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EVERY SATURDAY.

A FOURNAL OF CHOICE READING, .

Vol. II.)

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 1874.

[No. 12.

BY MARY CLEMMER AMES.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE REFUGE.

into unconsciousness. This must not be. She must HIS TWO WIVES."

live. She could not leave her child.

By the uncertain light of a lamp she discerned the form of a man on watch, and knew he was Captain Ben. He would trust no eyes but his own to guard

the precious ones whom he believed to be sleeping And this was the end? Apparently, her life had below. He neither heard nor saw her as she stole to held more varied objects of interest than usually oc

a sheltered spot beneath the shrouds of the vessel. A cupy the thought of a domestic woman. She loved

pile of rope that had been carelessly thrown down her country with a deep personal patriotism. She

there broke somewhat the force of the wind sweeping loved knowledge for its own sake. She loved books,

over the deck. She involuntarily sank down and leaned pictures, flowers, children. She loved great Nature against it for support.

She looked out across an absothrough her every mood and manifestation, with a poet's i lute waste of waters. The tumbled rocks, the low fervor. She loved all pure and true ideals, and all her hills of the coast, the coast itself, had long since faded life of aspiration and effort reached only after them to from sight. How awful seemed the vast, solitary make them her own ; to reëmbody and revitalize them

stretch of ocean around her ! Was the life before her in her own individual being. Yet these broad and

to be like that! varied tributaries of life had all flowed inward to one

Far up amid the spars and rigging pale lights were concentrated centre of interest, which seemed to take shining, which now and then shot down long white in and to absorb every other a single man, her hus

rays to play athwart the mane of an upleaping wave. band.

Afar, at intervals, outflashed the warning light on some She had tried to educate herself through every dangerous headland, or flamed the revolving planet phase of her being, that she might be able to meet the

of some tossing light-ship; all else was blackness. utmost demand of his Protean nature. He demanded The clouds hung low and leaden. The wind smote so much, he needed so much, in order to be content.

shrouds and sails with a wail almost human. The Early she saw in how many opposite directions she mounting ocean answered back with monotonous cry: must pursue culture if she were not to seem lacking to But through winds and waves, straight, strong, and Cyril. She knew that he must find in ber embodied swift rode the sloop. It was as if Agnes held certain the gifts and graces of a hundred contrasting women, rein on the tumultuous courser on which she sat, that if she were to hold supremely his allegiance to her

tossed and threw her, yet bore her unerringly onward. self. The pangs and toils of maternity, while borne, are The eager rush of assaulting waves, their steady swash enough to tax the strongest soul God ever made, to its

as they slowly washed back into the deep, the creaking utmost; but with these upon her she had, in addition, cordage, the crying wind before the advancing storm, pursued impossible and conflicting objects, incited by the blackness of the night, the desolation of the sea, all her idolatry for a single man; an idolatry which made penetrated her senses, and with them somewhat of the him not only a god but a never-ceasing goad to her abounding energy surrounding her struck through her soul. Thus body, brain, and spirit had been over- still cold veins. taxed to meet the incessant and ever-accumulating de- It was fit that such a night and such a sea should mands of marriage, through the nature of such a man. bear her from the home that she had left, to the life Was there anything that she would not sacrifice to

before her of which she could yet foretell nothing. her love for him ? Yes, one thing, — else why were

Crouching there in the darkness, an atom of humanity she here? - her wifehood, her honor. She had sur

only, her heart seemed to reach infinity, in its gratirendered all, she believed, yet when the test came she tude that amid this wreck of life she yet held her could not yield these. She had been ready to sacrifice child, and was not friendless. her nature, if not her soul, to him. And this was the

* Captain Ben and Mary," she said, “ will show me end? She was fleeing from his face and from her home the way to the railway station in Boston. 'Tis but forever. And whither? She had left her friend and

one day's ride to the Lake; and then, Evelyn! She her child asleep in the little cabin below, and wrapped will be sure to meet me there if she is alive. I wrote in her waterproof cloak had crept upon deck for air. her to wait for me till I came, if she reached the Lake The rushing current from the sea, it seemed to her, House before me. What if she is not alive! So much would quicken the low, slow beating of her heart; can happen in seven years — so much has happened to would help her to breathe, for respiration was stifled, me; but I cannot make Evelyn dead, or changed, or and it seemed at times as if her life was ebbing out old. I feel as if I should fiod her where I left her, the baby?”

same Evelyn. Yes, she will take me in and hide me 1 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by H. O. HOUGA

from the world.” TOX & Co., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

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“ The same Evelyn.” There she was, standing wait- slowly toward the hotel, laden with pleasure-seekers. ing, watching as the train of cars pushed slowly up to Its band in scarlet coats were playing airs from the Lake, just at the sunset of another day. Her • Martha,” which fainted in sweetness far out upon the calico dress looked not an inch longer, nor a moment waters, or were caught up in tender reverberations by older, nor her alpaca apron a thread less shining than the surrounding hills. The same window, the same they did seven years before. The broad-rimmed hat, picture of seven years ago. tied with brown ribbo did service still, and the face Vida clapped her hands and cried out with delight, which it shaded had changed in no essential. It bore while she was held back from going over the sash by a few added lines, perhaps, and a few threads of silver the strong hand of her new friend, Evelyn. Agnes gleamed in the brown curls; but the brown eyes danced held back the crowding tears, but it was a blanched and laughed as of old, in the light of endless youth. face that she turned to view as she spoke. “ Dear suz me! jes' to think this is yori,

Mis' King!” Evelyn,” she said, “ I wrote you that I was in she exclaimed, with a sound between a laugh and a trouble, and coming to you. I did not tell you that sob, as she snatched Agnes' hand and drew her out I was coming to stay. Can I stay with you, Evof the crowd struggling toward the Lake House from elyn? Except this child, I have nothing left in this the platform of the railway station.

world.” “ And you knew me, Evelyn?”

" Mister Cyril! He ain't dead?“ Knew ye! I knowed ye the minnit I sot my eye “ Yes, Evelyn, dead to me. Dead, dead! More on ye! I don't say you haven't changed none, for you dead than if I had kissed his face in his coffin, and had have. You're paler an' thinner, an' awful worn-lookin'. seen it shut forever from my sight.” But my! I'd know them eyes of your’n in Jericho, " Dear suz me! But it ain't surprisin', not to me. if there warn't a smitch of nothin' else left to tell ye He never seemed stiddy-minded, not like you; kinder by. An' do ye mean to say this little beauty is your feather-brained, blowin' this way an' that, fur all he

was so smart. Many's the time I've sot on my front "My baby, Evelyn; the last of three."

door-steps, an' tried to study it out, jest what screw " I knowed she warn't nobody else's baby, and couldn't was loose ; an' I never could tell, till I bought a phrebe, with that hair and them eyes,

your eyes; the nology book of a pedler at the Corners. Now I know rest of her all father," with a sigh. « There ain't no jest what the trouble is, Mis' King. His conjugality goin' to the Pinnerkel to-night. John would go sure ain't more than two;' an'as for his conscientiousness, as a whip, straight through the woods, an’ we've' | 'tain't nothin'. An' I'd mark you seven' in both. burned an' pulled the stumps up out of the road long Yes, I would,” seizing Agnes' head, “ an' there ain't no ago,

but it's twenty mile to the Pinnerkel, an' I say higher number or I'd mark you with that.that's too far for you an' this baby, after an all-day's " I don't think I understand you, Evelyn,” said ride from Bostin. I know the clerk at the house here. Agnes, smiling in spite of herself as she felt her head Why, he's nobody but Nate Billings, from the Corners, held in the vice of Evelyn's strong fingers. "I know if he is a big hotel clerk. I told him I was expectin' a nothing whatever of phrenology.” lady an' child from Bostin, who'd be too tired, I knowed, “Of course you don't. If you had, you'd married a to go over to the Pinnerkel to-night, an' I wanted him minister, an' let Mister Cyril gone to his own kind. to pick out a tip-top room for 'em afore the crowd on Veneration! Spirituality! big as eggs. Oh my!” the train come ; an' he did. Nate Billings know'd Evelyn was making statements. She forbore to 'twasn't no sort o' use takin' on big airs to me, if he is a ask questions. She was saying to herself, “ Poor little hotel clerk. Why! I've spanked him many's the time, cretur'! She may tell me jest what she has a mind tu, when he was a young un'. He jes' give me a room an’ no more. I shan't harrer her by askin' her nuthin'. lookin' spat out on the lake. I know you'll like it, Mis' If I can get her mind off on phrenology, so much the King."

better." "I know I shall, you good Evelyn,” said Agnes, But Agnes had “a mind” to tell her friend everywithout telling her friend that she had intended to thing that was necessary to a perfect understanding bebrave the fatigue and dangers of the drive through the tween themselves. woods that night, for the sake of the slender little

have to depend upon you many times in the purse hidden in her bosom. But Evelyn was right. future,” she said ; thus it is best that you should She would rest till morning, and trust the future with know just how it is with me.

All I can tell of my God a little further still. How she had personally trouble I will tell now. Then if we can help it we will dreaded to enter the great summer hotel, with its mem- never mention it again.” ories of happy days, she did not know till, following It was a brief statement of facts that she gave EveEvelyn, who carried Vida, she walked alone up to its lyn. She did not dwell upon her own pain, and she thronged piazza. She was more severely tested still did not know how indelibly it had stamped itself upon when a few moments later she found herself in the her youthful face. She was tender of him still. She very room occupied by Cyril and herself seven years could not hide the cruel fact that he had been false to before.

her, that he had left her in heart, if not in name, for Seven years, which had winnowed her heart and left another ; " but he has been so sorely tempted, he is it desolate, had not stolen a tint of brightness from the infatuated, he is not himself, Evelyn,” she said pitefair world without.

ously, pleading his cause while trying to state her The previous day of wind and rain had swept every film from the vast amphitheatre of sky. The opaline

The opaline "Oh yes, he is jest himself,” replied Evelyn, “an’ mountains lifted their mighty shoulders into a sea of you are jest yourself; that's what's the matter.

You, silver mingled with fire, while the lake, another with conjugality seven, makin' the whole world out of molten sea, gleamed at their feet. The daily steamer, him, feelin' that the sun rose and set in him, with no its flags and streamers gorgeous in the sunset, floated eye nor ear fur no other man on earth, warn't goin' to

I

may

own.

tree.

sure.

content.

divide him with no other woman, of course not ; wild clematis, that ran in airy festoons from tree to 't'warn't in natur'.

" I'm awful sorry for ye, child,” said Evelyn, break- Through miles of warm shade and aromatic air they ing a silence, “an' I might as well tell ye the truth. rode, before they emerged from the woods to behold Your room is ready an' waitin', an' has bin this long before them, resplendent in midday sunshine, the time. I felt it in my bones, you'd come back some green Pinnacle, the Tarn flashing beneath its fringing day. I didn't know when, but sooner or later, I was cedars, the log-house by its side. In a single glance

An' when I didn't hear no in' from ye in so Agnes saw with what added grace nature had touched long, I said to myself, . Ev., you're jest a fool, to think it in seven years. The mountain-ash, whose clustering the Honerabel Mis' King, a-livin' in Washington, is berries rested on the roof when she saw it last, held ever a-comin' ag'in to stop in a log. house. But I kep’ | them up now high in the sunshine. The tiger lily your room ready jest the same. An' somehow, every

reached far above the window. The clematis and chance I got, 'twas lots of comfort to fix it up. 'She'll woodbine, which she herself planted, now ran in exquilike this or t’other,' I said, ' for I know she'll see the site tracery over all the rude walls. The little orchard old Pinnerkel ag'in afore she dies, she set such a store bore a richer fruitage, the garden was braver with by it; an' she never tuk on no airs, an' nobody can bright flowers, the fields were broader and more opumake me believe that bein' an honerabel has changed lent in ripening grain, the woods before the house had her a mite.' True as gospel, deary, your room is receded, but lifted a deeper frontage of foliage to the ready an’ waitin', little chair an' all.”

sky. There were the sheep pushing their noses No profuse thanks filled the air. A pair of arms through the pasture fence, the spring leaping by the were outstretched, and a still, white face went down grassy yard, the cosset lamb rubbing its rotund sides upon Evelyn's breast, and lay there as if it was a little against the corner of the house with all the old blissful child's, while tears slowly trickled down the thin cheeks; and Vida, with a positive intention of not Evelyn took Vida into her arms and led Agnes being left out, mounted into Evelyn's lap also and laid directly to her own little room ; the very same room her cherub face beside her mother's.

that she left with such loving regret seven years be“No trunk nor nothin',” said Evelyn ruefully, as fore; and yet how many touches of brightness as well Agnes with her little girl and small reticule ascended as of beauty a loving hand had added. Through the the ancient buggy behind the venerable John, the next parted curtains of sheer muslin on the windows were morning “ It makes me madder'n all the rest to think revealed the Pinnacle and the Tarn on one side, the you left everything for her, the hussy."

woods and pasture on the other. The log walls were “ You are mistaken, Evelyn ; she had all I called neatly covered with white cotton cloth, and decorated mine that she wanted, before I left. She wants noth- with prints and engravings in neat frames. A bright ing else. She is

very
rich.”

carpet covered the floor, and a lady's small sewing and * Then I hate her all the more,” said Evelyn. writing table stood by the window opening upon the “ Charity for sech ain't to be thought on.”

Pinnacle. One must pass beyond the cry of the railway whistle “Look a' here!” exclaimed Evelyn, drawing back to enter solitude. Then and not till then is civiliza

a white curtain above it, and showing a small set of tion at your back, and your face set toward nature. pine shelves packed close with books.

These are my Evelyn bad breathed out her wonted sighs over the comforters, an' they shall be your'n. When I'm all Castle and the memory of her lost friend Isabella. tuckered out an' sort o' lonesome, I jes' come in here Dufferin Street was passed, and John's head was an' read my Phrenology, an' look over my scrap-book, turned toward the broad uplands and deep woods of an' paste in all I've saved up out of the old newspapers Tarnstone. With stiff joints and solemn visage he was I find at Dufferin an' at the Corners an' everywhere bearing back to nature's solitudes a child who loved

else ; for I save my own newspapers. Ain't these nice her

scrap-books?” taking down a set of ledgers whose acHow much she loved her, the all-healing mother, counts of cash and barter were almost covered over this child did not know, nor think; yet under all the with strips of poetry and prose. “They're lots o' wounds which life had made upon her heart, she felt comfort to me, I can tell ye. An' these books, libra'y the old delight quicken and thrill as they passed into editions every one. My, I'd never got 'em in my lifethe grateful shade of the primeval forest. The lofty time, only the Monteith Libra’y was sold at auction at maples and elms, taller, more stately than the southern last, an' the estate owed me for my work an' I took oak, wove an arcade far up in the air. Spruce, hem- 'em toward the debt. It seemed kind o' hard at fust, lock, tamarack, and balsam trees ran their needles and for they didn't half pay me for my scrubbin' an' bakin', fringes of darker green in and out amid the light but I'm glad now, deary. Jes' cum out an' see my emerald foliage of the maple, elm, and birch, while all little faces, an' then I'll go straight an' get you some were shot through and through with sunshine and rifts dinner.” of blue sky. Great wafts of warm fragrance swept Agnes, with Vida pulling at her skirt, followed Eveover them from the depths of the wood. It was per-| lyn, and found her “ faces to be a solid phalanx of vading and haunting in the suggestions of its odors. pansies covering the southern embankment of the One instant it seemed all exuded from the ripe red house. raspberries that held up their tantalizing bunches by

“ Now, if them ain't faces,” exclaimed Evelyn, “huthe road, the next it seemed all to flow from the life

man faces, an' King Charles spaniel faces, then I giving balsam of the firs, and the clustering cones of

They're more company than the the spruce hanging overhead; then to sweep upward books; an' when I'm clean gone for a chat, I jes' come in the spicy breath of the ferns crowding close with out an' talk to 'em, an' there's no end to the queer dipping plumes by the way, or to be wafted down

faces they make up at me.” ward in faint perfume from the snowy blossoms of the

never

see none.

(To be continued.)

66

told him that a carriage was waiting for him at the door. THE ROD IN OLD TIMES.

He went down immediately, and was seized by the footmen,

who struck him repeated blows with their sticks. The GENTLE remonstrance for a fault is of modern date. chevalier, seated inside the carriage, watched the proceedThe old and universally recognized practice consisted of ings, and encouraged his servants by his approving words. coarse abuse, kicking, and beating. It perhaps is so still in « Strike, strike !” said be; "only take care of his head; certain parts of Europe. Clarke, in his “ Travels in Russia," something good may come out of it.” Like a Frenchman, tells us that the cudgel goes from morning to night. Things he could not help uttering his bon-mot to excite a laugh may there be now softened a little; but before being too even in such circumstances. His influence was so great hard on Russian usages sixty years ago, let us bear in mind, with the ministers and the Lieutenant Criminel, that when that beating domestics with a stick was common in Eng- Voltaire would have brought an action against bim, the land in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. It is a matter of poor author found himself thrown into the Bastile, and history that that excellent female sovereign used so to beat then ordered to exile himself to the other side of the Chanher maids of honor that they cried in a piteous manner; nel. He landed just in time to see the splendid obsequies and that Her Majesty son etimes so lost her temper and accorded to Sir Isaac Newton. This roused in him the sense of dignity, as to strike her courtiers with her fist. desire to know more of those sciences in which he afterWhen the appointment of a lord-deputy of Ireland was wards became an adept, and which, until then, had rediscussed by her, Sir Robert Cecil, and the Earl of Essex, ceived but little attention in France. the last named opposed the wishes of the other two as to Had the Pont-Neuf in Paris a tongue, how many of these the person best fitted for so important a post. Sir William scenes could it bear witness to. It was the favorite lounge Knollys was named by Her Majesty ; but Essex very of newspaper writers and wits, thus it became also the warmly insisted on Sir George Carew, and turning his back classic ground of the law of the stick. Here it was that upon her, used a contemptuous expression. The queen, ex- Monsieur de Bautru, a gentleman and an Academician, was asperated beyond all the bounds of self-control, gave him a found one morning rolled in the mud, and half dead, from sound box on the ear, and bade him “ go and be hanged.” the attacks of the lackeys of a nobleman whom he had Instead of receiving the chastisement with humility, he offended in a witty song. Some days after, one of these grasped his sword-bilt, and swore “ that he would not have satellites, passing near him, began to imitate the cries he taken that blow from King Henry her father, and that it had uttered during his punishment. “Truly,” said Bautru, was an indignity that he neither could nor would endure " that is a good echo; it repeats the sound a long time from any one. With some further impertinence about a after.” When the queen Anne of Austria, saw him walkking in petticoats, he rushed from his queen's presence, ing with a stick, she inquired if he had the gout. On his and withdrew from court.

replying in the negative, the Prince de Guémenée said, It is said that George II., when greatly offended by Do you not understand that he carries a stick as Saint some remonstrances of his prime minister, Walpole, kicked Lawrence does his gridiron; it is the mark of his martyrhim out of his cabinet ; and as His Majesty bad shown dom.” His passion for bon-mots could not be restrained, such passion before in the presence of several persons, and soon brought upon him another attack from the MarFielding took up the idea of printing in his journal, Com- quis de Borbonne. When he appeared at the Tuileries mon Sense, a “ Dissertation on Kicks,” which is not want- after this misadventure, no one knew what to say to him. ing in many passages of clever satire. He remarks that, “Ah!” he cried, “ do they think me a savage because I at the court of France, the sovereign would not disgrace have passed through the wood ? " himself by using personal violence. This is too compli- When the “ Essay on Satire was published, the authormentary Fielding does not seem to have been aware that ship was generally attributed to Dryden. The Duchess of the French kings liked, on occasion, to in dulge their temper Portsmouth and the Earl of Rochester, believing themselves in a way very similar to the true Briton. Louis XIII. de

to be insulted by some of the remarks, could do nothing clined to bave noblemen for his gentlemen of the bedcham- better than set the servants of the latter to beat the poor ber, because he could not beat ibem as he liked, and gave a author; and it is also said, but without sufficient proof, dozen bard blows to a valet who disputed with the pages that the Duke of Buckingham did the same. Unfortunately, the honor of precedence. His broiler, Gaston d'Orleans, the character of Dryden was not equal in dignity to his tbrew a gentleman into the canal at Fontainebleau, because talent. he had not shown bim sufficient respect. Even Louis XIV., Though the noblemen of the day were generally willing with all his magnificence, so far forgot himself as to raise enough to have the wits at their tables, they did not enjoy his cane to the back of one of his servants; and on another being altogether eclipsed in society. One of them said to occasion he threw the weapon out of the window, lest he a comedian ; “ I warn you, that if from the present time to should yield to the temptation of chastising Lauzun. The the end of supper you display more wit than I, you will reclever Louvois ran the same risk, and, bad it not been for ceive a hundred strokes of the cane.” A critic who would the timely interference of Madame de Maintenon, would not speak well of an author's work had this remark adhave suffered by the hand of his royal master.

dressed to him : An ass was once made to speak by a Thus the courtiers came to consider the stick as the

blow, but a stick shall make you be silent." To which ihe ultima ratio in their relations with interiors, more especially critic replied, “Well, if you wish me to change my tone, authors. In their eyes, they were gent bâtonnable, every I will say that your piece is charming; for I had rather say time there was a wrong to be redressed, and that was very a silly thing than be beaten.” Of all the writers of the often. It was an incident of this kind that drove Voltaire

last century who came in for attacks, La Harpe was the into banishment, and led to his residence for some time in object of hatred, contempt, and bitter satire from all the our island. The tragedy of “ Edipus” and the poem of republic of letters; his very face provoked a blow. After the “ Henriade" had already made him a name.

he had given great offence on one occasion, this squib apthen about thirty-one years of age, and discontented with peared : “A society of amateurs, having offered a prize to his surname of Arouet, which he received from his father, ibe best player on la hurpe, have adjudged it to Monsieur he chose another more euphonious, borrowing it from a Dorat; it now proposes to give a double prize to any one small property which his mother possessed in Poitou. This who, to the satisfaction of the public, will, by means of rods, piece of vanity offended the Chevalier de Rohan, and meet- draw the sweetest and most harmonious sounds from la ing Voltaire at the opera, " Ab çà,” said he to him, “how harpe.are you to be addressed ? Is it to be Monsieur Arouet, or It is not surprising that actors should in such a period Monsieur de Voltaire ?" “ Monsieur le Chevalier," re- treat the poor authors to blows when they did not like plied Voltaire," it is better to make one's self a name, than their cast of character; but more than one actress is reto sully that which has been given to us.”

corded to have broken her delicate whip in flagellating one The chevalier resolved to be avenged. One day, when wbo bad offended her. A poet who had written an opera, Voltaire was dining with the Duc de Sully, the servants found himself on one occasion surrounded by all the ballet

He was

dancers, who fell upon him with their fists, saying in cho- “ Fighting doctor! Who 's the fighting doctor ? I rus, “ Wby did you write us such a worthless piece ?”. A asked. young author who had ventured to parody some couplets, “Ould Finnerty, no less, av the militia. Begorra, he 'd and turn them against the actors at a certain theatre, was have ye out for sneezin' crucked, so ye'd betther mind. asked to sit beside the prima donna, who thus addressed I'll go bail he has the pistols wud him. He never thravels him : “I can understand a good joke, and am not vexed wudout thim. He downed sivin min wud thim deadly with your wit, but I have need of two or three couplets tools.” against some one I know; come, and do me the favor to By this time we had reached the scene of accident. write them in my dressing-room.” Flattered by this, the One of the wheels of the car had noiselessly and unostentaauthor fell into the snare; but hardly had he entered, when tiously scattered its spokes, which lay strewn along the all the actresses, armed with long rods, fell upon, and beat road like so many valiant soldiery who had fallen in dehim unmercifully, until an officer of police, hearing the fence of some isolated fortress. The fighting doctor had cries, interfered." It is said that the Chevalier de Boufflers proceeded in advance, in the hope of obtaining assistance had written an epigram against a lady of rank. After at a wayside sheeling, and the driver was bitterly lamentsome coolness, she begged for a reconciliation, and asked ing the ill turn that his luck had played him. him to dinner. But though he went, like a prudent man “ What betther cud I hope for, comin' wud that ould he put his pistols in his pocket. As soon as he arrived, he bloodthirsty villyan? He's goin' to fight a jewel beyant at was seized by four strong footmen, who, under the very Phoul a Dhonninel, the haytben. Goin' to kill a man on eyes of the lady, gave him fifty strokes. Boufflers, as soon Christmas Day, the ould varmint, av he can. Och, wirra, as it was over, with wonderful sang-froid, drew out his such a Christmas Eve! It's in the chapel I ought to be, pistols, cocked them, and desired the men, under pain of on me bades, let alone bein' out wud a murtherin' ould death, to do to their mistress as they had done to him. Turk on a lonely common, wud nothin' betune me an’ They were obliged to obey, and he counted the lashes ; then heaven but the snow, and a blast that wud cut the back they were to give the same to each other; which task ac- teeth out av an ostrich." complished, the marquis bowed gracefully, and departed. “ Hould yer whistl” cried Micky Delany, leading him

But happily the supremacy of the stick began to wane rather roughly aside, “ hould yer whist, an' mebbe we cud in the last century; literary men raised their heads above set it all right afther all.” such insults, and would no longer recognize brutal force ; Here my charioteer dropped his voice into a confidential the sword and the law were called in to help. The former whisper, and after some very impressive pantomime, in was of no value but to prove the personal courage of those which he would appear to be endeavoring to induce the who used it: but the latter proved the change in public other to come round to his views, he ended by exclaiming opinion, and the progress of the condition of literary men.

in a loud tone, Mozart's passion was roused when his patron, the Arch- “ Av ye don't take me offer ye 'll be here till the new bishop of Salzburg, in 1781, treated him like one of his year, an' the divil mind ye for an ungrateful bosthune.” pages; and when the Comte d'Arco kicked him to the door, Micky Delany's proposition was simply to impress the he declared that whenever he received such an insult, he services of the second horse, to drive tandem, and give a should return it in the same way. One of the first occasions lift to the driver and passenger of the useless car, leaving when justice openly interfered in France was about 1770, the luckless vehicle to its fate. when a comedian coming from the theatre at Versailles was I offered no objection, and in a few minutes the fighting attacked by some officers: the patrol interfered, and took up doctor's carpet-bag, was transferred, a rough sort of tandem five young men, all belonging to high families and in the established, and the injured car placed safely inside a ditch. king's household. Louis XV. declined to interfere, and Dr. Finnerty, whom we picked up at a distance of about justice took its course. Evidently the Revolution was near a mile, seemed exceedingly well pleased with the change in at hand, as may be shown by the reply of Piron some time his rate of travelling. after. He met a noble of high rank, who was showing a “ Their conveyances here, sir, are of the most infayrior friend out of the door. The latter stopped from politeness, description. Their horses, sir, are only fit for the knacker. to let the author enter. “Pass on, pass on," said the host; The owner ought to be hanged. The driver ought to be “he is only a poet." Piron did not hesitate.

“ Since qualities are known,” he said, “I take my rank ;” and put- The doctor jerked out his sentences broadside at me, ting on his hat, went first. The queen, Marie Antoinette, and threw forward his wiry little frame at every final word. afterwards confirmed this emancipation of literature by re- Having offered him a “nip” from my flask, which he proving one of her courtiers in these words : “ When the tossed off with a flourish as if it were a pint bumper, and king and I speak to an author we always call him Mon- having accepted in return a pinch of snuff strong enough sieur."

to blow the lid off a plate-chest, we warmed up consideraArriving at the nineteenth century, our task is ended ; bly. the stick is now a fallen royalty ; the aristocracy of birth " It's a strange night for a drive. I'm on a strange erand that of the pen can meet on level ground without at- rand, sir,” observed the doctor. tacking each other. Literary manners are on a much “A case of surgery?I remarked inquiringly. higher level; the author is no longer a valet or a parasite,

“ Oho! ohol” and his laugh flew across the snow, and I neither the court-fool, nor the pet spaniel of the duchess. thought of Gabriel Grubb and the goblins. “ Oho! there Assaults on the person, of whatever kind, are now may be surgical assistance required. A leg may have to speedily punished by fine and otherwise, that they are little be amputated. A body may have to be cut open. Do you heard of, except among the rude and least instructed of see this box, sir ? " producing as he spoke a dark oblong the population - an immense advance on what prevailed box, the brass rims of which shone up like the plates upon even in “good” society so lately as a hundred years ago. a coffin-lid. “There 's a brace of surgical instruments in

this box that have made holes in men's bodies before now. Oho!"

“I imagine from the shape of the box that it contains MY IRISH STORY.

pistols, doctor."

“I don't say what they are. I say that they can bark and bite. They will bark before long. They will bite before long, if I get the chance.”

A thought flashed across me like lightning. This blood“It's a car from the Royal,” exclaimed Micky in great thirsty doctor — this drive in the snow - this case of pisexcitement. “Och, begorra, it's the wan that tuk the tols — led directly to the “ referred to in my cousin fightin' doctor from Westport, an,' blur an' agers, they 're Geoffry's telegram. A duel was to be fought, and Geoffry bet be the snow!”

· shot."

SO

BY NUGENT ROBINSON,

was to be one of the targets.

mess

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