HISTORY OF THE HOSTS OF THE TERRACE—Continued.The Duchess was by nature a person born to be plump and healthy; to eat her food with the appetite of a country clown, and to enjoy drinking and dining with a savage relish. But she crushed and curbed these tendencies before the world, gratifying them only in secret. In token of her exalted station she professed sensitiveness and delicacy. She was frightened by the fall of a leaf, the flight of a bird or insect, and above all, by her own bulky shadow.Before folk she uttered nothing but plaintive, feeble cries, reserving the full blast of her lungs for the ears of the Duke. The purest air was too heavy for this ethereal Owl, who detested the sun—the God of paupers, as she termed it—Her husband, astonished at the fine carriage, grace, and society-refinement of his poor barn-Owlet, exhausted his resources in efforts to keep pace with her. Alas! his highest flights left him far behind, so far, indeed, that his faithful spouse bemoaned and bescreeched her fate in being wedded to a person so hideously vulgar.The Duchess eloped with a Kite, and no one pitied the Duke, for the fall brought by pride never begets pity.As a finishing blow the lady left a perfumed note for her husbandon the spot where they performed their moonlight duets on the terrace. It ran asfollows:—“THEDUKE,—It is part of my destiny to be misunderstood, I shall not therefore attempt to explain to you the motive for my departure,“(Signed)THEDUCHESSOF THETERRACE.”The Duke stood petrified for some moments, after which, seized with a fit of despair, he rushed down to the edge of a dark pool, to ascertain whether the water would inspire him with courage to drown himself. First, he cautiously dipped his beak into the pool to feel its temperature, just as the moon stole out from behind a cloud, and he beheld his image on the surface. His mind at once grasped the frightful picture of his ruffled plumage, and he found sweet solace in arranging his toilet. The notion crossed his mind that the Duchess might repent, if she knew her Lord had died dressed in a style becoming his station.Bracing his nerves for the fatal plunge, he bent over the pool at an unhappy moment, when it occurred to him, that birds about to die should think twice before they leap, and feel satisfied they have sufficient grounds for the sacrifice. Stepping backwards a few paces, he read his wife’s letter for the hundredth and first time.“What a fool I am!” he exclaimed, “it is possible after all, I am imputing a wrong motive to my wife. There is no knowing; she may have simply gone to the country for a week’s repose, and will soon return.” In his doubts he determined to consult a Carp, reputed for her knowledge of past, present, and future, and many things besides. The misery of the world is the making of these sorcerers. Approaching the river he cried out, “Tell me my fate old fish famed for finding out facts of the future.” Slowly the Carp rose from the water—until her body was half way above the surface—and summoning a troop of piscine spirits, disposed them in a ring. Above floated circles of winged insects in the air, gleaming in the phosphorescent glow reflected from the scales of the water-witches. Dense clouds darkened the atmosphere, rendering the lurid light all the more intense; a profound stillness reigned, so hushed was the scene, that the Owl heard nothing, save the beating of his heart. The sorcerer placing herself in the centre of the ring, sent the spirits wheeling in a mad dance. After the third round, the Carp dived and brought up this reply,“Your beloved wife is not dead!”That said, she bent herself like a bow, kissed her tail, and bounding into the air, disappeared.“She is not dead,” repeated the chorus. “Owl, it is said you must die!”“She is not dead!” repeated the Owl.“She mustbe!”——“Well, never mind. To sacrifice a life so valuable as my own would not mend matters,” so he consigned the Carp and her oracle to the —— water.I have been told that soon after these events, this rich, but weak-minded Owl poisoned himself with a Frog. That is how an Owl dies of love.My tale ends here. I have plucked and used my last quill, and nothing remains but the stump. Age is telling on me, the effort to write seems too great. I must, therefore, see my physician.
The Duchess was by nature a person born to be plump and healthy; to eat her food with the appetite of a country clown, and to enjoy drinking and dining with a savage relish. But she crushed and curbed these tendencies before the world, gratifying them only in secret. In token of her exalted station she professed sensitiveness and delicacy. She was frightened by the fall of a leaf, the flight of a bird or insect, and above all, by her own bulky shadow.
Before folk she uttered nothing but plaintive, feeble cries, reserving the full blast of her lungs for the ears of the Duke. The purest air was too heavy for this ethereal Owl, who detested the sun—the God of paupers, as she termed it—Her husband, astonished at the fine carriage, grace, and society-refinement of his poor barn-Owlet, exhausted his resources in efforts to keep pace with her. Alas! his highest flights left him far behind, so far, indeed, that his faithful spouse bemoaned and bescreeched her fate in being wedded to a person so hideously vulgar.
The Duchess eloped with a Kite, and no one pitied the Duke, for the fall brought by pride never begets pity.
As a finishing blow the lady left a perfumed note for her husbandon the spot where they performed their moonlight duets on the terrace. It ran asfollows:—
“THEDUKE,—It is part of my destiny to be misunderstood, I shall not therefore attempt to explain to you the motive for my departure,
“(Signed)THEDUCHESSOF THETERRACE.”
The Duke stood petrified for some moments, after which, seized with a fit of despair, he rushed down to the edge of a dark pool, to ascertain whether the water would inspire him with courage to drown himself. First, he cautiously dipped his beak into the pool to feel its temperature, just as the moon stole out from behind a cloud, and he beheld his image on the surface. His mind at once grasped the frightful picture of his ruffled plumage, and he found sweet solace in arranging his toilet. The notion crossed his mind that the Duchess might repent, if she knew her Lord had died dressed in a style becoming his station.
Bracing his nerves for the fatal plunge, he bent over the pool at an unhappy moment, when it occurred to him, that birds about to die should think twice before they leap, and feel satisfied they have sufficient grounds for the sacrifice. Stepping backwards a few paces, he read his wife’s letter for the hundredth and first time.
“What a fool I am!” he exclaimed, “it is possible after all, I am imputing a wrong motive to my wife. There is no knowing; she may have simply gone to the country for a week’s repose, and will soon return.” In his doubts he determined to consult a Carp, reputed for her knowledge of past, present, and future, and many things besides. The misery of the world is the making of these sorcerers. Approaching the river he cried out, “Tell me my fate old fish famed for finding out facts of the future.” Slowly the Carp rose from the water—until her body was half way above the surface—and summoning a troop of piscine spirits, disposed them in a ring. Above floated circles of winged insects in the air, gleaming in the phosphorescent glow reflected from the scales of the water-witches. Dense clouds darkened the atmosphere, rendering the lurid light all the more intense; a profound stillness reigned, so hushed was the scene, that the Owl heard nothing, save the beating of his heart. The sorcerer placing herself in the centre of the ring, sent the spirits wheeling in a mad dance. After the third round, the Carp dived and brought up this reply,
“Your beloved wife is not dead!”
That said, she bent herself like a bow, kissed her tail, and bounding into the air, disappeared.
“She is not dead,” repeated the chorus. “Owl, it is said you must die!”
“She is not dead!” repeated the Owl.
“She mustbe!”——
“Well, never mind. To sacrifice a life so valuable as my own would not mend matters,” so he consigned the Carp and her oracle to the —— water.
I have been told that soon after these events, this rich, but weak-minded Owl poisoned himself with a Frog. That is how an Owl dies of love.
My tale ends here. I have plucked and used my last quill, and nothing remains but the stump. Age is telling on me, the effort to write seems too great. I must, therefore, see my physician.