The Blue Chamber.

BY PROSPER MERIMEE.

AAyoung man was walking up and down the waiting room of a railway station, in an agitated condition. He wore blue spectacles, and, although he had not a cold, he used his pocket-handkerchief incessantly. He held a little black bag in his left hand which, as I learned later, contained a silk dressing-gown and a pair of Turkish pantaloons.

Every now and again he went to the door and looked into the street, then he drew out his watch and consulted the station clock. The train did not leave for an hour; but there are people who always imagine they will be late. This train was not for people in a pressing hurry; there were very few first-class carriages in it. It was not an hour at which stock-brokers left, after business was finished, to go to their country homes for dinner. When travellers began to appear, a Parisian would have recognized from their bearing that they were either farmers, or small suburban tradesmen. Nevertheless, every time anyone came into the station, or a carriage drew up at the door, the heart of the young man with the blue spectacles became inflated like a balloon, his knees trembled, his bag almost fell from his hands, and his glasses off his nose, where, we may mention in passing, they were seated crookedly.

His agitation increased when, after a long wait, a woman appeared by a side door, from precisely the direction in which he had kept a constant lookout. She was dressed in black with a thick veil over her face, and she held a brown morocco leather bag in her hand, containing, as I subsequently discovered, a wondrous morning-gown and blue satin slippers. The woman and the young man advanced towards each other looking to right and left, but never in front of them. They came up to one another, shook hands, and stood several minutes without speaking a word, trembling and gasping, a prey to one of those intense emotions for which I would give in exchange a hundred years of a philosopher’s life.

“Leon,” said the young woman, when she had summoned up courage to speak (I had forgotten to mention that she was young and pretty)—“Leon, what a happy thought! I should never have recognized you with those blue spectacles.”

“What a happy thought!” said Leon. “I should never have known you under that black veil.”

“What a happy thought!” she repeated. “Let us be quick to take our seats; suppose the train were to start without us!...” (and she squeezed his arm tightly). “No one will suspect us. I am now with Clara and her husband, on the way to their country house, where,tomorrow, I must say good-bye to her; ... and,” she added, laughing and lowering her head, “she left an hour ago;and tomorrow, ... after passingthe last eveningwith her, ... (again she pressed his arm), tomorrow in the morning, she will leave me at the station, where I shall meet Ursula, whom I sent on ahead to my aunt’s.... Oh! I have arranged everything. Let us take our tickets.... They cannot possibly guess who we are. Oh! suppose they ask our names at the inn? I have forgotten them already....”

“Monsieur and Madame Duru.”

“Oh no! Not Duru. There was a shoemaker called that at the pension.”

“Dumont, then?”

“Daumont.”

“Very well. But no one will ask us.”

The bell rang, the door of the waiting-room opened, and the carefully veiled young woman rushed into a carriage with her youthful companion. The bell rang a second time, and the door of their compartment was closed.

“We are alone!” they exclaimed delightedly.

But, almost at the same moment, a man of about fifty, dressed completely in black, with a grave and bored expression, entered the carriage and settled himself in a corner. The engine whistled, and the train began to move. The two young people drew back as far as they could from their unwelcome neighbor and began to whisper in English as an additional precaution.

“Monsieur,” said the other traveller, in the same tongue, and with a much purer British accent, “if you have secrets to tell each other, you had better not tell them in English before me, for I am an Englishman. I am extremely sorry to annoy you; but there was only a single man in the other compartment, and I make it a rule never to travel alone with one man only.... He had the face of a Judas and this might have tempted him.”

He pointed to his travelling-bag, which he had thrown before him on the cushion.

“But I shall read if I do not go to sleep.”

And, indeed, he did make a gallant effort to sleep. He opened his bag, drew out a comfortable cap, put it on his head, and kept his eyes shut for several minutes; then he reopened them with a gesture of impatience, searched in his bag for his spectacles, then for a Greek book. At length he settled himself to read, with an air of deep attention. While getting his book out of the bag he displaced many things piled up hap-hazard. Among others, he drew out of the depths of the bag a large bundle of Bank of England notes, placed it on the seat opposite him, and, before putting it back in the bag, he showed it to the young man, and asked him if there was a place in N—— where he could change banknotes.

“Probably, as it is on the route to England.”

N—— was the place to which the young people were going. There is quite a tidy little hotel at N——, where people seldom stop except on Saturday evenings. It is held out that the rooms are good, but the host and his helpers are far enough away from Paris to indulge in this provincial vice. The young man whom I have already called by the name of Leon, had been recommended to this hotel some time previously, when he was minus blue spectacles, and, upon his recommendation, his companion and friend had seemed desirous of visiting it.

She was, moreover, at that time in such a condition of mind that the walls of a prison would have seemed delightful, if they had enclosed Leon with her.

In the meantime the train journeyed on; the Englishman read his Greek book, without looking towards his companions, who conversed in that low tone that only lovers can hear.Perhaps I shall not astonish my readers when I tell them that these two were lovers in the fullest acceptation of the term, and what was still more deplorable, they were not married, because there were reasons which placed an obstacle in the way of their desire.

They reached N——, and the Englishman got out first. Whilst Leon helped his friend to descend from the carriage without showing her legs, a man jumped on to the platform from the next compartment. He was pale, even sallow; his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his beard unkempt, a sign by which great criminals are often detected. His dress was clean, but worn almost threadbare. His coat, once black, but now grey at the back and by the elbows, was buttoned up to his chin, probably to hide a waistcoat still more shabby. He went up to the Englishman and put on a deferential tone.

“Uncle!” he said.

“Leave me alone, you wretch!” cried the Englishman, whose grey eyes flashed with anger; and he took a step forward to leave the station.

“Don’t drive me to despair,” replied the other, with a piteous and yet at the same time menacing accent.

“Will you be good enough to hold my bag for a moment?” said the old Englishman, throwing his travelling-bag at Leon’s feet.

He then took the man who had accosted him by the arm, and led, or rather pushed, him into a corner, where he hoped they would not be overheard, and there he seemed to address him roughly for a moment. He then drew some papers from his pocket, crumpled them up, and put them in the hand of the man who had called him uncle. The latter took the papers without offering any thanks, and almost immediately took himself off and disappeared.

As there is but one hotel in N—— it was not surprising that, after a short interval, all the characters of this veracious story met together there. In France every traveller who has the good fortune to have a well-dressed wife on his arm is certain to obtain the best room in any hotel; so firmly is it believed that we are the politest nation in Europe.

If the bedroom that was assigned to Leon was the best, it would be rash to conclude that it was perfect. It had a great walnut bedstead, with chintz curtains, on which was printed in violet the magic story of Pyramis and Thisbe. The walls were covered with a colored paper representing a view of Naples and a multitude of people; unfortunately, idle and impertinent visitors had drawn moustaches and pipes to all the figures, both male and female, and many silly things had been scribbled in lead-pencil in rhyme and prose on the sky and ocean. Upon this background hung several engravings: “Louis Philippe taking the Oath of the Charter of 1830,” “The first Interview between Julia and Saint-Preux,” “Waiting for Happiness,” and “Regrets,” after M. Dubuffe. This room was called the Blue Chamber, because the two arm-chairs to left and right of the fireplace were upholstered in Utrecht velvet of that color; but for a number of years they had been covered with wrappers of grey glazed calico edged with red braid.

Whilst the hotel servants crowded round the new arrival and offered their services, Leon, who, although in love, was not destitute of common sense, went to order dinner. It required all his eloquence and various kinds of bribes to extract the promise of a dinner by themselves alone. Great was his dismay when he learnt that in the principal dining-room, which was next his room, the officers of the 3rd Hussars, who were about to relieve the officers of the 3rd Chasseurs at N——, were going to join at a farewell dinner that very day, which would be a lively affair. The host swore by all his gods that, except acertain amount of gaiety which was natural to every French soldier, the officers of the Hussars and Chasseurs were known throughout the town for their gentlemanly and discreet behavior, and that their proximity would not inconvenience madam in the least; the officers were in the habit of rising from table before midnight.

As Leon went back to the Blue Chamber but slightly reassured, he noticed that the Englishman occupied the other room next his. The door was open, and the Englishman sat at a table upon which were a glass and a bottle. He was looking at the ceiling with profound attention, as though he were counting the flies walking on it.

“What matter if they are so near,” said Leon to himself. “The Englishman will soon be tipsy, and the Hussars will leave before midnight.”

On entering the Blue Chamber his first care was to make sure that the communicating doors were tightly locked, and that they had bolts to them. There were double doors on the Englishman’s side, and the walls were thick. The partition was thinner on the Hussars’ side, but the door had a lock and a bolt. After all, this was a more effectual barrier to curiosity than the blinds of a carriage, and how many people think they are hidden from the world in a hackney carriage!

Assuredly the most opulent imagination could certainly never have pictured a more complete state of happiness than that of these two young lovers, who, after waiting so long, found themselves alone and far away from jealous and prying eyes, preparing to relate their past sufferings at their ease and to taste the delights of a perfect reunion. But the devil always finds out a way to pour his drop of wormwood into the cup of happiness.

Johnson was not the first who wrote—he took it from a Greek writer—that no man could say, “Today I shall be happy.” This truth was recognized at a very remote period by the greatest philosophers, and yet is ignored by a certain number of mortals, and especially by most lovers.

Whilst taking a poorly served dinner in the Blue Chamber from some dishes filched from the Hussars’ and the Chasseurs’ banquet, Leon and his lover were much disturbed by the conversation in which the gentlemen in the neighboring room were engaged. They held forth on abstruse subjects concerning strategy and tactics, which I shall refrain from repeating.

There were a succession of wild stories—nearly all of them broad and accompanied by shrieks of laughter, in which it was often difficult for our lovers not to join. Leon’s friend was no prude; but there are things one prefers not to hear, particularly during a tete-a-tete with the man one loves. The situation became more and more embarrassing, and when they were taking in the officers’ dessert, Leon felt he must go downstairs to beg the host to tell the gentlemen that he had an invalid wife in the room adjoining theirs, and they would deem it a matter of courtesy if a little less noise were made.

The noise was nothing out of the way for a regimental dinner, and the host was taken aback and did not know what to reply. Just when Leon gave his message for the officers, a waiter asked for champagne for the Hussars, and a maidservant for port wine for the Englishman.

“I told him there was none,” she added.

“You are a fool. I have every kind of wine. I will go and find him some. Port is it? Bring me the bottle of ratafia, a bottle of quince and a small decanter of brandy.”

When the host had concocted the port in a trice, he went into the large dining-room to execute Leon’s commission, which at first roused a furious storm.

Then a deep voice, which dominated all the others, asked what kind of awoman their neighbor was. There was a brief silence before the host replied—

“Really, gentlemen, I do not know how to answer you. She is very pretty and very shy. Marie-Jeanne says she has a wedding ring on her finger. She is probably a bride come here on her honeymoon, as so many others come here.”

“A bride?” exclaimed forty voices. “She must come and clink glasses with us! We will drink to her health and teach the husband his conjugal duties!”

At these words there was a great jingling of spurs, and our lovers trembled, fearing that their room was about to be taken by storm. All at once a voice was raised which stopped the manœuvre. It evidently belonged to a commanding officer. He reproached the officers with their want of politeness, ordered them to sit down again and to talk decently, without shouting. Then he added some words too low to be heard in the Blue Chamber. He was listened to with deference, but, nevertheless, not without exciting a certain amount of covert hilarity. From that moment there was comparative quiet in the officers’ room; and our lovers, blessing the salutary reign of discipline, began to talk together with more freedom.... But after such confusion it was a little time before they regained that peace of mind which anxiety, the worries of travelling, and, worse than all, the loud merriment of their neighbors, had so greatly agitated. This was not very difficult to accomplish, however, at their age, and they had very soon forgotten all the troubles of their adventurous expedition in thinking of its more important consequences.

They thought peace was declared with the Hussars. Alas! it was but a truce. Just when they expected it least, when they were a thousand leagues away from this sublunary world, twenty-four trumpets, supported by several trombones, struck up the air well known to French soldiers, “La victoire est nous!” How could anyone withstand such a tempest? The poor lovers might well complain.

***

But they had not much longer to complain, for at the end the officers left the dining-room, filed past the door of the Blue Chamber with a great clattering of spurs and sabres, and shouted one after the other—

“Good night, madam bride!”

Then all noise ceased. No, I am mistaken; the Englishman came out into the passage and cried out—

“Waiter! bring me another bottle of the same port.”

Quiet was restored in the hotel of N——. The night was fine and the moon at the full. From time immemorial lovers have been pleased to gaze at our satellite. Leon and his lover opened their window, which looked on a small garden, and breathed with delight the fresh air, which was filled with the scent of a bower of clematis.

They had not looked long, however, before a man came to walk in the garden. His head was bowed, his arms crossed, and he had a cigar in his mouth, Leon thought he recognized the nephew of the Englishman who was fond of good port wine.

***

I dislike useless details, and besides, I do not feel called upon to tell the reader things he can readily imagine, nor to relate all that happened hour by hour in the inn at N——. I will merely say that the candle which burned on the fireless mantle-piece of the Blue Chamber was more than half consumed when a strange sound issued from the Englishman’s room, in which there had been silence until now; it was like the fall of a heavy body. To this noise was added a kind of cracking, quite as odd, followed by a smothered cry and several inarticulate words like an oath. The two youngoccupants of the Blue Chamber shuddered. Perhaps they had been waked up suddenly by it. The noise seemed a sinister one to both of them, for they could not explain it.

“Our friend the Englishman is dreaming,” said Leon, trying to force a smile.

But although he wanted to reassure his companion, he shivered involuntarily. Two or three minutes afterwards a door in the corridor opened cautiously, as it seemed, then closed very quietly. They heard a slow and unsteady footstep which appeared to be trying to disguise its gait.

“What a cursed inn!” exclaimed Leon.

“Ah, it is a paradise!” replied the young woman, letting her head fall on Leon’s shoulder. “I am dead with sleep....”

She sighed, and was very soon fast asleep again.

A famous moralist has said that men are never garrulous when they have all their heart’s desire. It is not surprising, therefore, that Leon made no further attempt to renew the conversation or to discourse upon the noises in the hotel at N——. Nevertheless, he was preoccupied, and his imagination pieced together many events to which in another mood he would have paid no attention. The evil countenance of the Englishman’s nephew returned to his memory. There was hatred in the look that he threw at his uncle even while he spoke humbly to him, doubtless because he was asking for money.

What would be easier than for a man, still young and vigorous, and desperate besides, to climb from the garden to the window of the next room? Moreover, he was staying at the hotel, and would walk in the garden after dark, perhaps ... quite possibly ... undoubtedly, he knew that his uncle’s black bag contained a thick bundle of bank-notes.... And that heavy blow, like the blow of a club on a bald head! ... that stifled cry! ... that fearful oath! and those steps afterwards! That nephew looked like an assassin.... But people do not assassinate in a hotel full of officers. Surely the Englishman, like a wise man, had locked himself in, specially knowing the rogue was about.... He evidently mistrusted him, since he had not wished to accost him bag in hand.... But why allow such hideous thoughts when one is so happy?

Thus did Leon cogitate to himself. In the midst of his thoughts, which I will refrain from analyzing at greater length, and which passed in his mind like so many confused dreams, he fixed his eyes mechanically on the door of communication between the Blue Chamber and the Englishman’s room.

In France, doors fit badly. Between this one and the floor there was a space of nearly an inch. Suddenly, from this space, which was hardly lighted by the reflection from the polished floor, there appeared something blackish and flat, like a knife blade, for the edge which the candlelight caught showed a thin line which shone brightly. It moved slowly in the direction of a little blue-satin slipper, which had been carelessly thrown close to this door. Was it some insect like a centipede?... No, it was no insect. It had no definite shape.... Two or three brown streams, each with its line of light on its edges, had come through into the room. Their pace quickened, for the floor was a sloaping one.... They came on rapidly and touched the little slipper. There was no longer any doubt! It was a liquid, and that liquid, the color of which could now be distinctly seen by the candlelight, was blood! While Leon, paralyzed with horror, watched these frightful streams, the young woman slept on peacefully, her regular breathing warming her lover’s neck and shoulder.

***

The care which Leon had taken inordering the dinner on their arrival at the inn of N—— adequately proved that he had a pretty level head, a high degree of intelligence and that he could look ahead. He did not in this emergency belie the character we have already indicated. He did not stir, and the whole strength of his mind was strained to keep this resolve in the presence of the frightful disaster which threatened him.

I can imagine that most of my readers, and, above all, my lady readers, filled with heroic sentiments, will blame the conduct of Leon on this occasion for remaining motionless. They will tell me he ought to have rushed to the Englishman’s room and arrested the murderer, or, at least, to have pulled his bell and rung up the people of the hotel. To this I reply that, in the first case, the bells in French inns are only room ornaments, and their cords do not correspond to any metallic apparatus. I would add respectfully, but decidedly, that, if it is wrong to leave an Englishman to die close by one, it is not praiseworthy to sacrifice for him a woman who is sleeping with her head on your shoulder. What would have happened if Leon had made an uproar and roused the hotel? The police, the inspector and his assistant would have come at once. These gentlemen are by profession so curious, that, before asking him what he had seen or heard, they would have questioned him as follows:—

“What is your name? Where are your papers? And what about Madame? What were you doing together in the Blue Chamber? You will have to appear at the Assizes to explain the exact month, at what hour in the night, you were witnesses of this deed.”

Now it was precisely this thought of the inspector and officers of the law which first occurred to Leon’s mind. Everywhere throughout life there are questions of conscience difficult to solve. Is it better to allow an unknown traveller to have his throat cut, or to disgrace and lose the woman one loves?

It is unpleasant to have to propose such a problem. I defy the cleverest person to solve it.

Leon did then what probably most would have done in his place. He never moved.

He remained fascinated for a long time with his eyes fixed upon the blue slipper and the little red stream which touched it. A cold sweat moistened his temples, and his heart beat in his breast as though it would burst.

A host of thoughts and strange and horrible fancies took possession of him, and an inward voice cried out all the time, “In an hour all will be known, and it is your own fault!” Nevertheless, by dint of repeating to himself “Qu’allais-je faire dens cette galere?” he finished up by perceiving some few rays of hope. “If we leave this accursed hotel,” he said to himself at last, “before the discovery of what has happened in the adjoining room, perhaps they may lose trace of us. No one knows us here. I have only been seen in blue spectacles, and she has only been seen in a veil. We are only two steps from the station, and should be far away from it in an hour.”

Then, as he had studied the time-table at great length to make out his journey, he recollected that the train for Paris stopped at eight o’clock. Very soon afterward they would be lost in the vastness of that town, where so many guilty persons are concealed. Who could discover two innocent people there? But would they not go into the Englishman’s room before eight o’clock? That was the vital question.

Quite convinced that there was no other course before him, he made a desperate effort to shake off the torpor which had taken possession of him for so long, but at the first movement he made his young companion woke up and kissed him half-consciously.At the touch of his icy cheek she uttered a little cry.

“What is the matter?” she said to him anxiously. “Your forehead is as cold as marble.”

“It is nothing,” he replied in a voice which belied his words. “I heard a noise in the next room....”

He freed himself from her arms, then he moved the blue slipper and put an armchair in front of the door of communication, so as to hide the horrid liquid from his lover’s eyes. It had stopped flowing, and had now collected into quite a big pool on the floor. Then he half opened the door which led to the passage, and listened attentively. He even ventured to go up to the Englishman’s door, which was closed. There were already stirrings in the hotel, for day had begun. The stablemen were grooming the horses in the yard, and an officer came downstairs from the second story, clinking his spurs. He was on his way to preside at that interesting piece of work, more agreeable to horses than to men, which is technically known asla botte.

Leon re-entered the Blue Chamber, and, with every precaution that love could invent, with the help of much circumlocution and many euphemisms he revealed their situation to his friend.

It was dangerous to stay and dangerous to leave too precipitately; still much more dangerous to wait at the hotel until the catastrophe in the next room was discovered.

There is no need to describe the terror caused by this communication, or the tears which followed it, the senseless suggestions which were advanced, or how many times the two unhappy young people flung themselves into each other’s arms, saying, “Forgive me! forgive me!” Each took the blame. They voiced to die together, for the young woman did not doubt that the law would find them guilty of the murder of the Englishman, and as they were not sure that they would be allowed to embrace each other again on the scaffold they did it now to suffocation, and vied with each other in watering themselves with tears. At length, after having talked much rubbish and exchanged many tender and harrowing words, they decided, in the midst of a thousand kisses, that the plan thought out by Leon, to leave by the eight o’clock train, was really the only one practicable, and the best to follow. But there were still two mortal hours to get through. At each step in the corridor they trembled in every limb. Each creak of boots proclaimed the arrival of the inspector.

Their small packing was done in a flash. The young woman wanted to burn the blue slipper in the fireplace; but Leon picked it up and, after wiping it by the bedside, he kissed it and put it in his pocket. He was astonished to find that it smelt of vanilla, though his lover’s perfume was “Bouquet de l’Imperatrice Eugenie.”

Everybody in the hotel was now awake. They heard the laughing of waiters, servant-girls singing at their work, and soldiers brushing their officers’ clothes. Seven o’clock had just struck. Leon wanted to make his friend drink a cup of coffee, but she declared that her throat was so choked up that she should die if she tried to drink anything.

Leon, armed with the blue spectacles, went down to pay the bill. The host begged his pardon for the noise that had been made; he could not at all understand it, for the officers were always so quiet! Leon assured him that he had heard nothing, but had slept profoundly.

“I don’t think your neighbor on the other side would inconvenience you,” continued the landlord; “he did not make much noise. I bet he is still sleeping soundly.”

Leon leant hard against the desk to keep from falling, and the youngwoman, who had followed him closely, clutched at his arm and tightened the veil over her face.

“He is a swell,” added the pitiless host. “He will have the best of everything. Ah! he is a good sort. But all the English are not like him. There was one here who is a skinflint. He thought everything too dear; his room, his dinner. He wanted me to take a five-pound Bank of England note in settlement of his bill for one hundred and eighty-five francs, ... and to risk whether it was a good one! But stop, Monsieur; perhaps you will know, for I heard you talking English with Madam.... Is it a good one?”

With these words he showed Leon a five-pound bank-note. On one of its corners there was a little spot of red which Leon could readily explain to himself.

“I think it is quite good,” he said in a stifled voice.

“Oh, you have plenty of time,” replied the host; “the train is not due here till eight o’clock, and it is always late. Will you not sit down, Madam? You seem tired.”

At this moment a fat servant-girl came up.

“Hot water, quick,” she said, “for milord’s tea. Give me a sponge, too. He has broken a bottle of wine and the whole room is flooded.”

At these words Leon fell into a chair, and his companion did the same An intense desire to laugh overtook them both, and they had the greatest difficulty in restraining themselves. The young woman squeezed his hand joyfully.

“I think we will not go until the two o’clock train,” said Leon to the landlord. “Let us have a good meal at midday.”

BY JEANNETTE HOLLY.

AAt an early day in the history of our Nation, there had emigrated to the Southeastern shore of the Old Dominion, an English gentleman, whose manners and carriage bespoke aristocratic lineage, and whose free use of money made it evident to those in the same locality, that he must have been a man of parts in the country whence he had come.

He had bought up acres and acres of the land lying contiguous to the Dismal Swamp, but occupied a hewn log house some miles distant from that place of ill repute. The report gained credence that he had left the Old Country “for the good of his health,” in other words, his knowledge of and participation in the plots and counter-plots against the government, made it safer for both himself and some, whose fingers had ever held the pulse of the Nation, that he should live elsewhere; and we find him making himself a home across the waters, with stint of nothing, for a vessel never made harbor, that it did not bring a large consignment to Theodore Stanton.

In the course of time he erected for himself and family a commodious house, many of the necessary materials coming from abroad, and he was ever ready to welcome to his board any wayfarer with whom he came in contact.

It was during the time that his house was building, and he had been scouring the country for help for the work, when one day, a young Indian boy presented himself at his door asking, “Work for me do?” He spoke very indifferent English, but Mr. Stanton understood he had come in response to his inquiries for hands, and he asked, “What can you do?”

“Ride horse, shoot gun, hunt deer.”

His appearance appealed to Mr. Stanton, and he nodded his head saying, “You can hunt deer and bear for me, eat.”

That seemed satisfactory and from that time on, he called Mr. Stanton’s, home, and sure enough supplied the family with all the game they could use.

But his especial attention seemed to be paid to Mr. Stanton’s little girl, Alice, to whom he was devoted, and who never seemed so happy or contented, as when perched on Powhatan’s shoulders and scouring the country for flowers, nuts or berries. He had been at his chosen home now, for a long time, and had learned to speak and understand our tongue very well. He said he was descended from old Chief Powhatan and that little Pocahontas was his kin, but that his father had been badly treated and set aside and would not go with his tribe of Indians; but if any questions were asked, as to where his father was, a stolid look would settleover his countenance, and he would make no reply; occasionally he would disappear, and be gone for a day or two, but always came back, ready for his appointed duty, to hunt the meat for Mr. Stanton. He was as straight as an arrow, and it required little imagination to believe he might be descended from a line of kings, his bearing was so dignified and regal. To no one was he communicative or unbending, save little Alice, over whom he watched with jealous care.

Mrs. Stanton, Alice’s mother, had never liked him, and often expressed uneasiness at the feeling that seemed to exist between her ewe lamb, and this dusky son of the forest, and she begged her husband to consign her to her sister’s care, in England, in that way breaking up the association, and giving Alice, at the same time, opportunities for education that she would lack in the States.

“No, wife, don’t ask me that; I have made sacrifices enough, God knows. I cannot stand to be parted from my little one; send for tutors, governesses or any other sort of SSS, that you want, I will bear all expense, but let me see my dear daughter every day, that’s a dear.” Mrs. Stanton said no more, but she watched with ever growing sorrow; the glow of pride that came to Powhatan’s dark countenance, when gazing at “Laughing Water,” as he called Alice.

The gentle girl was now turning sixteen, and had developed into great loveliness, but seemed wholly unconscious of her charms, and really I believe, that was the one thing that drew so many worshippers to her shrine.

About this time a party of gentlemen had arrived from old England, looking at lands for the settlement of some emigrants who were anxious to throw in their fate with the new settled country, and among them were the sons of some of Mr. Stanton’s early and close friends.

Frank Berkley, nephew of the ex-governor, was among the number, and soon won his way to the hearts of old and young alike, by his kindliness and sprightliness.

Alice seemed unusually lively, when he was regaling her with his exploits at college or his tilts with the fair sex at home, and her merry laugh would ring out at his bright wit or mirthful sallies.

None seemed to observe the vengeful scowls Powhatan would throw at the jolly crowd, as he crossed and recrossed the Hall, but would never enter the parlor, nor join in any of the sports. I said none—none save the anxious mother, who ever had her eye on her darling and when as a great secret Alice confided to her, that Frank wanted to take her across the water with him as his bride, she assented cheerfully, for she felt that to be the only way to save her child from some direful fate.

The party was going farther West, making explorations, and would return about Christmas time, to enjoy the festivities of that season under Mr. Stanton’s hospitable roof, and would then take shipping for home. Farewells were said, and all were well on their way, but Frank lingered. “Stay with us, Frank,” Alice said tearfully, “we will be so lonely when you are gone,” and Frank felt he would willingly tear his heart out, if it would comfort the little girl he had grown to love so much in two months.

“But,” he said, “my darling, then I would be accounted a laggard in duty, for don’t you know I was put in charge of this expedition; and will be held strictly accountable for its failure?”

“Oh!” she said, “Frank, forgive me. I will not be such a baby. I know you will soon be back, and I will try to scare away the blues and bid you a cheerful good-bye,” and he never forgot to his dying day, how she put her arms around his neck and kissed him a fond farewell. The last echo brought to him her parting words,“back soon.” They did not know that an eye had watched their parting, and the owner of that orb, had trembled with rage when he witnessed the caress.

Powhatan tried to coax her to ride or row, and had made and painted pure white, a little canoe for her, but she told him it made her tired to use the oars. “Come and see what a beauty your boat is, Minnehaha; you care no more for your poor Powhatan,” he said sadly.

“Oh yes, I do,” she replied, “but I worked so hard entertaining papa’s friends, I must rest up, but I will see the boat,” and taking his hand she ran lightly to the barn, to see and admire the little white canoe, with places all around the top for lights to be inserted, when the candles were lit at night; it certainly made a beautiful show. But his coaxing could not induce her to go on the water in it, and the craft was only rigged up to show to her friends, and still remained in Powhatan’s workshop. The mornings were beginning to be frosty and the air to show that the weeks had passed along and soon now, they might look for the return of the friends. Wild turkeys were killed and dressed, venison hams were baked and boiled, and the array of cakes and pies in the pantry, looked most tempting. On the afternoon of the 23d of December, Mr. Stanton was decorating the rooms, under the supervision of his good wife, and calling to Alice, said, “Daughter, we do need some holly so much, could you not take one of the boys, and get some from the wood on the swamp road? I must hie me to the postoffice or would get it myself.”

“Oh, yes, Pop, I will take my pony and John and soon be back.”

As she went out Powhatan met her, and having heard what Mr. Stanton said, begged to be allowed to accompany her, saying, “I will take care of you, Minnehaha.” So she could not well refuse, and when he had saddled her pony and old Thunder for himself, they mounted and rode off.

The father returned with the mail, the mother dressed for the evening meal, but Alice came not.

“Oh father,” she cried, “where can she be?” and the mother grew restless and uneasy. Presently seeing John approaching, Mr. Stanton called out,

“John, where is Miss Alice, boy?”

“Sir, I didn’t go with her; she went long that Injun, he say he take good care of her.” Mrs. Stanton was almost beside herself. Wringing her hands, she begged her husband for “God’s sake,” to take some of the men and seek the child, ere she was lost in the dreadful swamps. Searching parties scoured the country all that night, and when the next morning, Mr. Berkeley and his friends arrived, they, too, joined in the hunt, which was kept up for a whole week, but nothing was ever discovered, save Alice’s little pony, quietly grazing on the edge of the swamp.

A rumor came, that from the highest point overlooking the Lake in the Dismal Swamp, a huge black horse, with two riders, was seen to jump directly into the lake and never rose again. From the same fisherman, who dwelt on some high knoll in the swamp the report was scattered far and wide, that at 10 o’clock every bright night was seen a little white canoe, lit with firefly lamps, pushed swiftly through the waters of the lake by a beautiful girl with fair locks floating over her shoulders.

The story was that she crossed the lake and then disappeared in the dark woods beyond. But nothing was ever seen or heard of Alice or her dusky lover again. Mrs. Stanton took to her bed and died of a broken heart, leaving young Berkley to care for the stricken old man, who was soon laid beside her in the garden that had been sweet Alice’s playground. Mr. Stanton left everything he had to Frank Berkley who mourned sincerely for his lost love.

CONDUCTED BY THOS. E. WATSON.

Hon. Thomas E. Watson, Thomson, Ga.:

Dear Sir:—Your logical editorial in your October magazine under the caption of “The Money Changer and the Politician” hit the bull’s eye and went straight to the heart of the subject. I heartily endorse the editorial. Hon. A. S. J. S——, a very able and conservative gentleman and also a gold bug as we sometimes denominate them, takes issue with you, as to some of your assertions, and as the Doctor is a subscriber to your magazine and very much open to conviction I am led, as a result of a pleasant discussion with him to ask you some questions on said editorial for the purpose of drawing you out more fully on the subject for the Doctor’s special benefit and for general light on the money question.

The questions that I propound embody the objections of the Doctor to what he otherwise concedes to be an able elaboration of the question under discussion.

You say, “Sparta rose to be a state of the first class on a currency of iron; Rome became Mistress of the World on legal tender copper; coined silver did not come into use until the Northern barbarian beat down her frontiers; gold held no place in the coinage till the imperialism of the Caesars had taken its lead in her decline.”

(1) Do you mean to say, that gold and silver did not exist as currency, prior to that period referred to in the passage just quoted?

The Doctor says you are all wrong here and asks that your authority for the declaration be given.

(2) He wants you to give more explicitly your authority for contending that paper money is Constitutional; he combats the idea of the Constitutionality of a paper currency, asserting that gold and silver is the money of the Constitution and not paper.

(3) What is your authority for saying that Mr. Cleveland ruled that Governmental notes which were payablein coinshould be redeemed ingold only? He disputes this.

(4) In your glowing description of the effects of paper currency, during the wars referred to by you, how it fed and clothed the soldier and kept starvation from those the soldiers left at home—he asserts that the gold and silver currency in circulation during the times you allude to could have accomplished all you claim; independent of a paper currency.

(5) Was the paper money issued by the Confederate Government during the Civil War as good at any time, during said war, as the paper money issued by the Federal Government during the same war? If not, why not?

Understand me, I am perfectly in accord with you. I am asking these questions in order that you may have an opportunity to knock the sophisticated props from under thegold bug delusions and the people given the plain facts.

Respectfully,W. M. Hairston.

(1) Yes. Gold and silver were used in commerce and commodities, even as precious metals,but not as legal tender money. The legal tender money of Sparta was of iron. Lycurgus made it so, for a special purpose. See Plutarch’s “Lives,” or Aristotle on “Government.”

The legal tender money of Rome was copper during all the long and bloody years of her relentless and resistless march to world-power.

Gold and silver were used in commerceon the basis of barter—but not on any other.

Neither gold nor silver were coinedinto legal tender money, untilafterRome had become Mistress of the World.

See any standard History of Rome—Mommsen’s for instance; and see, also, Del Mar’s “Money and Civilization.”

(2) Paper moneyisConstitutional, for the reason that the Constitution, itself, gives to Congress the right to coin legal tender money, and the Supreme Court of the United States, in a case brought to test that very question, decided, in effect, that the word coin, as used in the Constitution, has the sense of “create,” and that Congress can create legal tender money out of paper, if it sees fit to do so.

Congresshadseen fit to do so, for the good and sufficient reason that the expenses of the Government had increased to more than a million dollars per day, and there was no specie money in the Treasury.

The Government made money out of paper because it had nothing else to make it out of.

Ground hog case, Doctor.

(3) The facts in the case. The Contracts were payable in coin, just as in France. Theoption, of payment in silver or in gold, belonged to the Governmentunder the words and in the spirit of the contract.

In France, it was the same. The creditors claimed payment in gold, both in this country and in France.

The French Government calmly bossed the situationas any real Government should, and paid the contracts asitpleasedin either“coin.” When the French Government felt like paying gold coin, gold was paid. When the Government felt like paying silver coin, silver was paid.

In either case, the creditor got what his contract entitled him to get—COIN.

But Mr. Cleveland’s “Government” was not so robust. He took it into his head that “the bankers had the country by the leg.” In fact, he told Mr. Oates of Alabama that such was the case.

Absurd!

Noreal Governmentwould ever get into that kind of blue funk.

Mr. Cleveland should have shown some of the “back bone” that we have heard so much about. He should have said to those Wall Street Raiders, “I’ll give youCOIN—get anything else if you can.”

When the Government had the gold, the yellow metal should have been handed out. When the Government did not have the gold, it should have handed out silver—saying to the Raiders, “Take it, or leave it. Your contract saysCOIN. There is coin. We make youthe legal tenderof it. If you don’t take it when so tendered,your claim against the Government is as dead as Julius Caesar.”

Thenthe Government would have hadthe Bankers“by the leg.”

But, you see, Cleveland was standing in with the Wall Street crowd—and that makes all the difference.

Suppose our friend, the Doctor referred to by Mr. Hairston, owed ten different notes of ten dollars each, every one of them containing the plain statement that they are payable in “coin.”

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