition taught me that it was a bad one, for she ceased to confide in me, and to rely upon me as she had done. 'Why should this stranger come between us ?" I asked myself, passionately, and two or three times I was on the point of having the matter out with Aunt Bab, but foolish pride prevented me. Had I done so, the awful end that did come might have been averted, and Aunt Barbara and I might still have been living together in peace in our happy seclusion. I could not bring it against Mr. Fletcher that he was exigeant or gave trouble in any way. His days were spent in his study, from whence he rarely emerged till evening, unless I went out. When I did this, I heard from the servants that he would quietly creep into the drawing-room, and "bear the missus company." on this information I could not act in any way, since Aunt Barbara did not give to me herself. But As a companion, though I hated him, I had no fault to find with him. He played well and sang with great skill and feeling, and with a voice that was a marvel of power and fresh sweetness for so middle-aged a man. Our evenings were all musical now. Aunt Barbara began to hint that she might even commit the extravagance of "To what special branch of study was the late Mr. buying a new piano. in gaining information on almost every point," I said, bitterly. "He is indeed," Aunt Barbara said, admiringly, "such a superior man, I count it quite a privilege to know him." "But it's only in the to-be-looked-for order of things that he will leave us in time," I pleaded; "and then when you hear me strumming upon it, you'll regret having got the new piano; let us stick to our own old tried friend, Aunt Bab, though it is a little worn and given to getting out of tune. Believe me, old, tried friends are best. "Why do you say that ?" she asked, nervously. "New friends are sometimes quite as true as old ones. Thank Heaven, my heart is not too narrow to contain love for and trust in all-old and new." I ceased to argue, but my heart grew heavier than it had been since my dear father died. Aunt Barbara was reposing too much trust in this stranger; so much was certain. Whether or not she was foolish enough to be lavishing love upon him remained to be proved. Shortly after this, when Mr. Fletcher had been with us about two months and a half, I received a pressing invitation from some old friends of my father's, up in Derbyshire, to go and stay with them. They lived at Buxton, and promised me many an excursion into the wildly romantic Peak district. My heart had long been set upon seeing some of the wonders of that region. I longed to clamber up to Peveril's ruined castle, on the lofty crag at Castleton, and penetrate into the mysterious caves that run deep and far into the bowels of the earth. But a sense of duty to Aunt Bab, and an altogether unaccountable reluctance to leave her, made me hesitate to accept the invitation. But Aunt Barbara would not hear of my refusing it. It would stir me up, and the beautiful Buxton air would rejuvenate me, she said; and Mr. Fletcher, who was present during the debate, smiled in the blandest manner, and avowed that it "would clear my mind of cobwebs." "I have told my dear husband that I wish your home still to be with us," she wrote; "he will add a postscript to tell you how heartily he desires this to be the case." There was a good deal more in the same strain, and then I came to her signature, "Your affectionate aunt, BARBARA FLETCHER. And after that followed his postscript. It was brief, but I read through the lines: "DEAR MISS HAVILAND-I shall give you a cordial welcome as your uncle and host as long you make yourself happy and comfortable. I am convinced you will sensibly agree with your aunt that a master's hand is requisite in a household. Your affectionate uncle and sincere friend, EDWARD FLETCHER.” "The brute!" I cried, in my impotent wrath. The whole tone of the man's postscript was galling and insulting to me to the last degree. My soul sickened as I thought of the humiliating feeling of dependence he would force upon me, and it sank to still lower depths as I pictured Aunt Barbara in her helplessness becoming hopelessly the slave to his mendacious, bland benevolence. "There will be war to the knife between that man and me," I said to my friends and myself; "he means to alienate Aunt Bab from me-but he shall not do that without a struggle." In due course of time I went home, taking care not to arrive there until the newly married pair had come back from their short tour. I found all things altered. The drawing-room was cleared of much of its valuable old china, and, when I ventured to inquire for it, Aunt Bab merely shook her head and told me she "couldn't tell; dear Edward had taken it away to show to some friends." "The study" was his own peculiar sanctum still, and he always kept it locked and the key in his pocket when he was out of it; therefore I had no opportunity of gaining any insight into the nature of the occupations which employed the hours he spent in it. For a brief space of time things went on much as usual. The end of it all—or, rather, the beginning of it all- Then one morning Aunt Bab came to me with a woewas that I went. begone face, and told me that a great trial had come upon them. "Take care of yourself, dear Edith, and don't go tumbling down any precipitous places," Aunt Barbara said, as she was parting with me; and I replied: 66 'Poor Edward has just heard that he has lost every scrap of his property," she said, dolefully; "the news "Take care of yourself, dear aunt; I feel half-guilty in has come in a most unfeelingly curt letter from his lawleaving you." yer, and he is literally penniless." She smiled her own sweet, serene, loving smile, and it haunts me still, for it was the last time I ever saw it on her dear face. In spite of my misgivings, the first ten days passed very happily with me. The crystal brilliancy of the Buxton air invigorated me both in body and mind, and I entered with avidity into every scheme of pleasure that was proposed. We visited Chatsworth and reveled in its priceless collection of every description of work of art, and dreamed of the glories of the great Past in the ruins of Haddon Hall. We climbed up Kinder Scout, the highest point in the Peak district, and familiarized ourselves with the weird beauties of Chapel-in-the-Firth. And then all my joy in these innocent diversions came to an end, for I got a letter from Aunt Bab, telling me she was married. "Married to Mr. Fletcher !" The words danced before my eyes, and I saw a long vista of wretchedness stretching away before us all as I read them. "Poor, poor Aunt Bab," I cried, "who is his lawyer ?*** "My dear, what does that matter?" she said, peevishly. "My husband has told me he is ruined-why should I worry him with questions ?" "Is there any money of his in the house?—did you receive his second quarter in advance ?" "I was his wife when the second installment fell due," she said, proudly. "I never thought of the money. I was his wife-not his paid hostess any longer.” "Aunt Bab, you're an angel !" I murmured, hastily. "And so is he, Edith." "No doubt, only I'm slow to believe in masculine angels, someway or other; but whatever he may be, he is your husband, and, I hope, will always be good to you he will owe everything to you now." "My dear Edith! quite the reverse! I have settled everything I have upon him; he has promised to take care of you if I die before him, and, while I live, you will be with me. "No, Aunt Bab, not as a dependent on Mr. Fletcher's out and searched for, and found, a governess's situation. "Married to Mr. Fletcher!" Actually married, with- bounty," I said, sorrowfully; and that same day I went out having made a sign to me! |