BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME.
GOLD THAT DID NOT GLITTER,
BY VIRGINIUS DABNEY.
121110. Clotli. $1.25.
Testimonials.
" If the hero's gold does not, the author's style certainly does glitter and
sparkle in a most surprising manner. The book reminds one of instan
taneous photography, depicting a whole scene in a single flash." New
York Home Journal.
"A gay little novel, refreshing to read, difficult to lay down." Chicago
Tribune.
"Bright, crispy, witty, epigrammatic, and good-natured, and with the
happiest of de'nouements, with a manly lover and and an adorable be
loved." Boston Literary World.
"There is a commingling of pith and pathos which makes the story
whollv irresistible." The Baltimore American.
"This little novel is written with rare grace. It is a simple tale, very
romantic, coquettish we might say, and will hold the reader's interest for
every one of its too few pages." Utica Herald.
" Mr. Dabney's keen wit and wholesome humor give a delicious flayor
to the whole book." Richmond "Slate."
" All of Mr. Dabney's characters are interesting, his scenes are skilfully
set before the reader and he gives plenty of negro dialect for those who
like that sort of thing. ' Gold that Did Not Glitter' is not as strong as its
author's ' Don Miff,' but it is a merry tale." New York Herald.
" A. novel that will give much pleasure for its brightness and originality
of style, as well as for its admirable character sketching. . . . There is a
vein of exquisite humor running through the story, the action of which is
rapid and the interest unflagging." Boston Home Journal.
*if For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by the Publishers, post-paid,
on receipt of price.
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY,
Publishers,
715 and 717 Market St., Phila.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF,
AS TOLD BY HIS FRIEND
JOHN BOUCHE WHACKER.
A SYMPHONY OF LIFE.
EDITED BY
VIRGINIUS DABNEY.
TEKVOV, rl /eAa/'? ; ri 6s as <j>peva<; IKETO mvQos ;
'Efati(5a, itfj Ksvde vow, Iva ddofiev u{j.<j>u.
ILIAD, i. 362-63.
Child, why dost thou weep ? What grief hath come upon thy spirit ?
Speak conceal it not so that we both may know.
SEVENTH EDITION.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1890.
Copyright, 1886, by VIRGINITIS DABNBT.
PS
PEEFAOE.
IT is pretty well understood, I presume, that while
books are written for the entertainment of the public,
a preface has fulfilled its mission if it prove a solace
to the author and an edification to the proof-reader
thereof. Yet (however it may be with an author) an
editor must, it seems, write one.
Most mystei'iously, then, and I knew not whence or
from whom, the manuscript of this work found itself
in my study, some time since, accompanied by the re
quest that I should stand sponsor for it.
I shall do nothing of the kind. True, the grammar
of it will pass muster, I think ; and its morals are above
reproach ; but the way our author has of sailing into
everything and everybody quite takes my breath away.
Lawyers, military men, professors and students, par
sons, agnostics, statesmen, billiard-playei's, novelists,
poetesses, saints and sinners he girds at them all. I
should not have a friend left in the world were it to
go abroad that this Mr. J. B. Whacker's opinions were
also mine. If but to enter this disclaimer, therefore, I
must needs write a preface.
This author of ours, then, is, as you shall find, an
actor in the scenes he describes, and is quite welcome
to any sentiments he may see fit to put into his own
mouth. He entertains, I am free to admit, an unusual
number of opinions ; more than one man's share, per
haps ; but not one of them is either reader or editor
called upon to adopt.
It seems fair, too, to warn the eccentric person who
shall read this preface, against putting too much faith
in the account Mr. Whacker gives of himself. The as-
3
573081
4 PREFACE.
tounding pedigree to which he lays claim in Chapter T.
may be satire, for aught I know ; but when he poses
as a lawyer, a bachelor, and a ton of a man, weighing
(though he does not give the exact figures) not much
less than three hundred pounds, he is counting too
much on the simplicity of his editor. For the internal
evidence of the work itself makes it clear that he is a
physician, ever so much married, and nestling amid
a very grove of olive branches. He assures us, too,
for example (he is never tired of assuring us of some
thing), that he is entirely ignorant of music ; yet divides
his work not into books (as a Christian should), but
into movements; indicating (presumably) the spirit and
predominant feeling of each by the opening page of the
orchestral score of one of the four numbers of a famoun
symphony I
One more word and I am done.
Our author has not seen fit to make any reply to the
incessant, and still unceasing onslaughts, from pen and
pencil alike, to which the South has submitted, and
still submits, twenty-one years after Appomattox, with
a silence that has been as grand as it is unparalleled.
His only revenge has been to paint his people and
the lives they led.
But it seems to me best to say, once for all, that
whenever the necessities of the narrative compel him
to show his sympathies on one side or the other (as
happens two or three times in the course of the story),
they will be found to be with those people among whom
he was born, by whose side he fought, and with whom he
has suffered. And I feel sure that no man who knows
me, in the South, and equally sure that no man who
knows me, in the North, would deem me capable of
printing this book, had it been otherwise.
Y. DABKEY,
108 WEST FORTY-NINTH STREET,
April, 1886. NEW YORK.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER I.
1.
LONG, long years before these pages shall meet thine
almond eye, my Ah Yung Whack, the hand which
penned them for thy delectation will have crumbled
into dust. Three hundred years and more, let us say ;
for thou art (or shalt in due time be) my great-great-
great-great-great-great - great - great - great-great-grand
son.
3.
True, I am not yet married ; but I intend to be.
Nor is there any need of hurry ; seeing what a singu
larly distant and belated relative thou art.
3.
If then, dear, intended Offspring, you will be so an
achronistic as to sit beside your proposed ancestor, and
so civil as to lend him your ear, he will give you one
or two reasons for addressing you, rather than the
general public of his own day.
First, then, humanity.
This poor public of his (that is my) day has been,
these many years, so pelted with books, that I cannot
bring myself to join the mob of authors, and let fly
another.
The very leaves in Vallambrosa, flying before the
blasts of autumn, cannot compare with them in num
bers, as they go whizzing from innumerable presses.
1* 6
6 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Why, I read, the other day, a statement (by a stater)
that if you were to set up, in rows, all the books that
are annually published in Christendom (beg pardon, my
boy, Evolutiondom), and then fell to sawing out shelves
for them in the pine forests of North Carolina, the
North Carolinians would soon find themselves inhabi
tants of a prairie.
Or, to put it in another shape :
The earth, adds Mr. Statisticker, the earth, we will
allow, for illustration's sake, to be twenty-five thousand
miles around. Now, says he, suppose all these books
to be pulled to pieces [shame!] and their leaves pinned
together, end to end, they would stretch ever so (for I
cannot, at the moment, lay my hands on his little sta
tistic) they would stretch ever so far.
Shall I add to the already unbearable burdens of my
generation ? Humanity forbid I
e.
And look at this :
In any given country a certain number of under
garments will be worn out, year by year, producing a
certain crop of rags. These rags can be converted
into so much, and no more, paper. Hence, as any
thinking man would have reasoned (until the advent
of a recent invention), the advancing flood of literature
was practically held in check. So many exhausted
shirts, so many books, so many exhausted washer
women, so many (and no more) authors. There was
a limit.
That day is gone. Wood-pulp and cheap editions
have opened the flood-gates of genius upon the world ;
and the days of our noble forests are numbered ; for
one tree is sawn into shelves to hold another ground
into paper. And already, through the denudation of the
land, the Mississippi grows uncontrollable, taxing even
the wisdom of Congress. And many a lesser stream,
in which once the salmon sported, or which turned a
mill, or meandered, at least, past orchard or corn land,
a steady source of fruitful moisture, is now a fierce tor-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 7
rent in spring, in autumn a string of stagnant pools,
What the builder began, the builder (for that, I hear, is
the Greek for him) and the novelist will end.
Shall I too print a book ? Patriotism forbid I
6.
The trouble is, however, that I feel that I have some
thing to say, and a man that has something to say, and
is not allowed to say it, is (like a woman or a boiler) in
danger. Nor has my native land, when I come to think
of it, the right to exact of me that I burst, to save a
beggarly sapling or so from purification.
Yes, I have something to say, and I'll out with it.
For I have hit upon a plan whereby I can print my
book with the merest infinitesimal damage to the Mis
sissippi and other patriotic streams. It is this. I shall
have but one copy printed. This, in a strong box, her-
metically sealed, shall be addressed to you. I shall
hand it to my eldest son, and he to his ; and so it will
travel down the stream of time till it reach you ; which
strikes me as a neat, inexpensive, and effectual way of
reaching that goal of all authors, posterity. From
father to son, and from grandson to great-grandson.
Provided, of course, they shall all have the courage
(as I intend to have) to get married. If not or what
would become of the book, should there be twins ?
but I leave these details to take care of themselves.
One of them might not live, for example.
On second thought, though, it might be as well to
have two copies struck off; yes, and while we are
about it, a dozen extra ones, for private distribution
among my friends.
8*
And one friend, especially, but for whom this non
sense would not now be bubbling up so serenely from
my tranquil soul.
9.
I have just bad a conversation with my publisher,
which greatly disturbs me.
8 TEE STORY OF DON MIFF.
He tells me that all this talk about limiting the
edition to a dozen copies is midsummer madness, where
am I to come in ? said he, using the language of the
period, and that he intends to print as many copies as
he pleases. So everything is upset. And I shall have
to recast my entire work, which, you must know, is
already, with the exception of this first chapter, fin
ished and ready for the printer, down to the last semi
colon. For, as it stands, my boy, everything I say is
addressed to you only ; and my book may be compared
to a telephone with a private wire three hundred years
long. But since my publisher is going to give the gen
eral public the right to hook on and hear what I am
Baying, it is extremely probable that my monologue
will be very often interrupted. Whenever, therefore,
you find me suddenly ceasing to speak to you person
ally, and, after a word with my contemporaries, drop
ping back to our private wire, you may be sure that
there has been a " Hello ?" and a " Who's that?" and a
" Well, good-by 1" somewhere along a cross-line.
10.
And this is the thing that I feel that I have to say :
I would tell you something of the land of your fore
fathers. Something of Virginia. Not new Virginia,
not West Virginia, but the Old Dominion and her peo
ple, such as they were when Plancus was consul. And,
first of all, I will tell you why I have thought it worth
while to lay the following sketches before you.
11.
The world, in my day, is full of unrest. Everywhere
anxious care and the eager struggle for wealth. Mr.
Spencer's Gospel of Recreation finds few adherents, and
the Genius of Repose seems to have winged its way to
other spheres.
And I fear matters will be worse in your day ; and,
just as one, on a broiling July afternoon, looks with a
real, though evanescent, pleasure upon pictured polar
bears gambolling amid icebergs (in the show-window
of a soda-water shop), so I cannot but think that it
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. g
would be a genuine boon to you could I but lead you
for an hour from out the dust and heat and turmoil of
your life and bid you cease striving for a little while,
while I (I, too, forgetting for a moment that every
crust must be fought for), while I reproduce from out
the cool caves of my memory certain scenes that I bave
witnessed.
True, some of them I have not seen 'with my own
eyes, but Charley has, or else Alice, whicb is just as
well.
is.
Yes, my lad, I think the glimpses I am about to give
you of the old Virginia life will refresh your tired soul.
Just as it refreshes mine to draw the pictures for you.
For from me, as well, the reality has vanished. Our
civil war (war of the rebellion, as the underbred among
the victors still call it) swept that into the abyss of the
past ; but let me with such poor wand as I wield sum
mon it before you.
In Pompeii, the tourist, looking from blank wall to
dusty floor, wonders what there is to see in that little
ball ; but a native goes down upon his hands and knees ;
with a few brisk passes of his hand the sand is brushed
away, and a Numidian lion glares forth from the tes
sellated pavement. So I, brushing aside tbe fast-settling
dust, would make you see that old life as I saw it.
And, strangely enough, I, too, bave a lion to show
you. For, while my real object was by a series of
sketches to bring into clear relief the careless ease, the
sweet tranquillity, the unapproachable serenity of those
old days, I did not see my way to making these sketches
interesting. (For not alone in a repast for the body is
the serving almost everything.) But the thought
occurred to me to stitch them together with the thread
of a story into a kind of panorama. For this story I
had to find a hero. To invent one would have been, I
am sure, quite beyond my powers ; and what I should
have done I am at a loss to conjecture had I not found
one ready made to my hand : a very remarkable young
man, that is, who in a very remarkable way suddenly
made his appearance upon the boards of our little
10 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
theatre, upon which were serenely enacting the tran
quil scenes in which I would steep your care-worn
soul. This is the lion that I have to show you. And
when he begins to shake his mane and lash his sides,
you will find things growing a trifle lurid in our little
impromptu drama. Absolutely none of which was upon
the original programme. But dropping from the sky,
as it were, in .the midst of our troupe, what should he
do but straightway fall in love with one of our pretty
little actresses. And then the trouble began and the
tranquillity came to an end.
13.
As for me, the manager of the show, you will see that
I have done my best to relieve the gloom. Between
the acts, between the scenes, nay, even while they
are going on, you shall find me continually popping
out before the foot-lights and interrupting the play,
and raking the audience with a rattling rigmarole. All
for the sake of keeping their spirits up. And on more
than one occasion I go the length (or breadth, as Alice
suggests) of standing on my head and making faces at
Charley in the prompter's box. How I should have
gotten on had he not sat there, or without Alice in the
wings (to superintend the love-passages), I am sure I
cannot tell. And if, at the end of the play, I am called
before the curtain, I shall refuse to budge unless hand
in hand with my two co-workers ; who, though content
to be for the most part silent partners in this under
taking, have really put in most of the capital.
It is understood, then, between us, Ah Yung, that
while this story is composed for your delectation, the
injunctions of my publisher force me to recognize tho
possibility of contemporary readers. The situation is
awkward. As though a third person were present at
a confidential interview. Ah, I have it.
While I am talking to you, the contemporary reader
may nod ; and when I turn to her, you have leave to
nap it. And small blame to the contemporary reader.
THE StfORY OF DON MIFF. H
For what I shall say to you will seem to her (and
especially my didactic spurts) the merest rubbish.
Every school-boy knows that, she will say.
But I am not to be put down by this crushing and fa
miliar phrase of our day, which simply means that the
fact in question is known to the Able-Editor, who looked
it up in the cyclopaedia on his desk an hour since. Every
school-boy in ancient times knew, for instance, what
kind of a school Aristotle went to, and how he was
taught, and what. Aspasia, we may feel sure, knew no
German, nor had even a smattering of French ; while
all conceivable ologies were so much Greek to her. And
yet she must have known something. For statesmen
and philosophers flocked to her boudoir, and, when she
spoke, sat at her feet, silent and wondering. What had
she been taught, and how ? Every contemporary
school-girl knew. What audience could be found now
in the wide world that could keep pace with the elo
quence of Demosthenes? How had the Athenian
populace been taught ? For they were more wonder
ful than their orator. Ah, bow much would we not
give to know! But no one thought it worth his while
to set it all down in a little book ; and we know not, and
must darkly guess. Else would we rise as one man, and,
rushing with torches to all the colleges and universities
of the land, incinerate within their costly walls their
armies of professors, along with the hordes of oarsmen
and acrobats that they annually empty on the world.
A Porch sufficed for Zeno.
Ah, there are thousands of little things which they
might have told us, but did not. Ah, that Homer, for
instance, had described Helen to us as minutely as he
did the shield of Achilles. As it is, we must even con
jecture that she had a Grecian nose. Arid as for her
eyes and hair
And the song the Sirens sang, what was the tune of
it? How much would I not have given to hear my
dear old grandfather play it on his fiddle !
And how did Socrates make out without a pipe after
dinner while Xantippe was explaining to him how
many kinds of a worthless husband be was?
12 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Ah, we shall never know ! Therefore, my boy, I am
determined you shall know something about the Vir
ginians in my day. But excuse me for one moment,
my telephone-bell is ringing.
is.
Some stranger has hooked on.
'Hello!"
'Do you claim that Yirginia has ever produced a
Socrates ?"
< Who's there ?"
' Boston."
I do not."
'Ever see a Yirginia Xantippe?"
" Well, good-by !'
This is the way I am likely to be interrupted through
out the entire course of my story. True, I shall leave
out the hello and good-by part of the business as too
realistic, but you will know when they have been hook
ing on from my stopping to argue with my supposed
readers. By the way, if this chapter bears, to your
mind, internal evidence of having been composed in
Bedlam, you will understand how it has fared with me
when I tell you that I had hardly spoken a dozen words
when my telephone began to ring like mad. A thou
sand cross-lines at least must have been connected with
our private wire before my first sentence was finished.
Heavens, what a jingling they are keeping up even
now I I must speak with them.
" Hello ! hello ! hello ! Good-by I good-by 1 good-
by !"'
And why all this clatter, do you suppose ?
It is nearly all about these seven words in my open
ing sentence, Thine' almond eye, my Ah Yung Whack.
I shall analyze the questions and remarks of the first
hundred as a sample of the thousands.
Of this number, three announced themselves as au
thors of English grammars, adding that they could not
sustain me unless I changed my ah to ah my ; and of
the three, one that I should have said Virginian instead
of Virginia Xantippe; quoting a rule from his own
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 13
grammar. "Which I was glad he did, seeing that I had
never read a line in any English grammar in my born
days ; and I find that when you are writing a book no
kind of knowledge comes amiss.
I answered him (per telephone) by this question in
political economy : whether he thought that by a judi
cious tariff Massachusettsish enterprise would ever be
enabled to raise Indian rubber under glass at a profit
and successfully compete with the pauper labor of the
sun ; and, springing nimbly from political to domestic
economy, I trusted that his next Thanksgiving Turkish
gobbler would sit light on his stomach. And this I
meant, once for all, as a defiance to the whole tribe of
grammarians, be they living, dead, or yet unborn.
After the three grammarians come seven spelling re
formers, congratulating me on my courage in writing
yung instead of young. [How they found this out by
tapping my telephone I will explain later, if I have
time.] And of these, one, who was also a short-hand
writer, thought Whack an improvement on Whacker.
All the remainder of the hundred that is, ninety
were young ladies.
There is a certain insinuating witchery about the
unmarried voice of woman (among males all widowers
have it) that is not to be mistaken, even through a tele
phone. That is, when addressed to an unmarried ear.
Of these ninety, every solitary one asked, " Have
you almond eyes ?" (for } r oung ladies can underscore,
even over a wire), and forty-three of them added, " Oh,
how cute!" and forty-seven, " My, how cunning!"
And of these ninety, eighty-nine added that, by a
strange coincidence, they, too, were unmarried ; the re
maining one saying that she was single. She, I take
it, was a young widow ; especially as she went on to
say that she feared that I was a sad, had, bold, fascina
ting wretch to speak in my half-frivolous, half-business
like way of the holy estate of matrimony, which had
been commended even of St. Paul. She added that she
had often been told that her own eyes sloped a little.
2
14 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
16.
Now you, my boy, know perfectly well that you aro
called Whack. Nor will it strike you that I have re
formed the spelling of your Confucian name, Yung.
As to the Ah, you will smile at its being mistaken by a
Western barbarian for an interjection. But you do not
know, and will be amazed to hear, that you have almond
eyes. For you have never seen any other variety.
This, therefore, strikes me as a fitting opportunity for
explaining to you and the contemporary reader why
I began with those seven mysterious words. You, at
least, can hardly regret their use, since it was the
means of showing you how many candidates there
were for the honor of being your great-great-great-
great-great-great-great-great-great-great - grand mother.
The aspirants had never seen me, it is true. So that
Jam not puffed up.
Puffed up ? Alas, yes, that is my trouble ! Hence my
long delay. Woman after woman has admitted that
my smile is sweet, my voice low, my ways winning.
His soul is beautiful, they say; then why will he
waddle when he walks?
And waddling is mirth-provoking to every daughter
of Eve, and laughter is fatal to love.
IT.
Not one word of the caballistic seven would I have
written but for two very singular dreams which I had.
And this is the way, so far as I can make out, that I
chanced to dream the first one.
The line of Bishop Berkeley, to the effect that the
star of empire is constantly moving west, is naturally
a favorite with patriots in this country. It is in every
body's mouth. I have heard it cited, you could not
imagine how often ; so often, to put it plainly, that I
would undertake to reckon up on my fingers and toes
the number of times I have not heard it. Western
journalists, especially, see their way to quoting it so
frequently that they keep it always in stock, electro*
typed and ready for use at a moment's notice (when
a commercial traveller registers at the local hotel, for
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 15
instance). Not a Weekly is sot up as the organ of the
pionoerest water-tank of a Western railway, but you
shall see this verse figure in the first leader. Now it was
this line which, though not the exciting cause of the
first of my two dreams, gave direction to it, at least.
A friend had sent me a San Francisco paper, and
meeting the familiar line therein, I began wondering
to myself, as I lay upon my lounge, where the star of
empire could go now, seeing that there was no longer
any West left ; and, reading on, half awake, after a late
supper, and seeing in every column allusions to the
glorious climate of California (in worn type), I asked
myself, with a drowsy smile, whether it were not to
reach this same glorious climate, perhaps, that the star
in question had been bending her steps westward
throughout recorded time.
If she is to go any further I dozed I she will
have to wade and I fell asleep !
18.
How long I slept I cannot say ; but long enough to
dream this:
Dream I. [Welsh rarebit.]
America, at last (so it seemed to me in my vision),
is full ; and thousands upon thousands of our redundant
population are pouring into Asia, you among the rest ;
for your day had come, and you are all as busy as
bees, cutting the throats of the heathen, in order to
bring them to a true knowledge of the living God, and
secure their lands, as our ancestors have served the
treacherous and implacable Red Men.
(When I speak of your cutting their throats, I speak
as a man of my time ; for it would be the veriest pre
sumption in a mortal of this benighted day to restrict
heroes in the blaze of the twenty-third century to such
vulgar and ineffectual methods of destroying their fel
low-men. Indeed, I must do myself the justice to say
that, when I ventured to dream of you as storming the
ranges of Thian-Shan and the Kuen-Lun, into which
have fled the deluded remnants of the followers of Con
fucius (of whom, at the date of this dream, you were
16 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
not one), I did not take the liberty of picturing you
to myself, even in a vision of the night-time, as labori
ously toiling up those rugged slopes, convincing, as you
go, the unregenerate, by the unanswerable suasion of
breech-loading cannon and repeating rifles, lame con
trivances of our less-favored age ; but)
Before my closed, yet prophetic eye, you float a
beautiful, aerial host of missionary heroes and real-estate
agents, flecking the sky with innumerable winged craft.
There ! I see the line halt ! A rock-bound fastness lies
just ahead! A captain's yacht a kind of mechanical
American eagle, an 'twere darts forward through the
limpid air, and poises itself just over the enemy, a mile
above the earth. A field telephone drops into the for
tress, and a parley is held. Unsatisfactory ! for an officer
in the uniform of the Flying Chemists, leaning lightly
over the starboard gunwale, lets fall into the stronghold,
with admirable precision, a homoeopathic globule of the
triple-refined quintessence of the double extract of dyna
mite. It is finished ! Peace on earth, good will toward
men I What was, a moment since, a heaven-piercing
peak, is now a hole in the ground, what were, just now,
the adherents of an effete theology, in the twinkling of
an eye are converted, if not into Christians, at least into
almond-eyed angels, and the victors can read their
title clear to mansions near the skies, and to the rice-
fields of the Yang-tsi-Kiang, or the tea-orchards of the
Hoang-Ho.
I am persuaded that every fair-minded man will
allow this to have been a dream that not even Pharaoh
need have blushed to own. I feel that it does me
credit. But would it have been prudent in me (as a
professional dreamer) to see that one vision, and then,
as we lawyers say, rest my case? Perhaps I had gone
all astray. Who is this Bishop Berkeley, after all ?
Have men, in their migrations, always followed the
sun ? Who destroyed the Mound-Builders ? and
whence came they? and their destroyers? from the
East? or from the West?
To certain insects, which live but a single day, the
winds may very well seem to blow always in one direc-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 17
tion ; and there may be in the affairs of men a tide
which ebbs and flows in aeons rather than in ho.urs.
And what is the meaning of this cloud-speck rising
along the Pacific coast? Is the nineteenth century, so
remarkable in many respects (for instance, brag), to
usher in an era as yet unsuspected ? Is the tide trem
bling at its utmost flood, and is the reflux upon us?
Are the " lower orders" the real prophets, as they have
ever been before? And is their animosity against the
Chinese but a blind feeling of the truth that in these
new-comers the European races have met their mas
ters ? Can it be that under the contempt expressed for
them- as inferiors there lurks a secret, unrealized sense
of their real superiority ?
For wherein do we surpass the Indian whom we are
so rapidly supplanting? In two things: endurance
under toil and strength to hoard, industry and self-
denial. By force of these traits we have driven the
Red Men from their homes. And now, on the Pacific,
we meet a race as superior to us in these qualities as
we are to the Indian or the negro.
Obviously, therefore, if I would get at the bottom of
the business, it behooved me to see another vision. It
was not long in coming. The very next day a party
of us jurists had luncheon together, and I ate, of all
things in the world
Well, returning to my office, I threw myself upon
my lounge, and took up a law-book, stood it upon the
bosom of my shirt, and opened it at the Rule in Shel
ley's Case. If a man have nothing on his conscience,
this justly celebrated rule will put him to sleep in ten
minutes.
19.
Before I lay down, therefore, I locked my door ; for
the spectacle of a sleeping lawyer must ever be a pain
ful surprise to a client.
Dream II. [Canned lobster.]
Presently I heard a gentle rap. " Come in," said I.
And in there stalked a most surprising figure.
Now, if I had had my wits about me, I should have
known it was a dream ; for how could he have gotten
b . 2*
18 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
in with the door locked ? So I suppose I must have
dreamed that it was not a dream. At any rate, there
he was. A Chinaman, but tall, athletic, and gor
geously arrayed in brocaded silks. A low bow, full of
grace and dignity. I rose hastily, without either the
one or the other.
" Ah Ying Kee," said he, with another bow, at the
same time lightly touching his left breast with the tips
of the fingers of his right hand.
" Be seated, Mr. Kee," said I, offering him a chair.
" Thanks ; I have the honor of addressing Mr. Yang
Kee ?"
The afternoon was furiously hot. My man had the
chest and neck of Hercules. So I contented myself
with the haughty reply that my name was Whacker.
" No doubt, no doubt," replied he, with a courteous
wave of the hand. " In a general way you are quite
right ; but for the special purpose of my visit permit
me to insist that you are Mr. Yang Kee."
It flashed across my mind that I was dealing with a
large lunatic, and my anger cooled.
" Very well," said I, " if you will have it so. I was
never called a Yankee before, that's all."
" No doubt ; nor have you the least idea that you are
one. Still, I venture to remark with your kind per
mission that such is practically the fact. To your
eye and ear there are differences between your people
and those of Connecticut, just as I have no difficulty in
distinguishing an inhabitant of the district of Hing
Chang from a dweller on the banks of the Fi Fum.
To you we are all Chinese. To us, Americans are all
Yankees. Orientals, occidentals. Let Ying Kee stand
for the one, Yang Kee for the other."
" You don't say Melican man ?''
"No; I am not a washerwoman," replied he, with
a smile. " I am a member of the imperial diplomatic
corps, and, if you will permit me to say so, a gentle
man."
I gave him to understand that he was more than
welcome. (He was six feet two, if he was an inch.)
" Thanks. But my object in calling "
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 19
My retainer would be a stiff one, never fear
"I call, not as a diplomat, but as a philosophei."
I sighed the sigh of a jurisconsult.
" I come to discuss with you a dream which I under
stand you have done us Chinese the honor to dream
about us."
I had not mentioned my dream to a soul. How had
he heard of it ? I never once dreamt that 1 was dream
ing again.
" You, too, I understand, are a philosopher, the
greatest philosopher, if common fame may be relied on,
throughout the length and breadth "
I gave my. hand a deprecatory wave. "Don't men
tion it," said I.
" Throughout the length and breadth of Henrico
County, ITanraker, as the natives call it."
" You are strong on geography."
" It is made my business by my government to know
America. But let's to our discussion. But is not your
office rather close quarters ? Might I beg you to walk
with me?"
" Where shall we go?" I asked, when we reached the
sidewalk.
" What do you say to Eocketts ?"
" Eocketts!" I exclaimed; "you are strong on geog
raphy !"
" Eocketts ?" said he, with a bland smile ; " who does
not know that it is the port of Eichmond, just as the
Piraeus was that of Athens ?"
I cannot imagine why I put all these fine phrases in
his mouth, unless it was because I had read in the
papers, not long before, that the Parisians pronounced
the manners of the Chinese embassy perfect.
And here I may remark, for the benefit of science,
that though the thermometer was at ninety in the
shade, I was not conscious of the heat during our long
walk. Yet and it shows that it costs a fat man some
thing even to dream of toil yet, when I awoke, my
brow looked as though I had been earning my bread,
whereas a lawyer, as we know, confines himself to earn
ing some other fellow's.
20 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" And now, Mr. Yang Kee," said he, as we took our
seats in a corner of the docks of the Old Dominion Line,
" and now for this very remarkable dream of yours ;
and permit me to begin by observing that, the central
conception of your dream being vicious, the whole busi
ness falls to pieces."
I threw my eyebrows into the form of a couple of
interrogation-points.
" You have been at the pains of dreaming that your
people are to conquer mine through the instrumen
tality of armed colonization. Those days, when entire
nations men, women, and children migrated, sword
in hand, are over. Instead of migration we have emi
gration, the movement of individuals instead of the
movement of tribes ; in place of the Helvetii "
"Mr. Kee, your learning amazes me!"
" It's all in Confucius," said he, modestly. " Instead
of the Helvetii devastating Gaul, the Swiss waiter lies
in ambush against the small change of Christendom.
It is no longer warrior against warrior, but man against
man. It is not a question of "
Mr. Kee hesitated, and a subtle smile played over
his features.
" Go on," said I.
" These are the days, I was going to say, of the sur
vival of the fittest, rather than the fightest."
"Go it, Ying!" cried I; at the same time fetching
him a rouser between the shoulders with my rather
heavy hand. In my enthusiasm I had forgotten his
high rank. I began to stammer out an apology.
" It is nothing," said he. " It makes me know that
you are a good fellow," added he, at the same time
shaking hands with himself, after the manner of his
people, with the utmost cordiality.
I do not suppose that a native ever puns without a
certain sense of shame ; but I confess to enjoying it in
a foreigner. He is always as. proud as a boy whistling
his first tune.
" A Caucasian army is vastty superior to a Mongolian ;
a Caucasian individual vastly inferior."
I smiled.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 21
" Oh," said he, "I know what your politicians say;
and I find no fault with them, for they make their
living by saying judicious things. The Chinaman
works for nothing and lives upon rice, so that a decent
American working-man cannot compete with him.
Moreover, he persists in returning to China. He won't
stay, therefore he must go. Moreover, a Celestial is a
heathen, while you, dear voters, are all pious and good !"
As he said this, accompanying the remark with a
wink of Oriental subtlety, we both, with a common im
pulse, burst into a laugh so loud that a large rat, which
we had observed as he cautiously stole up towards
a broken egg which lay upon the dock, precipitately
scampered off and down into his hole.
" Oh, I don't blame your statesmen. They, just as
others, have a trade by which wives and children must
be fed and clothed. Moreover," and leaning forward
and confidentially tapping my round and shapely knee
with his yellow hand, he whispered, " moreover, your
statesmen are right 1" and, straightening up, he paused,
enjoying my surprise. " The sentimentality of Poca-
hontas," he resumed, with a wave of his hand in the
direction of Jamestown, " was the ruin of her people.
Opecancanough was a prophet and a statesman. Had the
Indians slain the Europeans as fast as they landed "
Just then the rat thrust his sharp muzzle out of his
hiding-place and warily swept the dock with his jet-
bead eye. Mr. Kee turned upon him his almond oval
and smiled.
" I thank thee, good rat," he cried ; " for thou art
both an illustration and a prophecy. Hundreds of
years ago, the blue rat held sway oji this continent, while
you squeaked unknown in the mountains of Persia."
" 'Tis a Norway rat," I put in.
" No," said he, quietly, " he is of Persian origin, and
migrated to China ages ago, during the reign, to be
exact, of Ying Lung Fo. You will find it laid down in
Confucius, in his great work, ' Bang Lie Yu,' concern
ing all things, as you would say in English."
I wonder whether he likes them best broiled or
fricasseed ? thought I.
22 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" The real Norway rat is little larger than a field-
mouse. Your term Norway rat is simply a populai
corruption of gnaw-away rat, given him as the most
strikingly rodential of rodents."
"To be found, I suppose," said I, "in Confucius's
lesser work, ' Fool Hoo Yu,' or, concerning a few other
things, as we say in English."
" You have me there !" replied he, with the most
winkish of winks. " But we digress. Where is the
blue rat now? Perhaps a few specimens might be
found, falling back, with the Eed Men, upon the Rocky
Mountains. And where will the Caucasian race be three
centuries [his very figures] hence ? Your statesmen are
right, but, like Opecancanough, right too late. Your
race is doomed ; not, indeed, to extinction, for already
the despised Mongol begins to find wives among you ;
but you will be crossed out of existence by a superior
and prepotent race. Look at me," said he, giving him
self a slap upon his broad chest ; "do I look like an
inferior specimen of there he comes again !"
Looking, I saw the rat, stealthily creeping toward
the egg, his larboard eye covering us, his starboard
fixed upon a cat that lay dozing in the shadow of a post.
" There he is, that intruder from Persia, and he will
remain with you. Housewives may poison, here and
there, a score of them, the survivors take warning;
pussy may lie in wait, he learns to avoid even to
bully her. Terriers may dig down into their hiding-
places, they will bore others. An incautious youngster
gets his leg in a trap, his squeal is a liberal education
to the entire colony. He has an infinite capacity for
adjusting himself to bis environment. He is here for
good ; and so is the Chinaman. Congress may legislate
against him ; it will be a Papal bull against a comet.
Mobs may assail him, trade-unions damn him ; but the
Chinaman will not go. And myriads more, the sur
vivors of ages of a fearful struggle for existence at home,
will pour in. He will not go. He will come ; and be
tween Ying Kee and Yang Kee the fittest will survive."
" Westward," began I, " westward the star of em
pire "
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 23
" Scat I" cried he, leaping from his seat.
Our rat, having, at last, after many advances and re
treats, secured the egg, was making off with it to his
hole, when the cat, awakening, sprang after him. Down
he plunged into his hole, bearing off the egg, but leaving
an inch of his tail under pussy's paws.
"Scat!" cried I, rushing to the rat's assistance, and
bump ! I fell upon the floor.
Ah Ying had vanished. My door was still locked.
It had all been a dream.
20.
No, my boy, I am not a candidate for the Presidency.
This is no hook baited with the Chinese question. My
object is merely to explain how you happen to have
almond eyes. And if you don't, you will understand
that it is no fault of mine. The Welsh rarebit dream
overcame the canned lobster vision, that's all. And
having made this clear to you, as I hope, the time has
come for me to say a few words about myself.
31.
When this book shall be, on your twenty-first birth
day, laid beside your plate, at breakfast, by your
thoughtful yellow father, I have no doubt that you
will ask him, before even you begin to play your chop
sticks, who wrote it. Now, what will it avail you for
him to say that it was written by John Bouche
Whacker, of the Richmond bar? Who was John
Bouche Whacker ? And that question means (at least
since Mr. Charles Darwin wrote) who was the father
and who the mother of J. B. W. ; and the father and
mother of this pair, and so on, and so on.
Now, I suppose that if I were to push the inquiry into
prehistoric times, it would turn out that I was related
to the entire Indo-Germanic race ; but I shall content
myself with indicating to you the three chief strains of
blood which mingle in my veins, leaving to you, as you
read chapter after chapter, this entertaining ethnologi
cal puzzle : Who spoke there ? The Dane ? or was it
the Saxon ? As to my Huguenot blood, there will b
24 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
no hiding that. It will always be on fire, at the merest
suggestion of a dogma of theology.
2S.
I. THE WHACKERS.
Every school-boy knows that, no sooner had their
brave Queen Boadicea perished, than the Britons lost
all stomach for fighting, and gave themselves up wholly
to roast beef and plum pudding. Nor is it a secret,
that when the Eoman legions, to whom they had
learned to look for protection, were withdrawn from
the island, the Picts and Scots, grown weary of oat
meal, began to trouble the more sumptuous feasts of
their neighbors. Remonstrances proving fruitless, they
sent for the Jutes and the Saxons and the Angles (so
called, respectively, from a valuable plant, a fine variety
of wool, and a singular devotion to fishing). These
sturdy braves crossed the water with their renowned
battle-axes, as every school-boy knows. But what even
our very learned young friend does not, perhaps, sus
pect, is that, along with Hengist and Horsa, there
sailed, on this historical occasion, two twin brothers,
named respectively Ethelbert and Alfred Whacker, or
Hvaecere, as they themselves would have spelled it,
had they thought spelling, of any sort, worth their
heroic while; which, haply, they did not. Now, from
these twins I am lineally descended, as you shall see
duly set forth in the Whacker Records, herewith trans
mitted. You will find in these family annals, too, some
details not sufficiently elaborated, perhaps, in the Anglo-
Saxon Chronicle, and other authorities for this period.
There is the barest allusion, for instance, to the brave
death of Ethelbert Hvaecere, the eldest of the twins,
which occurred as follows :
33.
"When the English (for such recent historians have
shown that they were, and not Germans, as they them
selves, absurdly enough, supposed themselves to be)
when the English -reached the Wall of Severus, they
found that earth- work lined, for miles, with Picts and
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 25
Scots. So, at least, they were named in Pinnock's
Goldsmith's England, which I read at school. So,
too, you will find they are called in the Whacker Rec
ords. Recent historical research, however, has demon
strated that the so-called Picts were, in reality, painted
Scotchmen, while the alleged Scots were neither more
nor less than Irishmen. And I must confess that when
I re-read the Whacker Records by these modern lights, I
was ashamed that I had not made this discovery myself.
It would appear that the west of Scotland was origi
nally settled by the Irish ; and that those who remained
at home took so lively an interest in their emigrated
brethren, that whenever they got news of a wake or
other shindy that was brewing beyond the Channel,
they would shoot across in their canoes, or else so sur
prisingly low were the tides in those simple days
wade across and join in the fray ; as they did on the
present occasion.
34.
You and I have no special interest in Hengist's attack
on the tattooed Scotchmen on the enemy's left ; for the
two Hvaeceres fought under Horsa, on our left.
And things looked so strange to Horsa, as he ap
proached the enemy, that this wily captain called a
halt and sent word to Hengist to delay the attack till
he could look into matters a little. And this is what he
observed, standing a little in front of his line, with the
two Hvaeceres (who constituted his staff) by his side.
In the first place, the weapons which these so-called
Scots were waving above their heads were not clay
mores, as he had been led to expect. Instead, they
brandished stout, blackish, knotted clubs, and to the
accompaniment, not of the shrill bagpipe or the rhyth
mic slogan, but with fierce and discordant cries. One
thing he remarked with grim satisfaction. Standing
in dense masses, and whirling their clubs with more
fervor than care, it constantly happened that a neigh
boring head got a tap; and no sooner had this oc
curred (giving forth a singularly solid sound) than it
instantly set up a local internecine fracas of such
severity that, at times, considerable spaces of the wall
B " 3
26 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
were denuded of defenders; who, tumbling into the
transmural ditch, fought fiercely there. In a few min
utes, however, they would reappear, smiling, as though
they had been seeing fun of some sort, over there be
yond the wall. Once, indeed, one of the combatants,
a little bow-legged fellow, bringing down his shil-
laleh (which is Celtic for hickory) with a sounding
thwack upon the bare head of a burly opponent,
knocked him down the slope of the wall on our side,
and, standing upon the edge of the wall, with his
thumb to his nose, jeei'ed at him.
"Who hit Maginnis?" cried he in Gaelic; and even
the Maginnises roared with laughter. Nay, grim
Horsa, too, was observed to smile ; for he knew tbeir
language well, having learned it during his many in
cursions into Gaul.
But, just at this moment, Hengist riding up, and
seeing our men seated on the ground, and laughing, as
though at a show, flew into a rage ; for, like his mater
nal uncle, Ariovistus, he was of an ungovernable tem
per; and asked his brother Horsa what in the Walhalla
he meant. " Do you call this business ?" added he, fo~
he was an Anglo-Saxon.
"I am giving them time to knock out each other's
brains," replied Horsa, in his slow-spoken way.
" Then will you wait till doomsday," replied the
humorous monarch ; and galloping back to his lines,
well pleased with his sally, he ordered an immediate
advance upon the pictured Macgregors in his front.
We charged too. (I have read the account so often
that I cannot help thinking I was there.) And it was
then that Horsa discovered the meaning of a reddish
line along the top of the wall in his front. Observing
no signs of missile weapons among the enemy, he had
flattered himself that he would easily have the mastery
over them, with his terrible battle-axes against their
shillalehs. But when we got within thirty feet of them
(not before) they stooped as 'one man and rose again.
An instant more and we thought that Thor was raining
his thunder-bolts upon our shields. Our men went
down by hundreds.- A reddish mist filled the air.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 27
'Twas brick-dust 1
"With such prodigious force did they hurl their na
tional weapon (shamrock is the pretty name of it in
the Gael) against our shields, that, where it did not go
through, it was reduced to powder.
We stood a long while, stunned, blinded, bewildered ;
Buffering heavily, doing nothing in reply. At last there
was a slight lull in the storm of missiles ; for as they
had each brought over but a peck of ammunition, in
their corduroys, the more impetuous among them were
beginning to run short ; and it was then that our sturdy
ancestor showed the stuff he was made of. Assuming
command (for Horsa, with Alfred Hvaecere by his side,
lay insensible upon the grass), " Men," cried he, " why
do we stand here ? Kemember Quintilius Varus and his
legions ! To your axes ! to your axes I" And the whole
line staggered forward, with Ethelbert well in front
and bearing down upon Maginnis. (The same, though
his mother would scarcely have known him, with that
blue-black bulge in his forehead.) And it is mainly
from an observation that Maginnis made at this junc
ture that I am inclined to give in my adhesion to the
hypothesis of the later historians, who claim that these
men were not Scots.
" Erin go bragh !" cried the undaunted chieftain,
reaching down into his trousers for a reserve brick,
an heirloom, black, glistening, hard as flint, mother
of wakes
" Thor smash thee !" cried the Hvaecere ; and toss
ing away his shield, he lifted aloft, in both hands, his
mighty axe. It trembled in the air, ready to descend.
Too late, for the brick of Maginnis landed square
between the hero's eyes, and you and I had to be
descended from the younger brother.
The Whackers, therefore, are not ancestors that one
needr blush to own.* But I have not meant to boast.
* I sometimes wonder how some people can plume themselves on their
descent, though able to trace it back only to the Norman Conquest.
J. B. W.
28 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Else had I been unworthy of them. They were Anglo-
Saxon ; and when I have said that, I have said that
they had a certain sturdy love of truth, for which this
race is conspicuous. And so this book may be absurd,
or even wicked, nay, worst of all, dull ; but one thing
you may rely upon. Every word in it will be true.
36.
II. THE DANICHESTER8.
It did not seem so while I was writing it, but now
that my book is finished, it strikes me as one of the
oddest works I have ever read. You can never tell
what is coming next. Even to me it was a series of
surprises. Eead the first ten lines of any chapter.
Now read the last ten. Heavens, how did he get
there! I seem never to know whither, or how far I
am going. It has been the same with me all my life.
Often, as a boy, I have set out for a neighbor's on a
mule, and not gone all the way.
Another singular trait about this book is what I
must be allowed to call its unconscious humor. A
strange thing to say about one's own book ; but some
how, when I am reading it, I can't shake off the im
pression that some other fellow wrote it, or that I
wrote it in my sleep, so many things do I find in it
which I could almost swear I never thought of in my
life. And there are a dozen passages in it where 1
slapped my thigh, crying out, Good ! Good ! And
more than once I caught myself saying, By Jove, I
should like to know the old boy who wrote this !
Yet, never in my life was I more serious than when
I sat down to write this work; for it was the solemn,
theological, Huguenot molecules of my brain that set
me to writing ; and the book was to be too grave to
bring a ripple to the beak of a Laughing Jackass, that
jovial kingfisher whose professional hilarity cheers tho
lone Australian shepherd.
Now, since man as every college-boy knows and
it is well to know something since man is but the
sum of his ancestors modified by his environment,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 29
whence have I derived this trait of mine, this uncon
scious humor, the gift, that is, of making people laugh
without intending it? Many persons have it, but
where did /'get it ?
Not from the business-like "Whackers, surely. Still
less from the Pope-hating Bouches. I must derive it
from my Danichester blood. From this source, too, I
must get another characteristic, that of being sad
when others are gay. In the midst of piping and
fiddling I sometimes ask my heart what is the use of
it all. And ofttimes, while I have stood smiling as I
looked upon a group of merry children at play, I could
feel the tears trickling back upon my heart.
Family traits are generally modified (Darwin, passim)
from generation to generation. Thus, the grandson
of a painter will be a musician, perhaps ; and many
literary people are sons of clergymen. There is simi
larity rather than identity. And so this vein of sad
ness, which lies so deep in me that few or none of my
friends have ever suspected its existence, crops out in
one of my progenitors. I allude to Olaf Danichester,
Gent., whose daughter Gunhilda was married to John
"Whacker, merchant, London, in the seventeenth year
of the reign of glorious Queen Bess.
Now, from all accounts, this ancestor of ours had a
most extraordinary way of saying things that no ono
else would ever have thought of; added to which was
the singularity that, after he had run through the for
tune brought to him by his second wife,-he was never
known to smile. And it is no secret to the Whacker
connection (though not generally known in literary
circles) that the immortal Shakespeare, who often sat
with him over a cold cut and a tankard of ale in the
parlor of his prosperous son-in-law (J. W.), has em
balmed him for posterity in the melancholy Jaques.
Now, the difference between Olaf Danichester and
myself is simply that he gave utterance to his sad
thoughts, while I keep mine to myself. I am a mere
modification of him, just as he was of his valiant pro
genitor, Vagn Akason, the Yiking. This Yagn, though
an eminent waterman in his day, did not come over to
3*
30 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
America in the Mayflower, chiefly because he was
killed centuries before she sailed, but in part, also, be
cause he felt no wish to make others worship God after
his fashion ; which was a very poor fashion, I fear, from
the account given of him in our -Records. At any rate,
he was a marvellously handsome fellow, this Viking
bold ; and when he went forth to battle, a storm of
yellow hair, as Motherwell says, floated over his broad
shoulders, so that he looked for all the world like
Lohengrin. But I suspect he was not the kind of man
we should select, at the present day, as superintendent
of a Sunday-school. For one thing, he was a most
omnipotous drinker; nor should I ever have admitted
that I had a drop of his blood in my veins had it not
been necessary for me, as a Darwinian, to account for
my unconscious humor. And if these words savor of
conceit, let us call it my trick of saying and doing the
most unexpected things. Hear the account of the
death of this brave young sea-rover, and see whether I
do not come honestly by this trait :
He, with seventeen of his companions, had been cap
tured, and had been made, according to the custom of
those rude days, to straddle a large log, one behind the
other, with their hands tied behind their backs. Up
came, then, the victor, Jarl Hakon (after a leisurely
breakfast of pork chops), to strike off their heads.
This, to us, seems unkind; but having one's head
chopped off was such a matter of course in those days
that no one ever thought for an instant of minding it
in the least. Give and take was the way they looked
at it.
But brave as these men were in the presence of the
headsman, they shuddered at the very thought of a
barber. They gloried in their long hair. To lose their
heads was an incident of war ; to lose their locks a dis
grace which followed them even into the next world.
According to a superstition of theirs, a Sea-Cavalier
who lost his curls just before parting with his head
was doomed to be a Roundhead ghost and a laughing
stock throughout eternity.
Up strode the fierce headsman, Tharkell Loire, and
THE STORY OF DON MIFF, 31
bade the captive Viking lean forward and lay his
golden hair upon the log. He obeyed, but held his
calm, sky-blue eye upon the glittering axe, and, quick
as a flash, as it descended, covered his fair curls with
his fairer neck. And when his seventeen comrades,
who sat there waiting their turn, saw how their wily
captain had outwitted their enemy, and how he raged
thereat, they roared with Sea-King laughter.
37.
III. THE BOUCHE8.
Every school-boy knows what the Edict of Nantes
was ; but philosophers differ as to what was the effect
of its revocation upon the fortunes of France. For us
it is enough to know that Louis XIY., by recalling it,
drove to Virginia our ancestor John Bouche, whose
daughter, Elizabeth, completely captivated my great
etc. grandfather, Tom Whacker, by her pretty French
accent and trim French figure. She was good and wise,
too ; but the rascal never found that out till after he
married her. It must be owing to the Danichester
strain, I suppose, that the "Whackers, so sensible in
many ways, have always sought grace and beauty in
their wives, rather than piety and learning ; and I sup
pose I shall be no wiser than my fathers when my time
comes.
This Huguenot cross gave the old "Whacker stock a
twist towards theology. Two of the sons of Thomas
and Elizabeth took orders, much to the surprise of their
father, who used to say that Reverend Whacker had a
queer sound to his ear. So prepotent, in fact', has the
Huguenot strain become, that a Whacker is no longer
a Whacker. In the old days our e3 r es were as blue as
the sky ; now they are as black as sloes. Once we were
reserved and silent ; now but enough. As for myself,
it has often seemed to me that I was all Bouche,
Bouche et prceterea nihil, as the ancient Romans put
it in their compact way.
Needless to say, therefore, that this book was to in
struct and edify you. You may see that from the very
first sentence of it all that I wrote :
32 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"And, now in conclusion, my dear boy, if you rise
from the perusal of this work a wiser and better man,
the direct author of the book and the indirect author
of your being will feel amply repaid for all his toil."
Such were my intentions. And now read the book,
as it stands. Heavens and earth, was there ever such
another! Alas, those Danichester molecules, what
have they not made me say! Page after page, and
chapter after chapter, in which I defy even a mouse to
pick up a crumb of edification. Chapter after chapter
of feasting, fiddling, dancing, courting, roast turkeys,
broiled oysters, hams seven years old. Bowls full of
egg-nogg, pipes full of tobacco, students full of apple-
toddy ,^-every thing to make a man feel good, nothing
to make him be good. For the heathen Viking in me
speaks !
Yet he does not hold entire -sway. But as we sit
you and I and the friends you shall presently make
sit joyously picnicking in a fair wood more than once
the trees above us, as you shall find, will seem to moan,
as they bend before the gentle breeze. 'Tis the spirit
of the melancholy Jaques, perched like a raven, there.
To him a sob lies lurking in every laugh ; and his weary
eyes can never look upon a dimple a dimple, smile-
wrought in damask cheek but they see therein the
Rheen of coming tears.
38.
Here I am, then, Whacker-Danichester-Bouche.
[Anglice, Bush.] And, since man is but the epitome of
his ancestry, what kind of an author 'should result?
Chemists tells us that it is not so much the molecules
as their arrangement. Let us try this: Danichester-
Bush-Whacker, so what else could I be but a
Humoristico-sentimental Bushwhacker ?
And such I am, ladies and gentlemen, at your ser
vice I
39.
And a Bushwhacker, beloved scion, you will rightly
divine to be one who whacks from behind a bush. But
THE STORF OF DON MIFF. 33
that this is so is (and that you would never guess) one
of those whimsical accidents of which philology points
out so many examples. Bushwhackers no more got
their name in the way the name suggests than your
Shank-high fowls got theirs from length of limb.
How they did get it I must now explain. Not that I
may vaingloriously show off my rather quaint and curi
ous philologic lore. I have a better motive. The word
has its origin in an incident in our family history ; an
incident, too, of such interest that it gave rise to a
poem, famous in its day, beginning, " All quiet along
the Potomac to-night," the author of which will never
be known. For three hundred and eleven people
(two hundred and ninety-nine women and twelve men)
went before justices of the peace, when it began to
make a noise in the world, and made oath that they
wrote it. Which shows, among other things, that there
is no lack of justices of the peace in this country. But
let's to the incident.
3O.
You must know, then, that the Bouche connection
is as numerous as it is respectable. Hardly a county
in Virginia where you shall not find a colony of them.
And as a rule they are genteel folk, mingling with the
best. But (for I shall not conceal it from you) every
now and then one stumbles upon a shoot of the original
stem that is fallenjnto the sere and yellow leaf. Still,
th'e motto with us'is, that a Bouche is a Bouche, even
though he be run down at the heel. But our clannish-
ness has its limits. We draw the line at the spelling
of the name, draw it sharply between Bouche and
Bush. Still, I happen to have heard my grandfather
say that, though old Jim Bush did not spell the name
after the aristocratic Huguenot fashion, his father be
fore him did ; and that, consequently, he was one of
us.
After all, he was by no means a bad fellow. It covers
his case better to say that he was not profitable unto
himself. He was, in fact, a kind of Eip Van Winkle,
. whose hands, though he was desperately poor and
34 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
owned a farm of a few acres, were more familiar with
the rifle than the handles of a plough. For miles
around his tumble-down old house he and his gun were
a terror to game of all kinds ; and it was believed that,
of squirrels especially, he had killed more, in his day,
than any man within miles of Alexandria. Nor were
there lacking those who maintained that upon a dozen
of these edible rodents, as a substratum, he could
build up a Brunswick stew such as but I dined with
him once, and feel no need of outside testimony. (I
suppose it was the French streak in him. He spelt
himself Bush, but blood will tell.)
" The main secret, Jack" (everybody calls me Jack,
no matter how poor and humble they may be ; besides,
he was a cousin), " the main secret is that I put in
the brains. When I was a green hand with the rifle I
used to knock their heads off; and monstrous proud I
was, I remember, of never touching their bodies. Now
I save their brains by just wiping off their smellers."
Yes, my son, he was an out-at-the-elbows Bouche,
and his language was low. But let us not sneer at him.
He could do two things well. And how many of us
can do one ! For my own part, when I look at myself
and then at my brother-men, I cannot find it in my
heart to despise the lowliest of them all. The scornful
alone do I scorn. And when I see a little two-legged
puff-ball strutting along, with its nose in the air, I long
for old Jim Bush and his rifle, that he might serve it
as he did the squirrels.
31.
Old Jim's ramshackle house stood in the zone which
lay between the Northern and Southern armies during
the winter following the first battle of Manassas, or
Bull Run. He was not young enough to shoulder his
musket, having been born in the year 1800. Besides,
rheumatism had laid its heavy hand upon his left knee.
As scouting parties of the enemy frequently came un
comfortably near old Jim's little farm, he, dreading
capture, spent most of his time in the dense woods
which surrounded his house, creeping back, at nightfall,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 35
beneath its friendly roof. True, the roof leaked here
and there, but it was all he had, and he loved it.
One day the enemy pushed forward their picket-line
as far as his house, and established a station there. It
was late in the afternoon when they came, and old Jim,
who had already returned for the night, had barely
time, on hearing the clatter of hoofs at his very door,
to rush out by the back way and tumble into the dense
jungle of a ravine which skirted his little garden.
Very naturally, to a Bedouin like old Bush, the idea of
being immured in a noisome dungeon, as had happened
to some of his less wily neighbors, was full of horrors ;
and crawling into the densest part of the thicket, he
crouched there pale and hardl}' breathing, lest the men
whose voices he heard so clearly sbould hear him.
Old Joe for, while Jim differed from Diogenes in
many other ways, he was like him in this, that he
owned a solitary slave old Joe they had caught. No
doubt the sizzling (the dictionary-man will please put
the word in his next edition) the sizzling of the bacon
in his frying-pan dulled his hearing ; and so his knees
smote together, when, raising his eyes to the darkened
door, he saw a Federal soldier standing upon the
threshold.
"Sarvant, mahsterl" stammered he through his
chattering teeth.
In order to explain his terror to readers of the pres
ent day, I must beg them to recall the fact that Lincoln
had issued a proclamation that the North had no in
tention or wish to overthrow slavery in the South.
" We come to save the Union, dash the niggers!" was
the angry and universal reply of the Federal soldiers
when our women jeered them on their supposed mis
sion. Hence the phrase " wicked and causeless rebel
lion," without which no loyal editor could get on with
the least comfort in those early days of the war.
Just as a poetess, nowadays, rends her ringlets till
she finds a way of working "gloaming" into her little
sonnet.
The abolitionists, to praise them is the toughest task
my conscience ever put upon me, though they brought
36 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
on the war, were not war-men. They honestly ab
horred slavery, and had the courage of their convic
tions. They would have let the " erring sisters depart
in peace" so as to rid the Union of the blot of African
servitude, and deserve such honor as is due to earnest
men. Later on, they changed their position ; but mid
dle-aged men will remember what their views were at
the opening of the struggle.
Not recognizing, therefore, a friend in the " Yankee"
who stood in his door-way, the glitter of his bayonet
was disagreeable to old Joe's eyes, and the point of it
looked so sharp that it made his ribs ache ; and his
knees trembled beneath him. For old Joe was not by
nature bloodthirsty, nor longed for gore, least of all
the intimate and personal gore of Joseph Meekins.
"Sarvant, mahster!"
Perhaps old Jim's naturally serene temper was ruf
fled, at the moment, by the fact that the fangs of a
blackberry-bush, under which he had forced his head,
had fastened themselves upon his right ear. At any
rate, I am afraid he muttered, sotto voce, an oath at
hearing his old slave and friend call a Yankee master.
"Sarvant, mahster!"
Old Joe's form was bent low, his teeth chattered, his
eyes rolled in terror like those of a bullock dragged up
to the slaughter-post and the knife.
The sight of a man's face distorted with abject fear
has always filled me with deep compassion ; but I be
lieve it arouses in the average man (which I am far
from claiming to be) a feeling of pitiless scorn.
"Sarvant, mahster!" chattered old Joe, writhing
himself behind the kitchen table. The soldier was an
average man.
" Where is your master, you d d old baboon ?" said
he, entering the kitchen.
" My mahster, yes, mahster, my mahster, he for de
love o' Gaud, young gent'mun, don't pint herdis way,
she mought be loaded. Take a cheer, young mah
ster ; jess set up to de table" (over which he gave a rapid
pass with his s.leeve) " an' lemme gi' you some o' dat
nice bacon I was jess a-fryin' for my mahster's supper."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 37
At these words old Jim's teeth began to chatter so
that he forgot the belligerent brier.
The soldier, hungry from his march, fell to, nothing
loath, but had scarcely eaten three mouthfuls before
several of his comrades appeared, all of whom fell foul
of poor old Jim's supper with military ardor, if without
military precision.
"Where's the old P. F. Y. ?" asked a new-comer,
through a mouthful of hoe-cake.
"Yes, where is your master?" put in the first man.
" You didn't tell me. Out with it."
Joe had had time to repent of his ill-advised admis
sion in regard to the supper.
" You ax me whar Mr. Bush is ? Oh, he's in Cul-
peper Court-House. Leastways, he leif b'fo' light dis
mornin' boun' dar."
The audacious lack of adjustment between this state
ment and the facts of the case amazed, almost amused,
old Jim. Breathing a little freer, he ventured softly to
shake his ear loose from the brier; for he could not
reach it with his hand.
" Why. you lying old ape, didn't you tell me that
this was his supper ?"
"Cert'n'y, young gent'mun; cert'n'y I say dat, in
course."
"And your master at Culpeper?"
"Yes, young mahster. Dis is de way 'tis. You
'pear like a stranger in dese parts, beggin' your par
don, an' maybe you mout'n' understan' how de folks
'bout here is. S'posin' some o' de neighbors had 'a' step
in, and dar warn't nothin' for 'em to eat, an' mahster
hear 'bout it when he come back, how I turn a gent'
mun hongry 'way fum de do'. How 'bout dat, you
reckon ? Umgh-umgh ! You don't know my mahster I
Didn't I try it once ! Lord 'a' mussy I"
" How was it ?"
" You ax me how was it ! Go 'long, chile !" (No mus
ket had gone off yet, and Joe began to feel rather more
comfortable.) " Go 'long I My mahster was off fox-
huntin' wid some o' de bloods, some o' de bloods,
an' when he come back an' find out I hadn't cook no
38 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
supper jess 'cause he was away, an' I done turn a gent'-
mun off widout he supper, mahfiter he gimme, eff you
b'lieve Joe, he gimme 'bout de keenest breshin' Joe
ever tase in he born days." And, throwing back his
head, he gave a laugh such as these soldiers had never
heard in their lives.
And none of us shall ever hear again.
As for old Jim, who had never laid the weight of his
finger on the romancer whose imagination was now
playing like a fountain, tears of affectionate gratitude
came into his eyes.
An instant later, and all kindly feeling was curdled in
his simple heart.
Hearing a bustle, he peeped through the briers, and
saw the officer in command of the party coming towards
the kitchen, bearing in his hand the Virginia flag. He
had discovered it in old Jim's bedroom, where he had
tacked it upon the bare wall, so that it was the last
thing he saw at night and the first his opening eyes
beheld. It was an insult to the Union soldiers, he
heard the officer say, to flaunt the old rag in their
faces. It was what no patriot could stand. He would
teach the dashed rebels a lesson. "Set fire to this
house," he ordered. "The old rattletrap would fall
down anyway, the first high wind that came along,"
he added, with a laugh.
That laugh had a keener sting for old Jim than the
order to burn down the house which had sheltered him
for sixty years. The bitterest thing about poverty,
says Juvenal, is that it makes men ridiculous.
Late in the night, when the smoking ruins of his
house no longer gave any light, Jim crawled stealthily
down the ravine. Could the sentry, as he marched
back and forth on his beat, have seen the look that the
old man, turning, fixed upon him every now and then
as he made his way through the jungle, he would have
felt less comfortable. As for Jim, half dead with cold,
he reached the fires of the Confederate pickets at day
break. On his way he had stopped at a certain old
oak, and, thrusting down his arm into its hollow trunk,
drew forth his rifle.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF, 39
" Bushy-tails," said he, with grave passion, waving
his hand in the direction of the tree-tops above him,
" you needn't mind old Jim any longer. Lead is skeerce
these times. You may skip 'round and chatter all you
want to. Your smellers is safe. And gobblers, you
may gobble and strut in peace now. You needn't say
put! put! when you see me creepin' 'round. I won't
be a-lookin' for you. You'll have to excuse the old
man. Bullets is skeerce these days, let alone powder.
So, good-by, my honeys. And if you will forgive me
the harm I have done you, old Jim won't trouble you
any more."
And so, with his rifle across his lap, he sat upon a
log and warmed his benumbed limbs, and, looking into
friendly faces, warmed his heart, too.
" I say, old man," said a young soldier, chaffing him,
"what do you call that thing lying in your lap? Can
it shoot?"
" I call her Old Betsey," said he. " You may laugh
at her, but if you hold her right and steady, she hurts.
There ain't anything funny about Old Betsey's business
end, I promise you." And he tapped the muzzle of his
rifle with a grim smile.
Late in the afternoon of the next day (it took him
all this day to get thawed) old Jim bade the jolly boys
at the picket station good-day. He was going scout
ing, he said. '
"Leave the old pop-gun behind," cried one.
" No, take it along," put in another. " Perhaps you
may knock over a molly-cotton-tail. Fetch her in,
and we will help you cook her."
33.
Just before sundown the old man reached the sum
mit of a densely- wooded little hill, about three hundred
yards from where his house had lately stood. Stopping
in front of a tall hickory on its apex, he raised his eyes
and surveyed the tree from bottom to top.
" I went up it once, after nuts," said he, speaking
aloud ; " but that was many a year ago, let me see,
yes, forty-five years. Well, I must try ah, I see, I
40 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
can make it." And, leaning Old Betsey against the
huge trunk, he tackled a young white oak.
Old Jim was tough and wiry, and found no great dif
ficulty in climbing this to a point about thirty feet from
the ground, where a large branch of the hickory came
within a foot of the white oak. This he cooned till he
reached the trunk. [I have not time to define cooning.
Suffice it to say that, like heat, it is a mode of motion.]
Toiling up this till he reached a fork about eighty feet
from the ground, he, with a sharp effort, adjusted his
own bifurcation to that of the tree, and immediately,
without taking time to collect his breath, leaned for
ward, and fixed his eyes intently upon the little open
space in front of the ruins of his house. He gazed,
motionless, for a little while, then nodded his head,
" Ah, there he comes." He sat there for half an hour,
watching the sentry come into view and again pass out
of sight, as he marched to and fro. " "Well, old man,"
said he, at last, " I reckon you know about all you
want to know." And twisting his stiff leg out of the
fork, with a wry face, he descended the hickory, and
took his seat upon a fallen trunk that lay near, throw
ing old Betsey across his lap. It was growing dark, and
every now and then he raised his rifle to his cheek and
took aim at various trees around him. Took aim again
and again, lowering and raising his rifle, with con
tracted brows. " I am afraid my eyes* are growing
dim," he muttered ; " but the moon will rise at a quar
ter to ten, and then it will be all right, won't it, old
Bet ? Don't you remember that big gobbler we tum
bled out of the beech-tree, one moonlight night let me
see nineteen years ago coming next Christmas Eve ?
And you' ain't going to go back on me to-night, are
you? Oh, I know you will stand by me this one time,
if my eyes are just a little old and dim. I know you
will help me out, as you have done many a time before,
when I didn't point you just right, but you knew where
I wanted the bullet to go. Do you know what's hap
pened, old gal ? Do you know that the little corner
behind the bed, where you have stood for fifty years, is
all ashes now, and the bed, too? Do you hear mo.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 41
Betsey ? And as the Holy Scripture says, the birds of
the air have their nests, and the foxes their holes, but
you ar.d I have not where to lay our heads."
The old man bowed his head over his rifle; and the
fading twilight revealed the cold, steady gleam of its
polished barrel, spotted with the quivering shimmer of
hot tears.
33.
A soldier marched to and fro in the darkness. It op
pressed him, and he longed for the moon to rise.
Does the wisest among us know what to pray for ?
Tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! He pauses at one end
of his beat and looks down upon his comrades sleeping,
wrapped in their blankets, with their feet to the fire.
When his hour is up, he, too, will sleep. Yes, and it is
up, now, poor fellow, and your sleep will know no
waking !
Yet it was not you who burned the nest of the poor
old man. Nor even your regiment. Nor had you helped
to hound the South to revolution by threats and con
tumely. 'Twas John Brown dissolved the Union. You
hated him and his work, for you loved your whole
country, you and your father, who bade you good-by,
the other day, with averted face. And now you must
die that that work may be undone. You and half a
million more of your people.
The South salutes your memory !
Ah, the moon is rising now. Ribbons of light steal
ing through the trees lie across his path, and yonder,
at the farther end of it, the Queen of Night pours a
flood of soft effulgence through a rift in the wood.
The young soldier stood in the midst of it, bathed in a
glorious plenitude of peaceful light. Such perfect still
ness ! Can this be war, thought he ? He could hear
the ticking of his watch upon his heart. But the click !
click ! beneath that dark old oak, that he did not hear.
And that barrel that glitters grimly even in the shadow,
he sees it not. The tear-stains are upon it still ; but
the tears are dried and gone.
Click! click!
The muzzle rises slowly ; butt and shoulder meet. A
4*
42 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
head bends low ; a left eye closes ; the right, brown as
a hawk's and as fierce, glares, from beneath corrugated
brow, along a barrel that rests as though in a grip of
steel. The keen report of a sporting rifle not loud,
but crisp and clear rings through the silent wood, and
there is a heavy fall and a groan.
And the placid moon, serene mocker of mortals and
their woes, floated upward and upward, and on and on.
On and on, supremely tranquil, over other scenes,
whether of love or hate.
Ah, can it be true that we poor men have no friend
anywhere in the heavens above, as some would have
us believe? or the ever-peaceful gods, dwellers upon
Olympus, have they in very deed forgotten us?
34.
"Where's your game, grandpa?" asked the young
soldier. " We have been sitting up waiting for you
and your rabbit."
"There are two kinds of game," replied the old man,
warming his hands before the fire ; " one sort you bring
home, the other kind you send home."
" What 1 did you shoot a Yankee ? One of the boys
thought he heard the crack of a rifle."
" 'Twas old Betsey," replied he, patting her cheek, as
it were. " We whacked one of 'em. He won't set fire
to any more houses, I reckon."
After this, old Jim, thoroughly acquainted with the
country for miles around, became a regular scout; and
going and coming at all hours of the night and day, he
was soon well-known along the line of our outposts.
And whenever he had important information to give, he
went straight to headquarters ; but whenever, after a
moonlight night, he stopped at the picket-post, sat
down on a log and toyed with his rifle, seeming to have
nothing to say, the boys knew that he was waiting for
a certain question : " Yes, old Betsey and me whacked
one of 'em last night." And then he would set out
for headquarters, and the soldiers, passing the news,
and adopting old Jim's word, would say, " Old Bush
whacked another of the rascals last night." And these
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 43
two words, so often brought in contact, at last cohered.
Bushwhacker did not, therefore, originally, at least,
mean a man who whacked from behind a thicket, but
one who whacked after the fashion of old Jim Bush.
35.
And I am a Bushwhacker who whacketh after that
fashion. So much so, that it seems to me that my
parents made a sort of prophetic pun when they named
me John Bouche. The difference between me and old
Jim is simply this : that he expressed his sentiments
with a carnal rifle, I mine with a spiritual one. He hung
upon the skirts of the Northern hosts ; I go stalking
stragglers from the Noble Army of Lies. Every sham
the sturdy Whacker molecules of me impel my soul to
hate. Yet my Huguenot blood shrinks from martyr
dom. Did not they leave France to avoid it? I never
attack the main body. But let a feeble, emaciated, and
worn-out little lie, or a blustering, braggart fraud, or
a conceited, coxcombical sham, stray to the right or
left, or get belated on the march ! I pounce upon him
like an owl upon a field-mouse. It is my nature to.
And so the reader must not be surprised, as we journey
along together, through scene after scene of my story,
to find herself suddenly left alone at the most unex
pected times and places. I'll come back, after a while,
bringing a scalp ; after which we will jog along to
gether, for a chapter or so, again.
And a jolly, rousing, mad time we shall have of it,
then. For it is on such occasions that I put my mus
tang through his comical paces, my coal-black mustang,
with his great, shaggy mane, and bushy, flowing tail,
that sweeps the ground. For though, as every school
boy knows, a Poet or other Gifted Person is properly
mounted only on a Pegasus, I have been unable to get
me one of those winged, high-bounding steeds.
36.
And now, fair lady, the manager makes his bow and
exit. You will soon be in better company.
One word more, he begs your pardon. He led you
44 THE 'STORY OF DON MIFF.
to believe that the opera began at eight, sharp. You
were there, in your seat, on time, eager to hear the
first notes of the opening chorus. But I feared that
had you known there was to be a long overture you
would have been late, and thereby missed certain leit
motifs, not to have heard which would have marred
what was to follow. Honestly, now, had you known
that Chapter I. was not Chapter I., nor chapter of any
kind, would you have read it? Would you not have
skipped it, clear and clean (for it's a hundred to one
that you are a woman), had you known that it was my
Introduction ?
A!
T
Flauti.
Oboi.
Clarinetti
inB.
Fagotti,
Corno I. n. II.
inEs.
Corno III.
ias.
Trombe
in Es,
Timpani
in Es. B.
Violinol.
Violino II.
Viola,
Violoncello e
Oontrabasso.
^fc=
71
SYMPHONY OF LIFE.
MOVEMENT I.
ALLEGED CON BRIO.
CHAPTEE II.
As the last rays of the setting sun were gilding the
modest spires of Richmond, early in the month of
October, 1860, I was sitting with two young ladies at
the front parlor window of a house on Leigh Street.
One of these, Lucy Poythress, like myself, was from
the county of Leicester;* or, to speak with entire ex
actness, her father's residence was separated from my
grandfather's, in that county, by a river only. She had
arrived in Richmond that morning, on a visit to her
friend, Alice Carter. As the two girls, lately school
mates, had not met for three months, and had just
risen from an excellent dinner, that notable promoter
of the affections, I deem it superfluous to state that
they were holding each other's hands.
Also, they were talking.
"Oh, Lucy I" exclaimed Alice, suddenly starting up,
" I had forgotten to tell you. I have fallen in love,
that is, nearly. I must tell you about it," continued she,
talking, at the same time, with her lips, her hands, and
her merry-glancing hazel eyes, " it was so romantic 1"
" Of course," said I.
"Ah, don't be jealous 1" retorted she, coaxingly.
" But you see, Lucy, one day last week, as I was cross,
ing the street, two squares below here, I struck my
* There is no such county in Virginia : for Leicester read Gloucester.
Ed.
45
46 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
foot against something and fell flat. A book that I
carried tumbled one way, my veil flew another, and "
" And some pale, poetic stranger helped you to rise,"
interrupted I.
" Yes; a gentleman who was meeting me just as I
fell, and whose face I am sure I had never before seen
in Richmond, ran forward, lifted me up, got me my
book and veil, and, in short, he was so graceful, and
his voice was so gentle, when he said ' Excuse me,' aa
he lifted me from the ground, that I confess I "
And dropping her eyes, and with an inimitable sim
per on her countenance, she made as though straight
ening, between thumb and forefinger, the hem of her
handkerchief.
" Ah, you are the same dear old Alice still," cried
Lucy, leaning forward, and, with laughing lips, kissing
her on the cheek. " And you fell in love with the grace
ful stranger?"
" Yes, indeed, that is, as much as was becoming in
a young woman of eighteen summers. By the way,
Lucy, you too have reached that dignified age since I
last saw you. Don't you begin to feel ancient ? I do.
We shall soon be old maids."
"And the romantic stranger, in that event?" asked
I. "He, I suppose, will go hurl himself dismally off
Mayo's bridge. By the way, yonder he comes now."
I am aware that the barest insinuation of the kind
is flouted and scouted by the lovelier portion of man
kind; but among men it is always frankly admitted
that women are not destitute of curiosity.
" Yonder he comes now," said I, languidly, as one who
had dined well. Two lovely heads shot instantly out
of the window.
" Where ? where ?"
"There," said I; "that tall chap with the heavy
beard, on the other side of the street."
" Well, upon my word," cried Alice, " 'tis the very
man ! How on earth did you know it was he ? You
didn't? Really and truly? How strange! Oh, if he
would only cross the street and walk past our window !
There, I believe no yes, here he comes across I How
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 47
nice ! "What on earth makes him carry his hat in his
hand ?"
" Is that really your graceful friend ?" asked I, grow
ing interested.
" It is certainly he ; I am sure I am not mistaken."
The Unknown was crossing the street in a very
leisurely, or rather abstracted, manner, evidently ab
sorbed in thought, or the lack of it, for extremes
meet. With hat in hand and chin pressed upon his
breast, he sauntered along with the air of one who is
going nowhere, and cares not when he reaches his des
tination. When he reached the lamp-post at the cor
ner, not over twenty or thirty yards from where we
stood, he stopped, hung his hat on the back of his head,
and drew from his breast-pocket a pencil and a piece of
stiff-looking paper. This he held against the lamp-post,
and appeared to write or draw.
We drew back a little from the window.
" What on earth is he going to do ?" exclaimed
Alice.
"He is doubtless inditing an ode," said I, "in com
memoration of last week's romantic interview. 'Lines
to a fallen angel,' perhaps." This witticism passed un
heeded.
" The man's crazy !" said Alice.
The Unknown had thrown his head back, and, with
his eyes nearly closed, was gently tapping the air with
the pencil in a kind of rhythm.
"Did you ever!" ejaculated Alice.
" Did you ever !" echoed Lucy.
"Well, I never!" mocked I.
"St!"
We drew still farther away from the window. He
was going to pass us. Pencil and paper are again in
breast-pocket, hat in hand, chin upon breast.
"Isn't he nice and tall!"
" Yes ; and what shoulders !"
" How strong he looks ; and without an ounce of su
perfluous flesh !"
"How distinguished-looking!"
So chirruped these twain, I, meanwhile, interject-
48 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
ing such interruptions as I could think of. "No one
ever says of me that I haven't an ounce of superfluous
flesh."
" Nor ever will, unless you go as a missionary among
the Feejeeans," retorted Alice.
You see I am rather but no matter about me.
At the edge of the sidewalk, and nearly opposite the
window at which we were standing, was an oblong
carriage-block of granite, and upon this was seated, at
this juncture, a sister of Lucy's, a little girl of nearly
four years of age, playing with a set of painted squares
of wood, known in the nursery as " blocks," which had
been presented to her by her godmother, Mrs. Carter, at
whose special request the little thing had been brought
to Eichmond. Her country nurse was standing a few
paces distant, dressed out in her finest, airing her best
country manners for the bedazzlement of a city beau
of her acquaintance (as having been formerly of her
county), a mulatto barber who had chanced to pass that
way, and had stopped for a chat about old times. The
Unknown had not observed the little girl till, in his
listless way, he had sauntered to within a few feet of
her, when, catching sight of the mass of sunny curls
that poured over her neck and shoulders (her back
was turned towards him), he stopped, and seeing what
her occupation was and hearing the babbling of her
little tongue as she agreed with herself, now upon this
plan, now on that, upsetting one structure almost
before it was begun for another which was to share
a like fate; gazing upon this little scene, a look of
pleased interest, not unmingled with sadness, came into
his face.
" He is a married man," said I.
" Say not so !" cried Alice, with a tragic air.
" But his wife's dead," I added.
" I breathe again !" intoned Alice, in the same vein.
"Oh, Alice!" said Lucy, with gentle reproachfulness.
" Why, of course, Lucy," began Alice, throwing her
self into an argumentative attitude, " of course I do not
really rejoice at the poor woman's death ; but how can
you expect me to grieve over a person I never "
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 49
"You are a greater scamp than ever," said Lucy,
laughingly stopping her friend's mouth with her hand.
The little architect felt that some one stood behind
her, and, turning her head and judging with that un
erring infantile instinct that he was a friend, she gave
him a number of those irresistible little looks, with
which every one is familiar, half coy, half coquettish,
which showed that, young though she was, her name
was woman. Ladies at her time of life do not appreci
ate the necessity of introductions as preliminary to
conversation with gentlemen.
" Build me a house 1" cried she to the stranger, run
ning towards him and looking now into his face, now
at her blocks, with a smile half expectation, half
timidity.
" I build you a house ? Why, certainly, little brown
eyes!" taking her plump cheeks between his hands
and gazing down into her upturned face with a smile
that was singularly tender and bright; and all the
more striking, as it gleamed forth with something of
the suddenness of a flash of sunlight bursting through
a cloud. It had been easy to see, indeed, as he ap
proached us more nearly, that his preoccupations were
not of a pleasant character. His slightly compressed
lips imparted a shade of grimness to his look, and the
mingled expression of weariness and resolution upon
his features seemed to reveal some struggle going on in
his breast.
" Well, now," said he, taking up a few of the blocks
as he seated himself upon the stepping-stone, " what
kind of a house shall we build ?"
" Did you ever!" looked we, all of us!
" We-e-'ll, we-e-'ll we'll m-a-k-e let me tell you "
"Saint Paul's Church?" suggested the stranger,
" with a great, tall steeple I"
" N-o-o-o ! People don't live in churches ! M-a k-e
me m-a-k-e me oh ! make me one just like our
house !" cried she, with sudden triumph, placing her
hand upon her new-found friend's shoulder, thrusting
her face almost against his, and opening wide at him
her great brown eyes, as much as to say, Now we
c d 6
50 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
have it 1 And away she skipped, backwards, on the
tips of her toes, clapping her dimpled hands; chirping
forth, meanwhile, sundry joyous, inarticulate notes ;
which I shall not merely say were as sweet as the
eong of the birds, for they were warblings from the
heart of a happy child, which notes, I take it, are the
loveliest that float upward into the dome of the high
heavens, and blessed whose fingers avail to call them
forth!
" Well, then," began he, gathering together his blocks,
" here are our bricks."
" Bricks /" cried she, in a voice that was almost shrill
with surprise. " Why, it is not a brick house !"
" Why, yes," said he, carelessly glancing towards the
house in which we were.
"Lor' me, that's not our house I Did you think that
was our house ? Oh, how funny !" cried she, gleefully
triumphing in her superior knowledge ; then, running
towards the open window, behind the curtains of which
the amused spectators of this scene had retired, " Sis
ter Lucy!" exclaimed she, "what do you think ! This
gentleman thought this was our house, and we are just
on a visit here ! Sister Lucy ! Sister Lucy I Sister
L-u-u-u-c-y !"
Not receiving any reply from that alarmed young
person, who had fled with me into one corner of the
room, and with appalled look and appealing gestures
was endeavoring to check the convulsive tittering of
her friend Alice, who, in another corner, stood bowed
together, weak and weeping with suppressed laughter,
the little girl turned to her friend and said, "Sister
Lucy has gone up-stairs, I reckon."
" Thither Luthy hath dawn up-thtairs, I weckon,"
that was the way she said it ; but words so distorted,
charm, as they may, when they fall, like crumpled rose-
leaves, from the fair portals of a child's mouth, can
please the eye of a phonetic reformer only. And so
with the reader's consent, in fact, as a compliment to
her, I shall leave, in the main, such transformations
to her fancy.
Besides, how utterly unintelligible would be a dia-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 51
logue, so printed, to the very person for whose benefit,
chiefly, this work has been undertaken. In his illu
mined day, you know, infants will have ceased to lisp.
The stranger had risen from his seat with rather a
startled look, but upon this reassuring suggestion of
his little friend, resumed it.
"You love your sister Lucy ever so much, I sup
pose ?"
" Oh, yes, indeed. Mr. Whacker does, too."
This remark produced a profound sensation upon
two, certainly, of the eavesdroppers. Lucy, who was
diffidence itself, blushed to the roots of her hair; while
an uncomfortable consciousness of looking foolish took
possession of me. Alice, holding her sides, fell ex
hausted upon a sofa.
"Mr. who?" asked he, with a sudden look of interest,
which startled us all.
"Mr. Whacker; don't you know Mr. Whacker?"
" Maybe so ; what kind of a man is he ?"
" Oh, he is a nice man, and he is so funny, he maket*
me nearly dead with laughing."
"Does your sister Lucy love this nice, funny Mr.
Whacker?"
Lucy looked perfectly aghast.
"Yes, she do."
" She do, do she ?" echoed the Unknown ; while rip
ples of merriment danced about his singularly intense
and glowing eyes, like those on the dark waters of
some deep lake.
' Did she ever tell you so ?"
' Y-e-e-e-es," replied she, doubtfully.
' Mr. Whacker, I assure you," began Lucy, choking
with mortification, " I "
' I forgive, though I can never forget "
< But"
' St !" whispered Alice ; " it is as good as a play I"
' But, Alice, it's a most outrageous "
' Never mind, listen !"
Meantime, we had lost a few sentences of the col
loquy, which seemed to be affording intense amusement
to the Stranger.
52 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" But what did she say ?" were the first words we
caught.
" She said," began the little thing, gesticulating with
her hands and rolling her eyes, speaking, in fact, with
her whole body, " sister Lucy, she said "
" Well."
" Sister Lucy, she said Mr. Whacker was mighty fat,
but he was right pretty."
Imagine the scene behind the curtains ! The trouble
was that Lucy, who was as truthful as Epaminondas,
could not deny having paid me, in substance, this two-
edged compliment. So she could only bury her face
in her hands. As for the Stranger, he actually laughed
aloud.
" But do ladies always love pretty men ?"
" Why, yes ; I love my sweetheart, and he is pretty."
" Your sweetheart ! Have you a sweetheart ?"
" Yes," replied she, with decision and complacency.
" What's his name ?"
" I can't tell you !"
" Do, now."
" Oh, I can't !" And she dropped her cheek on her off
shoulder and shut her eyes.
" Say, do you like candy ?"
" Yes," said she, eagerly wheeling round ; " where is
it?"
" Never mind. If you will tell me, I will bring you
some to-morrow."
"What's in that paper? I 'spec' it's candy, right
now !"
" No," said he, smiling ; " but I will bring you some
to-morrow if you will tell me."
She stuck a finger into her mouth and hung her
head.
" Eed candy," began he, " and blue candy," he con
tinued, nodding his head up and down, between the
varieties, with a sort of pantomimic punctuation, " and
green candy "
Wide-eyed delight and a half-smile of eager expecta
tion illumined the face of the little tempted one.
" And yellow candy, and let me see and striped
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 53
candy, and speckled candy and and and ALL
SORTS OF CANDY !"
She clasped her hands and drew a long breath.
" Will you ?"
The infant that hesitates is lost.
" And tied up in most beautiful paper "
" You won't tell Mr. Whacker ?"
"No, never! ! !"
In an instant the little creature had sprung towards
him, seized his head, pulled it down, pressed her lips
against his ear, shot the momentous name therein and
bounded back.
" There ! Give me the candy !"
" I said I should get it to-morrow. But I didn't hear
a word. Tell me over again. There, whisper it in
my ear. "Willie? "Willie what?" said he, drawing her
towards him. "Ah, that is the name, is it?"
We did not hear the name, and I must suppose it was
that of some near neighbor of her father's.
"Now, don't tell Mr. Whacker!"
"No," replied the stranger; but he had heard her
with the outward ear only. He sat, with drawn lids,
gazing upon the pavement, and softly biting his nails,
as though solving some problem. His lips seemed to
move ; and every now and then he looked, out of the
corners of his eyes, at his little companion. At last he
slowly rose, but stood motionless, with eyes fixed upon
the ground.
"Oh, don't go!" cried she, her fair, upturned face
wearing a beautiful expression of infantile affection.
And here our mysterious friend had another surprise
in store for us. For, when he saw that look, a startled
expression came into his face ; and leaning forward, he
scrutinized her features with a gaze so searching that
there was a kind of glare in his eyes, so that the little
girl dropped her eyes and drew back, as though with
a feeling of dread. But the Unknown suddenly sat
down beside her, and, taking one of her hands in both
his, patted it softly, and, in a voice tender as that of a
young mother, asked, " But what is your name, my little
cherub ?"
6*
54 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" My name is Laura. Let's make another house
oh, no, let's make a boat !"
"Not now. But Laura what? What is your other
name*?"
" My name is Laura Poythress."
" Laura Poythress !"
He bowed his broad shoulders till his face was almost
on a level with hers, and scanning her features intently :
"Laura Poythress, Laura Poythress," repeated he, to
himself; " and Lucy, too ! and Whacker 1"
We looked at each other with wide eyes.
Again the stranger rose; this time with nervous
abruptness, and took a few rapid turns up and down
the pavement, close to little Laura; then walking
quickly up to her, and stooping down, he asked her, in
an eager whisper, " Have you any mother ?"
" Yeth," replied she, with a simple little laugh, " of
courth; evvybody'th dot a muvver!"
He seemed to avert his face when she laid down this
generalization ; nor could we, from our position, see his
expression. " Yes," said he ; and was silent for a while.
" What is your mother's name ?"
" My mother's name is Mumma."
" But what is her real sure-enough name ?"
" Her name is Mumma," repeated she, with emphasis.
"Oh, my mother's got two names. She is named
Mumma and she is named Mrs. Poythress."
"Ah, yes; but what does your father call her?"
" My papa calls my mumma my dear ; oh, and some
times he calls her ' honey,' because she is so sweet."
" Does he ever call her let me see does he ever call
her Polly?"
" Oh, me, the ideal" cried she, raising her hands and
eyes in infantile pity of his ignorance. " Why, that's
Aunt Polly's name 1"
"So your Aunt Polly is named Polly, is she?"
"No, she ain't! Aunt Polly is named Aunt Polly.
She is our cook at our house, she is."
" She is your cook, is she ? And what does she call
your mother ?"
" Mistiss."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 55
Just then the mulatto barber, passing by, doffed his
hat to the gentleman ; and Dolly, the nurse, left alone,
bethought her of her charge. Coming up, she dropped
a courtesy to the Stranger, and told Laura it was-time
she were within doors.
"G-ood-by, Laura," said the Unknown, taking her
plump little hand in his; "won't you give me a kiss?
Ah, that's a good little girl ! One more ! And another 1
Ah!" And he patted her cheek. "Good-byl"
" Dood-by !"
CHAPTER III.
WE looked at each other, and, although two-thirds
of us were girls, several seconds passed without a word
being spoken.
" Oh, here comes Mary !" And, looking across the
way, I saw Mary Eolfe briskly tripping down the steps
of her father's residence. Away scampered Alice and
Lucy into the hall ; not to unlock the front door for
Mary, tor that, Richmond-fashion, stood wide open ; but
impelled by that instinctive conviction, never entirely
absent from the female breast, that life is short. I fol
lowed with all the dignity of a fledgling counsellor-at-
law, and possible future supreme justice.
The three met on the sidewalk and it began, 'Eurus,
Zephyrusque Notusque.
All nature is one. Remove the plug from a basin
and see how the water, instead of pouring straight out
in a business-like way, spins round and round, just as
though it knew you were late for breakfast. Behold,
too, the planets in their courses. And as in a tornado,
which whirls along through field and forest, across
mountain-chain and valley, around its advancing storm-
centre, so in one of those lesser atmospheric disturb
ances set up by the conversation, or rather contempo-
raneousversation, of three or four girls just met (im
possible though it be, in the present state of our knowl
edge, to determine in advance the precise location of
56 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
their area of lowest barometric pressure), it is clear,
even to the eye, that the movement of the girls them
selves is cyclonic. And, further, just as, in a storm, the
area of highest barometer is found to be occupied by a
more or less tranquil atmosphere, so you shall find
that the centre of a contemporaneousversation always
moves forward around a listener, some weakling of a
girl, with a bronchitis, perhaps, or, in rare cases, a stam
merer. And again, just as a body of air, itself capable
of levelling houses and uprooting trees, may be forced
into quiescence by its environment of storm, so may a
really worthy girl, not otherwise inferior, be reduced to
silence by despair.
This, in fact, was the case with Lucy in the present
instance. As the lovely human cyclone, whose outward
sign was a world of fluttering ribbons and waving
flounces, came whirling up the steps, through the hall,
and into the parlor, it was. obvious that she was the
pivot around which it revolved.
In plain English, she found it impossible to get in a
word.
It appears that Mary had seen, from her window, the
Unknown, and watched his strange performances till
he was gone. She had not seen us at our window, and
tripping across the street to tell her dear Alice what a
singular man she had seen sitting on her carriage-
block, and talking with Laura, she had found that Alice
had seen and heard more than she. And so, with that
instinctive dread of loss of time so characteristic of the
sex, they both, when they met on the sidewalk, began
talking at once. They began talking to each other ; but
soon, their words, in obedience to that law of which Mr.
Herbert Spencer makes so much (that moving bodies
always follow the line of least resistance), began flow
ing into Lucy's ears. Not that Mary took possession
of one ear, Alice of the other. Rather did they, in obe
dience to law, revolve around her, as the earth around
the sun, the moon round the earth, water round its
exit, pouring their tidings into either organ with im
partial eagerness.
It may excite wonder among my male readers that
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 57
Alice should have told Lucy things that she knew the
latter had seen with her own eyes. But this would be
hardly putting the case fairly, as her remarks were
couched rather in the form of exclamatory comments
than of pure narrative. The male reader, again (would
that there were no such dull animals in the world !),
must be warned not to suppose that Alice and Mary
were rude in talking simultaneously. It is discourteous,
oh, crass mortal, for one man to interrupt another ; but
where a party of girls are met together, it will be found
that the words of each, though many, are no impedi
ment, but a stimulus, rather, to those of the rest.
Like swallows at eventide, circling around some vil
lage chimney, the more of them in the air at once, the
more merrily do they flit.
And it will be found, too, that no matter how many
have been talking at once, each will have heard what
all have said.
It is when I contemplate this well-known phenome
non th'at my wonder daily grows that no allusion has
ever been made to this acknowledged superiority of
the female over the male homo, by what are called
the woman-women, in their annual pow-wows in the
interest of their sex. Cropped-haired woman after
cropped-haired woman will arise, reinforced, here and
there, by some mild-eyed male, o'er whose sloping
shoulders soft ringlets cluster, and the burden of the
plaint of she-he and he-she, alike, will be only that
woman is unjustly excluded by man from this employ
ment or that privilege, for which she is as well fitted as
he. They seem to me to forget that Hannibal was not
overcome till Africa was invaded ; and they will never
advance their cause till they find some female Scipio to
put man upon the defensive, and aggressively insist
that the real question is not whether she is capable,of
becoming lawyer, physician, preacher, but whether he
is, or, at any rate, will be, in the re-fashioned world
which is coming, fit for any avocation whatever.
Let us take the legal profession for an example. Ex
cluding the male lawyer of the period, as an interested
witness, who can fail to see hew much would be gained
58 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
were our judges, our counsel, and our jurymen all
women? As things actually stand, the law's delay has
passed into a proverb. But what delay could there be
in a trial wherein all the witnesses could be examined
simultaneously, without a word being lost on the jury;
where the learned (and lovely) counsel could sum up
side by side (like a pair of well-matched trotters),
neither of them getting in the first word, neither (what
fairness!) being allowed the last? Again. Instead of a
drowsy Bench, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, you
would have an alert Sofa, capable of lending one ear to
the plaintiff's counsel, one to the defendant's ; taking in,
with one eye, every convolution of the jury's back-hair
(should such things be), while with the other, she
the Court estimated the relative good looks of the liti
gants, preparatory to instructing the jury and laying
down the law. And so of the other professions, did
space allow.
But this is not the worst of the matter. AJready
have advanced thinkers begun dimly to see that, with
the approaching extinction of war, the time will come
when courage will be worse than useless ; while, in the
rapid multiplication of labor-saving machinery, there is
discernible the inevitable approach of an era when
superior strength will be a disadvantage. For is not
strength assimilated food? And in the Struggle for
Existence will not She, requiring less food, and being
therefore Fittest, survive ? So that, with Seer's eye, I
seem to behold the day when my sex, excluded from
every avocation, shall perish from off the face of that
earth over which we have so long and so haughtily
lorded.
The truth is, my dear lad (would that you were a
girl !), I shudder when I think of your fate and that of
your brother males, three hundred years from now.
Preserved here and there in the zoological gardens of
the wealthy and the curious, along with rare specimens
of the bison of the prairie, skeletons of the American
Indian and the dodo; exhibited in mammoth moral
shows, and meeting the stare of the unnumbered
female of the period with a once wicked, but now,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 59
alas ! futile wink, you will rue the day when your an
cestors, mistaking might for right, excluded woman
from that haven of rest, the ballot-box. Why, it wa8
but the other day that I saw a boy with a basketful
of pups, which he was going to drown ; and on my
asking him why he condemned them to this fate, he
answered, in the simplest way, " Oh, they are nothing
but she's."
Yet we are never tired of boasting of our nineteenth
century !
How the world is to be kept wagging when once the
custom is established of drowning all the boy-babies
(except specimens for menageries and preserves), is a
problem for the science of the future. It suffices that
I have recorded my views upon this burning question.
And upon this plank of my platform you, my grand-
son-to-the-tenth-power, will, I trust, be allowed to float
by the womankind of your day, in remembrance of
my gallant defence of their rights in mine. Yes, yes,
you will be one of the elect and undrowned!
CHAPTER IT.
"On !" cried Alice, springing up from the piano-stool.
" But, Mary, I have not told you that he was the iden
tical man who lifted me up the other day when I fell
in the street."
"You don't tell me so!"
" Yes, indeed, the very man ; and, strangest of all, he
seemed to know something about us, or at least about
Lucy and Mr. Whacker." And she related the strange
doings and sayings of the "Unknown just previous to
the close of his interview with Laura.
"How very provoking," cried Mary, impatiently,
" that I should have been prevented from dining with
you girls by the arrival of that stupid old cousin Wil
liam, as mother will persist in calling him, though, in
60 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
my opinion, he is about as nearly related to us as the
man in the moon! Pshaw!" And she stamped her foot.
"Yes, indeed, I am too sorry. Why, Mary, it would
have done" and her irrepressible eyes began to
twinkle " for a scene in that novel which "
"Now, Alice " began Mary, reddening.
"Which I am thinking of writing," continued Alice,
innocently. " Why, what's the matter ?"
"Oh!"
" Is Mary writing a novel ?" asked Lucy, with eager
interest; for she remembered that she had been always
regarded as the genius of the school.
"I spoke of the novel which I was writing," per-
sisted Alice.
"Yes, but"
" It is a maxim of the common law, Miss Lucy," re
marked the learned counsel, with ponderous gravity,
"that all shall be held innocent till proven guilty. But
should novel-writing ever be made (as seems inevitable)
a statutory offence, I hold it as probable that this ruling
will be reversed, and the presumption of the law ad
judged, in the present state of literature, to lie the
other way, in plain English, that the onus probandi
innocentiam would be held to rest upon the prisoner at
the bar."
The two other girls laughed, but Mary rewarded my
diversion in her support with a grateful smile.
" To think I should have missed it !"
" Oh, I forgot to tell you. Come over and dine with
us to-morrow, and you will have a chance of seeing
him."
" How is that ?" asked Mary, with dancing eyes.
" Why, he has promised to bring Laura some candy
to-morrow evening, and we can all have another look
at him."
" Oh, I wonder if he will come ?" cried Mary, de-
epondmgly.
" I have no doubt of it, for he seems in some strange
way as much interested in us as we in him. At any
rate, you will dine with us. Mr. Whacker will of
course do likewise."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. Gl
The reader will please imagine the dinner in question
over, the three young ladies eagerly watching, up and
down the street, through the slats of the closed Vene
tian blinds, while Mrs. Carter and myself, too dignified
to manifest our curiosity so clearly, held ourselves in
the rear as a sort of reserve. Laura, our little decoy z
was trotting, meanwhile, from room to room, singing
and babbling; having, in fact, entirely forgotten the
Stranger and his promise. It had been decided in a
council of war not to remind her of it till our man was
seen approaching, when she was to be sent out in a
casual way to intercept him.
"Gracious, here he is!" exclaimed all three of the
girls at once. " Where is Laura ?"
" Laura ! Laura ! Laura !" cried Alice, in a suppressed
voice. " Mother 1 Mr. Whacker ! somebody bring Laura,
please."
It appears that the Unknown, instead of making his
approach by way of Leigh Street, as we somehow ex
pected, had suddenly turned into that thoroughfare
from the cross-street. The girls from their position
commanded a view of this cross-street for some dis
tance, looking towards the south, as the Carters' resi
dence was but one remove from the corner. Strange
to say, however, the gentleman emerged into Leigh
Street from the north, as though returning from a
walk in the country, and thus came upon the girls
without warning. The reserves, forgetting their dig
nity, scampered off in their search for Laura. She,
meanwhile, ignorant of her importance, was sitting in
the back yard, building mounds upon a pile of sand
that lay there, and before she could be found the
stranger had passed. He turned and looked back sev
eral times, and when he reached the end of the block
he stopped, and, turning, looked for some time in our
direction. Meanwhile, I, having secured the little
truant, was hurrying to the frost, while Mrs. Carter,
plump and jovial soul, was not far behind me.
"Make haste! make haste!" cried Alice, who, with
Mary, had in her impatience found her way into the
hall. "Make haste, or he will be gone. Come, Laura,
62 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
the gentleman with the candy is out there. There,
quick !" she added, with a little push ; and Laura trotted
out with pleased alacrity.
"Too late!" sighed Lucy from behind the shutters,
where she had been placed for purposes of safe obser
vation. " Too late ! he has moved on."
CHAPTER V.
THAT evening, as I bade the family good-night, after
with some difficulty escaping from Mrs. Carter's urgent
invitation to dine with them again next day, I agreed
to call immediately after dinner, so as to be on hand
should the Stranger, as we thought likely, return in
search of Laura. Nor were we disappointed ; and this
time, warned by the failure of the preceding day, we
had kept Laura well in hand ; so that she was ready
on the front steps as he was passing.
The two friends smiled as their eyes met.
" Where is it ?" asked she, a sudden cloud of anxiety
veiling her young face, for, with those of her age, not
seeing is not believing.
"Never mind!" said he, tapping his breast-pocket
with a knowing air ; and she hurried down the steps
as best she could.
He unbuttoned his coat and slowly inserted his hand
into his breast-pocket.
" Pull it out !" cried she.
" I feel something !" said he, with mystery in his
tones.
"Yes!" answered she, skipping about with clasped
hands.
" What is it ?" And there was a rattling, as of stiff
paper, down in the depths of his pocket.
" Candy 1" cried she, with a shout, capering higher
than ever.
He withdrew the package from his pocket with a
slowness which made her dance with impatience ; opened
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 63
one end, peeped into it cautiously, and gave her a beam
ing look of delighted surprise.
"Let me look, too!" cried she; and he held it down.
She, peeping in, returned his look of surprised delight.
What would life be without its fictions !
"It's candy!" cried she; and seizing the package,
and putting a piece into her mouth, she made for the
'steps.
" Why, where are you going?"
" I am going to show my candy to sister Lucy," re
plied she, munching.
" Won't j'ou give me a piece ?"
" Yes," replied she, toddling back with alacrity.
" Don't take a big piece," cautioned she, when she saw
him examining the contents of the precious package.
" Take a little piece."
The stranger smiled. " Laura," said he, " there is a
good deal of human nature in man ; don't you think
80?"
" Yeth, ma'am," replied she, abstractedly ; with one
hand thrusting into her mouth a second piece, while
with the other she reached down into the bag for a third.
" You seem to like candy ?"
"Yeth, I doeth," without looking up.
"Come," said he, taking the package and closing it;
"if you eat it all, you won't have any to show your
sister Lucy ; besides, it will make you sick."
" Candy don't never make me sick. I can show
sister Lucy the booful bag what the candy came in.
Where is the speckled candy?"
" Oh, the man didn't have any."
"If he has any, another to-morrow, will you mako
him send me some?"
" Oh, yes; but let's talk a little."
" May I have another little piece ?"
" There ! So you are the little girl who doesn't know
what her mother's name is?"
"Yes, I does; my mother's name is named Laura.
My mother is named the same as me. My name is
Laura, too."
Our coaching had told.
64 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" So your mother's name is Laura, is it ?" And the
stranger -nodded his head slowly up and down. "And
where is your mother now ?"
" She is at our house."
" A_nd where is your house ?"
" Our house is where my mother is. There is a river
where our house is. Don't you like to sail in a boat on
a river ? I'm going to take another piece." And with
a roguish, though hesitating smile, she began to insert
her dimpled hand into the bag.
The stranger was looking upon the ground, and
heeded neither the smilo nor the movement against
the bag.
" Where do you go in your boat ?"
She mentioned the name of a neighbor of my grand
father's, across the river from her home.
" And where else ?"
Another of our neighbors. The stranger repeated
the two names with satisfaction.
" And where else ?"
He never once lifted his eyes from the pavement;
and there was a sort of suppressed eagerness in his
voice that thrilled us all with a strange excitement, we
knew not why.
" We sail in our boat to see Uncle Tom." [Many of
the young people in our neighborhood called my grand
father by this name.]
" Oh, you mean your Uncle Tom let me see," and
a faint smile illumined his face, "you mean your Uncle
Tom Mulligins?" t
"No-o-o-ol Minty-pepper ain't dood. It stings my
mouf."
" Ah, yes, I know, you sail in your boat to see
your Uncle Tom Higginbotham."
Perhaps she dimly perceived that he was drolling ;
at any rate, she doubled herself up with an affected
little laugh.
"No, I will tell you," said he, raising his eyes to her
face, "it is your Uncle Tom Whacker."
The audience half rose from their seats. " Why, who
can he be?" exclaimed Mrs. Carter.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 65
" Yes; that's his right name, Uncle Mr. Whacker.
I calls him Uncle Tom. He is a hundred years old, I
reckon. My sister loves Mr. Uncle Whacker some,
but she loves Mr. Mr. Mr. Fat Whacker the most."
[Sensation !]
As this is the second remark of this character on
Laura's part that I have recorded, it is high time that
I explained that the idea had naturally enough arisen
in her mind from hearing Mary and Alice rally her
sister upon the increased frequency of my visits to the
Carters' since her arrival in town.
" Do you love me some ?"
" Yes, I loves you a heap !"
u And I loves you a heap, too," said he ; and stoop
ing, he kissed her several times. "And now I suppose
you had better run in and show your candy to your
sister Lucy."
" All wight 1" said she ; and she toddled off.
CHAPTER VI.
THE morning following these occurrences, and for
several days thereafter, I had occasion to be absent
from town. Calling at the Carters' on the evening of
my return, I found that the daily visits of the myste
rious stranger had not been interrupted. There was,
however, nothing of special interest to report. The
interviews with Laura had been short, and marked only
by the invariable production of the package of candy.
When I expressed fears for that young lady's digestion,
I learned that, owing to a like solicitude, the girls had
shared the danger with Laura so magnanimously that
her health was in no immediate peril.
" Here are still some of the remains of to-day's spoil,"
said Alice, handing me a collapsed package.
"Well," said I, "now that you have seen him so
often, what do you think of him? What are your the
ories ?"
e 6*
66 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
11 There are as many opinions as there are girls," said
Mrs. Carter. " What is mine? Well, I should suppose
that I was too old to express an opinion upon such
romantic affairs. But one thing I will say, ho is un
doubtedly a gentleman."
"Oh, thank you, mamma!" cried Alice, running up
to her mother and kissing her on the cheek with what
the French call effusion, " thank you !"
" And what are you up to now, Rattle-brain ?" asked
her mother, looking at her daughter with a smile full
of affectionate admiration.
" You see, Mr. Whacker," said Alice, turning to me
with earnest gravity in her eyes, under which their
irrepressible twinkle could have been discernible only
to those who knew her well, " you see I have been in
love with him ever since I first saw him, and I infer
from mamma's remark that should anything ever come
of it, I should find in her an ally."
" Well, we shall see," said her mother, laughing.
"And what does Miss Marj^ think of him?"
" Oh, I'll tell you," promptly began Alice. " Mary,
who is, you know, of a very romant "
"Suppose, Miss Chatterbox, you will be so good,"
interrupted her mother, " as to let Mary speak for her
self."
"'Tis ever thus," sighed Alice, pouting, "never
allowed to open my poor little mouth !"
" I give you permission now," said Mary. " Tell Mr.
Whacker, if you know, What I think of the Don."
" The who ?"
" The Don ; that's what we call him."
" What ! is he a Spaniard ?"
" Not at all. You must know, we put Laura up to
asking him his name, and she brought back the drollest
one imaginable, 'Don Miff.' Think of it! Butof course
Laura got it all wrong ; that could not be any human
being's name, of course not."
" The Don part of it," broke in Alice, " has confirmed
Mary in her previously entertained opinion that he was
a nobleman of some sort travelling incog.; it would be
so novelly, you know ; though what good it could do
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 67
her I cannot conceive, even were it so, for it was I who
' sighted' him first ; it was I to whom he first offered
his hand ; mark that ! it was I who first fell in love
with him ; and I wish it distinctly understood that as
against the present company" and she made a sweep
ing courtesy " he is MINE !"
" I waive all my rights," said I.
" Yes ; but I don't know how it will be with these
girls, particularly Mary ; for Mary is, in my opinion,
already infatuated, yes, infatuated with this Don Miff,
as he calls himself."
" Why, Alice, how can you say so ?" But an explo
sion all around the circle aroused Mary to the con
sciousness that once more and for the thousand and
first time she had failed to detect the banter that lay in
ambush behind her friend's assumed earnestness. "Oh,
I knew you couldn't mean it," said she, with a faint
smile. " The truth is, Mr. Whacker," continued she,
" I am not sure that I altogether like this mysterious
Don. Do you know, Alice, I should be afraid of
him ?"
" Afraid of him ! Why, pray ?"
" Well, perhaps I am jumping at conclusions, as they
say we women all do ; but, unless I am greatly mistaken,
that man, while he might be a very staunch friend, is
certainly capable of proving a most unrelenting foe."
" Oh, I am sure you do him injustice," said Lucy.
This young woman was not a great talker; but
whenever the absent needed a defender, the suffering
a friend, or the down-trodden a champion, that gentle
voice was not wanting.
" I am sure nothing could surpass the gentleness of
his manner towards little Laura."
" Very true," rejoined Mary ; " but have you not no
ticed the expression of his eyes at times, when he is
pacing to and fro, as he did for some time yesterday,
reviewing in his mind, I should judge, some event in
his past life? Every now and then there would come
into them a look so stern and bitter as to give his
countenance an expression which might almost bo
called ferocious."
68 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Oh, Mr. Whacker, I think Mary's imagination must
be running away with her," broke in Lucy. "Now let
me tell you of an incident which all of us witnessed
one day while you were absent. The day had been
damp and raw ; and just as Mr. Don Miff I don't won
der at your laughing, was there ever such a name
before ? What was I saying? Ah I there came on one
of those cold October rains just as the Don was going
away. He had taken but a few steps when his atten
tion was arrested by the whining of a little dog across
the street. What kind of a dog did you say it was,
Mrs. Carter?"
" It was a Mexican dog, a wretched little thing, of a
breed which is almost entirely destitute of hair. Our
volunteers brought home some of them, as curiosities,
on their return from the Mexican war. The one Lucy
is speaking of is very old, and is, likely enough, the
last representative of his species in the city."
" Well," resumed Lucy, " the poor, little, naked crea
ture was whining piteously in the rain, and pawing
against that alley-gate over yonder by that large tree;
and when this ferocious man, whom Mary thinks so
terrible, saw him, he stopped, then moved on, then
stopped again, and at last, seeing that the little thing
had been shut out, he actually walked across the street
and opened the gate for him 1"
" That was very sweet of my Don !" chimed in Alice.
" Yes," urged Lucy, with gentle warmth, " you
girls may laugh, and you, Mr. Whacker, may smile "
" Upon my word "
" Oh, I saw you but the ferocity of a man who is
tender with children and kind to brutes is ferocity of
a very mild form, and I "
" Speech ! speech !" cried Alice, clapping her hands.
And Lucy sank back in her chair, blushing at her own
eloquence.
" Order ! order ! ladies and gentlemen," cried Alice,
gravely tapping on the table with a spool. "Sister
Eolfe, the convention would be pleased to hear from
you, at this stage of the proceedings, a continuation of
your very edifying observations touching the lord Don
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 69
Miff's exceedingly alarming eyes. Sister Rolfe has the
floor order! The chair must insist that the fat lady
on the sofa come to order !"
The last remark was levelled at her mother, who had
a singular way of laughing ; to wit, shaking all over,
without emitting the slightest sound, while big tears
rolled down her cheeks. Alice was the idol of her
heart, and her queer freaks of vivacious drollery often
set her mother off, as at present, into uncontrollable
undulations of entirely inaudible laughter.
" The fat lady on the sofa, I am happy to be able to
announce to the audience, is coming to."
" Yes," said Mrs. Carter, wiping her eyes, "and do
you cease your crazy pranks till the fat lady gets her
breath. What were you going to say, Mary?"
" I was going to say that I am glad I said what I
did, if for no other reason than that it afforded us all
another opportunity of seeing how kind and charitable
is Lucy's heart."
" Yes," said Alice, " you elicited from Lucy her maiden
speech ; which I had never expected to hear in this
life."
"But really," continued Mary, "the Don's eyes are
peculiar. Do you know what I have thought of, more
than once, when I have seen their rapidly changing
expression ? I was reminded of certain stars which "
" Reminiscences of our late astronomy class," broke
in Alice, in a stage whisper.
Mary smiled, but continued : " of certain stars which
seem first to shrink and then to dilate, now growing
dark, at the next moment shooting forth bickering
flames, at one time "
Mary here caught Alice's eye, and could get no
farther.
Alice rose slowly to her feet and said, gravely waving
her closed fan as though it had been the wand of a
showman, " This, ladies and gentlemen, is not a speech,
but poetry and romance. I would simply observe that
when a young woman begins by stating that she does
not like a certain man, and ends by comparing his eyes
to stars, the last state of that young woman shall be
70 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
worse than the first. But I am somehow reminded of
the Moonlight Sonata. Mr. Whacker, I beg you will
conduct Miss Lucy to the piano."
CHAPTBK VII.
"WHAT do you think?" said I, the next afternoon,
as I entered the parlor. The young ladies were all
there ; Lucy, with whom I had an engagement to walk,
with her bonnet on.
"Oh, what is it?"
" What do you suppose ? Guess ?"
" You have found out who he is 1"
" Not exactly."
" You have seen him !"
" Well, yes."
" Have you met him, spoken with him ?"
I nodded.
" Oh, do tell us all about it !"
" There is not much to tell. Just this moment, on
my way here, I came upon Laura and her nurse and
the Don standing at the corner. Laura did not ob
serve me till I was close to her, but, as soon as she did,
she ran up and took hold of my hand, and said, point
ing straight at the Don, 'He's the one what gives me
the candy ;' and, immediately releasing my band, she
ran up and seized that of the so-called Don Miff, and,
looking up into his face, said, 'That ain't Uncle Mr.
Whacker. That's Mr. Fat Whacker. He's the one
what' " And I paused.
" Oh, please go on !" cried Alice and Mary ; while
Lucy colored slightly.
" I think I shall have to leave that as a riddle to bo
worked out at your leisure."
"Oh, the terrible infant! What did you say? what
could you say ?"
" I scarcely kno\y what I did or did not say. Ho
spoke first, saying something about the originality of
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 71
Laura's mode of introducing people, and I made some
confused, meaningless reply, and then, after we had
exchanged a few commonplaces "
" Miss Lucy !" broke in a voice ; and, looking up, we
saw, thrust in at the partly-open parlor-door, the face
of Molly, the nurse. " Miss Lucy, won't you please,
ma'am, step here a minute ?"
The broad grin on her face excited curiosity, while
it allayed alarm.
" Why, what's the matter, Molly?"
" Dat gent'mun say " And Molly was straightway
overcome by an acute attack of the giggles.
" What ?" .
" Dat 'ere gent'mun he axed me to ax de lady o' de
house ef he mought'n take Laura round to Pizzini's for
some ice-cream."*
This was before the days of the Charley Boss horror;
but the proposition threw all the young ladies into a
ferment, and ejaculation followed ejaculation in rapid
succession. At last Alice rose, flew up-stairs, and pres
ently returned with her mother.
" What's all this ?" began Mrs. Carter.
" Yes, ma'am, dis is adzactly how 'twas. Laura ana
me, we was a-standin' on the cornder a-lookin', and
here comes de gent'mun dat's always a-bringin' her de
candy, and, says he, 'Good-evenin', little Eosebud,' says
jess so, and 'Howdy do, my gal,' says he, polite-liko,
and says I, 'Sarvant, mahster,' says I, 'I'm about,' says
I ; and den Marse Jack he corned up, and Laura, she
called Marse Jack out o' he name. 'Lor' me,' says I,
' chill'un don't know no better.' Howsomdever, I told
her, I did, 'Heish!' says I, easy-like, and 'Mind your
raisin,' says I, jess as I tell you, and Marse Jack will
say de same ; and Marse Jack he corned on here to de
house, and we was a-standin' on de cornder, and de
gent'mun says, ' Laura,' says he, ' I ain't got no candy
for you to-day, but I want you to go wid me to Piz-
* In my occasional attempts at representing the negro dialect I shall
(ag I have already done in the case of Laura/s prattle) hold a middle
course between the true and the intelligible.
72 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
zini's to get some ice-cream and cake; and won't you go,
my gal,' says he, ' an' ax de lady of the house, down
Sender, ef I mought'n take little Laura to Pizzini's ?'
at's jess what he said, he did, jess as I tell you, mum;
and Laura she clap her hands, she did, and ' Come on,
less go,' says she, widout waitin' for nothin' nor no
body, she did."
A brisk discussion, with opinions about equally di
vided, now sprang up as to the propriety of acceding
to the request of the stranger; but upon Molly's stating
that the gentleman expected her to accompany Laura,
a strong majority voted in the affirmative ; and when
the little lady herself, unable to control her impatience,
came bustling into the parlor, her curls dancing, her
cheeks glowing, her eyes sparkling with expectancy,
the proposition was carried unanimously; to the ob
vious satisfaction of Molly, who lost no time in sally
ing forth with her little charge.
" There they go !" said Lucy, who was peeping
through the blinds; " the Don and Laura hand in hand,
and Molly bringing up the rear. Ah, how the little
thing is capering with delight ! Ah, girls, run here and
see how the little woman is strutting 1 Now he is point
ing out to her a cow and calf."
And so, as long as they remained in sight, she chron
icled their doings.
As Lucy and I were leaving the house for our walk,
some one suggested it was Mary, I believe that it
would be as well to shadow, in detective phrase, the
Don ; but she firmly refused to do so, saying that she
knew she could trust him. Still, the suggestion left its
trail upon her mind ; and she exhibited an eager de
light when we, on our return, saw, at the distance of a
couple of blocks, the Don taking leave of Laura in
front of the Carters'.
"I knew it," said she, with modest triumph. "Mary
has read so many novels and poems that she lives in
constant expectation of adventures ; as though an ad
venture could happen to any one in steady-going Rich
mond 1 Mr. Whacker!" she suddenly exclaimed, starting.
"What's the matter?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 73
" He is coming this way ! What shall we do ?" And
she stood as though rooted to the pavement, helplessly
looking about her for some avenue of escape.
"Why, what do you fear?" said I, laughing.
"That's true," said she; and she moved forward
again, though with very uncertain tread.
" Mr. Whacker," said she, presently, " would you
mind giving me your arm ?"
Meanwhile, the Don was coming up the street,' and.
as he approached us, I could see that his features were
softened by a half smile. We met, face to face, at the
corner above the Carters'. His eyes chancing to fall
upon my face, it was ohvious that he recognized me.
Indeed, I am sure he gave me something like a bow,
then glancing casually at Lucy. Just at this juncture
she, for the first time, looked up, and their eyes met.
It was then that I understood what Mary had said
about his eyes. For a second his steps seemed almost
arrested, and his eyes, filled with a strange mixture of
curiosity and intense interest, seemed to dilate and
to shoot forth actual gleams of light. Lucy, who was
leaning heavily upon my arm, shivered throughout her
entire frame.
" Why, what can be the matter ?"
" I am sure I don't know," replied she, in a hollow
voice. " Let us hurry home, I can hardly breathe !"
Arrived in front of the house, within which was to
be heard the busy chattering of Laura and our other
friends, Lucy hurried in at the gate, and, without at
tempting to enter the house, dropped down upon the
first step she reached, and leaning back, drew a long
breath.
"Mr. Whacker," said she, after a few moments'
silence, "you must really excuse me. I cannot con
ceive what made me so silly. What is he to me? But
do you know, sometimes the strangest ideas come into
my head, and I often wonder whether other people
have the same. Sometimes I will visit some place for
the first time, and suddenly it will seem to me that 1
have been there before, although I know all the time
that it is not so. And again I will t>e listening to some
D 7
74 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
one relating an incident just happened, and it will seem
such an old story to me ; and it will seem as though I
had heard just the same story ages and ages ago. Do
you know, I sometimes think that the ancients how
ever, it is all nonsense, of course. But oh, I would not
feel again as I did just now for worlds ! Do you know,
when he passed me, I felt a sort of subtle, aerial force,
a kjnd of magnetic influence, as it is called, drawing
me towards him, and so strongly, that nothing but the
firm grasp I had on your arm saved me from rushing
up to him and taking him by the hand. And then,
when I passed him, without speaking to him, suddenly
there came over me the strangest feeling. Will you
think me crazy if I tell you what it was?"
" By no means," said I, much interested.
" Well, will you believe me ? "a sudden pang of re
morse."
" Eemorse !"
" Yes ; I cannot think of a better word. It seemed
to me as though I had known him ages ago, in some
other world, such as the Pythagoreans imagined, and
that I, bright and young and happy, meeting him again,
I, though I saw he was unhappy, cruelly passed him
by ! Oh, Mr. Whacker, I do pity him so !"
Her lower lip trembled, and her soft brown eyes
glistened with rising tears. For a while neither of us
spoke, she, perhaps, afraid to trust her voice, I re
specting her emotion by silence.
" Yes," said I, at length, " it is an old story. ' What's
Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?' We cannot help,
though we would, feeling the sorrows of others. But,
Miss Lucy, aren't you letting your imagination no,
your tender-heartedness run away with your judg
ment ? Here is a great, strapping, fine-looking fellow,
whom you have seen passing along the street a few
times, with a rather serious expression of countenance,
and you straightway jump to the conclusion that he
is profoundly miserable, and even shed tears over his
fate."
" Yes, it is all very silly, of course," said she, smiling,
and brushing away her tears.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 75
" And you must admit that you have not a particle
of evidence, not a scintilla, as we lawyers say, that the
Don is any more to be pitied than I, or any other
person of your acquaintance."
" Oh, a woman's rules of evidence are very different
from what you lawyers find in your great, dusty, dull
volumes. See how / should state the case. I see a
great, strapping, fine-looking fellow, to borrow your
language, coming here, day after day, from I know not
how far, or at how great inconvenience to himself, with
no other object, so far as I can divine, save that of en
joying the affectionate greetings of a little child of less
than four years of age, whom he met by chance, and
who, though nothing to him, in one sense seems every
thing to him, in that her childish love has gone out to
him. What kind of a home must this man have, do
you think? He can have no home. And yet you
wonder that I am sorry for him !"
"No," said I, gladly seizing the opportunity of
changing the current of her thoughts ; " it is true that
the views you hold of evidence do not coincide with
those of Greenleaf ; but I have long since ceased to
wonder at your feeling sorry for anybody or anything.
The number of kettles that, of my certain knowledge,
have, through your intercession, not been tied to stray
dogs' tails, and the hosts of cats that have escaped
twine cravats "
" How cruel you boys used to be !"
" Why, Lucy, how long have you been there ?" cried
Alice, leaning out of the window. " Come here, Mary,
and look at them, it is a clear case. Laura," added
she, looking back into the parlor, but speaking .loud
enough for us to hear, "Laura, for one so juvenile,
your diagnosis is singularly accurate."
"H'm? Whose noses?" asked Laura, looking up
from the doll she was dressing.
76 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTEE VIII.
I THINK it will be allowed that, whatever else this
story may be, it has been, so far, genteel. It is with
regret, therefore, that, in the very opening of this
eighth chapter, I find myself driven to the use of a
word which hardly seems to comport with the previous
dignity of our narrative. But, after turning the matter
over in my mind again and again, I have found it im
possible to discover any satisfactory synonyme, or in
vent any delicately-phrased equivalent for the very
plebeian vocable in question. With the reader's kind
permission, therefore
To a philosopher and a philanthropist (and I am
somewhat of both, after a Bushwhackerish fashion)
the word Lager Bier should undoubtedly be one of the
most precious additions to a language already rich in
such expressive linguistic combinations as Jersey Light
ning, Gin Sling, Eum and Gum, Eye and Eock, Kill-
Eound-The-Corner, Santa Cruz Sour, Stone Fence,
Forty-Eod, Dead Shot, etc., etc., etc., not to mention a
host of such etymological simples as Juleps, Smashes,
Straights, and Cobblers. For the introduction into this
country of the mild tipple it indicates has unquestion
ably done more to arrest drunkenness than all the tem
perance societies that have been, are, or shall be. Still,
the word itself, spell it how you will, has hardly a dis
tinguished air; and hence I long sought, and should
gladly have adopted, some such aristocratic expression
as Brew of the Black Forest, Nectar of Gambrinus,
Deutscher's Dew, Suevorum Gaudium (i.e. Schwabs'
Bliss) some genteel phrase, in a word but that I was
unwilling to sacrifice precision to elegance.
Now, the necessity that I am under of alluding to
the Solace of Arminius at all, arises in the simplest
way.
At the period of which I am writing, this beverage,
newly introduced, had great vogue in Eichmond, notably
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 77
among the young men. Especially did college-bred
young fellows give in a prompt adhesion to the new
faith ; and if, in any party of such, assembled to dis
cuss, in a double sense, this new ethereal mildness,
there was found any man who had attended the Ger
man universities, that man was the lion of the evening.
His it was to excite our wonder by reciting deeds of
prowess that he had witnessed ; his to tell us what had
been done ; his to show us how it could be done again.
I wonder whether a young medical man whom I knew
in those days (now a staid and solid doctor) remembers
the laugh which greeted him when he essayed to ex
plain, to an attentive class that he was coaching in the
new knowledge, how the German students managed
actually to pour their beer down their throats, swal
lowed it without swallowing, that is.
"It is the simplest thing in the world," said he.
" See here." And turning a glass upside down over
his mouth, its entire contents disappeared without the
slightest visible movement of his throat. "Didn't you
see how it was done? The whole secret lies in the
voluntary suppression of the peristaltic action of the oesoph
agus."
" The deuse you say!" cried a pupil. " Then, if that
be so, I for one say, Let's all suppress." And that be
came the word with our set for that season, and much
beer perished.
"Why is it that a man recalls with such pleasure the
follies of his youth? And why is it that the wise
things we do make so little impression on our minds ?
For my own part, I can remember, without an effort,
scores of absurdities that I have been guilty of, while
of acts of wisdom scarcely one occurs to me.
The favorite haunt of my beer-drinking friends at
this period was a smallish room. you could not have
called it a saloon, a regular nest of a place, situated,
not to be too explicit, not very far from, say Fourth
Street. Our little nook stood alone in that part of the
city, and, being so isolated in an exceedingly quiet
neighborhood, it met exactly the wants of the jovial
though orderly set of young professional men who,
7*
78 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
with the honest Teutons of the vicinage, frequented
it.
"Well, on the occasion to which I have referred, half
a dozen of us were grouped around a table, and were
unusually merry and bright. Our doctor's new word
had been hailed as a real acquisition, in honor of which
there was some sparkling of wit, and more of beer, a
happy saying being as real a provocative of thirst as a
pretzel, and, moreover, there had arisen between him
and a young and promising philologist, lately graduated
at the university, and since become a distinguished
professor in the land, a philologico-anatomical, serio-
comical discussion, in which the philologian maintained
that it was hopeless for American to emulate German
youth in this matter of drinking beer, while at the
same time maintaining a voluntary suppression of the
peristaltic action of the oesophagus, for the very simple
reason that the throat of the German, incessantly
opened wide in pronouncing the gutturals of his lan
guage, and hardened by the passage of these rough
sounds, becomes in process of time an open pipe, a
clear, firm tube, in a word, a regular rat-hole of a
throat, such as no English-speaking youth might
reasonably aspire to. The medical man, I remember,
came back at him wifch the quick smile of one who
knows, and asked him if he did not confound the
larynx with the oesophagus.
" I do," broke in a young lawyer.
"You do what?"
" I confound the larynxes and cesophagusses of both
of you. Mine are growing thirsty. I say, boys, let's
suppress 'em both. Here, fiinf bier!"
The mild Teuton behind the bar obeyed the order
with a smile. He was never so well pleased as when
a debate arose among us, sure that every flash of wit,
every stroke of humor, would be followed by a call for
beers all round.
I don't think we etfer drank more than we did on
that evening (I really believe the beer was better then
than now); and just as we were in the midst of one of
our highest bursts of hilarity the door opened behind me.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 79
" Hello !" said the doctor, in a whisper ; " there's our
grenadier !"
Turning, I saw Don Miff standing by the counter, ex
changing in the German language a few commonplaces
(as I supposed) with the dispenser of beer.
" Who is he ? Where did you ever see him before ?"
I asked.
" Why, here, of course. Is it possible that this is the
first time you have seen him? Why, he has been
coming here every evening for a week at least. Ah, I
remember, you have not put in an appearance for
about that time. We boys have nicknamed him ' the
Grenadier.' He always takes a seat at that table
where he is now, and, after sitting about an hour, and
drinking two or three glasses of beer, goes off. We
are curious to know who the deuse he can be."
" Does he always come alone ?"
" Invariably. Never speaks to a soul, save Hans, of
course. What! do you know him?"
The Don's eyes and mine had met, and we had bowed ;
he with the smile courteous, I with the smile expansive
and bland, born of many beers.
" No ; I can't say that I do. I have met him on the
street merely. But I am rather interested in him, -
why, I will tell you hereafter. I say, boys," I con
tinued, " let's have him over here."
" Good !"
I approached the Don with my sweetest smile, and,
saluting him, said something about our being a jolly
party over at our table, and wouldn't he join us ?
" Thanks ; with pleasure," said he, rising ; and the
" boys," seeing him approach, made room for him with
much hospitable bustle.
"Mr. Smith," said he, in a low voice, as we crossed
the room.
" Mr. Whacker," replied I ; and, seizing his hand, I
shook it with unctuous cordiality.
Are we not all brethren ?
gO THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER IX.
""WELL, fair damsels, I have found out the great,
great secret !"
" Oh, do tell us I Who is he ?"
" Who he is I cannot say, but I now know his name."
" Then Don Miff is not his real name !" said Mary,
with a rather injured air. " But of course we could
not expect, in our eveiy-day world, to meet an actual
person with such a name as that."
" I should think not," said Alice. " But what is his
name, Mr. Whacker? How fearfully slow you are,
when we are dying of curiosity, as you know I"
"How stupid we have all been!" said I.
" In what respect ?"
" How shockingly, dismally stupid and obtuse 1"
"But how?"
"Did you not put Laura up to asking his name?
You did. And did she not bring back the words Don
Miff as the result of her investigations, and none of us
ever suspected the plain English of the matter?"
Here Alice gave a little shriek and fell upon a sofa.
"Just listen," said I to Mary and Lucy, who were
looking from Alice to me, and from me to Alice, with
a bewildered air. "Listen carefully. J-o-h-n S-m-i-t-h,
John Smith, or, according to Laura, Don Miff!"
" Impossible 1" cried Mary, with a resolute stamp of
her foot.
" But he told me his name himself."
"I can't help what he told you; but no one shall
ever make me believe that his name is John Smith.
There are people named Smith, of course."
" No fair-minded person would deny that," said Alice.
" Why, Mary, there is your own Aunt Judy."
"Yes, dear old Aunt Judy!" said Mary, smiling.
"But John Smith, Alice, John! Now can you believe
that any Smith, senior, in the full blaze of the nine
teenth century, would name his son John ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 81
" I think it in the highest degree improbable," said
Alice.
"Improbable, Alice? Why, it is preposterous. At
any rate, be there or be there not John Smiths in the
world, that is not his name."
" "With his starry eyes 1" put in Alice, languishingly.
"With his starry eyes!" repeated Mary, smiling.
"No; say what he will, John Smith is no more his
name than Don Miff was. And as I, somehow,- like
the oddity of the latter, Don Miff shall he be with me
till the end of the chapter."
" Selah !" said Alice.
CHAPTER X.
THE most dangerous gift that a man can possess is
superior skill in perilous employments. Sooner or later
the most illustrious lion-tamer furnisheth forth funeral
unbaked meats to the lordly beast he has so long bullied.
Sooner or later, dies miserably the snake-charmer,
charm he never so wisely.. The noble art of self-de
fence has been brought to high perfection ; but you
shall no more find a prize-fighter with a straight nose
than a rope-dancer with sound ribs. Every now and
then (for the danger is not confined to the experts
themselves) a bullet, advertised to perforate an orange,
ploughs the scalp (though rarely reaching the brain)
of its human support ; and I make no doubt that the
eminent pippin upon which Swiss liberty is based might
kave been placed once too often on his son's head, had
not William Tell abandoned, when he did, archery for
politics.
I have been led into this train of thought by an acci
dent which befell a number of the actors in our drama,
through intrusting their limbs, their lives, and their
sacred necks to the keeping of a young man who was
reputed to be the best driver of Richmond in his day.
Now, no true artist is content unless he may exhibit
his virtuosity ; and this young man, like all crack
82 . THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
whips, had conceived the notion that the art of driving
consisted, not in bringing back his passengers to their
point of departure, safe and sound, but rather in show
ing how near\he could take them to the gates of Para
dise without actually ushering them therein. To him
the sweetest incense was the long-drawn sigh of relief
breathed out by his friends when deposited, once again
and alive, at their front door. Who but he could have
controlled such untrained horses, spirited is what he
calls them ? Who passed that wagon at that precise
spot, made that rapid turn without upsetting?
Think not, my boy, that it escapes me that in your
bright day of things perfected there will be no more
drivers of horses, nor horses either, for that matter,
save in zoological gardens. Not forgetting this, but
remembering that human nature remains the same,
have I written these words. Beware, then, oh, last
lingering male, perhaps, of the line of the Whackers,
beware of the crack balloonist of your favored time !
There were four of us. Lucy and Alice sat on the
rear seat, Sthenelus and I in front, on a rather more
elevated position. Eeturning from our drive, wo are
rapidly moving down Franklin Street. A heavy country
wagon is just in front of us, and not far behind it,
though rather on the other side of the street, another
creeps along, both meeting us. The problem was to
pass between them. One of those fellows who knows
nothing about driving would have brought his horses
down to a walk, and crept through in inglorious safety.
Not so Sthenelus. With him glory was above safety;
and so, leaning forward, he lightly agitated the reins
along the backs of his rapid bays, and we whizzed past
the first wagon. The next instant our charioteer went
sprawling over the dashboard, carrying the reins with
him ; though I, foreseeing the collision with the second
wagon, had braced myself for the shock, and so managed
to retain my seat.
The horses bounded instantly forward, and rushed
down the street with an ever- in creasing speed. The
usual scene occurred. Ladies who chanced to be cross
ing the street, shrank back in terror to the sidewalk.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 83
Nurses scurried hither and thither, gathering up their
charges. Men stood in the middle of the sti'eet, shout
ing and sawing their arras, waving hats, umbrellas,
handkerchiefs, but getting out of the way just in time
to let the more and more frantic horses pass; while
troops of boys came rushing down every cross-street,
their eyes a-glitter with barbaric joy, and shouting
back the glad tidings to their toiling but shorter-legged
comrades in the rear.
Where do all the boys come from?
But wild with terror as they were, the horses turned
up the cross-street along which they had been driven
earlier in the afternoon, the one, that is, intersecting
Leigh one block above the Carters', and up this they
rushed with a terrific clatter.
Meanwhile, I had not been idle. Immediately upon
the fall of our charioteer and the bounding forward of
the horses, both girls had sprung to their feet with a
cry of horror; but 1 shouted to them to sit down, and
they obeyed. Alice, however, with every jolt of un
usual severity would rise and attempt to leap from the
vehicle, and again and again I had to seize her and
thrust her back into her seat. Lucy, on the contrary,
gave me no further trouble. Ashy pale, with her hands
clasped, she sat trembling and silent, her appealing
eyes fixed upon me. At last I insisted upon their sit
ting upon the floor of the carriage, assuring them, in
as confident a tone as I could muster, that there was
no danger if they would but resolutely hold that posi
tion ; and in this, too, they obeyed me, though in Alice's
case I had to supplement my commands by a firm grip
upon her shoulder.
At last, when we were approaching Leigh Street at
a furious pace, and the horses were turning into it, a
well-meaning man rushed, with a loud " whoa," at the
horse nearest him, at the same time belaboring him
with his umbrella ; and this producing an extra burst
of speed, the carriage made the turn literally on two
wheels; so that, in momentary expectation of an upset,
I instinctively released ray hold on Alice's shoulder and
seized the edge of my seat ; while the girls were so
84 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
frightened that Alice sprang up, and, with a wild cry,
threw her arms around my neck, Lucy, at the same
time, seizing my right arm.
The two girls pulling down upon me with all the
strength of panic-terror, there was no help for it. My
heels flew up in the air, my legs assuming the shape of
a gigantic V.
Picture to yourself, gentle reader, Mr. Fat Whacker
moving down Leigh Street in this alphabetical order 1
Even had I not been throttled almost to suffocation,
I believe my face would have been red with shame,
often a more powerful emotion than the fear of death.
(I, for example, once saw an officer, while the battle of
Spottsylvania Court-House was raging, blush, instead
of turning pale, when a cannon-ball, rushing past him,
annihilated the seat of his trousers.)
And this is what I saw, looking through that V as a
sharpshooter through the hind-sight of his rifle.
I saw the Don and Laura cosily sitting on the car
riage-block, with their backs towards us, the nurse
standing near by. Molly saw us as soon as we turned
into Leigh Street, and knowing the horses, I suppose
(all recognition of me being, I must presume, out of the
question), rushed up to the Don with a scream. He
leaped to his feet, and, taking in the situation at a
glance, sprang into the middle of the street.
Perhaps the effect was intensified to me by the con
centration of light wrought by the involuntary hind
sight arrangement of my legs ; possibly my perceptive
faculties, stimulated by the situation, were unusually
keen ; but the bearing and look of the Don remain to
this day indelibly impressed upon my memory. Hat-
less, he stood in the middle of the street, one leg ad
vanced, and with both arms, after the fashion of ball
players, extended to the front. But it was his counte
nance that struck me most. His grimly-set lips, his
distended nostrils, his brows intensely knit over his
darkly glancing eyes, but, above all, his head, thrown
back, and rocking to and fro in sympathy with the os
cillations of the approaching team, gave him a look of
ferocious disdain.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 85
It is with just such a look, I can imagine, that a lion,
famished and desperate, after long and vain hunting of
giraffe or gazelle, prepares to spring, from his tangled
ambuscade of rushes, upon the horns of an approaching
bull. What must be done, saith his mighty heart, must
be done and done bravely.
'Twas Milton's Satan stood there !
But just as the grimness of the countenance of Cle-
archus appeared odious to his soldiers in camp, but
lovely in the hour of battle, so the look I have been
describing seemed to me, at this critical juncture, to
rival the beautiful disdain of Byron's Apollo Belvedere.
It was the sternly confident look of a man who scorned
to rank failure among possibilities.
What would have been the result, had the horses
held their straight course down the middle of the street,
we can only conjecture, but such was the force of habit
that, frantic as they were, they bore so far to the left,
just before reaching the Don, that the left wheels rat
tled along the gutter, within a few inches of the car
riage-block, up to which they had so frequently been
driven by their owner. The Don rushed to the right
to intercept them, and, just as they were about to pass
him, sprang upon the head of the off hor.se with an in
articulate cry so fierce, and a vigor so tremendous, that
the animal, partly thrown back upon his haunches,
swerved, in his terror, violently to the left, forcing his
mate upon the sidewalk. But the Don had leaped too
far. Struck in the right side by the cole, he was hurled
to the ground, his head stinking tne pavement with
great force. In a moment of time both hoofs and wheels
had passed over his prostrate form.
" Oh !" shrieked the girls, releasing me, and clasping
their hands with mingled compassion and terror.
The Y collapsed, and in an instant I went spinning
over the dash-board.
The near-horse, his neck broken against the lamp
post, lay stone dead ; while the other, his traces burst,
stood trembling in every fibre, and, as he pulled back
against the reins, which still held him, uneasily snort
ing at his lifeless yoke-fellow.
8
H6 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER XI.
I WAS somewhat stunned by my fall, but extricating
myself from my entanglements, I rose just in time to
see Alice spring from the carriage, followed by Lucy.
The latter fell as she alighted from the carriage, but
before I could reach her the Don had staggered up to
her and lifted her from the ground. He was hardly
recognizable. His clothes were soiled and torn, and
blood was streaming from two ugly gashes in his face,
one on his forehead and another in his right cheek.
" I trust you are not hurt ?" said he.
" Not at all," answered Lucy, quickly, before she had
looked at him, or knew, in fact, who had assisted her
to rise. " Oh," cried she, clasping her hands, when she
caught sight of his face, "but you are dreadfully hurt I"
" Oh, no," replied he, with a ghastly smile ; " merely
a few scratches."
" Oh, but you are I Alice ! Mr. "Whacker ! The
gentleman "
But her further utterance was interrupted by the
almost hysterical entrance upon the scene of Mrs. Car
ter, who flew from one girl to the other pale and tremu
lous, endeavoring to assure herself, by repeated embraces,
that they were not dead. In a few moments a miscel
laneous crowd had clustered around our party, through
which Mary, who had witnessed the accident from her
window, rushed to greet her friends. To add to the
confusion, little Laura, her nerves unstrung by the
scene, was wailing piteously; so that, for a moment,
we forgot the Don.
"Look! oh, look!" suddenly cried Lucy, in an ex
cited voice ; and seizing me by the arm, she gave me a
push. "Quick! quick!" said she, pointing towards
our deliverer.
He was leaning heavily against the lamp-post, which,
for support, he had clasped with his arms ; but, their
hold relaxed, they had fallen and hung listlessly by his
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 87
side. With pallid face, vacant, upturned eyes, and
parted lips, he was slowly sinking to the ground.
I sprang forward, but too late to catch him as he fell,
or, rather, sank gently to the pavement, his head find
ing a pillow in the body of the dead horse.
" Who is he, Mary ? How was he hurt ?" asked Mrs.
Carter, eagerly, as she saw Lucy hurrying to his side,
and bending over him with an expression of agonized
terror in her face.
" It is the Don. He tried to stop the horses, but was
knocked down, and then both they and the carriage
passed over his body."
Mrs. Carter was by his side in an instant. His eyes
were closed, but opening them slightly, and seeing
her sympathizing looks, a faint smile illumined his
ashy-pale features.
" Ask some of these people," whispered Mrs. Carter,
" to help you carry him into the house."
He seemed to hear her, for his eyes opened again and
his lips moved, though they gave forth no sound.
"What's the m-m-m-matter, Jack?"
Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I turned and saw
my friend Charley.
" What, you in the city! You are just in time. We
want to take this gentleman into Mr. Carter's."
Charley and I took hold of his head and shoulders,
some volunteers his body and limbs, and, lifting him
gently, we moved towards the house. Some papers
fell out of his breast-pocket as we raised him from the
ground, which Charley gathered together and put into
his own pocket for the time being.
" Where shall we take him ?" I inquired, as we entered
the hall.
"Up-stairs, into the front room. Here, this way,"
said Mrs. Carter. " Alice," said she, suddenly stopping
midway on the stairs, " send for the doctor, instantly.
This way, gently. Ah, here we are at last! This
room. There, lay him on that bed. Thank you, gen
tlemen. Now, Lucy dear, bring me some water and
towels. Thank you. Don't be so alarmed, child ; he
will soon revive." And she gently passed a corner of
88 TEE STORY OF DON MIFF.
the moistened towel over his soiled and blood-stained
face. At this he opened his eyes for an instant, and
looked up into Mrs. Carter's face with a smile of lan
guid gratitude, and then, closing them again, soon began
to breathe heavily.
"He is asleep, girls; you had best leave him now to
these gentlemen and myself. The doctor will soon be
here, I hope. When did you reach the city, Mr. Fro-
bisher?" asked she, in a sick-room whisper, turning to
Charley.
. "To-day. On a little b-b-b-business. "Who is our
friend ?" And he nodded towards the bed.
" Oh, I'll let the girls tell you when you go down
stairs. It is rather a long and strange story."
When the doctor came he found the Don in a heavy
sleep and decided to make no examination into his in
juries, till he awoke. So he lay, just as he was, in his
clothes, till eleven o'clock, at which time he began to
exhibit symptoms of returning consciousness ; and we
sent off for the doctor again.
Mrs. Carter, Charley, and I sat in the room with him,
though one or the other of us frequently left his side
to convey tidings of his condition to the girls, who
were naturally anxious to know how matters were
going with him. A little after eleven, after turning
uneasily from side to side for some time, he awoke.
Mrs. Carter arose softly, and going to the bedside and
leaning over him, asked if he wanted anything ; and
he called for a glass of water. He barely moistened
his lips, however, and then, looking from one to another
of us in a bewildered way, and scanning the room with
feverish eyes, he raised his head from the pillow and
asked, with a puzzled look, " Where am I ?"
" Never mind," said Mrs. Carter, gently ; " you aro
among friends."
"Ah, thanks!" said he; and his head falling back
upon the pillow, he was silent for a little while. " I
have been hurt somehow, have I not?" he asked, at
last.
" Yes, you were hurt trying to save others."
" Oh, yes ! It seems to me that I tried to stop a run-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 89
away team, but they knocked me down and went on.
Or did not some one else stop them ? I remember see
ing the ladies leap out and one of them fell, and there
was a crowd of people, and some of them lifted me up."
"Yes, and brought you in here; but you mustn't
talk."
" Well, I won't talk any more," said he, closing his
eyes.
" That's right. Lie quietly where you are, and after
a while you will go to bed and have a good night's rest,
and will wake up strong in the morning."
" Oh, yes," said he, " I shall be all right in the morn
ing." But, opening his eyes wide, he began to stare
around the room. " Where am I ? This is not my
room," said he, with rather a wild look ; and he tried
to rise on his elbow, but fell back with an expression of
pain on his face, closed his eyes, and lay motionless for
a little while. Presently he opened them again. "I
don't know this room'!" And his eyes ranged up and
down and from face to face with a sort of glare. Mrs.
Carter gave us an anxious look. She arose, and, drawing
her chair alongside the bed, began passing her fingers
through his hair. Immediately the wild look passed
out of -his eyes, and his face was suffused with a smile
of infantile sweetness.
" You must keep quiet," said Mrs. Carter.
" Yes," said he, simply.
Suddenly he started up with staring eyes, and cried
out, "There they come! There they come! Molly!
Take Laura ! MoTly ! Quick I Quick ! Get out of the
way ! Ah ! I missed 'em !" and he fell back with a
groan.
Just then the doctor entered. Mrs. Carter touched
her head.
" That's nothing !" replied the doctor, in a cheery
voice. He was a large man, with a large head, covered
not so much with auburn hair as with a tawny mae.
His face, too, was leonine in its strength, and his step
light and springy; and he came into a sick-room with
an air which seemed to say that when he entered by
the door disease had to fly out by the way of the win-
8*
90 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
dow, or else be would know the reason why. He
walked straight up to the sufferer and placed his hand
upon his forehead. The Don gave him a perplexed
look, which passed away, however, when the doctor
began to feel his pulse. The firm and confident look of
the doctor seemed to give the patient control of his
faculties.
"Your head aches?"
" Badly."
" Of course. Any pain elsewhere ?"
" Whenever I move there are excruciating pains in
ray right side."
" We must look into that. Mrs. Carter, you will
please retire. By the way, please send me one of Mr.
Carter's night-shirts. We will now undress you," said
he to the Don, "and see what's wrong with that right
side of yours. Then we shall tuck you away snugly in
bed, and you will wake up to-morrow a new man."
" Thanks," said the Don, smiling in sympathy with
the cheerful tone of his physician.
The examination over, the doctor wrote his prescrip
tions, and, before taking his leave, suggested that one
of us should sit up with the patient, as his flightiness
was likely to return during the night, while the other
made himself comfortable on a lounge till he was
needed as a relief. Giving us his final directions, he
left the room ; but no sooner had he emerged into the
upper hall than he was surrounded by Mrs. Carter and
the three girls, Mary having decided to pass the night
with her friends.
'Is he badly hurt?"
' Yes, badly."
'Dangerously?"
' His body is black and blue ; there is an ugly lump
on
the back of his head, and "
And what?"
He has three ribs broken."
' Oh!" cried the girls in unison.
'Do you think, doctor," asked Lucy, with trembling
lips, " he will " but she could not speak the word.
" Not a bit of it," and the doctor snapped his fingers.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 91
" Oh, I am so thankful !"
"Now be off to bed, every one of you!" said the
doctor, with a certain jolly imperiousness. " Scamper !"
And he shook his tawny mane. " No doubt there are
plenty of fellows who would gladly die for you, but I
intend to pull this one through. Good-night. Go and
dream of the hero. Of course you are all in love with
him. Good-night." And with a courtly bow he took
his leave.
CHAPTEE XII.
A FEW days after this, when Mrs. Carter entered the
Don's room, before going down to breakfast, to see how
he was getting on, she found him entirely free from
fever and his head clear once more. It was then that,
for the first time, she made him understand that the
house in which he was lying was the one in front of
which he had so often met little Laura.
" You must know we have often played the spy upon
you from our window while you were talking to her."
" Indeed !" said he, coloring. " You must have
thought"
" We thought none the worse of you, I can assure
you."
" How strange my conduct must have appeared to
you ! But had you only known however " And he
suddenly checked himself.
"Do you know that your condition has been criti
cal?" said she, changing the subject. " During the first
few days we were very uneasy about you."
" Few days ! You don't mean to say that I have
been lying here several days?"
" Yes ; the accident occurred on Saturday, and this
is Thursday morning."
" Is it possible ?"
"Yes; but you have been delirious, and of course
could know nothing of the lapse of time. You can
imagine what our feelings were, doubtful as we were
92 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
as to the result of your injuries. There you lay, suffering
from possibly fatal injuries, while, owing to the disor
dered condition of your brain, we could in no possible
way learn from you the address of your friends, you
remember, Mr. Frobisher, nor write them of your con
dition." The Don's face grew clouded, as Charley's
quick eyes perceived ; but Mrs. Carter's being fixed upon
Charley for the moment, she did not remark the change.
(I was getting a nap in an adjoining room.) " I am
sure," continued she, " I cannot explain why I felt so,
for I did all I could, even insisting, one night, when
the doctor pronounced your condition exceedingly crit
ical, upon Mr. Frobisher's looking through your pockets
for letters or other sources of information ; but I could
not help repeating and repeating to myself, What will
his mother say when she learns that we Ah, you are
suffering again. "Well, we must not talk any more just
now. You will be better after breakfast. You can
take some breakfast, can you not? No? But I shall
send up some toast, may I not? Yes? Ah, that's
right. It will do you good ; and little Laura shall be
allowed now to pay you the visit she has so often
begged for."
"Little Laura! Ah, send her in right now, do,
please."
Charley went to the door and called her, and soon
her little feet were heard pattering along the hall ; but
reaching the door, and seeing the Don lying in bed,
and so pale and scarred, she stood abashed and hesi
tating upon the threshold, with one rosy finger in her
mouth,
" Come in, little Sunbeam," said he ; and she began
to advance slowly a step and then a halt till she
reached the middle of the room, when with a bound
and a bright smile she sprang towards him, crying,
" Here's some flowers I brought you. I saw those bad
horses run over you, and I cwied."
"Did you?" said he, with a grateful smile. "I be
lieve you are the best friend I have in the world." And
he took her hands in his and patted them gently.
" Have you had your breakfast ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 93
"No, ma'am; Molly is going to get me some."
" Won't you take your breakfast in here with me ?
We'll have a nice time together."
" Oh, may I take my breakfast with Don Miff?"
" Yes, darling." And Laura skipped out of the room.
"You cannot imagine," continued Mrs. Carter, smiling,
" how all of us were puzzled by that name which Laura
has just used, Don Miff. She came in one evening
and said that that was your name ; and do you know
we were all so stupid that we could not imagine what
was the English of it till Mr. Whacker met you and
told us. ' Don,' you will observe, has a decidedly
Spanish air; but what nationality did 'Miff' indi
cate ?"
" Don Miff, Don Miff," repeated he, smiling. Well,
that has a decidedly droll sound when seriously spoken
as a man's name. And Mr. Whacker told you that it
was, being interpreted, plain John Smith."
" Yes; and, by the way, it occurs to me that perhaps
you would like to know who I am. I am Mrs. Carter"
(the Don tried to bow), " and that gentleman seated
by the window, who has nursed you so faithfully"
(Charley arose), " is Mr. Charles Frobisher, of Leices
ter County."
Charley came forward and extended his hand.
"Mr. Charles Frobisher!" echoed the Don, in a
startled tone, giving Charley a quick and concentrated
glance ; and then, as if recovering himself, he took the
proffered hand, and said, "Ah, Mr. Frobisher, I am
extremely indebted to you."
"Not at all," replied Charley. "I could not do too
much for one who saved the lives, as you doubtless did,
of three of my friends."
" May I ask whom I so fortunately saved, as you are
so good as to say ?"
" In the first place, Mrs. Carter's daughter Alice."
" My only child," added Mrs. Carter, averting her
face.
"And with her was Miss Lucy Poythress, daughter
of a valued neighbor of mine."
" Little Laura's sister," explained Mrs. Carter.
94 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Yes," said the Don, with his eyes fixed upon the
ceiling.
"And my friend Jack Whacker, whom I have long
in default of other looked upon as a younger brother.
So you see that when we come to speak of obligation,
the boot is on the other "
"Don Miff, here turns Molly with my bekfuss,"
chirped little Laura, skipping into the room.
"Ah," said Mrs. Carter, rising, "I must send you
yours, Mr. Smith. Mr. Frobisher, you may leave your
patient to Molly and Laura ; so join us at breakfast.
No ; we will let Mr. Whacker sleep after his vigils as
long as he can. Now, Laura, you must take good care
of Mr. Smith."
That morning Mary, as was her wont, came across
the street to inquire after the Don, and found the
family lingering around the breakfast-table ; and the
girls had hastened to tell her of the improved condition
of the patient. Mr. Carter and Chai'ley had lit their
pipes, and there was a lively clatter of female voices.
" trirls," said Mrs. Carter, rising, " I am going up
stairs now to look after our invalid, and I think I shall
have some news for you when I come down."
"I can't imagine what you expect to ascertain," said
Alice, " unless it be how many slices of toast Mary's
starry-eyed one has consumed."
" You see," continued Mrs. Carter, smiling, " it is
proper, now that he has recovered the use of his facul
ties, to write to his friends to let them know where and
how he is. They must be terribly uneasy, whoever they
are. But I cannot write to them without first learning
of him their names and addresses. Do you see ?"
" Capital ! and perfectly legitimate," cried Alice.
"And mind, mother, just so soon as he gives you the
names find an excuse you will need pen, ink, and
paper, you know find an excuse and fly to us, yes, fly,
and tell us all about it. Don't write the letters fir^t,
for we shall be positively dying to know who he is.
Now mind, mother dear, fly I"
Charley rose hastily, knocked the ashes out of his
pipe, and laid it on the mantel-piece.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 95
" Won't you fill up ?" said Mr. Carter.
"Not just at present," said Charley, looking at Mrs.
Carter.
" Yery well," said Mrs. Carter, " I shall fly," and she
looked down at her plump figure and laughed ; " and
do try to live till I get back."
" May I accompany you ?" asked Charley.
There were three little shrieks from the girls.
" Talk about a woman's curiosity," exclaimed Alice;
and they all lifted up their hands and let them fall
upon the table. Charley, who was just passing out
into the hall, turned and smiled. It was the answer
that he returned to most things that were said to
him.
"By the way," said Mrs. Carter, turning round in
the hall, " when I come to think of it, Mr. Frobisher,
it seems to me that it would be as well for you to offer
. your services instead of me." And she re-entered the
dining-room.
Charley stood looking down upon the floor and twirl
ing his thumbs.
" Don't you think so ?"
" Will you allow me to be perfectly frank ?" said
Charley, looking up.
" Certainly," said Mrs. Carter, with a surprised look;
" what is your opinion ?"
" That neither of us ask the names and addresses of
his friends."
" Really ? Of course, if you have any reason to
think if you know anything "
" I know nothing whatever, but "
" But what ?" gasped the girls.
Charley stood silent for a time, stroking his yellow
beard.
" Sphinx 'No. 2," said Alice.
A gentle ripple passed through Charley's moustache.
He began to twist one end of it. " It may be all imag
ination," he began, " but I fancied, at least, that when
you spoke to him this morning of his mother " And
he paused.
"Ah, I remember. I recollect a look of pain. Yes,
96 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
I remember perfectly, his face clouded up instantly.
Yes, you are quite right, Mr. Frobisher."
" Ho always is," whispered Lucy to me, with a smile.
" Always," said I.
Mary gave a sigh. " Now, girls, I suppose we are
never to learn who this Sphinx is."
" Never, never on earth," sighed Alice, in return.
" Yes," said Lucy, " we shall yet know him ; I feel
that we shall."
"You always were a dear, encouraging creature,"
said Alice, passing her arm round Lucy's waist and
leaning her head languidly upon her shoulder. " I
shall never forgive you, Mr. Frobisher. By this time,
but for you oh, it was too cruel!"
"Never despair!" And he started on his way up
stairs.
Nothing was said for a minute or so, all listening to
Charley's retiring footsteps.
" Mrs. Carter," said Mary, " Mr. Frobisher knows
something about the Don that we do not. Don't you
think so, Mr. Whacker ?"
I had come in for my breakfast shortly after Mary
arrived, looking very sleepy and stupid.
" Hardly, I should think. How could he ?"
"And then," said Mary, "if ho knew anything he
would have told Mr. Whacker."
" I am not so sure of that."
"You don't know him," said Lucy, laughing. "He
is an odd fish if ever there was one. I never could see,
though, Mr. Whacker, why people should say ho was a
woman-hater."
"A woman-hater!" exclaimed Mary, looking much
interested ; " a regular misogynist would be such a
piquant character !"
" Yes, I have heard that he was. Is it true, Mr.
Whacker ?" said Alice.
"Charley a woman-hater!" said I, sleepily reaching
for the butter. "No more than I am." And I
gave a frightful yawn.
" Ever since I was a child," said Alice, gravely, " I
have longed to see Mammoth Cave. My curiosity is
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 97
now gone. I hope your appetite is on the same scale,
Mr. Whacker."
" You must excuse me. Remember how little I slept
last night."
"It is such a disappointment that he doesn't hate
women !" said Mary.
"Romance!" whispered Alice; for which Mary gavo
her a love-tap on the cheek.
" Charley, you must know, is an eccentric, and it is
of the nature of eccentricities to grow, especially when
remarked upon. He was, even as a boy, singularly
taciturn, and this ti'ait having been often alluded to by
his acquaintance, I think he has grown rather proud
of it. Rarely opening his mouth, when he does speak
his language is apt to assume a sententious and epi
grammatic form ; and certain of his crisp utterances
about women having been repeated, have given him the
reputation of hating the sex. This for example : Few
ladies are gentlemen. I suppose, too, that the manner of
his life has contributed to strengthen this impression.
He never visits young ladies, seeming content with the
society of my grandfather and that of two or three of
the elderly people among his neighbors."
" Why, yes," interposed Lucy, " if he hated women,
how could he be so devoted to mother as he is ? No
weather can prevent his crossing the river for his weekly
visits to her."
" How fond he must be of your mother!" said Mary,
with an arch look.
" Oh," replied Lucy, quietly, " I am not the attrac
tion, though we are warm friends. His visits began
when I was ever so little ; and as for mother, she loves
Mr. Frobisher as dearly as though he were her own
son. But you know," said she, turning to me with a
grave look, and speaking in undertones, "there are
peculiar reasons for that."
" Yes," said I, " I have heard."
Lucy sighed and was silent.
"But, Mr. Whacker," began Alice, "why is he so
silent ? You can see he is very intelligent. His smile
is singularly subtle, and what little he does say is always
98 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
admirably well said. 'A bird that can sing and won't,'
you know."
" Suppose you bring him out," said I.
" Do you know I am positively afraid of him ?"
"The idea of being afraid of Mr. Frobisher!" ex
claimed Lucy.
" And the idea of Alice's being afraid of any one !"
chimed in Mary.
" But I am," rejoined Alice. " That way he has of
quietly fixing his eyes upon you while you are talking,
as though h^ were serenely looking you through and
through, quite upsets me. And then you can't for the
life of you guess what he thinks of you."
" Ah," said I, " that's the trouble, is it ? You would
like to know what he thinks of you?"
" I didn't say that," said she, slightly coloring. " I "
" I'll ask him," said I.
" I said"
" But he won't tell me, I know."
What I said"
" Sly rogue that he is, with his eyes fixed upon you
so I understood you to say all the time that you even
you are talking. How great a portion of his time
he"
" Mr. Whacker, you are too absurd for anything 1"
" However," said I, unwilling to tease her further,
though I saw what delight it gave her mother and
Mary to see Alice put, for once, on the defensive, " you
do my friend injustice. I assure you that, seated quietly
in the Elmington sitting-room, before a bright winter
fire, alone with my grandfather and me, Charley is
capable of becoming a veritable chatterbox. When he
is in the vein, there seems to be no end to the stream
of his quaint, subdued humor. He reminds me of the
waters of a cistern, deep, quiet, unobtrusive, but there
when needed, not of a brook that goes babbling sweetly
forever."
" For example," said Mrs. Carter, nodding towards
Alice.
" I wish you would persuade him to do eome babbling
for us," said she.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 99
" And you, meanwhile ?"
" Ah," said her mother, " she would be able then to
enjoy the luxury of what Sydney Smith called an
occasional flash of silence."
CHAPTEE XIII.
THE Don now went on improving steadily, and it
was not very long before his jolly doctor, entering the
room in his brisk, cheery way, and bringing along with
him much of the freshness of the crisp October morn
ing, told his patient that he might dress and sit by the
window, and that if he felt able to do so, he might, the
next day, go down-stairs. At this Mrs. Carter, who
had followed the doctor, expressed great satisfaction ;
when the Don said something about having given
enough trouble already, and asked whether he would
not be strong enough, probably, to go down to his own
room.
" How far is it ?" asked the doctor. " Where is your
room ?"
"At the corner of th and Main ; ever so far," said
Mrs. Carter ; " but far or near, Mr. Smith, you will not
go there yet. It is simply out of the question." To
which the Don smiled his acknowledgments.
I must mention, here, that after the conversation re
corded in the last chapter, on Mrs. Carter's going up to
inquire how the Don had enjoyed his breakfast, he had
seemed a little nervous. It was obvious so, at least,
she thought that he feai'ed that she was going to pro
pose to write to his friends. At last it seemed to occur
to him, as a kind of compromise, that he would give a
vague sort of account of himself, but in such a way that
it would be understood that he had nothing more to re
port. Actuated, apparently, by this motive, and spurred
on by a nervous dread of a point-blank question from
Mrs. Carter, he seized every pretext for saying some
thing about himself, but always in a distant and shadowy
100 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
kind of way. For example, allusion having been mado
to the news from Europe, he hastened to say that he
had spent much of his life there ; and this bringing up.
very naturally, the delights of travelling, '.'Yes," said
he, " it is very pleasant at first, but after a while one
begins to feel, as he wanders from capital to capital,
that he is on a sort of perpetual picnic, a mere butter
fly, and a weary sense of the aimlessness, the utter
worthlessness, of his life begins to creep over him.
After all, every human heart feels, sooner or later, the
need of a home; for a home means interests, means
duties, means affections ; and what is life without all
these?"
It was a study, watching his face when he spoke in
this way. Beginning with a low voice and with a
studied repose of manner, the mere utterance of his
thoughts would soon hurry him past self-control, the
glow of his countenance and the vibrating intensity of
his voice breaking through the crust of a self-imposed
calm, when, as though conscious that he had betrayed
too much emotion, he would abruptly cease speaking,
and remain silent till he felt that he had regained com
posure.
"I cannot thank you sufficiently, Mr. Frobisher,"
said Mrs. Carter one day, " for warning me not to ask
him about his home and friends."
" What would he have said, mother?" said Alice. " I
wish you had, almost"
"And then, perhaps, we might have known some
thing," said Mary. "I declare I am positively con
sumed with curiosity."
" Don't speak of it," said Alice. " Now just look at
that provoking Lucy. Here are you and I, Mary,
wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement over
this enigma, and there sits Lucy, as composed and
self-contained as as Neptune. You remember his
placidum caput, girls, in the Virgil class, you know."
" My head may be placidum, but it is more than my
heart is. It fairly aches with longing to know who he
is. Do you know, I feel, somehow, as though he was
to be more to me than to either of you girls."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 101
" What !'' said Alice. " Have not I long since claimed
him?"
It was on one of the occasions above alluded to that
the Don mentioned where his room was (hence Mrs.
Carter's knowledge of its location), managing to throw
out, in a vague way, that as a wanderer about the earth
he had chanced to find himself in Richmond, something
in his manner rendering it impossible that any one
should ask whence he came or whither he was going.
" ISTow, doctor," Mrs. Carter had added on this occasion,
" I am sure that you will say that it would be very unwise
in Mr. Smith to forsake his nurse and his present quar
ters just at present. True, Mr. Whacker takes Mr.
Frobisher off to-night down to his rooms, but I am left.
Besides, down there on Main Street, weak as you are,
and all alone as you would be, there is no telling what
might happen." And she looked to the doctor for sup
port.
" Of course," said he, with a shake of his head that
brought the waving hair down over his forehead, "of
course Mr. Smith will remain here for the present."
" Well, that is settled ?" asked Mrs. Carter.
"One must obey orders, especially when they are
agreeable."
CHAPTER XIY.
THIS decree of the doctor's threw the household into
a great bustle. I was requested to call on the Don's
landlord, explain his long absence, and have his trunk
sent up to Leigh Street. The girls were in a great
flutter at the prospect of breakfasting with the mys
terious stranger next morning ; which announcement
they had no sooner heard than they flew across the
street to give Mary the news ; and the air grew misty
with interjections.
" We have arranged it all, Mary. Mr. Whacker and
Mr. Frobisher, who, as you know, are to leave our house
this evening, will come up to breakfast with the Don,
9*
102 THE STORY OF DON MIFP.
of course, and you will just make the party complete.
Proper? Of course, Mary. Why, there will be just
one apiece, so nice ! You and Mr. Frobisher, Lucy
and ahem ! Mr. Whacker, and the Don and myself.
No ! that's the way it shall be. Of course I'll let you
girls look at him, even exchange a few words with him,
but 1 1 " And dropping into a chair by a table, she
made as though mincing at an imaginary breakfast,
whilst ogling, most killingly, an invisible gallant by her
side.
That day, the girls thought, would never end. They
could neither talk nor think of anything save the
coming breakfast, wandering aimlessly from room to
room, and from story to story, romping, yawning, gig
gling, and were so exhausted by nightfall that they all
went to bed at an early hour, just as children do on
Christmas Eve, to make the morning come sooner.
You must remember that they were hardly eighteen
years of age.
The morning came. Charley and I met Mary at the
front door and we entered together. " I am so ex
cited," said she. " It is all so like a real adventure."
A few minutes afterwards Mrs. Carter begged me to
go up and assist the Don down-stairs, if necessary. He
walked down-stairs very well, however, and we entered
the dining-room, where I expected to find the whole
family, but the girls had not yet put in an appearance.
Alice, it seems, had gotten the other girls into so hilarious
a state by her mad drolleries enacting scenes that were
to take place between herself and the Don that they
had to remain some time in the upper chambers in order
to resume control of their countenances ; and her per
formances in the halls and on the stairways were such
that they had to call a halt several times before they
reached the dining-room door. We were all seated at
the table, and breakfast had begun, when the door was
partly opened, then nearly closed, then opened a little
way again, while a faint rustling of female garments
was the only sound that broke the stillness. Presently,
Mary, followed by Lucy, popped into the room with a
suddenness that suggested a vigorous push from some
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 103
one in the rear, while their features, of necessity in
stantly composed, were in that state of unstable equi
librium which may be observed in the faces of boys
when the teacher reappears in the school-room after a
few moments' absence. Alice followed, demure as a
Quakeress.
The introductions over, and Alice and Lucy having
thanked the Don for his gallant rescue of them from
danger, the girls took their seats, Alice next the Don.
It will be easily imagined that, under the peculiar cir
cumstances of the case, no word, no gesture, no look
of our new friend passed unobserved. No bride, com
ing among her husband's relations, was ever more
searchingly scrutinized. Naturally, we compared notes
upon the first occasion that offered, and it was interest
ing to observe that, various as were the estimates placed
upon our enigma, each of the ladies held, in the main,
to her first impression. It is no secret, in fact, that if
a woman sees a man passing in front of a window at
which she is sitting, or hears him utter three sentences,
the impression formed upon her mind is often next to
ineradicable.
" I do not know," said Mrs. Carter, " when I have
seen a manner so elegant and distinguished. It shows
the combined effect of gentle birth and much travel.
How charming and how rare nowadays is that defer
ence towards our sex that he manages to combine with
perfect dignity and repose of manner! By the way,
Mr. Whacker, did you not notice how subdued Alice
was throughout breakfast ? I have never seen her so
quiet and demure."
"Never mind," said Alice, "I am feeling my way.
Wait till I get a little better acquainted with him. I
must say, however, that I don't think our hero promises
much in the way of fun. I doubt whether he would
know a joke if he met one on the highway."
" No," said Mary, " his nature is too absorbed, too
intense, for"
"And his eyes too starry. Did you not observe,
Mary, how they dilated when first they bended their
light on the dish of stewed oysters?'
104 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"Alice, I believe that if you could, you would jest
at your own funeral."
" No ; at that pageant you may count on me as chief
mourner."
" Oh, Alice !" said Lucy, reprovingly.
" Never mind, my dear ; I am not so wicked as I
seem. Besides, I am rather reckless and desperate just
at this moment."
"Why, what is the matter?"
"All my aspirations dashed to the ground during one
short breakfast !" Alice rested her chin upon her hand,
and gazed pensively upon the floor.
" What new farce is this?" asked Lucy, amused.
" And it is you who ask me that !" And Alice raised
her eyes with a sad, reproachful look to those of her
friend. " And you call it a farce ? You /" And she
sighed. " Of course," resumed Alice, quickly raising
her head and looking from face to face, "of course you
all noticed it. It was perfectly obvious. Yes, this Miss
from the rural districts has swooped down and carried
off the prey without an effort."
" I, at le.ast," said Lucy, coloring, " saw nothing of
the kind. In the first place, I sat at one end of the
table and he at the other, and I am sure I hardly ex
changed a dozen words with him."
"Alas!" sighed Alice, "it is precisely there that the
sting lies. I sat by him and had every advantage over
you, and 1 used every advantage. Didn't you remark
the tone in which I called his attention to the omelet ?
Could a siren have urged upon him, more seductively,
a second cup of coffee ? And how gently did I strive
to overwhelm his soul with buckwheat cakes ! And
was the marmalade sweeter than the murmur in which
I recommended it ? And yet," Alice paused for a
lull in the tumultuous laughter, " and yet," she con
tinued, " strive as I would, I could not keep his eyes
from wandering to your end of the table."
" It is very strange," said Lucy, wiping her eyes, " that
all this was lost on me."
" And then," added Alice, " your most some one will
please attend to the fat lady ; she seems in a fit your
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 105
most trivial remark, even though not addressed to him,
Beemed to rivet his attention. To confess the humili
ating truth, Mary, I don't believe he would recognize
either of us, should he meet us in the street ; but every
lineament of Lucy's face is graven you know how
they say it in novels. It is a regular case of love at
first sight, my dear."
Alice's eyes ran along the circle of faces surround
ing her as she spoke, and it so happened that when
she paused at the words " my dear" she was looking
Charley full in the face. Charley, as I have before re
marked, had seen very little of young ladies, and I had
several times observed that when Alice was speaking
in her sparkling way he would watch her all the while
out of the corners of his eyes, with an expression of
wondering interest. Charley rarely laughed. I think
his self-control in this regard amounted to somewhat
of an affectation, and he had acquired a sort of serene
moderation even in his smiles. But Alice's bright, rat
tling talk seemed to have a sort of fascination for him,
and to hurry him out of himself, as it were. And on
this occasion I had been slyly watching his features
moving in sympathy with the changing expression of
her exceedingly mobile countenance. Entirely ab
sorbed as he was in watching the play of her counte
nance, and thinking of I know not what, when he
found her bright eyes resting full upon him, and himself
seemingly addressed as "my dear," he was suddenly
startled out of his revery, and not knowing what to
say:
"I beg pardon," said he, quickly, " were you speak
ing to me ?"
A shout of laughter greeting this ingenuous ques
tion, Charley's face reddened violently, Alice's gener
ally imperturbable countenance answering with a re
flected glow.
"Not exactly," said she; "my remarks were ad
dressed to the company at large."
" Oh !" said he, blushing more deeply still.
"But, Mr. Frobisher," continued Alice, willing to
relieve the embarrassment of the woman-hater, " don't
106 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
you agree with me ? Wasn't the Don obviously capti
vated by Lucy ?"
" I am sure, if he was not, it would be hard to under
stand the reason why. But the fact is, Mrs. Carter's
capital breakfast "
"Oh, you monster 1"
Half an hour later, finding myself alone with Lucy :
" So you do not claim or even admit," I happened cas
ually to remark, " that you have made a conquest."
"No, indeed!" replied she, with a frank look in her
eyes. " Far from it. Alice is all wrong."
" But Miss Alice was not alone in her observation of
the facts of the case. Wo all saw what she described.
I did most certainly."
" And so did I."
" Well ?"
" I saw, of course, how often he glanced towards me,
and I was conscious that even while I was speaking to
others his eyes were upon me. But there are looks
and looks. You men don't understand anything about
Buch matters."
" And where, pray, did you learn all this mysterious
language of looks and looks ?"
" I am a woman."
"So is Alice."
"Ah, yes; but, Alice well, girls like to say that
kind of thing to each other, it's encouraging, you
know. Why do you smile? It is pleasant, of course,
to be told that we have destroyed some man's peace
of mind, though we know it to be highly improbable
in point of fact. I shall reciprocate, at the first oppor
tunity, by telling Alice with what sweet pain she has
filled the breast of dear good Mr. Frobisher."
" Do you think so ?" I exclaimed. " That would be
too good! The woman-hater! Capital!"
" Stranger things have happened. Did you not see
how he blushed just now? But as to the Don, do you
know he is a greater mystery to me now than ever ?
Every woman instinctively knows what a man's looks
mean."
" Well, what did the Don's glances signify ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 107
"I cannot for the life of me imagine."
" What ! Although every woman instinctively knows,
and so forth."
"Ah," said she, smiling, "I meant that they always
knew when the looks meant pshaw 1 you know very
well what I mean."
" You would have me to understand that the Don's
looks, though they meant something, did not mean
nascent love."
"Yes. Do you not remember that sudden and in
tense look he gave me when we met him on the side
walk ? Well, when I came to turn that incident over
in my mind I came to the conclusion that he mistook
me for some one else. Now I am- all at sea again. He
knows, now, that I am Lucy Poythress, and not any
one else."
< Naturally."
< Don't be silly, and still"
< And still ?"
' And yet oh, you know what I mean."
' Upon my word I do not."
' Well, he seemed to me to be studying me as a kind
of problem, no, not that, he appeared ah, this is
my idea he seemed to me to survey me just as I have
seen mothers look at their sons after a session's ab
sence. ' Has he grown ? Has he changed ? Has he
improved ?' Do I make myself clear ?"
" Perfectly."
"What are you laughing at? What do I mean,
then ?"
"I gather from all you say that your impression is
that this Mystery, this Enigma, this Sphinx, this Don
Miff longs to be a mother to you."
"Mr. W-h-a-c-k-e-r!"
I could never understand why a man must not laugh
at his own witticisms ; and my hilarity on this occa
sion immediately drew the other girls and Mrs. Carter
into the front parlor, where Lucy and I were sitting.
By rapidly interposing a succession of chairs between
that young woman and myself, I succeeded in giving
the ladies an enlarged and profusely illustrated edition
108 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
of Lucy's views of the state of the Don's feelings and
intentions in regard to herself, when, seizing my hat,
I fled, leaving the three girls in uproarious glee, and
Mrs. Carter collapsed in an arm-chair, weeping, while
voiceless laughter rippled along her rotund form. As
I passed in front of the window Lucy's head appeared.
" Say your prayers twice to-night," said she.
CHAPTEK XY.
"JACK," said Charley that night at my rooms, "have
you any message for the old gentleman ? I am off for
home to-morrow."
" Indeed ! Why this sudden resolution ?"
" Too many people in .Richmond for me."
" It seems to me that you like some of them a good
deal. Isn't she bright ?"
" P-p-p-pass me the tobacco." He filled his pipe very
deliberately and walked across the room. " Where do
you keep your matches ? Ah, here they are. Who,"
added he, striking one "puff do you puff, puff
think so puff, puff, puff bright? Confound the
thing! puff puff it has gone out!" And he struck
another. Lighting his pipe, and throwing himself upon
a lounge, he looked the picture of content.
" Say, old boy," said I, "own up. Those hazel eyes "
" Do you know, Jack-Whack" (whenever he called
me that he was in the best possible humor), "that
you are making a howling ass of yourself?" And ho
shot a pillar of smoke straight towards the ceiling, fol
lowing its eddying curves with contemplative eyes.
" ' Howling ass' is a mixed metaphor."
" Yes, but an unmixed truth, my boy. Did it ever
occur to you, Jack," said he, removing the Powhatan
pipe, with its reed-root stem, from his lips, " that cigars
are essentially vulgar? You never thought of it?
But they are. So are dress-coats. You have only to
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 109
put them into marble to see it. Look at the statue of
Henry Clay in the Square. Was ever anything so
absurd ! Posterity will inevitably regard Henry as an
ass."
" Of the howling variety ?"
" Of course. Now, just picture to yourself Phidias'
Jove with a cigar stuck into his mouth."
Charley shot upwards a circling wreath of smoke,
watched it till it dissipated itself, and then turned his
head, with a little jerk, towards me: "H'm? How
would the Olympian Zeus look with a Parian Partaga
between his ambrosial lips ?"
" I have seen lips that "
" Howling and so forth." And he turned over on his
back and commenced pulling away at his pipe.
" I think she likes you."
Charley pursed up his mouth, and, taking aim, with
one eye, at a spot on the ceiling, projected at it a fine
spun thread of smoke. I detected a tremor in his
extended lips.
" I may say I know she likes you."
With an explosive chuckle the pucker instantly dis
solved. I had taken him at a disadvantage. His
features snapped back into position as suddenly as
those of a rubber mask.
"I was thinking," said he, "how great a solace and
bulwark a pipe would have been to Socrates, during his
interviews with Xantippe, and it made me smile."
"Yes," said I, carelessly.
" Yes I" said he, rising up on his elbow, "what do
you mean by ' yes ' ?"
"I merely meant to agree with you, that a pipe
would have been a great solace and bulwark to Socrates
during his interviews with Xantippe."
He fell back on the lounge. " Let's go to bed," said
he.
" Good I" said I ; and I began to remove my coat.
" So the Don is to leave the Carters' to-morrow and go
to his own quarters."
" Yes," said he, rising from the lounge. " I like that
chap."
10
110 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
That was a great deal for Charley to say. It was
the ver}- first expression of his sentiments towards the
Don.
" I am glad you do," said I ; " I thought you did."
" Yes, he is a man. Do you know what I am going
to do ? I shall invite him to Elmington. Uncle Tom
will like him. He says he is fond of hunting, and this
is just the time for that ; and he will be strong enough
soon. Suppose we go up to-morrow, before I leave
town, and invite him jointly. You will be down for the
Christmas holidays, you know. By the way, I hope
he will accept?"
" I am quite sure of it. He has betrayed an unac
countable interest in Leicester County on every occa
sion that I have alluded to it, notwithstanding an
obvious effort to appear indifferent. He has a way of
throwing out innocent, careless little questions about
the county and the people that has puzzled me not a
little. Who the deuse is he ?"
" Roll into that bed ! it is too late for conundrums.
Here goes for the light !" And he blew it out.
"Jack!" said he, about half an hour afterwards;
" Jack, are you asleep ?"
"H'm?" '
" Are you asleep ?"
" H'm ? H'm ? Confound it, yes /"
" No, you're not !"
" Well, I was!" And I groaned.
"Jack, I suppose Uncle Tom will have his usual
Christmas party of girls and young men at Elmington
this Christmas ?"
" S'pose so, umgh 1"
" 1 say"
" Don't 1 Don't ! Those are my ribs ! Good Lord,
man ! you don't know how sleepy I am. What on earth
are you talking about ?"
" Do you know what girls Uncle Tom is going to
have to spend Christmas with us this winter?"
" And you woke me up to ask me such a question as
that? Thunder 1 And you see him to-morrow even
ing, too! Oh, I understand," said I, being at last fully
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. HI
awake, and I burst out laughing. " You want me to
say something about Alice with the merry-glancing
hazel eyes."
" About whom ? Alice ? That's absurd, perfectly
absurd ! Why, she thinks me an idiot because I don't
jabber like one of you lawyers. All women do. Un
less you gabble, gabble, gabble, you are a fool. They
are all alike. A woman is always a woman j a man
may be a philosopher."
" My dear boy, your anxieties are misplaced."
" Who spoke of anxieties ?"
" Don't you a philosopher know that talkative
girls prefer taciturn men ? I am perfectly certain that
Alice thinks your silence admirable, dotes on it, in
fact."
" Jack- Whack," said Charley, rising up in bed and
rare sight though I felt rather than saw or heard it
shaking with laughter, "you are the most immeasur
able, the most unspeakable, the most "
Down came a pillow on my head. Down it came
again and again as I attempted to rise. We grappled,
and for a few minutes no two school-boys could have
had a more boisterous romp.
"Now just look at this bed," said Charley, out of
breath ; " see what you have done !" And he fell back
exhausted, as well with the struggle as from his un
wonted laughter. "We have not had such a tussle
since I used to tease you as a boy. Whew ! Let's go
to sleep now."
" She's a bewitching creature."
"Idiot!" said Charley, turning his back to me with
a laugh, and settling himself for the night.
" Poor fellow 1 Well, he got me to pronounce her
name, at any rate, by his manoeuvring."
"Do you know this is rather coolish? Where on
earth are the blankets? Find one, won't you? and
throw it over me."
"Here they are, on the floor! There! Sleep well,
poor boy I
' Oh don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt ?
Sweet Alice with h-a-i-r so brown.' "
112 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"You rhyme with the sinners who came to scoff, but
remained to pray. You seem to yourself to sing, but
appear to me to b-b-b-bray."
" Good ! There is life in the old boy yet I"
CHAPTER XVI.
morning Charley and I called at the Carters'
to give the Don the invitation to visit Elmington, but
found he had gone out for his first walk since his acci
dent, to test, at Mrs. Carter's instance, his strength
before going into his own quarters. Charley was com
pelled, therefore, to leave the city without seeing him.
In the evening I called at his rooms. Knocking at his
sitting-room door, I was invited to enter, and found him
sitting by a table reading a small book, which he closed,
but held in his hand as he rose and came forward to
greet me.
"Reading?" began I, bowing and glancing casually
towards the little book, the back of which was turned
away from me.
" Yes," replied he, but without looking at the book ;
"getting through an evening alone I find rather dull
work after my recent charming experience. Take a
Beat. Will you have a pipe, or do you prefer a cigar?
A pipe ? You will find the tobacco very good." And
walking to a small set of shelves near the door, he
placed the little book upon it, a circumstance too triv
ial to mention, did it not afford a characteristic exam
ple of the quiet but effectual way the Don had of nip
ping in the bud any conversation which was about to
take a line he did not wish it to follow. I suppose we
had been chatting for half an hour before I alluded to
my errand.
"Mr. Frobisher wished to see me particularly, you
say?"
" Yes ; Charley heard you say one day that you were
fond of shooting ; and as there is fine sport to be had
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 113
in Leicester, he thought it might be agreeable to you
to"
The smile of polite curiosity with which he heard
that Charley had had something to say to him rapidly
faded as I spoke, and there came into his countenance
a look of such intense seriousness, nay, even of sub
dued and suffering agitation, that, for a moment, I lost
my self-possession in my surprise, but managed to finish
my message in a stumbling sort of way. As for the
Don, anticipating, apparently, from my opening words
what that message was to be, he seemed hardly con
scious that it was ended. He sat, for a moment, with
his head resting in the palm of his hand, his piercing
eyes fixed upon the floor; but seeming suddenly to
realize that this was a queer way of meeting a cour
tesy, he quickly raised his head. " Thanks, thanks," said
he, with a forced smile, but with apologetic- emphasis.
" Charley I beg pardon Mr. Frobisher is very kind,
very kind indeed ! Yes, I should immensely enjoy
having a tilt once more at the partridges.* Very
much indeed."
" Then I may hope that you will accept ?"
"Oh, certainly, with very great pleasure. Please
present my warmest acknowledgments to Char Mr.
Frobisher, and say that I shall be at his command so
soon as I shall have recovered my strength somewhat."
He paused for a moment; then, throwing back his
head with a little laugh : " By the way," he con
tinued, " I beg you will not misinterpret my singular
way of receiving the invitation. It was such a sur
prise, and I am still a little weak, you know."
" You must allow me to add how much gratified I,
too, am at your decision. You know or do you not ?
that the invitation is to my grandfather's place, El-
mington."
"Elmington?"
" Ah, I see very naturally, you don't understand
that Charley lives with my grandfather."
" With your grandfather ? Why, how can that be ?
* The quail is unknown in Virginia both bird and word. Ed.
h 10*
114 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
I thought his place adjoined your " And he stopped
suddenly. " Please be so good as to explain," he added,
in a low voice.
" Well, this rather peculiar state of things came about
in this way. My mother died before I was a month
old, and my father, my grandfather's only son, survived
her less than a year; so that I was brought up by the
old gentleman. Now, Charley's place adjoined El-
mington, my grandfather's, their respective residences
being not over a half-mile apart ; and so Charley got
into the habit however, I must mention that Charley
lost his father years ago, and, about ten years since,
his mother died."
"His mother? His mother is dead?" asked the Don,
in a low tone, and without raising his eyes from the floor.
" Yes. They say she was a lovely woman."
" And she is dead, you say, your friend's mother ?"
he repeated, in a mechanical sort of way ; and, resting
his head upon his hand, he fixed his eyes upon the win
dow with a look so grim that I paused in my narrative.
"Yes," I presently resumed, "she Charley's mother;
that is"
" I beg pardon," said he, abruptly turning to me, and,
as the Latin hath it, serening his face with an effort,
" please go on."
" Well, Charley was at the University at the time of
his mother's death ; and during the following vacation
he seemed to find his own desolate home be was sin
gularly devoted to his mother unendurable; so he
would frequently drop in on my grandfather and my
self at tea, walking home, when bedtime came, across
the fields; but my grandfather, remarking the sad
look that always came into his face when he arose to
depart, would frequently insist upon his spending the
night with us. The poor fellow could scarcely ever
resist the temptation, to my great delight ; for to me, a
boy of thirteen, Charley, who was eighteen, and a stu
dent, was a sort of demi-god. I suppose, in tact, that
apart from my grandfather's personal liking for the
young man, and his sympathy with him under the cir
cumstances, he was very glad to give me the society of
THE STORY OF DON MIFF.* H5
some one younger than himself. And so, to make a
long story short, Charley's visits becoming more and
more frequent and regular, it came at last to be under
stood that he was to spend every night with us, during
his vacation, of course. At last, at the end of three
years, Charley left the University with the degree of
Master of Arts in pocket."
" Indeed !"
" Yes. You are surprised, no doubt. He is so unas
suming, one would hardly suppose that he had attained
an honor which is reached by hardly more than one out
of every hundred of the students at the University.
To continue. When he returned from college and took
charge of his farm, it soon appeared that the tables
were turned. It was Charley's companionship now
that had grown to be a necessity to the old gentleman.
' We shall expect you to dinner,' he would say every
morning, as Charley rode off to look after his farming
operations. Charley often protested against this one
sided hospitality, and, as a compromise, we would dine
with him occasionally; but at last my grandfather pro
posed a consolidation of the two households, all of us
wondering why the plan had not been thought of before.
That is the way Charley came to live at Elmington.
The two farms are separate, though from time to time
worked in common, as occasion demands, in harvest-
time, for example. Each farm contributes its quota to
the table, though not in any fixed ratio. My grand
father, for example, is firmly persuaded that the grass
on his farm notably in one special field imparts, in
some occult way, a flavor to his mutton that Charley's
does not possess; while, on the other hand, an old
woman on Charley's place has such a gift at raising
chickens, turkeys, and ducks, that we have gotten in
the habit of looking to her for our fowls."
The Don smiled.
"It is rather a singular arrangement, isn't it? but 1
have gone into these details that you might see that
Elmington is, for all the purposes of hospitality, as
much Charley's as my grandfather's. I hope it will
not be long," I added, rising, " before you will be able
116 'THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
to go down and see how the arrangement works,
though I am sorry I shall not be able to join you till
Christmas week, being detained by professional engage
ments, or, rather, the hope of such, as I have but re
cently opened a law office."
"You may rest assured that I shall not lose a day, when
once my physician has given me leave to go. Can't you
sit longer ? Another visit yet ? Ah, I am sorry." And
he accompanied me to the door of his sitting-room.
As we stood there for a moment, exchanging the
customary civilities of leave-taking, my eye fell upon
the little book the Don had laid upon a shelf of hia
book-case.
It was a copy of the NEW TESTAMENT.
CHAPTEE XVII.
AT about the hour at which I was taking leave of the
Don my grandfather was sitting alone in his dining-
room, reading; his snow-white hair and beard, as they
glistened in the lamp-light, affording a strong contrast
to the vivacity of his dark eyes and the ruddy glow of
his complexion. But the book before him was hardly
able to fix his attention. Every now and then he would
raise his eyes from its pages, with the look of one who
fancied that he heard an expected sound. Several
times he had risen from his seat, gone to the door,
opened it, and listened. Something like this he had
been doing now for nearly a week. "Dick!" called
he at last, opening the door : " Dick !"
Uncle Dick emerged from the kitchen, where, for
several days past, he had had orders to sit up till ten
o'clock in the hope that Charley might arrive.
" Yes, mahster !"
"Dick, I thought I heard some one coming."
Uncle Dick, who very naturally (and correctly) sup
posed that this was another false alarm, threw his head
into an attitude of pretended listening.
" Do you hear anything ?" asked the old gentleman.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 117
"Ain't dcm de horses a-stompin' down at de stable?"
" I believe you are right," sighed the old gentleman,
as he turned to re-enter the dining-room.
"JVlarse Charley ain't sont you no letter, is he?"
asked Uncle Dick, advancing deferentially towards my
grandfather, across the space that separated the kitchen
from the " Great-House."
" Why, no ; but I thought he might come. He wrote
me a week ago that the gentleman was getting well."
"Adzackly!" replied Dick, scratching in the fringe
of white wool that bordered his bald head. "Jess so 1
Does you think it rimprobable, mahster," he began
again after a moment of seeming reflection, "dat Marse
Charley would come without he writ fust and 'pinted
de day, and de ferry 'most twenty miles from here,
and nothin' to hire dere 'cep'n 'tis dat old flea-bitten
gray, and he a-string-halted ?"
" True enough."
"Dat ain't no fitten animil for de likes o' Marse
Charley, and he a-used to straddlin' o' de very best dat
steps."
" But listen, Dick! what's that?"
"Lor', mahster, dat ain't nothin' but de old m'yat
and colt out d'yar in de pasture."
""Well, what in the blue-blazes makes them all stamp
so to-night ?" replied the old gentleman, not without a
little petulance.
"Dat's jess what I say! leastwise d'yar ain't no flies
to bite 'em dis weather; but dey will do it, mahster,
dey will do it. Every dog have he day, dey tell me."
Uncle Dick was strong on proverbs, though hardly
happy in their application. Sometimes, in fact, just as
doctors will, when they don't know what is the matter
with a patient, prescribe pills of several remedial
agents, in the hope that if one shall miss another may
hit, so our old hostler, carriage-driver, and dining-room
servant would not scruple, when aiming at a truth, to
let fly at it an aphorism compound of the head of one
proverb and the tail of another.
" Yes," said my grandfather, applying Dick's saying
for him, " every dog will have his day, and I suppose
118 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
that is why your Marse Charles is staying so long in
Richmond."
Uncle Dick was a year or two his master's senior,
and many a " wrassle" had they had together as boys.
He was, of course, a privileged character, and he now
gave one of those low chuckles beyond the reach of
the typographer's art to represent to the eye. " Yes,
mahster, I hears 'em say dat d'yar is some monstrous
pretty gals, nebberdeless I should say young ladies, up
d'yar in Richmond. Howsomever, pretty is as pretty
does. Dat's what old Dick tells 'em."
"You think Charley is in love, I presume?"
Old Dick drew himself up as became one consulted
on family affairs, and, dropping his head on one side, he
assumed, with his knitted brows and pursed lips, an
eminently judicial air.
" Well, mahster, ef you axes me 'bout dat, I couldn't
'espond pint'ly, in course ; for I ain't seen Marse Charles
a-noratin' of it and a-splanifyin' amongst de Richmond
f'yar sect; but old Dick ain't been a-wrasslin' and
a-spyin' 'round in dis here vain world for nigh on to a
hundred year for nothin' ef you listen to Dick ; and ef
you believes me, mahster, dey all of 'em most inginerally
gits tetched with love onetimeornuther."
"I believe you are quite right, Dick."
" Why, Lor' me, mahster," began Dick, encouraged,
and assuming an attitude worthy of the vast generali
zation he was about to utter, " I really do believe
into my soul dat people is born so ; dey is pint'ly,
specially young folks." And he stopped in mid-
career. "What dat? 'Pear like I hear de far gate
slam. But Marse Charley, he are a keener, he are, and
the gal what catches him will have to be a keener too,
she will pint'ly. Marse Charley worse'n a oyster at
low tide ; soon as a young "oman begins a-speculatin'
and a-gallivantin' round him, he shets up, he do." And
the old man chuckled. " Howsomever, he am pint'ly
a keener, ef you hear Dick "
"Listen, Dick!"
" I do believe I hear a horse snort ! D'yar 'tis again !
Somebody comm' through de gate. 'Fore de Lord, I
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 119
believe 'tis Marse Charley ! Lemme look good ! Suro
enough, d'yar he is! Sarvant, Marse Charles! I
knowed you was a-comin' dis very night, and I hope I
may die ef he ain't on old Hop-and-go-fetch-it ! Lord
a' massy! Lord a' massy! Well, it's an ill wind what
don't blow de crows out o' some gent'mun's cornfield.
Lord a' massy, Marse Charley, what is you a-doin' up
d'yar on dat poor old critter, and de horses in de stable
jess a-spilin' to have somebody fling he leg over 'em ?"
" Well, my boy, is that you '?"
" Yes, here I am again, and glad to be back at home.
How are you, Uncle Tom ?"
" The same old seven-and-sixpence, always well ;
and how are you?"
" Sound in wind and limb, and savagely hungry."
" Well, get down, and we'll soon cure that ailment."
" I am very sorry," said Charley, as they entered the
dining-room, " that I had to stay awaj r so long, but it
seemed right that I should help nurse him. Ah, what
a noble fire!"
" Well, you are at home again, at any rate. Polly
will soon have some supper for you, and you know
what is in the sideboard."
Old Dick, meanwhile, was carrying out his share in
the programme.
"Well, I s'pose I'll have to feed you," said he to
the flea-bitten, surveying him from head to hock.
No true negro feels any doubt whateveras to his words
being perfectly intelligible to horse, mule, cow, or dog.
" Ef ever I see a poor-folks' horse, you is one. Git
up ! git up ! don't you hear me ? You needn't be a-
standin' here a-thinkin' Dick gwine to ride you to de
stable. Aha ! you hear dat word stable, did you ?
Bound for you ! You been d'yar befo', and you know
d'yar's corn in dat 'ar stable; and a heap mo', besides
you, know dat d'yar is pervisions a-layin' around here,
and dey ain't horses neither, nor yet muils. Git up, I
tell you ! Ain't you got no more sense, old as you is,
dan to be a-snatchin' at dry grass like dat ? But
Lor', Dick don't blame you ! JNo, honey, Dick ain't got
a word agin you. Who is you, any way, I ax you dat i
120 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Is you blood ? Is you quality ? Dat's what's do mat
ter, ef you believe me. You needn't be a-shakin' your
head ; you can't tell Dick nothin'. Anybody can see
you ain't kin to nobody. 'M'h'm! yes, chile! you
needn't say a word, Dick knows dat kind far as he
can see 'em, be dey man or beast. Howsomever, Dick
don't mount no sich. Nigger property is too unsartin
for dat. Nebberdeless, Marse Charles, bein' as how he
belongs to his self, he mought. Nebberdeless, you fotch
him home, and prett} 7 is as pretty does, dat's de way
old Dick talks it. Polly! Polly!" shouted he to his
wife, the cook, as he passed the kitchen door; " Polly !
git up, gal ! Marse Charles done come and want he
supper. I would say" continued he, not content with
the colloquial phrases in which he had announced his
young master's arrival and the state of his appetite, " I
would say, Polly," and enveloped in darkness as he
was, and invisible even to his spouse, the old man threw
himself into an impressive pose, as he always did when
about to adorn his language with phrases caught up
from the conversation of his master and his guests,
" I would say de Prodigy Son have arrove, and he as
ravenous as de fatted calf." Hearing Polly bustling
about within the kitchen : " Polly," inquired he, in a
stately voice, " did you hearken to what I rubserved ?"
" I hear you, Dick."
" But did you make me out, chile, dat's de pint, did
you make me out?"
" G'long, man, and put dat horse in de stable. Marse
Charley want he supper, course he do. What's de use
o' talkin' about fat calves, when you know as well as
I does d'yar ain't no sich a thing in de kitchen. Marse
Charley want he supper, I know dat, and I'so gittin*
ready to cook it fast as I can."
" I b'lieve you. Well, put my name in de pot, chile."
And the old man went his way. " Well," said he, solilo
quizing upon the much-longed-for return of his young
master, "dey tell me chickens, like horses [curses?],
always does come home to roost git up, I tell you !
'cep'n onless dey meets a free nigger in de road, den
good-by chickens for you're gwine to leave us."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 121
CHAPTEK XVIII.
"WHY, what's all this, Uncle Dick?" exclaimed
Charley, as that venerable servitor entered, with hos
pitably beaming countenance, bearing a tray. " Koast
oysters ! why, this cold turkey was enough for a prince."
And he brushed from his yellow moustache the foam of
a glass of Bass's ale.
The old man, complimented by Charley's surprise,
placed the smoking oysters upon the table with a bow
of the old school.
" Why, they are beauties ! Ah, I am glad you will
join me, Uncle Tom ! I never saw finer."
" Dey is fine, Marse Charley, dat's a fac'. Polly she
save 'em for you special. You know, young mahster"
(another bow), "de old-time people used to say you
must speed de partin' guest."
" That's true. By the way, Uncle Dick, what do
you say to a little something to warm up your old
bones ?"
" Since you mention it, Marse Charley, I believe de
frost has tetched 'em a little."
"Well, get that bottle out of the sideboard, you
know where it is."
" Know whar 'tis ? I wish I had as many dollars as
I know whar dat bottle sets !"
" Or would you prefer ale ?"
" Thank you, young mahster ; whiskey good enough
for Dick."
"There, 'tisn't more than half full; take it out and
give Polly her share."
"Sarvant, mahster!"
" Take some sugar ?"
" Much obleeged, young mahster ; seems like 'most
everything spiles whiskey. Somehownuther nothin'
don't gee with sperrits 'cep'n 'tis mo sperrits."
" But Aunt Polly might like sugar with hers."
" Dat's a fac', Marse Charley, dat's a fac' ; but Lor'
* 11
122 THE STORY OF DON MIFt.
me, women don't know ; but den again dey tell me it's
a wise man as knows his own father, so d'yar 'tis."
" Well, Uncle Dick, I can make out without you now,
so good-night ; and present my compliments to Aunt
Polly, and you and she drink my health."
" We will pint'ly, Marse Charles, we will pint'ly."
And even after the old man had closed the door, you
might have heard muttered fragments of his amiablo
intentions, as he trudged back to the kitchen.
"Well," began my grandfather, rising from the table
to fill his pipe, "you made a long stay of it in Rich
mond. How did you leave the young man ?"
"Ah, he is nearly well again," said Charley, deftly
removing a side-bone from the fowl before him. " By
Jove, I did not know how hungry I was. That early
dinner on the boat seems to me now like a far-away
di-eam of a thing that never was. I wonder whether
this turkey really is the best that old Sucky ever
raised? How good that tobacco smells 1"
Charley was happy. The bright fire and good cheer,
after his long, cold, and tiresome ride, the intense con
sciousness of being at home once more, but, above all,
the look of beaming satisfaction on the face of the ven
erable but still vigorous old man, who sat smiling upon
him and enjoying his appetite and high spirits, filled
him with ineffable content.
"Let me settle with this august bird, Uncle Tom,
and then I shall be ready to talk to you about Mr.
Smith, Don Miff, as the girls call him."
"Don Miff? what girls?"
" The ah, we gave him that nickname. " I'll explain
when I get even with this noble fowl and light my
pipe."
"Did you," asked my grandfather, advancing cau
tiously as a skirmisher, "meet any nice people in
Eichmond ?"
" Oh, yes, very nice people up there, too many of
them ; made me talk myself nearly to death, but very
nice people, of course, very. Look at that chap,"
added he, holding up on the end of his fork a huge
oyster.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. I2H
"You spoke of girls, did you meet any?" And a
pang of jealousy shot through the old man's heart, as
he recalled Dick's aphorism on the universal liability of
young folks to a certain weakness.
" Oh, lots ! I'll have to cut this fellow in two, I
believe."
" Who were they ?" asked the old man, trying to
smile.
"Who? the girls?"
" Yes ; you did not mention any in your letters."
" Of course not. When did you ever know me to
write about girls ? As I said, I met lots of them at the
various houses at which I visited. It seems to me that
there are girls everywhere."
" Thank God for it, too."
"Well, yes, as it were; but you can't expect a
fellow to remember all their names. Oh, there was
Lucy Poy thress, of course."
" Yes, I knew she was in Eichmond."
"And then and then there was a schoolmate of
hers, Miss Mary Eolfe. You know her father, Mr.
James Rolfe. Brilliant girl, they say, talks beauti
fully very accomplished, you know, and all that sort
of thing."
"Yes, I have heard she is a really charming girl.
What do you say to our having her as one of our
Christmas party?" The old man removed his pipe
from his mouth. "What do you say, Charley ?" And
he glanced at the young man's face with a look that
was too eager to be shrewd.
" A capital idea !" exclaimed Charley, spearing another
oyster with emphasis.
The old man drew vigorously on his pipe several
times, and finding it had gone out, rose for a lighter.
" You think," said he, puffing between his words as ho
relit his pipe, contemplatively watching the tongue of
flame darting down into the bowl, "that we should have
her of the party ?"
" Most assuredly. She is a fine girl, you would like
her. In fact, we must have her here if possible."
" Yes," said the old man, " yes." And he gazed at the
124 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
bright coals. He felt that he had not landed his trout
" So you didn't lose your heart ?"
"My heart? Who, I?" And Charley gave a loud
laugh.
" The very idea amuses you ?"
" I should think sol I suppose you suspect that old
Cousin Sally's niece or Cousin Sally's old niece which
ever you please captivated me ?"
" No, I was not thinking of Sarah Ann. In fact, I
didn't know that any one had captivated you till you
mentioned it."
" Well, upon my word, I have finished the last of
these oysters, and there is not so much turkey as
there was."
"Well, now we will have an old-time whiff together;
and now begin your story. However, before you do,
can you think of any other girl who would be an
acquisition for Christmas ?"
" Who ? Bless me, Uncle Tom, what could have put
such a notion into your head ? Oh, I'll tell you, leave
it all to Jack-Whack ; he's the ladies' man of the family,
you know."
" Very well ; and now fill your pipe and tell me all
those strange things about that strange Mr. Smith, that
you promised me in your letters."
Charley told the story, with one omission. He failed
to allude to his having invited the Don to visit Elming-
ton. Omissions to state all manner of things that ordi
nary mortals would make haste to mention was one
of Charley's idiosyncrasies, so that I suspect t'hp-t his
silence on this point was premeditated. Another was,
as I have already hinted, an aversion to expressing an
opinion of any one, good or bad. But Mr. Whacker
felt instinctively that Charley had conceived a genuine
liking for this mysterious stranger. A tone here, a
look there, told the tale. Charley's likings, being rare,
were exceedingly strong. Moreover, they were never,
I may say, misplaced, and my grandfather knew this.
So, when Charley had finished his narrative, " You
have," said he, " interested me deeply. Who can he be ?
But be he who he may, he is obviously no common man "
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 125
Charley puffed away slowly at his pipe.
"He is a remarkable man," continued my grand-
father, warming up.
"He has points about him," said Charley, driven to
say something.
" Yes, and characteristic points, highly characteristic
points," said the old gentleman, with a sort of defiant
emphasis.
" He has, beyond question."
" Charley," began Mr. Whacker, rising and taking a
lighter, for he had suffered his pipe to go out, " don't
you think" and he lit the taper " what do you say,"
he continued, in a hesitating manner, which he tried to
cover up under pretence of strict attention to the feat
of adjusting the blaze to the tobacco, "how would
it do to invite him here, just for a week or so, you
know ?"
It is, I dare say, a mere whim on my part, but I
must now beg the contemporary reader to obliterate
himself for a few pages.
I must tell you, my descendant-to-the-tenth-power
no, you will be that much of a grandson, my de-
scendant-to-the-twelfth-power, therefore I must tell
you, as a matter of family history, why your ascendant-
to-the-fourteenth-power hesitated.
Our common ancestor was a Virginian, which
means, you will doubtless know, that he was hospi
table. Again, he was a Virginian of Leicester County,
and that is as much as to say, as I trust a dim tradi
tion, at least, shall have informed you, that he was a
Virginian of Virginians. But, lastly and chiefly, he
was Mr. Thomas Whacker of Elmington. What that
amounts to you can learn from me alone.
Our common ancestor was, then, the soul of hospi
tality, hospitality in a certain sense boundless, though
it was strictly limited and exclusive in a certain direc
tion. No dull man or woman was welcome at Elming
ton. But his nets seemed to bring in all the queer
fish that floated about Virginia. I suppose there must
have been something inborn in him that made odd
people attractive to him, and him to them, but I have
11*
326 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
no doubt that this trait of his was in part due to the
kind of Bohemian life he led in Europe for several
years, when he was a young man, mingling, on familiar
terms, with musicians, actors, painters, and all manner
of shiftless geniuses, so that the average humdrum
citizen possessed little interest for him. If a man could
only do or say anything that no one else could do or
say, or do it or say it better than any one else, he had
a friend in Mr. Whacker. All forms of brightness and
of humor any kind of talent, or even oddity could
unlock that door, which swung so easily on its hinges.
And not only men of gifts, but all who had a lively
appreciation of gifts, were at liberty to make Elming-
ton their headquarters ; so that, as my memory goes
back to those days, there rises before me a succession
of the drollest mortals that were ever seen in one Vir
ginia house. Now, I need hardly remind you that com-
rny of this character has its objections. Men such as
have rapidly outlined are not always very eligible
visitors at a country house. It happens, not unfre-
quently, that a man who is very entertaining to-day is
a bore to-morrow, the day after, a nuisance ; so that
our grandfather, who was the most unsuspicious of mor
tals, and who always took men for what they seemed
to be on a first interview, was frequently most egre-
giously taken in, and was often at his wit's end as to how
to get rid of some treasure he had picked up. In fact,
Charley used to dread the old gentleman's return from
the springs in autumn, or the cities in winter; for he
was quite sure to have invited to Elmington some of the
people whom he had met there ; and they often proved
not very profitable acquaintances. In fine, wherever
he went, ho rarely failed to gather more or less gems
of purest ray serene, many of which turned out, under
Charley's more scrutinizing eyes, very ordinary pebbles
indeed.
Unqualified, however, what I have written would
give a very erroneous idea of the people our grand
father used to gather around his hospitable board ; for
I must say that after all deductions have been made, he
managed, certainly to get beneath his vine and fig-tree
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 127
more really clever and interesting people than I have
ever seen in any one house elsewhere. And then, too,
as there were no ladies at Elmington, I don't know
that his mistakes mattered mueh. Still, they were
sufficiently numerous; and he had begun to lose, not
indeed his faith in men, so much as in his own ability to
read them. And just in proportion as waned his confi
dence in his own judgment in such matters, he placed
an ever-heightening estimate upon Charley's ; so that,
in the end, he was always rather nervous upon the ar
rival of any of his new-found geniuses, till his taciturn
friend had indicated, in some way, that he thought
them unexceptionable.
Now, Charley had seen Mr. Smith ; our grandfather
not. Here was. a chance. He would throw the re
sponsibility upon Charley. In this particular case he
was especially glad to do so, for there was undoubtedly
an air of mystery surrounding Mr. Smith, and mystery
cannot but arouse suspicion.
Our grandfather continued : "H'm? What do you
say ? For a week or so ?"
There was positively something timid in the way he
glanced at Charley out of the corners of his eyes. And
now you may dimly discern what was most probably
Charley's motive for refraining from alluding to his
having himself invited the Don to Elmington. In a
spirit of affectionate malice he had deliberately en
trapped his old friend into making the proposition. So
I must believe, at least.
" By all means," replied Charley, with a cordiality
that surprised Mr. Whacker.
" What ! Do you say so ?" cried our grandfather,
rubbing his hands delightedly ; and taking out his keys,
he began to unlock his desk. " How should the letter
be addressed ?" continued he, turning and looking at
Charley. His face reddened a little as he detected an
imperfectly suppressed smile in Charley's eyes. He
was somewhat afraid of that smile.
" What are you grinning at ?"
" I grinning?"
" Yes, you ! Didn't you say we should invite him ?"
128 THE STORY OF DOS MIFF.
" Certainly."
"Then what's the matter?"
" It's past eleven," said Charley, glancing at the clock.
" Is it possible !"
" And then the mail doesn't leave till day after to
morrow."
" Oh !" ejaculated our impulsive ancestor, " I had
not thought of that!"
CHAPTEK XIX.
TEN days or so have passed.
" Well, Dick," said Mr. Whacker, " I suppose we have
seen our breakfast ?"
Dick gave his company-bow, glancing, as the gentle
men rose from the table, with the imposing look of a
generalissimo, at a half-grown boy who acted as his aide-
de-camp whenever there was even one guest at Elming
ton. It was only, in fact, when our small family was
alone that this worthy served as what would be called,
in the language of our day, a " practical" waiter (there
existing, it would seem, at the period of this writing,
to judge from the frequency of that adjective upon
sign-boards, hordes of theoretical blacksmiths, cobblers,
and barbers, against whom the public are thus tacitly
warned). For, whenever we had company, Dick would
perform the duties rather of a commander than of a
private, magis imperatoris quam militis, summoning
to his assistance one or more lads who were too young
for steady farm work, or were so considered, at least,
during those times of slavery. Zip, for under this
name went, in defiance of all the philology and all the
Grimm's Laws in the world, the boy in question, (he
had been christened Moses,) Zip sprang nimbly for
ward under that austere glance of authority and began
to clear the table, half trembling under the severe eye
of a chief for whom there was one way of gathering
up knives, one method of piling plate upon plate, one
of removing napkins, one and only one.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 129
" Dick," said my grandfather, as soon as pipes were
lit, "there is a fire in the library?"
"Yes, sir; I made one de fust thing dis morning."
" Ah, well, Charley, suppose you take Mr. Smith over
then ; you will be more comfortable there than here. I
shall follow you in half an hour or so."
" This way," said Charley. And the two young men,
passing through the house and descending a few steps,
found themselves upon a pavement of powdered shells,
which led to a frame building, painted white, and one
story in height, which stood about fifty yards westward
of the mansion. This they entered by the left door of
two that opened upon the yard, and found themselves
in my grandfather's library and sitting-room. It was
fitted up with shelves, built into the walls, upon which
was to be found a miscellaneous library of about two
thousand volumes ; the furniture consisting of a very
wide and solid square table, a couple of lounges, and a
number of very comfortable chairs of various patterns.
Charley took up his position with his back to the fire,
while the Don sauntered round the room, running his
eye along the shelves, and occasionally taking down
and examining a volume, and the two chatted quietly
for some time.
" The old gentleman is coming over. I hear his step.
He has something to show you."
" Ah ?" said the Don, looking around the room.
" It is not in this room ; it is in the next, -or, rather,
it is that room itself," added Charley, pointing to a door.
" That room is the apple of his eye. I always reserve
for him the pleasure of exhibiting it to his friends."
" Looking over our books ?" interrupted my grand
father, entering the room briskly, with a ruddy winter
glow upon his fine face.
" Yes ; and I observe that you have a large and capital
selection of French classics."
" Yes ; I picked them up when I was abroad as a
young man. You read French? Ah! Then this will
be the place for you on rainy days when you can
not hunt. Charley, have you shown Mr. Smith the
Hall?"
130 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Not yet."
"No?" ejaculated my grandfather, with a surprise
that was surprising, seeing that Charley had given him
that identical answer on a hundred similar occasions
previously. " Mr. Smith," said he, walking toward the
inner door, " we have a room here that we think rather
unique in its way." And he placed his hand upon the
knob. "We call it 'The Hall.' Walk in!" And he
opened wide the door, stepping back with the air of an
artist withdrawing a curtain from a new production of
his pencil.
The Don advanced to the threshold of the room, and
giving one glance within, turned to his host with a look
of mingled admiration and surprise. The old gentle
man, who was as transparent as glass, fairly beamed
with gratification at observing the pleased astonishment
of his guest. " Walk in, walk in," said he, wreathed in
smiles. "Be careful," added he, laying hold of the
Don's arm, as the lattor's feet seemed disposed to fly
from under him, " the floor is as smooth as glass."
" So I perceive. Why, what on earth can you do with
such a room in the country?" And the Don lifted his
eyes to the very lofty ceiling.
" That's the question !" observed Mr. Whacker, giving
Charley a knowing look.
" One would say it was a ball-room," said the Don,
looking down upon the perfectly polished floor, in
which their figures stood reflected as in a mirror.
" It would do very well for that," said the old gentle
man. " I think it would puzzle you to find the joints
in that floor," he added, stooping down and running
his thumb nail across a number of the very narrow
planks. " You observe, the room is ceiled throughout
with heart-pine, no plastering anywhere. I used, as
you see, the darker wood for the floor, and selected the
lightest-colored planks for the ceiling ; while I made
the two shades alternate on the walls. You think so?
Well, I think it ought to be, for I was several years
collecting and selecting the lumber for this room, not
a plank that I did not inspect carefully. And so you
think it would make a good ball-room ? So it would,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 131
in fact. Thirty feet by twenty would give room for a
goodly number of twinkling feet."
" I see a piano at the other end of the room."
" Yes," said Mr. Whacker, leaning forward, his fingers
interlaced behind his back, and his smiling eyes fixed
upon the floor. He was giving the Don time, he had
not seen everything in the room.
" What !" exclaimed the latter, suddenly, as his eyes
chanced to stray into a corner of the room, which was
rather dark with its closed blinds. "Is not that a violin-
case standing in the corner?"
" Yes, that's a violin case," rejoined Mr. Whacker,
softly, while his eyes made an involuntary movement
in the direction of the neighboring corner.
"And another!" exclaimed the Don, "and still
another ! and, upon my word, there is a violoncello in
the fourth coi'nerl"
My grandfather threw his head back as though he
would gaze upon the ceiling, but closed his eyes ; and
rocking gently back and forth, and softly flapping upon
the floor with both feet, was silent for a while. He was
content. The surprise of the stranger had been com
plete, dramatically complete, his wondering admira
tion obvious and sincere.
Charley watched his friend quietly, with a tender
humor in his eyes. He had witnessed a number of
similar scenes in this room, but this had been the most
entirely successful of them all.
"The third box," resumed my grandfather, softly,
with his eyes still closed, and still rocking from heel to
toe, " contains a viola."
"A viola! Then you have a complete set of quartet
instruments I" And he turned, looking from case to case,
as if to make sure that he saw aright. " What a droll,
divorced air they have in this great room, each solitary
in his own corner ! Surely you can never "
" Never use them ?" And my grandfather paused with
a smile on his face. " I find this room rather cold. Let
us adjourn to the Library and I will tell you how we
manage."
132 THE STORY OF DON MIFI.
CHAPTEE XX.
So, while Mr. Whacker is explaining matters to the
Don, I shall make things clear to the reader.
My grandfather, when a young man, spent several
years in Europe. He was an enthusiast in every fibre,
and one of his enthusiasms was music. Very naturally,
therefore, he took lessons while abroad, lessons on the
violin, the p'iano being held, in Virginia, an instrument
fit only for women and foreigners. But, undertaking
the violin for the first time when he was a grown man,
he never acquired, ardently as he practised, anything
like a mastery over that difficult instrument. At any
rate, returning to Virginia and finding himself no longer
in an artist-atmosphere, his ardor gradually cooled, so
that until about ten or twelve years before the period
of my story, all I can remember of my grandfather's
musical performances is his occasional fiddling for me
and such of my young school-mates as chanced to visit
me. During the Christmas holidays, especially, when
Elmington was always crowded with young people, it
was an understood thing that Uncle Tom, as most of
his neighbors' children delighted to call him, was to be
asked to play. Christmas Eve, notably, was no more
Christmas Eve, at Elmington, without certain jigs and
reels executed by " Uncle Tom," than without two
enormous bowls one of eggnog, the other of apple-
toddy concocted by him with his own hands. The
thing had grown into an institution, more and more
fixed as the years went by. On such occasions, im
mediately after the old gentleman had taken his second
glass of eggnog, not before, it was in order to call
for his annual exhibition of virtuosity; whereupon
Charley no one else could be trusted to bear the pre
cious burden was despatched to my grandfather's
chamber, where, upon a special shelf in a closet, lay,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 133
from Christmas to Christmas, a certain old violin,
which rarely saw the light at any other time.
But, about a dozen years before the events I am now
describing, there came a German musician Wolffgang
Amadeus Waldteufel chanced to be his name and es
tablished himself at Leicester Court-House as a piano
teacher, or, rather, he gave lessons on any and all
instruments, as will be the case in the country.
Herr Waldteufel was an excellent pianist, and, in
fact, a thorough musician. Strangers from the cities,
when they heard him play at Elmington, were always
surprised to find so brilliant a performer in the country,
and used to wonder why he should thus hide his light
under a bushel. But the truth is, a man generally finds
his place in the world, and Herr Waldteufel was no
exception. In the frequent hinges of his elbow was to
be found the explanation of his losing his patronage, in
city after city ; so that it was natural enough that he
found himself, at last, giving lessons in a village, and
in the houses of the neighboring gentry, upon piano,
fiddle, flute, guitar, and, shades of Sebastian Bach!
must I even add the banjo ?
And, notwithstanding his weakness, the honest Herr
was an excellent teacher. True, he did occasionally
fail to put in an appearance for a lesson, when no ex
cuse was to be found in the weather ; but his patrons
learned to forgive him ; and, as he was very amiable
and obliging, he was a general favorite, and welcome
everywhere.
Mr. Whacker had not been slow to form the acquaint
ance of the Herr and to invite him to Elmington ; at
first under the pretext of having him tune his piano.
The tuning over, the Herr was naturally asked to
play ; and, one thing leading to another, he and Mr.
Whacker soon found themselves trying over a slow
movement, here and there, out of a musty and dusty
old edition of Mozart's Sonatas. The music they made
was, I dare say, wretched, as my grandfather had not
played anything of that kind for years ; but it would
have been hard to say which of the two was most de
lighted, the German, at finding so enthusiastic a lover
12
134 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
of his art in a Virginia country gentleman ; my grand-
father, at the prospect of being able to renew his ac
quaintance with his idolized Mozart, whom he always
persisted in placing at the head of all composers. The
Elmington dinner and wines did not lessen the Herr's
estimate of the treasure he had found ; and (Mr.
Whacker scouting the very idea of his leaving him
that night) they separated at the head of the stairs,
at one o'clock in the morning, after a regular musical
orgie, vowing that they had not seen the last of it.
Nor had they ; for before Herr Waldteufel had set out,
in the morning, for a round of lessons in the neighbor
hood, he had promised to return, the following Friday,
to dinner. And so, from that day forth, he was sure
to drop in upon us every Friday afternoon ; and regu
larly, after dinner, he and my grandfather would fall
to and play and play until they were exhausted. Next
day the Herr would sally forth, and, after giving his
lessons, return in time for dinner; after which they
would have another time together.
Herr Waldteufel always spent Sunday with us; but
my grandfather would never play on that day. I sup
pose it would be hardly possible for a man who has
spent several years on the Continent to see anything
" sinful" in music on Sunday ; but neither is it possible
for any man, even though he be a philosopher, alto
gether to evade the pressure of surrounding convictions.
Now, for the solidity it wouldn't do to say stolidity
of our Sabbatarianism, we Virginians may safely defy
all rivalry. Virginia is not only one of the Middle
States, she is the middle State of the Union in many
other respects, but especially in her theological attitude.
While, to the north and east of her, religious systems
that have weathered the storms of centuries are rock
ing to their foundations, nay, tumbling before our very
eyes, undermined by the incessant rush of opinions
ever newer, more radical, more aggressive ; and while,
to the southward and westward, we see the instability
and recklessness inseparable from younger communi
ties, the Old Dominion stands immovable as a rock ;
believing what she has always believed, and seriously
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 135
minded so to believe to the end of time, astronomy,
fiology, and biology to the contrary notwithstanding,
ow, of all the religious convictions of your true Vir
ginian this is the most deeply rooted, the most uni
versally accepted, that man was made for the Sabbath,
not the Sabbath for man. Again: according to our
biblical exegesis the word Sabbath does not really mean
Sabbath, but Sunday, the last day of the week, that
is, being synonymous with the first. Now, as first is
the opposite of last, mark the geometric cogency of
the reasoning, so is work the contrary of play.
Hence it is clear to us (however others may laugh)
that the commandment forbidding all manner of work
on the last day of the week was really meant to in
hibit all manner of play on the first ; Q. E. D.
I must admit, however, that when, one Sunday, after
returning from church, the Herr opened the piano,
"just to try over" the hymns we had heard, my grand
father made no objection ; and then, when his fingers
somehow strayed into a classical andante, the old gen
tleman either believed or affected to believe that it was
a Teutonic form of religious music, and called for
moi'e. And so, things going from bad to worse, it
came about that in the end we had hours of piano
music every Sunday, to the great scandal of some of
our neighbors, who did not fail to hint that the Herr
was an atheist and my grandfather not far from one.
But Mr. Whacker would persist in drawing the line
at the fiddle ; making a distinction perfectly intelligible
to all true Yirginians, though his course in this matter
ever remained a sore puzzle to the warped and effete
European brain of Herr Wolffgang Amadeus Wald-
teufel.
For many months for two or three years, in fact
after this arrangement was set on foot, my grandfather
was at fever heat with his music. To the amazement,
not to add amusement of his neighbors and friends, he
fell to practising with all the ardor of a girl in her
graduating year ; nor was he content to stop there.
He set every one else, over whom he had any influ
ence, to scraping catgut. His favorite text during this
136 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
period, and one upon which he preached with much
vigor and eloquence, was the insipidity of American
life, its total lack of the aesthetic element.
" What rational relaxations have we ? None ! Whist
is adapted to those among us of middle age, or the
old ; but whist is, at the best, unsocial. Dancing
gives happiness to the young only. Hunting affords
amusement during one season and to one sex only.
You cannot read forever ; so that the greater part of
our leisure-time we spend in gaping or gabbling, bor
ing or being bored. How different it would be if all
our young people would take the trouble to make mu
sicians of themselves! one taking one instrument,
another another. Why, look at our neighbor up the
river, with his five sons and five daughters! Why
PSHAW !" for, invariably, when he got to this parti
cular neighbor, the bright vision of a possible domestic
orchestra of ten or twelve rather would seem to rob
him of the power of utterance, and he would pace up
and down his library with an expression of enthusi
astic disgust on his heated features.
Now, among the victims of Mr. Whacker's views in
this regard was his grandson, the teller of this tale ;
and I believe it was really one of the most serious of
the minor troubles of his life that he could never make
a musician of me. As it was, he ultimately gave me
up as a hopeless case. But with Charley his reward
was greater. Charley had readily consented to take
lessons on the violin from Herr Waldteufel, as well be
fore he entered the University, as during his vacations ;
and when, after he left college, he came to live with us,
he was not likely to give up his music, as the reader
can very well understand. During the week he and
his friend used to play duos together, and they made
very pleasant music too, and on Fridays and Saturdays
they would perform transcriptions (at making which
the Herr was really clever) for two violins and piano.
Things went on in this way for a year or two ; until,
in fact, the summer of 1855. It was during the sum
mer of that year, it will be remembered, that Norfolk
was so terribly scourged by yellow fever, and my
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 137
grandfather, instead of going, as usual, to the springs,
had remained at Elmington, and opened his doors to
his friends and other refugees from the stricken city.
Now it so happened that, a few weeks before the epi
demic declared itself, a young French or to speak
more accurately Belgian violinist had dropped down
into Norfolk, from somewhere, in search of a living ;
who, panic-stricken upon the outbreak of the fever, had
fled, he hardly knew whither ; but happening to find
his way to Leicester Court-Hous,e, was not long in fall
ing in with Herr Waldteufel ; and he, exulting in the
treasure he had found, brought him to Elmington on
the first Friday afternoon thereafter ensuing.
" I have inform Monsieur Villemain," whispered the
Herr, at the first opportunity, " dot Elmingtone vas
so full as a teek von peoples, but he can shleep mit
me. But you know, Barrone, vy I have bring dis
Frenchman, oder Beige, to Elmington-e ?" (He would
insist upon calling Mr. Whacker Baron.)
" I suppose he is a refugee, and you knew "
" A refuchee ! ja wohl I Ach ! but mein Gott, Bar-
rone," exclaimed he, clasping his hands, "vat for a
feedler ist dot mon !"
" You don't tell me so !"
" Donnerwetter !" rejoined the Herr, rolling up his
eyes, "you joost hear him one time, dot's all!"
From that day in August until the following Christ
mas M. Villemain was a member of our household ;
and even then he took his departure much against my
grandfather's will. His coming among us enabled Mr.
Whacker to do what he had scarcely dreamed of before,
to establish, namely, a string quartet.
I shall never forget the first meeting of the club.
Waldteufel, who was already a tolerable violinist, had
readily agreed to take the violoncello part, and Charley,
though with many misgivings, had consented to tackle
the viola ; and the Herr was despatched to Baltimore
to purchase these two instruments. Upon their arrival,
it was agreed that the novices should have two weeks'
practice before any attempt at concerted music should
be made, Waldteufel taking his 'cello to his rooms at
12*
138 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
the Court-House, while Charley was to attack the viola
under the direction of M. Villemain ; but Mr. Whacker
frew so impatient for a trial of their mettle that, on
'riday morning of the first week, he sent a buggy for
the Herr, requesting him to bring his instrument with
him ; and, accordingly, just before dinner, up drove
the bass, his big fiddle occupying the lion's share of the
vehicle. Dinner over, my grandfather could allow but
one pipe before the attack began. The centre-table in
the parlor was soon cleared of books ; the stands were
placed upon it ; the performers took their seats ; the
parts were distributed, " A" sounded, the instruments
put in tune. The composition they had selected was
that quartet of Haydn (in C major) known as the
Kaiser Quartet, in the slow movement of which is
found the famous Austrian Hymn.
" We are all then ready ?" asked M. Villemain (in
French), placing, his violin under his chin. " Ah 1"
added he, in that short sharp tone so peculiarly French,
and the bows descended upon the strings.
It was worth while to watch the bearing and coun
tenances of the four players.
The Frenchman, entirely master of his instrument
and his part, glancing only now and then at his music,
ejaculating words of caution or encouragement ;
Waldteufel, taking in the meaning of the printed signs
without an effort, but doubtful as to his fingering, cor
recting his intonation with a rapid slide of his hand
and an apologetic smile and nod to his brother artist ;
Charley, serene and imperturbable, but putting forth
all that was in him ; while my grandfather, conscious
that the second violin was most likely to prove the
block of stumbling, and anxious not to be utterly out
done by the " boys," his eyes riveted upon the page
before him, his face overspread with a certain stage-
fright pallor, played as though the fate of kingdoms
hung upon his bow. At last, not without a half-dozen
break-downs, they approached the end of the first move
ment ; and when, with a sharp twang, they struck, all
together, the last note, my grandfather's exultation
knew no bounds.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 139
" By Jove," cried he, slapping his thigh, " by Jove,
we can do it !" And congratulations were general.
But the culmination of the enthusiasm occurred
during the performance of the slow movement. Here
the air, a gem of imperishable beauty, passes from one
instrument to another. When the theme falls to the
second violin, the violino primo accompanies, the viola
and 'cello being silent, if I remember aright. Here
was Mr. Whacker's opportunity. The movement is
without technical difficulties, but the mere idea that he
had a solo to perform made the old gentleman as ner
vous as a graduating Miss. He lightly touched his
strings to be quite sure they were in tune gave a
turn to a peg wiped his spectacles blew his nose
lifted the violin to his left ear, softly plucking D and
G as though still in doubt smoothed down the page
tightened his bow and, with a bow to M. Villemain,
began.
He had scarcely played a half-dozen notes when the
Herr cried out, " Goot for de Barrone!"
" Bravo, Secondo !" echoed the Primo from the midst
of his rapid semiquavers.
Deeply gratified and encouraged, the old man gave
an unconscious but perceptible toss of the head ; and
his snowy locks trembled upon his temples. Charley
lifted his eyes from the floor with a sigh of relief.
His anxiety lest his old friend should break down had
been touching to see, the more so as he had tried so
hard to conceal it.
The performer reached the appoggiatura about the
middle of the air, and turned it not without grace. It
was nothing to do, absolutely nothing, but the two
artists were bent on giving applause without stint.
" Parbleu ! Tourne d merveille /" cried the First
Violin, in his native language.
"Py Tarn!" shouted the Bass, in an unknown
tongue.
" Je crois bien I" rejoined the Belgian, as though he
understood him.
One of the Herr's foibles was his fondness for mak
ing what it was his happiness to consider puns in the
140 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
English language. " De Barrone served us a good turn
dere !" he whispered to his unoccupied comrade.
The Yiola smiled without taking his eyes off the
Second Fiddle.
"You take?" inquired the Violoncello, stimulating
his neighbor's sense of humor by a gentle punch in
the ribs with his bow.
"Very good, very good!" answered Charley; and
my grandfather, taking the compliment to himself,
rather laid himself out on a crescendo and forte that he
encountered just then.
Mr. Whacker had practised his part over, hundreds
of times, during the week preceding its execution by
him on this occasion, and he really played it very credi
tably. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that, at
its end, he should have been greeted with a small tem
pest of clappings and bravos and goots ; and it re
mained his conviction ever after, that of all the quar
tets of Haydn, the Kaiser most nearly approaches the
unapproachable perfection of Mozart.
He looked at the matter from the Second Violin
point of view. Who shall cast the first stone ?
CHAPTER XXI.
MEANWHILE, Mr. Whacker has not been idle. He has
been giving his wondering and interested guest an ac
count of what I have just narrated to the reader;
omitting, naturally, many things that I have said ;
saying many things that I have omitted ; telling his
story, that is, in his own way. Let us drop in upon
them and see where they are.
"This was in 1855, five years ago. How have you
managed to supply M. Villemain's place during all this
time? Have you succeeded in developing the local
talent?"
" Local talent? Bless you, no. I labored faithfully
with my grandson, but had to give him up, no taste
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 141
that way. Then there was a young fellow, the son of
a neighbor, young William Jones, who is now at the
University. I had great hopes of him when he began
to take lessons ; but the scamp was too lazy to practise
his exercises, and pretended he couldn't see any tune in
classical music. Perfectly absurd ! However," quickly
added Mr. Whacker, observing that his guest was
silent, "the majority are of his way of thinking. Bill
is a capital fiddler, however, and is invaluable at our
dancing parties. He will be down Christmas, and you
will hear him."
" I should like very much to do so," replied the Don,
rather stiffly.
" His ' Arkansas Traveller' is an acknowledged m-
m-m-masterpiece," chimed in Charley, "and his 'B-B-
B-Billy in the Low Grounds' the despair of every other
fiddler in the county."
" I should like very much indeed to hear him," said
the stranger, laughing heartily at Charley's neatly
turned phrase, over which his stammering threw a
quaint halo of added humor. " And so you had to give
him up also, Mr. Whacker ?"
" Yes, I had to give them all up, except Charley
here." And he gave that young man's knee a vigorous
slap, accompanied with an admiring glance. " You
could hardly guess how I manage. You see Mr. Wald-
teufel visits Baltimore twice a year to lay in a stock of
music and other articles needed by his pupils, and he
has instructions to look about him and pick up, if pos
sible, some violinist newly landed in the country, or one
temporarily out of employment; or perhaps he may
find an artist desiring a vacation, to whom a few weeks
in the country would be a tempting bait. All such he
is at liberty to invite to Blmington, provided, of
course," added Mr. Whacker, with a wave of his hand,
"provided they be proper persons."
" Or the reverse," soliloquized Charley, prying nar
rowly, as he spoke, into the bowl of his pipe.
Or the what?"
" I addressed an observation to my p-p-p-pipe."
" Well, suppose they are sometimes rather in fact
142 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
rather what difference, pray, does it make to us two
bachelors ? You will no doubt think, Mr. Smitb, that
this is a quartet under difficulties, and so it is, but it
is a quartet after all. If not, in dissenting phrase, a
' stated,' it is, at least, an ' occasional service of song.' "
" Goot for de Barrone !" quoted Charley.
" Then again, I not infrequently invite the leader of
some watering-place band to drop in on us, for a week
or so, on the closing of the season at the Springs.
They are generally excellent musicians, and glad
enough, after a summer of waltzes and polkas, to re
fresh themselves with a little real music. So you see
that, after all, where there is a will there is a way.
Provide yourself with a cage, and some one will be sure
to give you a bird ; build a house, and "
' The r-r-r-rats will soon come."
' I was going to say a wife "
' Oh, then, instead of r-r-r-rats, it's br-br-br-brats 1"
' You see," continued my grandfather, laughing, " I
have the Hall there for a cage."
' Yes, but where is your bird, your fourth player ?"
'Very true, the bird is lacking just at present. The
truth is, we have had poor luck of late. We have not
had any quartet music for a year, not even our quar
tets where the piano takes the place of one of the
violins, owing to the absence of our young-lady artiste.
By the way, I forgot to tell you, in speaking of our
local talent, that one of our girls is an excellent pianist,
and that through her we have been enabled (until the
past year) to keep up our quartet evenings, in the ab
sence of a first violin ; the main trouble being that I
am hardly equal to my part that of the first violin in
these compositions, Lucy Poythress. You know her ?"
asked Mr. Whacker, on observing the sudden interest
in the Don's face.
" Why, Uncle Tom, Mr. Smith saved her life J Don't
you remember ?"
" Of course I of course ! you must pardon an old
man's tricks of memory !"
" Miss Poythress is a good musician ?"
" Oh, wonderful, we think. She was the only one of
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 143
Mr. Waldteufel's pupils who had the least fancy for
classical music. She seemed to feel its meaning from
the very first, and I hardly know what we should have
done without her. For several years ever since she
was fourteen, in fact she has been playing with us ;
in quartet when we needed her, a solo between our
Haj^dn and Mozart when we happened to have a first
violin. You should know her, know her well, I mean.
So much character, and yet so gentle ! Such depth of
soul ! In fact, she is an incomparable girl ! I must
confess, I never cease to wonder how Charley, here "
" There you go again, Uncle Tom !"
" This good-for-nothing fellow, Mr. Smith, has, for
several years, been crossing the river, Friday after
noons, to fetch her and her mother to our quartet
parties, taking them back, and spending the night
under the same roof with this noble girl, breakfasting
with her next morning, and yet Where would you
find another sister, eh ?"
Charley rose, and, after walking about the room and
glancing at the books in an aimless sort of way, with
out other reply than a smile, descended the steps and
stood on the lawn with his fingers interlaced behind
his back.
"That's what he would have said," added Mr.
Whacker in an undertone, " had you not been present ;
or else, that if Mrs. Poythress were his mother-in-law,
what should he do for a mother ? He is a singular
fellow, a 'regular character,' as the saying is. He
has the greatest aversion to giving expression to his
feelings, and fancies that he hides them, though ho
succeeds about as well as the fabled ostrich. The truth
is, he has the warmest attachment for Lucy (I wish it
were only a little warmer), but a still greater affection
for her mother. There are, in fact," added Mr. Whacker,
lowering his voice into a mysterious whisper, " peculiar
reasons for his devotion to her and hers to him, but it
is a sad story which I will not go into ; but, for ten or
fifteen years ever, at least, since a cruel bereavement
she experienced he has made it a rule to spend, if at
all possible, one night of every week under her roof.
144 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
This weekly visit is a pleasure to Charley, but it seems
to be a necessity with poor Mrs. Poythress. No
weather can keep him back. Fair or foul, go he will ;
and, on one occasion, he spent a night in the water,
clinging to his capsized boat. ' I can't help it, Uncle
Tom,' he will say ; ' she misses my visit so.' "
"My God!" cried the stranger, in a voice of piercing
anguish ; and, leaping from his seat, he stood with his
temples pressed between his hands and his powerful
frame convulsed with emotion.
Had my grandfather been a man of more tact, he
could not have failed to remark in the dancing eyes,
twitching mouth, and pallid features of his guest the
symptoms of a coming storm. As it was, it burst upon
him like a bolt from a cloudless sky. He stood aghast ;
and to the eager inquiring glances of Charley, who
had sprung into the room on hearing the cry and the
noise of the falling chair, he could only return, for
answer, a look of utter bewilderment. The stranger
had turned, on Charley's entrance upon the scene, and
was supporting his head upon his hand, against the
sash of the rear window.
" I eannot imagine /" silently declaimed and disclaimed
my grandfather.
" I hope " began Charley, advancing.
The Guest, as though afraid to trust his voice, with
a turn of his head flashed a kindly smile upon Charley,
accompanied by a deprecatory motion of the hand, and
again averted his face as though not yet master of his
features ; but, a moment after, he straightened himself,
suddenly, and turning, advanced towards his host.
" Mr. Whacker," he began, with a grave smile, " I
beg you a thousand pardons. There are certain par
allelisms in life I mean that you inadvertently touched
a chord that quite overmastered me for the moment.
Forgive me." And, taking my grandfather's hand, he
bowed over it with deep humility. Turning then to
Charley, who, the reader will bear in mind, had not
heard the words of Mr. Whacker that had wrought the
explosion, the Guest, to Charley's great astonishment,
grasped both his hands with a fervid grip, but averted
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 145
look ; then abruptly dropping his hands, he seized his
hat and strode out of the door ; leaving our two friends
in blank amazement. They stood staring at each other
with wide eyes. At last, Charley raised his hand and
tapped his forehead with his forefinger, then went to
the door and looked out.
" By Jove," cried he, " he is making straight for the
river !" And, hatless as he was, he sprang to the ground
and started after him, at a run for the Guest was
swinging along with giant strides. Charley's heart
beat quick, when the stranger, reaching the shore,
stopped suddenly, stretching out both his arms toward
the opposite bank with wild, passionate gestures. The
pursuer was about to cry out, when the pursued, turn
ing sharply to the left, moved on again, as rapidly as
before. It was then that, either hearing Charley's
hurrying steps, or by chance turning his head, he
saw that he was followed. He stopped instantly ; and,
coming forward to meet Charley :
" I must ask pardon again," said he, with extended
hand. " I should have told you that I was going out
for a good long walk. I shall be back before din
ner."
"All right!"
The Guest doffed his hat and began to move on
again ; but Charley, seized with a sudden remnant of
suspicion, stopped him with a motion of his hand.
"Kemember," said he, going close up to him, and
speaking in a low but earnest tone, " remember, you
have two good friends yonder." And, with a toss of his
upturned thumb, he pointed, over his shoulder, towards
the house, which lay behind them ; and young Fro-
bisher, feeling that he had said much, cast his eyes
upon the ground, bashful as a girl.
" I believe you," said the guest ; " and," he added
with earnestness, " the belief is much to me much,
see you at dinner."
Charley, returning, found Mr. "Whacker standing on
the lawn, awaiting, with some anxiety, his report.
" It's all right, I think. Look at him ! See how he is
booming along the bank! But, Uncle Tom, how on
o k 13
146 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
earth did you and Mr. Smith manage to get up those
theatricals ?"
" Hang me if I know ! We were talking, as quietly
as possible, about some trivial matter or other, en
tirely trivial, I assure you, and, all of a sudden, up he
leaped in the air as though he had been shot. Let me
see, what were we talking about ?" And Mr. Whacker
rested his forehead upon his hand. " Let me see.
No, I can't for the life of me remember. The ' theat
ricals,' as you call them, must have driven everything
out of my head ; but they were nothings that we were
saying, 1 assure you."
"You remember that, when I left the room, you
were teasing me about not falling in love with Lucy
Poy thress ?"
" Yes, yes, yes ; now I have it ! Well, after you
went out, I told him what friends you and Mrs. Poy-
thress were, and how you paid her a weekly visit, rain
or shine, ah, yes, and how once you were upset, when
you would cross the river in spite of my remonstrances,
and so on and so on."
" That was all ?"
" Every word. Why, you were not out of the room
two minutes!"
"H'm!" And Charley slowly filled his pipe, and,
lighting it, went out upon the lawn, where he walked
haltingly up and down for some time. Quickly rais
ing his eyes at last, and fixing them inquiringly upon
the Poythress mansion, nestling across the river, in its
clump of trees, he gazed at it with a look, now intent,
now abstracted. " Can it be ?" he muttered ; and he
stood long, chin upon breast, buried in thought ; but
what these thoughts were he breathed to no man.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 147
CHAPTER XXII.
So, after all, my grandfather lost his opportunity of
explaining to the Don how he came to build the Hall.
No doubt he will do so as soon as the latter returns
from his walk. But there are reasons why I prefer to
give my own account of the matter. The truth is, I
believe my narration will be more exactly in accord
ance with the facts of the case than Mr. Whacker's
would be. For, my grandfather (though as truthful
as ever man was) having, like the rest of us, a great
deal of human nature in him, did not always see very
clearly what his own motives were ; and, had he been
asked why he had constructed this rather superfluous
building, would have given an answer at variance with
what Charley's or mine would have been. Now, had
either of us been questioned, confidentially, and apart
from our friend, we would have unhesitatingly affirmed
that he had built the Hall as a home for his quartet ;
but had he, perchance, overheard us, he would have
denied this, and not without heat. And this is easily
explicable.
On the whole subject of music music, whether
quartet or solo, vocal or instrumental Mr. Whacker
had grown sore, and. as nearly irritable as his strong
nature admitted of. His neighbors had worried him.
They and who shall wonder at it? had naturally
been filled with amazement and, what is harder to
bear amusement when their old friend had suddenly,
at his time of life, burst out, as the homely phrase runs,
in a fresh place, and of this he could not but be aware;
BO that in the end he grew so sensitive under their
jokes that he altogether gave over inviting even his
nearest neighbors to be present at the Elmington musi
cal performances. " Well, I hear your grandfather has
got a new Dutchman," that was the way one old gen
tleman used to speak of the arrival at Ehni'ngton of
each successive find of Waldteufel's in Baltimore ; and
148 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
then his sides would shake. Naturally enough, my
grandfather grew more and more reticent, under the
circumstances, as to his musical doings and projects.
Now, the Elmington mansion was, originally, like
most of the residences of the Virginia gentry, a rather
plain and ill-planned structure. I dare say it had never
occurred to the ancestral Whacker who contrived it that
any one of its rooms would ever be acoustically tested
by a string quartet. At any rate, my grandfather found
his parlor, with its thick carpet and heavy furniture,
very unsatisfactory as a concert-room, and resolved to
build a better. True, he himself never uttered a word
to this effect. Like a skilful strategist, he kept his
front and flanks well covered as he advanced upon his
objective-point. He began his forward movement with
some skill.
The Virginians of that day, as is well known, with
a hospitality that defied all arithmetic, used to stow
away in their houses more people in proportion to the
number of the rooms than was at all justifiable, and
a marvellous good time they all had too, the necessity
for extra ventilation being met by the happy provision
of nature, that no true Virginian ever shuts a door.
I am far from claiming, my dear boy, that these an
cestors of yours were entitled to any credit for their
hospitality. For, even in our day of Mere Progress,
we have ascertained that this is but a semibarbarous
virtue, while, in your day of Perfected Sweetness and
Light, it will be classed, doubtless, among the entirely
savage vices. I am writing neither eulogium nor
apology. I draw pictures merely. You and your day
must draw the moral.
Well, Field-Marshal Whacker began operations by
throwing out the suggestion, every now and then, that
the Library would be more comfortable to the young
men who were sometimes crowded into it, on gala occa
sions (what a time they used to have !), if the bookcases
and the great table were removed. But where to put
them ? He had often been puzzling his head of late,
he would say, trying to contrive some addition to the
house, but it was so built that he did not very well see
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 149
how it could be added to. After much beating about
the bush, from time to time, at last the proposition for
a separate building came. Charley, very naturally,
could not see the necessity for this, considering we
were but three; but, finding the old gentleman's heart
set on the project, he ceased to raise objections.
" It would be such a comfortable little nook to retire
to."
" Eetire from whom, Uncle Tom ?"
" Often, you know, our friends bring their children."
" Yery true."
" It would be a good place to read or write in, when
the house was full."
" Exactly."
"Certainly. And then, sometimes, when a lot of
you young fellows got together, and wanted to have a
' high old time,' you could go out there, and I could go
to bed and let you have it out. Don't you see ?"
" Capital."
So it was settled.
" But, Charley, would not a single room, stuck out
all alone in the yard, have rather a queer look ?"
" Rather queer, I should say."
"While we are about it, why not put two rooms
under one roof?"
" Of course."
" Don't you think so ? Then we'll do it. Two rooms,
let me see." And the wily old captain seemed to re
flect. " As the rooms would be of only one story, the
pitch should be high, better artistic eifect, you know."
" Undoubtedly," acquiesced Charley. And the crafty
engineer meditated as to how to run his next and last
parallel.
" But what kind of a room shall the second be ? The
first will be our Library, and, in case of a pinch, an
extra guest-chamber, of course. But what are we to
do with the second room ? There's the rub."
" That's a fact," granted Charley between puffs ; and
the twain were silent for a little while.
"By Jove, I have it!" exclaimed my grandfather,
slapping his thigh.
13*
150 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Charley looked up.
" We'll make a ball-room of it."
"A ball-room! Good Lord, Uncle Tom!" cried
Charley, surprised, for a moment, out of his habitual
calm.
"Why not?" asked Mr. Whacker, appealing with
his eyes from Charley to me, and from me to Charley.
" Why not a ball-room ? Eemember how many young
people we frequently have here, especially Christmas
time, and you know they always dance."
" I had forgotten that."
" As it is, they must dance on a carpet, or else it must
be taken up, and that is a great bother ; whereas, with
a nicely waxed floor! And then," added my grand
father, casually, running over the words as if of minor
importance ('twas a regular masked battery), "and
then the fiddles would sound so much better in such
a room."
" Oho 1" cried Charley.
"What?" quickly put in Mr. Whacker, slightly
coloring.
" The boys and girls would enjoy it," replied Charley,
demurely.
"Enjoy it? I should think so!" exclaimed Mr.
Whacker, relieved to feel that he had not uncovered
his artillery.
And so my grandfather set about gathering suitable
lumber for his " Library," as he called it ; but it was
nearly two years before the structure was complete ;
BO many trees did he find unsuitable, after they were
felled, and so carefully did ho season the planks, before
they were deemed worthy of forming part of this
sacred edifice. Nor, during all this time, did Mr.
Whacker ever once allude to the " Ball-Koom" as likely
to prove a suitable place for his quartet performances.
At last, in the month of November, 1858, just two
years before the arrival of the Don at Elmington, the
"Library" was finished, and we three were walking
over the glittering waxed floor of Mr. Whacker's so-
called Bail-Room, admiring its proportions and the ex-
quisite perfection of its joinery.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 151
" Well, boys, we'll christen her at Chi-istmas. We'll
have one of the liveliest dancing-parties ever seen
in the county. Suppose, Jack, you go over to the
house and bring us a fiddle, and we shall see how she
sounds."
I brought the fiddle.
" Now, Charley, toss us off a reel."
Charley dashed into a dancing tune, and played a
few bars.
"Magnificent!" exclaimed Mr. Whacker, flushing
with intense delight. " Did you ever hear such res
onance !"
" Magnificent !" we echoed ; and Charley resumed
his playing.
"Do you know?" began he, pausing and raising his
head from the fiddle, but on he dashed again. " Do
you know, Uncle Tom ?" he resumed, biting his
under-lip, as he gave a slight twist to a peg, " Do you
know, it occurs to me that this room: " the scamp
winked at me with his off eye. " Listen !" And, placing
the violin under his chin, he began to play a movement
out of one of Mozart's quartets. "How does that
sound?" he asked, looking up into my grandfather's
face with an expression of innocence utterly brazen.
This simple question, and the simplicity with which
it was put, covered our unsuspecting ancestor with
confusion, though he himself could hardly have told
why. Before he could recover himself sufficiently to
reply, Charley went on,
" Do you know, Uncle Tom, that it occurs to me that
this room is the very place for our quartets? How
strange that it should never have occurred to us be
fore!" And turning to me, he bended upon me that
stare of serene stolidity under which he was wont to
mask his intense sense of the humorous. I had no
such power of looking solemn and burying a smile -deep
down in my heart, as the pious ^Eneas used to do his
grief, while he was fooling Sidonian Dido, poor thing;
and so, as Charley and I had had many a quiet joke
over my grandfather's transparent secret, I burst out
laughing.
152 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Why, don't you agree with me ?" demanded Charley
with austere composure. "What do you think, Uncle
Tom ?"
" Our quartets ? Well, now that you suggest it
H'm 1" And he glanced around the room with a critical
look. " We'll ask Mr. Waldteufel next Friday. What
on earth is that idiot giggling about ?"
Flauti.
Oboi,
Clarinetti
in 6.
Fagotti.
Corno I. u, II,
inEs,
Corno III,
inEs,
Trombo
inEs.
Timpani
in Es. B.
Violino I.
Violino II,
Viola.
Violoncello e
Gontrabasso.
SYMPHONY OF LIFE.
MOVEMENT IL
SCHERZO.
CHAPTEE XXIII.
IT was just one week before Christmas, that of
1860, the last Christmas of the olden time, that El-
mington that Virginia forever and forever was tc
see . But no matter; we did not know it then. The
guests from Eichmond were to arrive that evening.
Everything was in readiness.
The hickory logs, which alone my grandfather
and his father before him, for that matter would
burn during the holidays, lighting the first noble pile
on Christmas Eve, the hickory logs were banked up,
high and dry, in the wood-house. The stall-fed ox nod
ded over his trough ; the broad-backed Southdowns, clus
tered together in a corner of their shed, basked in the
sun and awaited a return of appetite ; a remnant of
sturdy porkers, left over from the November killing,
that blinked at you from out their warm beds, and
grunted when requested to rise, suggested sausage;
while over on Charley's farm, and under Aunt Sucky's
able management, aldermanic turkeys, and sleek, plump
pullets, and ducks, quacking low from very fatness, and
geese that had ceased to wrangle, all thought them
selves, like man before Copernicus, the centre of the
universe. Then, in the little creek, too, which ebbed
and flowed hard by, there lay bushels and bushels of
oysters freshly taken from The Eiver in front. These,
too, were ready; while, in the cellar, suspended from
hooks, there dangled, thanks to the industry of Charley
ft.
154 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
and the Don, daily swelling bunches of partridges and
rabbits, of woodcock and of wild fowl.
And can you not detect the odor of apples issuing
even from that locked door? There are great piles of
them stowed away there ; and cider, I suspect, is not
lacking. And above, the storeroom showed shelves
weighed down, since the arrival of the last steamer,
with such things as Elmington could not supply.
Boxes and bags and bundles gave forth the mellow
fragrance of raisins, the cheerful rattle of nuts, the
pungent savor of spices, the promise of all things dear
to the heart of the Virginia housewife. On every
whiff floated mince-pie, mince-pie embryonic, uncom-
pounded ; with every sniff there rose, like an exhala
tion before the imagination, visions of Plum-Pudding
of the Plum-Pudding of Old England, twin-sister of
Roast Beef, and, with Koast Beef, inseparable at
tendant and indispensable bulwark of Constitutional
Liberty.
It was well.
Nor in stuffed larder alone were discernible the signs
of the approaching festival. Christmas was in the very
air. Old Dick's mien grew hourly more imposing; his
eye, beneath which now trembled no longer Zip alone,
but Zip reinforced by double his own strength, hourly
more severe. Aunt Phoebe, her head gorgeous in a
new bandanna (a present from Mrs. Carter last Christ
mas, but which had lain folded in her " cbist" for the
past year), Aunt Phoebe, chief of the female cohort,
and champion pastry-cook of the county, waddled from
room to room, serene, kindly, and puffing, volumi
nous with her two hundred pounds, inspecting the
work of her subordinates, and giving a finishing touch
here and there. Polly, the cook, and her scullion, alone
of the household, had no leisure for putting on the
Christmas look, busy as they were getting dinner for
the coming guests; cooks being, in point of fact, among
the few people, white or black, that ever did a full day's
work in Virginia in the olden time. But we. have
changed all that, so let it pass.
"Dey comin' !" eagerly cried an urchin of color, who,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 155
with twenty companions of both sexes, had had for the
past hour their eyes fixed on the lane-gate.
The gate was swinging on its hinges.
With one accord they all assumed the attitude of
runners awaiting the signal to start. With feet planted
firmly, shall 1 say widely? but no, they are men
and brothers now, with eyes bent upon the gate, but
bodies leaning towards the house, they stood for a
moment expectant.
The noses of a pair of horses appeared between th
gate-posts.
" D'yar dey come ! D'yar dey come !" they shouted
in chorus; and, with quasi-plantigrade flap of simul
taneous feet, they bounded to the rear.
As when Zeus, angry because of the forgotten heca
tomb, sends forth, in black, jagged cloud, the glomer-
ated hail, and lays low the labors of the oxen and the
hopes of the husbandman.
Or, just as a herd of buffaloes, sniffing the band of
Eedmen from afar, scurry over the plain.
As though a pack of village curs have inaugurated
a conflict, at dead of night, in peaceful, moonlit lane.
The combat deepens and stayeth not. But the Sum
mer Boarder, wild with the irony of advertisements,
discharges in their midst the casual blunderbuss, rusty,
ineffectual. Instantly hushed is the voice of battle;
but multitudinous is the rush of departing paws.
Not otherwise scampered over the Elmington lawn,
with nimbly flapping feet, the children of the blameless
Ethiopians, as Homer calls them.
The swiftest (for the race is not always to the slow)
was first to reach the front steps.
" Dey comin', Uncle Dick ! D'yar dey is in de fur eend
o' de lane !" For that worthy, hearing their hurrying
steps, had made his way to the porch, followed by Zip.
Zip started back through the door on hearing the tidings.
" Whar you gwine, boy?"
Zip stood as though frozen.
"Ain't you never gwine to learn no sense? Don't
you know I is de properest pusson to renounce de re-
rival o' de company ?"
156 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Awed by this courtly phrase, no less than by the
shining bald head and portly figure that stood before
them, the black cohort slowly withdrew, and, straggling
back, resumed their position at the lawn-gate to await
the arrival of the carriages.
" I see Miss Fanny" (Mrs. Carter). " D'yar she sets,
and Marse George" (Mr. C.), " and two more ladies."
" I see her, I see Marse George," chirped the sable
chorus in deferential undertones.
"Sarvant, Miss Fanny!" spoke up one older and
bolder than the rest. " Sarvant, Miss Fanny ; sarvant,
Marse George," echoed the dusky maniple.
"How d'ye do, children, how d'yo do!" responded
she, affably nodding to a familiar face here and there
in the groups that lined the road on either sicfo.
" Yonder Marse Jack I" shouted a little fellow, get
ting the start of the rest, who were grinning upon Mrs.
Carter as though she were their guest. "Yonder
Marse Jack a-drivin' de hind carriage!"
Coming up between the rows, I nodded from side to
side. The flash of ivories and of smiling eyes seemed
to illumine the twilight. Perhaps the light was in my
heart it used to be so, but let that pass, too.
Greetings over, our party dispersed to dress for din
ner. The new arrivals were seven or eight in number :
Mr. and Mrs. Carter and their daughter Alice, Alice
with the merry-glancing hazel eyes ; then Mary Rolfe,
demure, reserved, full of subdued enthusiasm, the an
tithesis of Alice, but " adoring" her girls will talk so
and adored by her in turn ; then the teller of this tale,
making five. In addition there were two or three
young ladies, all very charming, but as they were
not destined to play any marked part in our drama,
why describe, or even name them?
Only two of our guests had ever before spent Christ
mas at Elmington, Mr. and Mrs. Carter. Mrs. Carter
was a kind of far-off Virginia cousin of ours, and it was
an understood thing between her and my grandfather
that she should come down to Elmington every Christ
mas and matronize his household ; else, a houseful of
girls, whom he exceedingly enjoyed having around him,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 157
would have been less attainable. And" a merrier soul,
and one who knew better how to make young people
enjoy themselves, could hardly have been found. Mr.
Carter, an excellent, silent, sober man of business, could
rarely spend more than a week with us; but his jovial
spouse never gave us less than a month of her charm
ing chaperoning ; and, on one occasion, I remember, the
unceasing entreaties of the young people constrained
her to prolong her visit and theirs, from week to week,
till two full months had elapsed. The net result, di
rect and indirect, of that particular campaign was four
marriages, if I recollect aright, so that Elmington
had an established reputation, among the girls, as a
lucky place ; of which my grandfather was not a little
proud.
" Young ladies," said he, walking up to Alice and
Mary, and putting his arms around their waists, as
they stood at a window, after dinner, admiring the
moonbeams dancing on the waves, "young ladies, do
you know that Elmington is a very dangerous place ?"
"How, dangerous?" asked Mary.
" Shipwrecks ?" suggested Alice, nod ding towards The
River with a smile.
"Yes," replied he, stooping down and kissing them
both with impartial cordiality, "ship wrecks of hearts."
" I have lost mine already," said Alice, laying her
head on his shoulder and shutting her eyes, with a
languishing smile on her upturned face.
" Little hypocrite I" said he, patting her cheek.
"Only a pat for such a speech ?"
" Well, there ! So, Alice, your grandmother con
sented to let us have you this Christmas ? It was but
right, now that you are grown. And then she lives in
such an out-of-the-way neighborhood."
"Yes, it was very kind in grandmamma to let me
come here instead of spending my Christmas with her.
She grows deafer every year, and I think perhaps I
was going to make such a wicked speech 1" And Alice
dropped her eyes.
" What dreadful thing were you going to say ?"
" I was thinking that, perhaps, bawling into one's
14
158 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
grandmother's ear was not BO pleasant a pastime, to a
girl, as having just for a change you know a young
fellow whispering in hers."
" Charley," asked Mr. Whacker, suddenly, that night,
as we sat before the library fire, after the newly-arrived
guests had retired, " do you know, I can't understand
why, in speaking of the ladies you met in Richmond,
you never so much as mentioned the name of Alice
Carter?"
I tried to catch Charley's eye, but he durst not look
me in the face. Seated as I was, therefore, rather be
hind my innocent relative, I clapped my hand upon
my mouth, doubled myself up in my chair, and went
through the most violent, though silent contortions of
pantomimic laughter. Charley held his eye firmly
fixed on my grandfather's face, and affected, though
with reddening face, not to observe my by-play.
" D-D-D-Didn't I ?"
Any kind of mental perturbation always brought on
an attack of stammering with Charley.
" Why, no ; and yet I have never seen a more charm
ing girl. She is positively fascinating. Don't you ad
mit it, you cold-hearted young wretch ?"
Here, a broad smile from the Don encouraging me to
further exertions, my chair tilted, and I recovered my
self with a bang.
" What is the matter with you ?" asked my grand
father, suddenly turning.
Charley gave me a quick, imploring glance, and I
had pity on him. "Give it to him, grandfather; he
deserves it, every word, the woman-hater!"
" To be sure he does. Why, were I at his time of
life hey, Mr. Smith ?"
That night, after we had gone to bed, I was just
dozing off into dreamland. Charley gave me a sudden
dig in the ribs.
"Wasn't I good?" said I, drowsily. But the old
boy, turning his back upon me and settling his head
upon his pillow, took in a long breath of air ; and,
breathing it out with a kind of snort, was silent.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 159
CHAPTER XXIY.
" How well the Parson is looking, Mary," said Alice,
as she stood before the glass that night, unpinning her
collar.
Mary, tired and sleepy as she was, dropped into a
chair and shook with half-unwilling laughter.
" What is the Little Thing laughing at?"
" Alice, you are the hardest case I ever knew. Why
do you persist in turning the man into ridicule?"
" Who, the Pass'n ?" for thus she pronounced the
word, and her merry eyes twinkled.
I doubt whether the reader can guess who the
"Pass'n" is. I must explain, therefore, that when I
mentioned to the girls, in Richmond, that 1 had found
the Don reading the New Testament, Alice had imme
diately cried out that now she had it. " He is a Meth
odist parson in disguise." And upon this theme she
had ever since been playing inimitably grotesque vari
ations. Coming down on the boat, notably, she had
surpassed herself; and I hear our party disgraced
themselves by their hilarity. "Ladies and gentle
men," she had cried out, when first we had come in
view of Elmington, " ladies and gentlemen," said she,
leaning out of the carriage window, and declaiming
solemnly to the passengers in the rear vehicle, "in
yonder mansion sits meditating, at this moment, Pass'n
Smith, the disguised Methodist divine. He is the
Whitefield of our day. For generations, no exhorter
of such power especially with sentimental young girls
and lonesome widows Will some one be so good as
to administer restoratives to the Fat Lady? She seems
on the verge of Where was I?" And so she went on,
her young heart ceaselessly bubbling over with fresh
ness and high spirits.
" Ridicule the Pass'n !" said Alice, dropping into her
friend's lap. "Far from me the profane idea." And she
smoothed back from Moby's brow her loosened hair.
160 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" In the first place, Alice, it is perfectly absurd for
you to say he is a parson ; and even if he were," she
continued, after a sharp struggle with her rising
laughter. " even if he were studying with a view to
the ministry, I don't see that he should be made fun
of on that account. To my mind, and you ought to
think so too, Alice, to my mind there is no nobler
spectacle than that of a young man deliberately turn
ing his back upon all the allurements that lead astray
so many of his comrades, and devoting himself, in the
very vigor of his manhood and in all the glory of his
youthful strength, to the service of his God. But as
for the Don, Mr. Smith I mean, I think he is about
as far from being a parson as he well could be. Don't
you remember how, when I first met him, I said I was
afraid of him ? Well, that feeling grows on me. He
may have his passions well under control, but, you may
depend upon it, they would be terrible if ever they got
the mastery over him. Did you ever notice his teeth,
how strong and even they are, and as white as ivory?
but do you know that, at times, when be smiles in that
peculiar way of his, they seem to me to glitter through
his moustache like like "
"Is the Little Thing afraid the Pass'n will bite her?
Twould be a wicked shepherd to bite a little lamb.
And if he ever does such a thing," she continued, "you
go straight and tell your mamma." And she dropped
her head on Mary's shoulder and stuck out her mouth
like a three-year-old child.
" Incorrigible scamp !" cried Mary, between laughter-
kisses that, like bubbles, exploded as they touched
those pouting lips. " But, Alice, will you never be
serious ?"
" Serious ?" replied Alice, rising. " I was never more
serious in my life. It wouldn't be right."
" What wouldn't be right ?"
"For you to let the Pass'n bite you, without telling
your mother, and with those glittering teeth too!
Think of it I Glittering teeth and starry eyes! Im
agine 1 Most improper, upon my word !" and she gave
a toss of her shapely little head. " Mary," said Alice,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 161
dropping again, suddenly, into her laughing friend's
lap, " Mary, look me in the eyes !"
From her fine honest face, as well as from her voice,
both changeful as the dolphin's hues, had vanished
in an instant all trace of raillery. Mary looked up
with a smile half serious, half inquiring.
"Well?"
"Straight in the eyes!" repeated Alice, lifting her
friend's chin on the tip of her forefinger.
" I am looking."
" Mary," began Alice, leaning forward, and with that
same forefinger daintily depressing the tip of Mary's
n ose, ' ' are you quite sure that you are
not"
"Not what?"
" Falling in love with Mr. Smith ?"
" Alice, what can have put that idea into your head?"
" That sounds more like a question than an answer
to a question. Look me in the eyes and say no, if
you can."
" Well, no, then !"
" No fluttering here, when he approaches ? no quick
breathing when he speaks to you ? no pit-a-pat ?"
" No pit-a-pat, no anything ! Will that do ?"
" Well, I suppose it will have to do, at least for the
present."
" How ' for the present' ?"
" Never mind," said Alice, rising ; " and now for
another question. Is the Don, so far as you can see,
falling in love with you ?"
" With me ?" cried Mary, with genuine surprise.
"What, pray, will you ask next? Whether, for ex
ample, I do not perceive that Mr. Frobisher is enam
oured of me ? No, you will not ask that. Dear Charles,
well, he is a nice fellow, I must admit, and would
let you do all the talking." And she gave Alice a
squeeze, as girls will do, when talking sweethearts
among themselves.
" Mr. Frobisher ! Why are you continually harping
on him ? He has never said a dozen words to me. But
mark my words, that Enigma is interested in you. He
I 14*
162 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
showed it to-day at dinner. You know, my dear, when
the humor strikes you, you talk beautifully "
" I don't compare with you, Alice."
"Never mind about me. This meeting has not been
called with a view to organizing a Mutual-Admiration
Society. You are the subject of this little pow-wow.
Now, to-day, at dinner well, I don't like to sit here
and flatter you to your face, but I saw very plainly
that the Eeverend Mr. I beg your pardon, the Don,
was enraptured with your unconscious eloquence."
"Eloquence, Alice?" And Mary flushed with ill-con
cealed delight.
" Yes, Little Dumpling, eloquence."
"Eeally?"
" That's the charm of the thing, goosey ; your words
flow from you so easily, that you are unconscious how
lovely your language often is. Then, of course, as
none of us know the sound of our own voices, you are
hardly aware how low and musical your voice is."
" Alice," said Mary, gravely, " you are making fun
of me. You have never said anything like this to me
before. It is not kind, it really isn't 1" And her lips
quivered.
" You little goose 1 Not to know me any better than
that! Well, to-day you became so much interested
in some subject you were discussing with Mr. John
Whacker that you did not observe, for some time, that
every one at the table was listening to you ; and then,
when you discovered that you ' had the floor,' you
blushed furiously and stopped talking."
"Yes, I remember; it made me feel so foolish!"
" Well, you know, my love, I am very proud of you ,
and so I was looking around to see what others thought
of you. I give you my word, I nearly exploded when
I caught sight of the Don. There ho sat, with an
oyster on the end of his fork poised midway between
his plate and his mouth, with his eyes riveted on you.
Put this down in your book, Mary, this, as a maxim
on love : ' Whenever a man forgets the way to hid
mouth his heart's in danger.' "
" I will," said Mary, shaking with laughter.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 163
" Yes," continued Alice, standing before the glass and
taking down her hair, "you have a streak of genius,
that's the truth ; but it is not the whole truth."
" Give me the rest of it."
Alice, instead of replying, made a face at herself in
the glass ; then, folding her arms across her bosom and
swaying from side to side two or three times, sailed off
in a waltz around the room.
" The trouble with you, my dear, is simply this,"
and she stood before her friend with arms akimbo,
"you are devoid of common sense." And off she ca
pered again, this time in the rhythm of the polka.
" Oh, I'm so happy !" cried she, clasping her hands and
rolling up her eyes.
"Because I have no common sense?"
"Because I have so much! I've lots! Oceans!"
And she spread out her arms. Catching sight of her
own waving arms in the mirror, she, like the kaleido
scope, changed in an instant. Standing on her left
foot, she described, with the extended toe of her right,
an elaborate semicircle, and ended with a profound
courtesy, her young face corrugated, meanwhile, with
that professional grin of the equestrienne, which, among
the horsical, passes for a smile. Turning then to Mary,
she repeated the movement. " Behold," cried she,
drawing herself up to her full height, " behold the
Empress of the Arena ! The Champion Bare-back
Eider of the World !"
" I don't know so much about the champion part of
it, but of the bare back there can bo little doubt."
" Well said, Little Dumpling ! I must admit that my
costume is rather meagre."
" Alice, you ought to be able to explain it if anybody
can, how do people come to be ' privileged characters,'
as they are called ? You do whatever you please, and
cut all sorts of crazy antics, and no one ever thinks
you foolish, or even undignified ; and then, you say
whatever you think, yet no one can get angry with
you. You tell me, to my face, that I am destitute of
common sense "
" Totally, that's a fact."
164 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" And yet I am not the least bit vexed ?"
" The simplest thing imaginable. Listen, and I will
explain. As to the crazy antics, as you are pleased to
term my joyous, lamb-like friskings, of course you
cannot expect me to have the face to stand up here
and say that they do not offend, because of the be
witching, inborn grace which characterizes my every
movement?"
"Naturally."
" Of course. And you will naturally pardon my not
alluding to what I can't help."
" Poor thing I"
" Of course. I was born so ; and that's the end of
that. Now, as to your not being hurt by my telling
you that plain truth about yourself "
" My destitution as regards "
" Common sense yes, I think you yourself must
understand it."
" Because you told me, first, that I had a streak of
geni us, flatterer ?' '
" Precisely ; I credit you with bullion, and you are
not worried that I should deny you the small change
of every-day life. You see I am as deep as Machia-
velli, in other words, as full of common sense as an
egg is of meat. Lucy will not reach home," said she,
abruptly veering off from the line of their talk, as she
seated herself on the edge of the bed, " till the middle
of January."
" No ; I am so sorry. What made you think of her ?"
" Because I wish she were here right now."
" Why, pray ?"
" Because, from what I saw in Richmond, the Dou
might devote himself to her instead of you."
. " Thank you for wishing to rob me of an admirer,
as you pretend to deem him !"
"No, I am glad she is not here. She is so pure and
earnest, so single-minded and devoted, that I should
tremble to see her exposed to such a danger."
" And I am so"
"You are what you are, my dear, and I would not
have you other. But there is but one Lucy in the
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 165
world. You know it and I know it, and neither of us
would think of comparing ourselves with her."
" Yes, Lucy is a real madonna."
" And, somehow, I am not, you may speak for your
self. Yes, I am glad she is not here. .I'll tell you,
Mary : I wish he would fall in love with me, I've got
so much hard sense that I should never think of recip
rocating. However," added she, resting her head in
her hand, while her elbow and fair, plump arm sank in
the pillow, " I am not so sure. I, too, am human. Per
haps it would be too much for me. He is tall," she
continued, looking dreamily into space, " he is distin
guished-looking ! so brave ! so mysterious ! perhaps
I haven't as much sense as I thought," and she seemed
to nod, " and his teeth are so like stars ! and his rows
of eyes are so even and white! glitter so! Am I
asleep? Mary, my love," cried she, bouncing off the
bed, "are you going to talk all night? Talk on, but
I'll tell you what I am going to do. I shall straightway
put on my little N. G., the toggery, to wit, of repose ;
and then I shall fall on my little knees and say my little
prayers ; which done, I shall curl up my little self in my
little bed, and know no more till the rising-bell. One
word with you, however. Mary, do you know what
all I have been saying to you means ?"
" I don't know what any of it means, not one word ;
nor do you, I should imagine."
" Then listen ! All that I have said and done and
danced to-night means this, and this only. The Pass'n
is going to fall in love with you. That's the Pass'n's
affair, and shows his good taste. Now, who on earth is
the Pass'n? Do you see ? Well, don't you go and fall
in love with him, now mind ! don't, that's a good, wise
girl. Good-night !"
166 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER XXV.
I WILL not suppose that any of my readers are
superficial persons ; and only superficial persons need
be told that Alice Carter was a young woman of un
usually strong judgment and sound sense. And, fur
ther : all persons like her are similarly characterized.
Doubtless, a sense of humor is not necessary to the
chemist or the naturalist or the mathematician, to one
pursuing a special branch of knowledge; but in that
science of sciences, the knowledge of men and things,
no eminence is possible without it. 'Tis the blind who
fall into pits; and the man who cannot see the absurd
in others can in nowise himself escape being ridiculous.
I know of but one bird with long ears ; and he looks
exceeding wise ; but let him but venture forth from
the twilight of his hiding-place into the full glare of
day, and the first school-boy that passes whistling by,
shall knock him on the head. And so, among men, the
most solemn owl is ever the most solemn ass.
Yes, our little Alice of the merry-glancing hazel eyes
was a wise virgin and of exceeding tact ; but when she
warned her friend against falling in love with the Don,
she blundered, blundered most grieviously when, she
planted in Mary's mind the idea that he was not indif-
lerent to her. She loved Mary dearly, with a love
securely based on similarity of principles and dissimi
larity of temperament, and cemented by the closest
association from their very infancy. She admired her,
too, admired her gifts, the unusual range of her
womanly culture, her enthusiasm for all that was high
and noble, the glowing beauty of her language when
she discoursed of anj'thing that kindled her blood. At
such times she would sit gazing upon Mary's face,
illumined as it was with a beautiful enthusiasm, and
feel that she herself was almost despicable. Yet a re
action always came. Mary was not what is called prac
tical. Her head was among the stars, as it were, whilo
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 167
her feet were stumbling along the earth ; and Alice
revenged herself upon her goddess, for her enforced
worship, by playing upon her foibles and blunders with
an incessant spray of delicate and sparkling raillery.
Even the school-girl love-affairs that they had had when
about twelve or thirteen years of age had been char
acteristic of the two friends. Mary's youth rejoiced in
the aristocratic name of Arthur, while Alice's lad was
known as plain Harry. Arthur was curly-haired and
pale of face, and generally had, as he sauntered to
school, some novel or other concealed about his pel-son.
Harry was a brisk, bullet-headed chap, champion
knucks' player of the school ; while, at mumble-peg, his
stubby, upturned nose allowed him to rise superior
even to defeat.
" I can't see, Alice, how you can fancy a boy with a
pug nose," said Mary, one day*
" Harry's nose turns up, that's true ; but so did he,
yesterday, and with his umbrella, which kept you and
me dry, while he ran home in the rain. Somebody else
was afraid of getting his curls wet. I'll tell you what
it is, Mary, I like a boy that carries my books for me
and gives me peaches and French candy and oranges
and things ; but you want one with a novelly name
and a ' chiselled nose,' as you call it, a pretty boy, in
fact." All which Mary denied with some heat, and they
had a tiff and " didn't speak" for five long and weary
minutes. Alice phrased the same idea differently some
years later. . " Mary, I'll tell you the difference between
you and myself. Your idea of a husband is a man
whom you can adore ; mine must adore me."
Alice_ blundered, blundered through over-zeal tor
her friend's welfare. She knew Mary's nature in its
every recess ; she erred through not knowing human
nature as well. She was only eighteen ; hence her
knowledge of mankind was special rather than general.
She knew the exaltation of Mary's imagination, and
felt the danger of her fervid fancy's laying hold of such
a man as the Don, and converting him into a demi-god
by the alchemy of her fresh, girlish heart. But gener
alization is not a trait of the feminine mind. When
168 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
we hear that some one admires us, we all of us in
stinctively give that person credit for good taste and
discernment, that, she of the hazel eyes overlooked.
Now, good taste and discernment are admirable traits ;
how, then, other things being favorable, can we help
admiring our admirers?
"Good-night!" answered Mary; and the two fair
heads lay side by side, deep-sunk in vast, beruffled
pillows. Alice, fatigued by the day's journey, fell
asleep almost immediately. Her companion, though
her eyes were closed, lay thinking. Ah, little Alice,
you have sadly blundered! Mary is thinking of what
you have said to her ransacking her brain for confirma
tion of your suggestion. " Yes, I did remark his look
ing at me several times at dinner; but what of that?
People can look at other people without being in love
with them. And yes, I did think his eyes wore a very
intense look ; but then they always glow like coals.
How beautiful they are !" [Oh, Alice 1 Alice! !] " terribly
beautiful ! Oh, if he but hated you !" And she shivered.
Lying, as she was, locked in Alice's arms, the ner
vous, rippling movement of her body slightly disturbed
the latter's slumbers ; but she merely drew a long breath
and exhaled it again with force, taking a fresh hold,
as it were, on sleep.
"Pshaw! it's all nonsense! Alice forgets what we
all agreed to in Richmond. Lucy Poythress was ob
viously his favorite. Of course she was. Everybody
remarked it. I never saw anything like the sudden
ness of the fancy he took for her. Well, Lucy will
reach the neighborhood in a few weeks, and then we
shall see. I wonder no, I cannot think that of him.
'Out of sight, out of mind,' no, that's impossible;
whatever he may be, he is not fickle. Let me think.
I do recall that he seemed to bow a shade lower to me
than to the others when we left the parlor ; but what
of that? Bows must differ like everything else; one
must be lower than the rest. And he is so strong, I
suppose he hardly knew that he almost hurt my hand."
" Stuff I" cried she aloud, with emphasis; whirling out
of Alice's arms and' changing her position.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 16!)
Many men, in many lands, Poor Thing, have tried
that method of chan'gingthe current of their thoughts,
and have failed. The chronometer goes ticking on, lay
it how you will; and so the human heart; but that,
alas, unlike the tireless watch, throbs fiercest when 'tis
broken.
Alice gave the half-conscious moan of disturbed
sleep ; and Mary resumed her meditations, going, again
and again, over the same ground. At last youth and
fatigue asserted their claims, and she fell asleep and
slept for hours ; then suddenly sprang up with a sharp
cry.
"What's the matter?" asked Alice, in terror.
" Oh, I had such a fearful dream !"
" You did ?" said Alice, dropping back upon her pil
low. " You frightened me so-o-o." And she was asleep
again.
Mary had dreamt that she was walking alone on a
road through a dark forest, when suddenly she heard,
behind her, the clatter of a horse's hoofs. Looking
around in terror, she beheld a Knight in full armor,
with visor down, mounted on a powerful black charger,
and riding furiously. The Knight seemed to be mak
ing full at her, and she stood transfixed with fright, and
rooted to the ground. As be came up to her, he did
not slacken his speed, but bending to the right, and en
circling her waist with his mighty arm, lifted her from
the ground, and, without an effort, placed her before
him on the charger's neck. On, on, they rushed for
miles and miles ; but the horseman spake never a word,
nor, for very terror, could she utter a cry. At last they
emerged into a bright, moonlit plain, and there, stand
ing before them, was the figure of a young girl. She
turned her head at the sound of the charger's hoofs,
and the moon, shining full on her face, revealed the fea
tures of Lucy. "Aha! it is she!" cried the Knight,
breaking silence for the first time. 'Twas the voice of
the Don ! And tossing his trembling captive disdain
fully to the ground, he stooped once more, and, seizing
Lucy, sped on as before. Oh, Alice ! Alice ! ! Alice ! ! 1
H 15
170 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER XXVI.
NEXT morning, as the two girls were tripping down
stairs, Mary said to herself, " Now I shall observe the
Don narrowly, and see whether there is anything in
what Alice says. Perhaps there may be some little
foundation for her opinion." Entering the breakfast-
room in this frame of mind, it is not to be wondered at
that, as she saluted one after another of the company,
her eyes suddenly gave forth kindlier beams as they
met those of the Don. Very likely the Don did not
make any such comparison. He may not have re
marked that the smile she gave him was sweeter or
sweetest ; but he felt that it was sweet.
There were only two vacant seats at the table when
the two girls entered. One, at my grandfather's right,
he had expressly reserved for Alice, who had entirely
captivated him the evening before by her sparkling
gayety. The other was next the Don's, and this Mary
took. That sweet smile merited response of some
sort, and his attentions to his fair neighbor were as
siduous and delicate. He was always courteous, but,
certainly, rather constrained ; now, his manner seemed
to her singularly gentle. What was thawing him out?
Perhaps well, at any rate
"Thank you," cooed she, in that soft, high-bred
tongue of Richmond, "thank you," in requital for
hot waffle, weaving wreathed smile, entangler of the
hearts of men. Could he, the friendless one and soli
tary, could he be unmoved ? And so, smile answered
smile, and interest brought interest, making it compound ;
and every school-boy knows how fast that counts up.
**********
Yes, it was too much ; five or six pages of Able-Anal
ysis, showing just what these two young people felt,
and why they felt it ; and so, I passed a pen across the
whole. It makes the chapter shorter ; but even that
has its possible advantages. The fact is, I am not quite
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 171
sure that I know what they did think and feel; for
was not the Don an Enigma? and was not Mary a
woman ?
After all, what is the use of all this microscopic anat
omy in tracking the progress of heart-affairs ? It seems
to me that falling in love is as elementary a process as
sitting down on an ice-pond. The rub is how not to do
it. If the novelists would but tell us that! Fortu
nately for me, I am not called on to do this, as I am not
a novelist, but a bushwhackerish philosopher instead.
And then have I defrauded you, fair reader? this is
not a love-story ! When I sat down to write it, I re
solved to exclude, most rigidly, from its pages, all allu
sion to the tender passion ; but, somehow, though
against my will, my personages could not be kept free
from its toils. My error was in bringing them together
to spend Christmas in a Virginia country-house. The
thing cannot be remedied, now, without an entire
change of plot ; so I shall have to let it go as it is.
But the reader must credit the whole of this Episode
of Love, which has forced itself into a theme of a dif
ferent nature, to Alice Carter. Without her assistance
I could not have written one word of it. She and
Charley, to be entirely honest, are the real authors of
this book. They have furnished most of the facts ; I
am to pocket all the glory.
To show the part Alice has had in the matter, I will
mention, by way of example, a conversation we had
years after the occurrences herein described, less, in
fact, than eighteen months ago. We were talking of
the good old times, Consule Planco, and happened to
speak of this particular Christmas at Elmington, and
especially of the week that preceded Christmas Eve.
" Did you know as early as that, that a love-affair
was brewing between Mary and the Don ?"
" Of course ; at any rate, I feared it. You know how
harum-scarum I was in those days ?"
"I do," I replied, "if harum-scarum means irresisti
ble."
. " You resisted me, at any rate ; but, as I was going
to remark, I had the regulation number of eyes about
172 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
my person, and couldn't well help seeing what lay
straight before me."
" /saw nothing 1"
" Ah, but you are a man 1 and remember that there
are none so blind as those who can't see!"
"Then you think the affair was well under weigh
before the end of the first week ?"
" With the Don, yes ; and Mary was far more inter
ested than she would allow herself to believe."
" Do you suppose that she was aware of the critical
state of the Don's affections?"
" Of course she was ; don't you know that a woman
always perceives that a man is falling in love with her
long before he finds it out himself?"
"Not to add," I rejoined, "that she often perceives it
when the man never does find it out himself. By th
way, why do women always express surprise at a pro
posal, a's I am told they invariably do ?"
"Oh, that is to gain time; but rest assured, the sur
prise is about as real as that felt by a spider when a
fly, after buzzing about her web for a time, and lightly
grazing first one thread and then another, at last puts
imself in a position where he may be made available."
"Poor fly!"
Upon the authority, then, of Alice, who holds the
position of Editor-in-chief of the Love-department of this
work, I may assure the reader that by the time that
one week had passed over the heads of our party at
Elmington this was the state of things :
Mary was sure that the Don loved her, and believed
that she was fancy-free. The Don was aware, no
doubt, of the state of his own affections, and was, we
will suppose, for there is no way of knowing, in per
plexing doubt as to the condition of Mary's. Alice
knew more than either of them ; while upon me, the
teller of this tale, their various nods and becks and
wreathed smiles had been entirely lost.
I knew no more of what was going forward than
Zip did of the amours of Uncle Toby and the Widow
W adman.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 173
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHRISTMAS EVE had come, and, as usual, the holidays
had been officially ushered in by a noble fire of hickory
logs. A deep mass of ruddy coals was glowing upon
the vast hearth of the Hall. Upon these had been cast
a hamper of chosen oysters. The guests (it was the
way at Elmington) were expected to rake them out,
every man for himself and sweetheart, which gave a
delightful informality to the proceedings. As soon as
the roasting was well under weigh, two enormous, an
cestral bowls, one of eggnog, the other of apple-toddy,
were brought in. Later, there was to be dancing. A
dozen or so of our neighbors and friends were in the
habit of dropping in on us, on these occasions, to help
us make merry.
" And now, grandfather," said I, " it is time to bring
out the old Guarnerius."
"The old what?" asked the Don, quickly.
" His old Guarnerius violin ; Guarnerius was a cele
brated maker of violins," I explained.
"What was the matter with Charley ? Why did he
purse up his mouth and give that inaudible whistle ?
" Ah, and Mr. Whacker has one of these old instru
ments ?"
"Yes; and he is as tender with it as a mother with
her first-born. He allows it to be brought out only
during the Christmas holidays; though he used to let
Monsieur Yillemain play on it. The genuine ones are
very rare and dear," I added.
Another silent whe-e-ew from Charley.
" Oh, I should suppose so," replied the Don.
" What did you say your Guarnerius cost you, grand
father?"
That was a question I asked every Christmas Eve,
when the violin was brought out ; and always with the
same result.
15*
174 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" That" replied the old gentleman, smiling and ad
dressing the Don, "is a piece of information I have
never given to my friends. You see, when I was a
young man "
We all knew what was coming, the story that my
grandfather always told to strangers when his Guarne-
rius was brought out for inspection. It was rather a
long story, how he took lessons from a very promising
young artist, who took to gambling and drinking, and
had, therefore, to sell his beloved violin to his pupil,
and how the young man grieved at giving it up, etc.,
etc., etc.
" So saying," concluded Mr. "Whacker, " he wrung
my hand and hurried out of the room."
" OUCH !" cried Charley, letting fall upon the hearth,
at the same time, a large oyster and the knife with
which he was opening it.
If there runs upon the people's highway a hopelessly
slow coach, it is your writer of English grammars.
When will they deem this interjection respectable
enough to introduce into their works? If never, how
is the boy of the future to parse my works ? Surely,
it is worth any half-dozen of their genteel alases, or
their erudite alackadays 1 Look at it ! Ouch ! How
much body I What an expressive countenance ! What
character in its features ! Hebrew verbs have genders ;
and don't you see that ouch is masculine ? What lady
would use it? Nay, it is more than masculine, it is
manly !
See those two boys, the one with a strong pin fixed
In the toe of his shoe, the other absorbed in his les
son, and sitting in an unguarded attitude. Up goes the
foot!
"Ouch!"
The word is more than manly, it is stoical. Stoical,
did I say ? 'Tis heroic I
, For does not the lad say in that one breath, with
I Byron's dying gladiator, that he consents to start, but
conquers agony ? He means, as clearly as though he
had used the whole dictionary, " I am no girl. I
didn't scream. It didn't hurt, neither. I just wanted
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 175
to have you understand that I knew you were fooling
with the seat of my trousers."
All this those four letters mean ; and yet this is their
first appearance in any serious literary work 1
To this masterly interjection did Mr. Charles Fro-
bisher give vent ; and he meant, of course, " I have
cut my finger with this confounded knife, opening this
confounded oyster ; but don't disturb yourselves, ladies
and gentlemen, 'tis a small affair." Accordingly he
rose, left the room, and soon returned with his finger
bandaged.
" Oh, I am so sorry !" said Alice.
" Badly cut ?" inquired my grandfather.
" It is nothing," said Charley.
"But how annoying," added the old gentleman.
" Your left hand, too ! So that you will not be able to
play for the dancers this evening."
Charley looked at the bandaged finger with a
thoughtful air, and shook his head.
Charley, with all his supposed aversion to the fair
sex, was ready, at any time, to play all night to the
dancing of a party of girls, and the young people were
much chagrined at the accident to his finger. True,
Herr Waldteufel had oifered his services at the piano ;
but they wanted a fiddler on Christmas Eve ; and the
question was raised whether one could not be found
among the negroes. But it turned out that a " revival"
had recently swept over the county, and both my
grandfather's fiddlers had " got religion." One of them
had, in fact, already begun to preach ; and, in his first
sermon, had taken high conservative ground as to the
future state of such as drew the bow and repented not.
So, as the tyro to whom the new parson had sold his
instrument was not yet up to the mark, it seemed
certain that we would have to trip it to the less in
spiring strains of the piano.
" I vill blay for de yoong beebles till daylight doaf
abbear," quoth the Herr, who was very near the mam
moth bowl of apple-toddy.
But just as this thorough-going proposal fell from the
Professor's well-moistened lips, there was heard the
176 THE STORY OF DON MWF.
clattering of hoofs on the frozen ground. There was a
stir among the darkies, around and in the door- way,
and on the steps of the Hall ; for, as was the custom in
the olden days, whenever there was any conviviality
going forward in the " Great-House," the negroes had
crowded about all the doors and windows whence a
glimpse of the festivities was to be had ; for they knew
very well there was " mo' toddy in dat d'yar big bowl
dan de white folks gwine 'stroy, let alone de eggnog."
I hasten to remark that this mysterious cavalier, so
darkly galloping through night and frost, was none
other than Mr. William Jones, Billy for short, the
young fellow of whom we have heard before, and who
was, at this time, a student at the University. A dozen
sable youngsters seized his reins, ambitious of the honor
of riding his horse to the stable ; and as he dismounted
and approached the densely-packed steps, he was as
sailed by a chorus of joyous, friendly voices.
"Dat you, Marse Billy? Lord 'a' mussy, how de
chile done growed, to-be-shol Jess like he pa, too!"
The light was streaming upon his cheery, manly
face. " Why, how do you do, Aunt Polly ?"
" I 'clare 'fo' Gaud de chile know me, and in de dark,
too I" And Aunt Polly doubled herself up and chuckled
blissfully.
" Know you ! why, it was only last October that I
went off to the University !"
" Dat so, Marse Billy. How we old people does for-
git, to-be-sho 1"
I may remark, here, that before the late war it was
very gratifying to a middle-aged negro to be thought
old. There was on every farm a considerable propor
tion of the ladies and gentlemen of color who had
voted themselves too old or too infirm to labor. Their
diseases, they were all diseased, while masking their
malignity behind such empirical euphemisms as rheu-
matiz or misery in de chist, baffled all diagnosis, and
were invariably incurable ; for who can minister to a
mind diseased with that most obstinate of ailments, an
aversion, to wit, to putting in movement the musclen
of one's own body ? There was, so to speak, an Hopital
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 177
des Invalides on every farm ; and on my grandfather's
the emeriti and emeritce were in strong force.
And truly it was a pleasant sight, provided you were
not a political economist or a philanthropist, to walk
among the cabins, on a bright autumn afternoon, and
see the good souls sitting, sunning themselves, and bear
the serene murmur of their prattle, broken, ever and
anon, by some mellow burst of careless laughter.
It was tranquillity such as this, I fancy, that Homer
must have observed in the old men of his day. Don't
you remember when there was a truce, and Priam was
standing upon the battlements, what book was it?
but no matter, and he sent for Helen to come and
point out to him the various Greek heroes who stood
beneath the walls ; and how she had to pass by a knot
of ancient men, and how she amazed them by her
beauty ? The days of toil and sweat and wounds, for
them, at least, were past ; and they, too, had come to
catch, from the turrets, a glimpse of wide-ruling Aga
memnon and Ulysses of many wiles ; of the brawn of
Ajax ; and of Diomede, equal to the immortal gods.
And there they sat, hobnobbing and a-twittering so
the master says low and sweet as so many cicadas
let us say katydids from greenwood tree.
"No wonder," they chirped, "the Greeks and Tro
jans" (they were no longer either Greeks or Trojans,
they were aged men, merely) " have ceaselessly con
tended, for now nearly ten years, about her, for she is
divinely beautiful !"
I think it must have been my childhood's experi
ences of plantation life that caused me to be so pro
foundly touched by this masterly passage ; for hardly
elsewhei-e, in this grimly struggling world of ours,
could just such scenes have been witnessed. Just
think of it, for a moment! Here, throughout Vir
ginia, there were, in those days, on every farm, three
or four, or a dozen, or a score of servants, who had
rested from their labors at an age when one may say
the struggle glows fiercest with the European races.
A roof was over their heads, a bright fire crackled on
their hearths. Their food, if plain, was abundant. And
178 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
there was not a possibility that these things should ever
fail them. No wonder they used to rival the aapzaros
fl\u>s that burst from the ever-serene gods, when lame
Yulcan, with his ungainly hobble, went to and fro among
them, officiously passing the nectar.
That sonorous mellowness of unalloyed laughter we
shall never hear again. But never mind, let it pass !
CHAPTEK XXYIII.
YES, let it pass. There was music in that laughter,
doubtless, but it cost us too dear. I think we Yirgin-
ians* are agreed as to that, more than agreed, yet we
cannot bring ourselves to look as others do, upon the
state of things which rendered it possible. As one
man, we rejoice that slavery is dead ; but even the
victors in the late struggle the magnanimous among
them, at least will hardly find fault with us if we
drop a sentimental tear, as it were, upon its tomb. A
reasonable man is glad that an aching tooth is well out
of his mouth ; but to the autocratic dentist who should
pull it out by force, his gratitude would not be boister
ous; and then, after all, it leaves a void. But cheer
up, brother Yirginians, listen to your Bushwhackerinh
bard while he chaunts you a lay. He would have his
say; but he will be good and kind. He would not
willingly bore you; and hence, ever thoughtful and
considerate, he serves up his rhetoric in a separate
course. Skip this chapter, then, if you will. You will
find the story continued in the next.
Yes, it is all true enough, I admit. It was but the
other day, so to speak, that the first shipload of negroes
was landed on the shores of a continent peopled by a
race which, after all has been said, remain the most in
teresting of savages, and who, if not heroes, have easily
* Obviously, as often elsewhere, Mr. Whacker here says Virginians, in
stead of ^outhemeri, to avoid all semblance of sectional feeling.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 179
become heroic under the magicians' wands of Cooper
and of Longfellow. That shipload and its successors
have become millions ; while the genius of a Barnum
scarce suffices to bring together enough Eedskins to
make a Knickerbocker holiday. The descendant of
the naked black, whose tribe, on the Gold Coast, still
trembles before a Fetish, rustles, beneath fretted ceil
ings, in the robes of a bishop; while some chief of the
kindred, perhaps, of Tecumseh, shivers on the wind
swept plains, under the fluttering rags of a contract
blanket. His half-naked squaw hugs her pappoose to
her bosom, and flees before the sabres of our cavalry ;
but her more deeply -tinted sister struts, beflounced, the
spouse of a senator. In one word, the race which the
Anglo-Saxons found on this continent remained free,
and perished ; the people they imported and enslaved,
multiplied and flourished. I do not feel myself the
CEdipus to solve this riddle of modern morals; but,
with my people, I fail to see the consistency of Victor
Hugo* for example, who could whine over the fate of
John Brown, hanged for an attempt to achieve the
liberty of the negro through murder, but who, when
Captain Jack stood at the foot of the gallows, made no
sign. Captain Jack, he too, through murder, sought
to maintain his ancestral' right to independence nay,
existence and a few acres of wretched lava-beds.
The distempered fancy of the first saw, as he gazed
upon the corpses of the fellow-citizens of Washington,
of Jefferson, and of Henry, countless dusky legions
rushing to his rescue, the clear eye of the other showed
him forty millions pouring down upon his less than a
hundred braves, to avenge the death of Canby ; and yet
he slew him. John Brown is a hero, his name is a
legend, his tomb a shrine ; but where are thy wretched
bones slung away, poor Jack ? Hadst thou been fair,
and dwelt in Lacedsemon, in Xerxes' days, the name
of Leonidas shone not now in solitary glory adown
the ages ; wert thou living now, and of sable hue, thou
mightest be sitting at the desk of Calhoun. AlasJ
* Written, doubtless, before the death of " The Master." Ed.
180 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
alas ! that thou shouldst have been of neutral shade ;
for how couldst thou be a man and a brother, being
only copper-colored ?
But leaving these knotty points of ethical casuistry
to the philanthropists, I reiterate that I think that the
picture I have drawn of certain aspects of slavery, as it
existed in Virginia, reveals its fatal weakness. That
weakness consisted in the fact that it realized the ideal
set forth in Victor Hugo's "Les Miserables." That
eloquent work of the erratic French dreamer is one
long and passionate protest against the sorrows and
sufferings of the poor. In those sorrows and sufferings
he finds the source of all the crimes that dishonor
humanity. Now, as things existed with us, poverty
sufficiently grinding to produce crime was actually un
known ; so that our little world was just the world
that he sighs for.
Victor Hugo plumes himself, I believe, upon never
having learned the gibberish that the English call
their language. Therefore, as I do not design having
this work translated into the various modern lan
guages (why should I, forsooth, since by the time
your day rolls round the aforesaid gibberish will be
the only tongue spoken by mankind?) he will never
have the pain of seeing himself ranked among the up
holders of slavery. Whatever he might say, however,
it is very clear that no state of things heretofore ex
isting has so well fulfilled the conditions of his ideal of
society. It is no fault of mine if his ideal be absurd.*
* In my capacity of Bushwhacker, I make it a matter of business to
laugh whenever I feel like it. I felt like it when, on reading the above,
this parallelism occurred to me: the hero of the "Miserables" Jean
Valjean is a thief. Now, holds our author, whenever a man is so un
fortunate as to be a thief, no blame should be attached to him, and he
puts it about thus : " A thief is not a thief. Nor a crime. He is a
product. A fact. A titanic fact. A thief is a man who hears the cry
of a child. It is his child. It is a cry for bread. Society gives him a
stone. Effacement of his rectitude. He appropriates society's wallet.
And serves society right; for 'tis society has made him a thief."
Leaving to some coming man the task and the credit of removing from
society all stain, by discovering who or what made society a thief-maker,
'tia this that moved my Bushwhackerish soul to smile: this Jenn Val
jean, whom society is so wicked in producing, turns out to be a better
man than any other man- ever was, is, or shall be. So we, under ouf
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 181
For I fear me much this is no ideal world we live in.
But ah, what a lotus-dream we were a-dreaming,
when from out our blue sky the bolt of war fell upon
us! We lived in a land in which no one was hungry,
none naked, none a- cold ; where no man begged, and
no man was a criminal, no woman fell from necessity;
where no one asked for bread, and all, even the slaves,
could give it ; where Charity was unknown, and in her
stead stood Hospitality, with open doors. What tidings
we had, meanwhile, of the things of the outer world,
made us cherish all the more fondly the quietude of our
Sleepy Hollow. The nations, had they not filled the
air for a century past with the murmur of their unrest?
Revolutions, rebellions, barricades^ bread-riots, agra-
rianism, communism, the frowning hosts of capital and
labor the rumor of these grisly facts and grislier phan
toms reached us, but from afar, and as an echo merely ;
and lulled, by our exemption from these ills, into a fatal
security, we failed to perceive the breakers upon which
we were slowly but surely drifting. The lee-shore
upon which our ship was so somnolently rocking waa
nothing less than bankruptcy. Spendthrifts, we dreamed
that our inheritance was too vast ever to be dissipated ;
nay, we fondly imagined that we were adding to our
substance. Did not our statesmen, our Able-Editors, un
ceasingly assure us that we were the richest people on
the globe, and growing daily richer? And what had
been that inheritance? A noble, virgin land, unsur
passed, all things considered, anywhere, a land that
very sinful system, would seem to have prepared for the elective fran
chise a whole people lately buried in heathenism, without, as it were,
half trying. Nor does this claim rest merely upon that braggartism so
peculiarly Southern. The very best people on the other side nay, the
people who, by their own admission, embrace all the culture and virtua
of the country have been the first to give us this meed of praise, yet
it is notorious that very few white men are yet, with all their Bacon. 1 *,
and Sydneys, and Hainpdens, and Jeffersons to enlighten them, qualified
lor that august function. Nay, even in France herself, though she is,
as Victor Hugo says, and he should know, the mother and the father,
and the uncle and the aunt, and the brother and the sister of civiliza
tion, I believe there are Frenchmen not yet fitted to wield the ballot,
among whom, I doubt not, some profane persons would make so bold
as to class the illustrious rhapsodist himself.
16
182 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
cost us nothing beyond the beads of Captain Smith and
the bullets of his successors, a land which no mort
gages smothered, no tax-gatherer devoured. But
smothered and devoured it was, and by our slaves.
It is doubtful whether slavery was ever, at any stage
of the world's history, wise, from an economical point
of view, though it was, of course, in one aspect, in the
interest of humanity, when, at some prehistoric period,
men began to enslave rather than butcher their prison
ers of war. But it seems very clear, that if the condi
tions of any society were ever such that its greatest
productive force could only be realized through the
restraints and constraints of slavery, then that slavery
must needs have been absolute and pitiless. No half-
and-half system will suffice. Severe and continuous
labor is endured by no man who can avoid it. But
labor, continuous and severe, is the price paid by the
great mass of mankind for the mere privilege of being
counted in the census ; so terrible is that struggle for
existence, of the Darwinian dispensation, which, whether
we be Darwinians or not, we must needs live under.
This, in our dreamland, we quietly ignored. The politi
cal economists are all agreed that from the sharpest
toil little more can be hoped for than the barest sup
port of the toilers; and we were not ignorant of politi
cal economy. But is there not an exception to every
rule? And were we not that exception? In our
favored nook, at least, the cold dicta of science should
not hold sway. And so our toilers did half work, and
got double rations. In one word, we spent more than
we made. And although we could not be brought to
Bee this, it became very plain when the war came and
settled our accounts for us ; for I venture to assert that
in April, 1865, the State of Virginia was worth intrinsi
cally less than when, in 1607, Captain John Smith and
his young gentlemen landed at Jamestown. In other
words, there had been going on for two hundred and
n'fty years a process the reverse of accumulation. For
that length of time we had been living on our principal,
the native wealth of the soil. While, in other parts
of the country, the struggle for existence had caused
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 183
barrenness to bloom, the very rocks to grow fat, in ours
the struggle for ease had converted a garden into some
thing very like a wilderness. The forests we found had
fallen ; the rich soil of many wide districts was washed
into the sea, leaving nothing to represent them ; and
when the smoke of battle cleared away, we saw a naked
land. It could not have been otherwise. Thoroughly
imbued with the spirit of the nineteenth century, as
well as the principles of the Jeffersonian Democracy,
we were entangled in a system of things not compati
ble, profitably at least, with either. We could not for
get that our slaves were human. There were ties that
we felt in a hundred ways. We loved this old nurse.
We humored that old butler. We indulged, here a
real, there a sham invalid, until, in one word, the thing
began to cost more than it came to, and it was time we
shook off the incubus.
And there was a time when many Yirginians, now
living, began to see this; and had they been let alone,
not many years would have passed before we should
have freed ourselves from the weight that oppressed
us. But in an evil hour there arose a handful of men
with a mission, a mission to keep other people's con
sciences, often as certain national moral phenomena
subsequently showed to the neglect of that charity
which begins at home. From that day all rational
discussion of the question became impossible in Vir
ginia ; and a consummation for which many of the
wisest heads were quietly laboring became odious even
to hint at, under dictation from outsiders ; and on the
day when the first abolition society was formed, the
fates registered a decree that slavery should go down ;
not in peace, but by war ; not quietly and gradually
extinguished, with the consent of all concerned, but
with convulsive violence, drowned in the blood of a
million men, and the tears of more than a million
women.
Well, they were only white men and women, so let
that pass, too.
184 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTEK XXIX.
" GIT out o' de way, you niggers ! Aint y' all got no
manners? Git out o' Marse Billy way 1 I declar' fo'
Gaud niggers ain't got no manners dese days. Tain't
like it used to be. Y' all gittin' wuss and wuss."
So saying, Aunt Polly made an unceremonious open
ing among the eager heads of the youngsters that were
thrust into the door-way ; and Billy pressed laughing-
through the throng, nodding here and there as he
passed. His arrival was hailed with beaming smiles
by the ladies, and an almost uproarious welcome by
the gentlemen. The Don had already opened his heart
to him before he had gotten within introducing dis
tance, charmed by his frank and manly bearing, his
hearty manner with the gentlemen, his gentle defer
ence to each lady in turn. So Billy's sunny face, his
cordial rushing hither and thither to greet his friends,
his cheery laugh as he exchanged a bright word here
and there, a laugh that revealed a set of powerful and
large, though well-shaped teeth, all this had lighted
up the thoughtful face of the Don with a sympathetic
.glow, a glow that vanished when, on their being in
troduced, Billy's fist closed upon his hand.
Mr. Billy was always a great favorite with me. In
deed, I like to think of him as a kind of ideal young
Virginian of those days, so true, and frank, and cor
dial, and unpretending. But there is one thin^ I have
mentioned it above that, as a historian, I am bound
to confess: Billy was addicted to playing on the fiddle.
" So, young ladies," said my grandfather (for whose
annual tunes no one, somehow, had thought of calling),
"you will have a fiddle to dance by, after all." A re
mark that elicited a joyous clapping of hands ; and
there was a general stir for partners.
" Dares any man to speak to me of fiddling," said
Billy, " before I have punished a few dozen of these
bivalves ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 185
"That's right, Billy! Dick, some oysters for Mr.
Jones ! They were never better than this season !"
Billy passed into the next room, where Dick and his
spouse began to serve him with hospitable zeal.
" How was she, Marse Billy ?"
Billy had just disposed of a monster that Dick had
opened for him, and was looking thoughtful.
" Uncle Dick, it almost makes me cry to think how
much better that oyster was than any we can get at
the University ; indeed it does."
Dick chuckled with delight. " I believe you, Marse
Billy; dey tells me dere ain't no better oysters in all
Fidginny dan de Leicester oyster."
Four or five students, who, like Billy, had run down
home for the holidays, had collected round the door
way leading into the library, and with them several
girls who were listening in a half-suppressed titter to
Billy's solemn waggery. Lifting a huge " bivalve" on
the prongs of his fork, he contemplatively surveyed it.
"You are right, Uncle Dick; Solomon, in all his
glory, was not arrayed like one of these!"
" Jess so ! What I tell you, Polly ?" said Dick, straight
ening himself and holding an unopened oyster in one
hand and his knife in the other. " Didn't I say the
Nuniversity was de most high-larnt school in de Nunited
States ?"
Polly, being Mrs. Dick, had too great an admiration
for that worthy's wisdom to do anything but simper
assent.
" Jess so," and he held his eye upon her till he felt
sure that she had abandoned all thought of protesting
against his dictum. " eben so. You right, Marse Billy ;
Solomon nor no other man never raised 'em like one o'
dese. Ain't you takin' nothin' to-night, Marse William?
Dey tells me toddy help a oyster powerful."
"Uncle Dick," exclaimed Billy, with admiring sur
prise, " how do you manage always to know exactly
what a fellow wants?"
" Marse William," and Dick drew himself up to his
full height, " I ain't been 'sociatin' wid de quality all
dese years for nothin'."
Ifi*
186 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
The dancing being over at a reasonable hour, Billy
and the Herr furnishing the music, the ladies retired
to their rooms in the " Great-House," leaving the gen
tlemen to their toddy and cigars ; and a jovial crew they
became. Billy and the Herr bore a large part in the
entertainment of the company, the former executing
reel and jig and jig and reel in dashing style, the lat
ter improvising accompaniments, his head thrown
back, a cigar-stump between his teeth, and contem
plating, through his moist spectacles, with a serene Teu
tonic merriment, the capers of the revellers, one or
another of whom could not, from time to time, resist
the fascination of the rhythm, but would spring to his
feet and execute something in the nature of a Highland
fling or a double-shuffle, to the great delight of the
others, and of none more than my glorious old grand
father. It is needless to remark that at each one of
these Terpsichorean exhibitions there was a suppressed
roar of chuckles to be heard issuing from the sable
throng that crowded the door-ways, and that there
might have been seen as many rows of ivories as there
were heads massed together there.
" It is refreshing, Mr. Whacker," observed the Don,
whose reserve was unmistakably thawing under the
apple-toddy, " to see a man of your age sympathizing
so heartily with us youngsters in our enjoyments."
" Yes," remarked the old gentleman, lolling comfort
ably back in his chair; " but I am not so sure that I have
left all the fun to the youngsters ;" and he nodded to
wards his empty glass; "but I believe I enjoj^ the
capers of the boys more than the toddy."
" Go it, Billy 1" cried a student, as that artist dashed
into a jig with a zeal heightened by the enthusiasm of
the now slightly boozy Herr.
"Bravo!" cried Mr. Whacker; "you will have to
look to your laurels, Charley."
" Oh, I resign !" said Charley, examining the rag on
his finger.
" By the way, Charley, you have not yet shown Mr.
Smith the old Guarnerius. Do you take any interest in
such things?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 187
" I have a great curiosity to see it."
" I am afraid it will not show off to advantage. I
have forgotten to have it mounted with strings this
Christmas. Do you know that a violin gets hoarse, as
it were, from lying idle ?"
" I have heard something of the kind."
" I should have had it strung several days ago."
"I put strings on it day before yesterday," said
Charley.
"Indeed!" said my grandfather; "but you were
always thoughtful. Let us have it, Charley."
Charley's return with the violin made a stir among the
company. Billy stopped his fiddling and came up, fol
lowed by all present, to see opened the case that con
tained the wonderful instrument, which was a sort of
lion among the fiddlers of the county. My grandfather
unlocked the case with a certain nervous eagerness,
raised the lid almost reverently, and removing the
padded silken covering which protected it, " Now just
look at that," said the old gentleman, his eye kindling.
I have often seen ladies take their female friends to
the side of a cradle, and softly turning down the cover
let, look up, as much as to say, "Did you ever see
anything half so beautiful?" And I must do the
female friends the justice to add that they always
signified that they never had ; and I have often seen
the subject of such unstinted praise, when brought be
fore males, pronounced a pretty enough baby, but a
baby seemingly in no wise different from all the babies
that are, have been, or shall be; and on such occasions
I can recall, methinks, some maiden aunt, for example,
who has ended by getting worried at the persistent in-
ability of some obstinate young fellow to see certain
points of superiority about mouth, eyes, or nose, which
to her were very clear. And so it was on this occasion,
as on many previous ones, with my grandfather. He
was always amazed, wjaen he showed his violin, at the
polite coldness of the-praise that it received.
" Look at those /-holes," said he, taking the violin
out of its case ; " look at those clean-cut corners !" And
everybody craned his neck and tried to see the clean-
16*
188 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
cut corners. " What a contour!" exclaimed tbe enthu
siastic old gentleman, holding the instrument off at.
arm's length and gazing rapturously upon it. There
was a murmur of adhesion, as the French say.
" Splendid !" ejaculated Billy, feeling that something
was due from him as the fiddler of the evening ; thereby
drawing the gleaming eyes of Mr. Whacker full upon
him. " Splendid !" repeated he, in a somewhat lower
tone, and looking steadfastly at the violin ; for he could
not look the old gentleman in the face, knowing tho
honest scamp that he was & fraud, and saw nothing
wonderful in the instrument.
" Why, hand me that old gourd you have been play
ing on," said Mr. Whacker; and he snatched the fiddle
from Billy's hand. "Look at those two scrolls, for
example," said the old gentleman, bumping them to
gether within three inches of Billy's nose.
Billy took the two necks in his hands, screwed up
his face, and tried his best to look knowing; but his
broad, genial countenance could not bear the tension
long; and a sudden flash of humor from his kindly
eyes set the company in a roar, in which my grand
father could not help joining.
" Well, well," said he, " I suppose I ought not to ex
pect you to be a connoisseur in violins. Would you
like to examine it?" said Mr. Whacker, thinking he
detected a look of interest on the part of the Don, and
he banded him the instrument.
The Unknown took it in an awkward and confused
sort of way. My grandfather looked chopf'allen. " I
thought that possibly you might have seen Cremonas
in Europe," observed the old man timidly.
The Don bowed, whether in assent or dissent was
not clear; nor was it any clearer, as he gently rocked
it to and fro, examining the /-holes and other points of
what is known as the belly of the instrument, whether
he was moved by curiosity or by courtesy. A motion of
his wrist brought the back of the instrument in view.
" By Jove !" vehemently exclaimed the stranger, as a
flood of golden light flashed into his eyes from tho un
approachable varnish ; but he colored and looked con-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 189
fused when he saw that his warmth had drawn the
eyes of all upon himself. Even Charley ceased exam
ining the bandage on his finger and quietly scrutinized
the Don out of the corners of his eyes.
But you should have seen your ancestor and mine,
my dear boy. He rose from his seat without saying a
single word. There was an expression of defiance in
his fine brown eyes, not unmingled with solemnity.
He held out his upturned hands as though he were
going to begin a speech, I was going to say, but it was
not that. His look and attitude were those of an ad
vocate who has just brought a poser to bear on opposing
counsel. And such my grandfather felt was his case.
" For years," his looks seemed to say, " I have been
chaffed about my Guarnerius by you bumpkins, and
now here comes a man who puts you all down by one
word." He looked from face to face to see if any of the
company had anything to say to the contrary. At last
his eye met Billy's. That young gentleman, willing to
retrieve his disastrous defeat in the matter of scrolls
and contours and /-holes, again came to the front.
"Doesn't it shine !" remarked that unfortunate youth,
approvingly.
"Shine!" shouted my grandfather, indignantly,
"shine!" repeated he with rising voice, and rapping
the back of the violin with his knuckles, " do you
call that shiny ?" said he, with another rap, and hold
ing the instrument in front of Billy. " Why, a tin pan
shines, a well-fed negro boy's face shines, and you say
that shines," he added, with an argumentative rap. "Is
that the way you are taught to discriminate in the use
of words at the University ?" And the old gentleman
smiled, mollified by Billy's evident confusion and the
shouts of laughter that greeted his discomfiture.
" Why, Uncle Tom, if that violin doesn't shine, what
does it do ?"
" Why, it well I should say ahem ! in fact, it
j
" What would you call it, Uncle Tom ?" urged Billy,
rallying bravely from his rout, and trying to assume a
wicked smile.
190 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
""What would I call it? I would call it well the
violin confound it! I should hold my tongue nit her
than say that violin was shiny." And the old gentleman
turned upon his heel and stalked across the room ; but
Billy was not the man to relinquish his advantage.
"Now, Uncle Tom, that is not fair," said he, follow
ing up his adversary, and holding on to the lappel of
his coat in an affectionately teasing manner. " Give us
your word."
"Shiny! shiny!" spluttered the old gentleman with
testy scorn.
"Ah, but that won't do. Let the company have
your word, Uncle Tom." And the young rogue tipped
a wink to a knot of students. " The violin is ?"
"EFFULGENT!" shouted his adversary, wheeling
upon him and bringing down the violin, held in both
hands, with a swoop.
I shall take the liberty here of assuming that my read
ers are, as I was myself, till Charley enlightened me,
ignorant of the fact that the varnish of the violins of
the old masters is considered a great point. Collectors
go into raptures over the peculiar lustre of their old
instruments, which, they say, is the despair of modern
makers. I have myself seen, or at least handled, but
one of them, my grandfather's old Guarnerius, and
that, certainly, was singularly beautiful in this respect.
" Effulgent !" cried he, his noble brown eyes dilated,
his head tossed back and swaying from side to side,
tapping gently, with the finger-nails of his right hand,
the back of the violin, upon which the light of a neigh
boring lamp danced and flamed. The students indi
cated to Billy, in their hearty fashion, that he had got
what he wanted, and Mr. Whacker, spurred on by their
approval, rose to the height of his great argument.
"Just look at that," said he, turning with enthusiasm
to one of the students, "just look at that," he repeated,
flashing the golden light into the eyes of another;
" why, it almost seems to me that we have here the
very rays that, a century ago, this maple wood absorbed
in its pores from the sun of Italy."
How much more my grandfather was going to say
TEE STORY OF DON MIFF. 191
I know not ; for he was interrupted by a storm of
applause from his young auditors.
" 1 say, boys, that's a regular old-fashioried ' curl,' "
whispered one of them.
" Uncle Tom," said Billy, removing the bow from the
case, " does this effulge any ?"
" But, Mr. Whacker," observed a fat and jolly middle-
aged gentleman, " it strikes me that the important
thing about a fiddle is its tone, not its varnish. Now,
do you really think your Cremona superior to a twenty-
dollar fiddle in tone? Honestly now, is there any
difference worth mentioning?"
"Any difference? Heavens above! Why, listen!"
And the old gentleman drew the bow slowly over
double strings, till the air of the room seemed to palpi
tate with the rich harmony. "Did you ever hear
anything like that?" exclaimed he, with flushing face;
and he drew the bow again and again. There were
exclamations of admiration real or affected all around
the room.
The Don alone was silent. "
I remember looking towards him with a natural
curiosity to see what he the only stranger present
appeared to think of the instrument; but he gave no
sign, none, at least, that I could interpret. He was
gazing fixedly at my grandfather with a sort of rapt
look, his head bowed, his lips firmly compressed, but
twitching a little. His eyes had a certain glitter about
them, strongly contrasting with their usual expression
of unobtrusive endurance. I looked towards Charley,
but his eyes did not meet mine; for he had turned his
chair away from the fire, and was scrutinizing the
stranger's face with a quiet but searching look.
"It is a little hoarse from long disuse," said Mr.
Whacker, drawing the bow slowly as before.
" Give us a tune, Uncle Tom ?"
" Yes, yes !" joined in a chorus. " Give us a tune !"
"Pshaw!" said the old gentleman, "it would be a
profanation to play a ' tune' on this instrument."
" There is where I don't agree with you, Mr.
Whacker," put in the fat and jolly middle-aged gen-
192 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
tleman. " The last time I was in Richmond I went
to hear Ole Bull ; and such stuff as he played I wish
never to hear again, nothing but running up and
down the strings, with de'il a bit of tune that I could
see."
" That's precisely my opinion," said another. " Con
found their science, say I."
"Why, yes," continued the jolly fat middle-aged
gentleman, encouraged. " The fact is, it spoils a fiddler
to teach him his notes. Music should come from the
heart. Why, I don't wish to flatter our friend Billy
here, but, so far as I am concerned, I would rather
hear him than all the Ole Bulls and Paganinis that
ever drew a bow."
" Bather hear Billy ? I should think so ! Why, any
left-handed negro fiddler can beat those scientific fel
lows all hollow."
My grandfather, during the passage at arms that en
sued upon the expression of these sentiments, grow
rather warm, and at last appealed to the Don. He, as
though loath to criticise the performance of our friend
Billy, spoke guardedly. " I should think,"' said he, " that
music would be like anything else, those who devoted
most time to it would be most proficient."
" Of gourse !" broke in the Herr, who had not allowed
the discussion to draw him very far from the bowl of
toddy. " Now, joost look at unser frient Pilly. Dot
yung mon has a real dalent for de feedle, but vot ho
blay? Noding als reels unt cheeks unt zuch dinks.
Joost sent dot yung mon one time nach Europen, unt
by a goot master. Donnerwetter, I show you somedink !
Tausendteufels I" added he, draining his glass, " vot for
a feedler dot yung Pilly make !"
I may remark that just in proportion as the Herr
mollified his water did he dilute his English. Just in
proportion as he approached the bottom of a punch
bowl did the language of Shakespeare and Milton
become to him an obscure idiom.
" Won't you try its tone ?" said Mr. Whacker, offer
ing the violin and bow to the Don.
" Oh," replied he, deprecatingly.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 193
" It's of no consequence that you can't play," insisted
the old gentleman. " Just try the tone. Here, this
way," added he, putting the violin under the Don's
chin.
It may seem strange that I, a bachelor, should be so
fond of illustrating my scenes by means of babies ; but
as the whole frame-work and cast of this story compels
me to marry at some future day, I may be allowed to
Bay that the Don held the violin just as I have seen
young fellows hold an infant that had been thrust into
their arms by some mischievous young girl. Afraid to
refuse to take it lest the mother be hurt, they are in
momentary terror lest it fall.
" There! So!" exclaimed the old gentleman, adjust
ing the instrument.
While every one else smiled at the scene, Charley
was, strangely enough, almost convulsed with a noise
less chuckle that brought the tears into his eye#.
" The old boy feels his toddy," thought I.
The Don began to scrape dismally.
"Ah, don't hold the bow so much in the middle!
So! That's better! Now pull away! Keep the bow
straight ! There, that's right ! So ! "
Charley rocked in his seat.
" Now, up ! Down ! Up ! Down ! Up ! Very good 1
Down ! Up ! Bow straight ! "
Charley leaped from his chair and held his sides.
"Well, even Cato occasionally moistened his clay.
" So ! Better still ! Excellent ! Upon my word,
you are an apt scholar!"
Charley dropped into his seat, threw back his head,
and shut his eyes.
The Don paused, smiling.
"What a tone!" exclaimed my grandfather. "Oh!
cried he with intense earnestness, " if if I could but
hear, once again, an artist play upon that violin !"
The smile passed from the Unknown's face.. A
strange look came into his eyes, as though his thoughts
were far away. His chin relaxed its hold upon the
violin and pressed upon his breast. His right arm
slowly descended till the tip of the bow almost touched
i n 17
194 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
the floor; and there he stood, his eyes fixed upon thw
ground. A stillness overspread the company. No one
moved a muscle save Charley. He, with an odd smilo
in his eyes, softly drew from his pocket a small pen
knife and held it in his left hand, with the nail of his
right thumb in the notch of the blade.
Slowly, and as if unconsciously to himself, the Don's
right arm began to move. The violin rose, somehow,
till it found its way under his chin.
Charley opened his knife.
There were signs in the Unknown's countenance of
a sharp but momentary struggle, when his right arm
suddenly sprang from its pendent position, and the
wrist, arched like the neck of an Arab courser, stood,
for a second, poised above the bridge.
Charley passed the blade of his knife through the
threads that bound the bandage about his finger, and
the linen rag fell to the floor ; and he rose and folded
his arms across his breast.
The bow descended upon the Or string. The stranger
gave one of those quick up-strokes with the lowest inch
of the horse-hair, followed by a down-stroke of the
whole length of the bow.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE note sounded was the lower A, produced, if 1
may be allowed to enrich my style with a borrowed
erudition, by stopping the G string with the first finger.
Whimsical as the idea may seem to a musician, I have
always considered this the noblest tone within the
register of the violin ; and such an A I had never be
fore heard. I have already mentioned the extraordi
nary acoustical properties of this room, the very air of
which seemed to palpitate, the very walls to tremble
beneath the powerful vibrations. The deep, long-drawn
tone ceased, and again the wrist stood for a moment
arched above the bridge. A breathless stillness reigned
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 195
throughout the room, while the Don stood there, with
pale face, his dark eyes " in a fine frenzy rolling,"
stood there, one might say, in a trance, forgetful of his
audience, forgetful of self, unconscious of all else save the
violin clasped between chin and breast. Down came
the fingers of the left hand ; with them the bow de
scended, this time upon all four strings ; and four notes
leaped forth, crisp, clear, and sparkling, brilliant as
shooting-stars ! Then chord after chord ; and, in mad
succession, arpeggios, staccatos, pizzicatos, chromatic
scales, octaves, fierce, dizzy leaps from nut to bridge,
cries of joy, mutterings of rage, moans of despair, all
were there, a very pandemonium of sound !
It was not a composition, hardly an improvisation,
even ; for neither was key sustained nor time ob
served. It resembled, more than anything else I can
compare it to, the mad carolling of a mocking-bird as ho
flaps and sails from the topmost branch of a young
tulip poplar to another hard by, pouring forth in scorn
ful profusion his exhaustless and unapproachable tide
of song, little recking what comes first and what next,
whether the clear whistle of the partridge, the shrill
piping of the woodpecker, or the gentle plaint of the
turtle-dove.
And the mad dancing of the bow went on, amid a
silence that was absolute. But it was a silence like
that of a keg of gunpowder, where a spark sufiices to
release the imprisoned forces.
The spark came in the shape of an interjection from
the deep chest of Uncle Dick.
But how am I to represent that interjection to pos
terity?
There came a pause.
" Umgh-u-m-g-h !" grunted our venerable butler. Ana
straightway there ensued a scene which
But future ages must first be told precisely what
Uncle Dick said ; for, as all Virginians, at least, know,
when you limit yourself to reporting of a man that he
said umgh-umgh, you have given a meagre and inade
quate, certainly an ambiguous, interpretation of his
sentiments.
196 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Not to go into any refinements, it suffices to say
that besides a score of other umgh-umghs of radically
distinct significance, there are umgh-umghs which
mean yes, and umgh-umghs which mean no. For ex
ample, " Dearest, do you love me ?" Now the umgh-
umgh that may be supposed in this case is a kind of
flexible, india-rubber yes, ranging all the way from
"Perhaps" to "Oh, most dearly!" (but Charley says
that it is umgh-humgh, not umgh-umgh, that means
yes ;) now follow up your question with a demonstra
tion" as though you would test matters, umgh-umgh I
What a no is there 1 "Are you crazy? Eight out
here in the summer-house! with people strolling all
around, and the vines so thin that "
Now, Uncle Dick's umgh-umgh was not at all an
umgh-umgh affirmative, still less an umgh-umgh nega
tive. 'Twas rather an umgh-umgh eulogistic, as though
he said, Words are inadequate to express my feelings.
Now, a less painstaking author than myself would say
no more just here; aware that every Virginian, at
least, knows what is meant by the umgh-umgh eulo
gistic ; but the contemporary reader must pardon me
for reminding him that this book has not been written
entii'ely, or even mainly, for him, but rather for genera
tions yet unborn, notably the generations of the
Whackers. I esteem it, therefore, singularly fortunate
that my friend Charley happens to have made an ex
haustive study of this same umgh-umgh language, and
especially so that he has been at the pains of elucida
ting his subject by means of a musical notation. Know,
then, oh, propinqui longinqui! oh, manus innumerabiles
Whackerorum ! that the exact sound uttered by that
unapproachable Automedon was :
CARLO FROBISIIERINI. Opus 99.
Andante tottenuto e scherzando.
motto voce. Umgh - uingh I
"An andante scherzando f" exclaimed my grandfather,
on seeing the notation ; " how is that ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 19'/
""Pis because mine Uncle Richard hath neglected
the study of thorough bass ; hence he warbleth his na
tive wood-notes wild," quoth Charley.
But to return to the scene in the Hall. And I beg
that the reader will place himself entirely in my hands,
while I endeavor to make him realize every feature of
that scene, for it really occurred just as he will find
it recorded.
Figure to yourselves, then, my countless readers and
admirers, first the Hall itself, with its lofty ceiling and
its spacious, well-waxed floor of heart-pine so nicely
joined that it was a sound-board in itself. At one end
of the room stood a piano ; at the other was a vast
open fireplace, in which, supported by tall and glisten
ing andirons, there glowed a noble fire of hickory logs
five feet long. The furniture in the room was peculiar,
consisting of a square table of exceeding lightness,
and chairs that you might toss in the air with your
little finger, all with a view to the least possible weight
upon the floor, though I must say that they were
often the means of bringing heavy weights in contact
with it. Add to these a lounge of slenderest propor
tions, upon which my grandfather loved to recline,
pipe in mouth, whenever any music was going forward ;
and you have all the furniture that the room possessed.
Of other objects there were absolutely none upon the
floor, except four cases containing the instruments
needful to a string quartet ; and these stood each in its
own corner, as though on ill terms. The old gentle
man had banished from the Hall even his collection of
music, great piles of which were stowed away in the
adjoining room ; for he insisted that its weight would
mar the resonance of the Hall. It remains but to
add that upon the walls no painting or engraving
was allowed. Their smooth finish showed no crack,
so that the Herr used to say that the hall, if
strung, would have been a very goot feedle for Boly-
phemoos, or some oder of dem chiant singers to blay
on.
So much for the Hall, around which, on the Christ
mas Eve in question, were grouped nearly all my grand-
17*
198 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
father's slaves old enough to be out on so cold a night,
reinforced by many of Charley's.
And I am not so sure that the outsiders were not
having a merrier time than the insiders. For every
now and then, throughout the evening, my grandfather
might have been seen passing glasses of toddy or egg-
nog to one or another of the favorite old servants, as
he observed them in the throng; and Charley and I
saw that the rest had no cause to feel slighted. All had
their share, if not of toddy, at least of that without
which all toddy is a delusion and a shadow. Then the
sound of Jones's fiddle could not be kept within-doors,
and such of them as despaired of forcing their way
through the masses around the windows and doors
had formed rings, where, by the light of the wintry
moon, the champion dancers of the two farms exhibited
to admiring throngs what they knew about the double-
shuffle and the break-down ; and the solid earth re
sounded beneath the rhythm of their brogans. To me,
I remember, they seemed happy, at the time ; which
goes to show how little I knew about happiness, and
I believe that they too were under the same delusion;
but their early educations had been neglected.
Happy or wretched, however, let them form a frame,
as it were, for the picture I would conjure up for my
reader. The first note drawn forth by the Don had
arrested their attention, and there was a rush for every
spot from which a view could be had of the performer.
See them, therefore, a few of the older ones just inside
the door, the less fortunate craning their necks behind,
and upon their faces that rapt attention which is an
inspiration to an artist. See those others who, huddled
upon boxes and barrels piled beneath the windows, are
flattening their noses, one might almost say, against
the lower panes. At the library door stood one or two
tidy house-maids. Uncle Dick, alone, stood near the
roaring fire, he assuming that his services were re
quired.
"Hi I what dat?" exclaimed a youngster, when the
strange sound first broke upon his ear; for he could
not see the Don from where he stood.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 199
"Heish, boy!" broke in a senioi-, in stern rebuke;
" Don't you see 'tis de new gent'mun a-playin' on the
fiddle?" And silence reigned again, a silence broken,
from time to time, by a low, rippling chuckle of intense
delight, and illumined, one might say, by the whites of
an hundred pairs of wondering eyes.
And now let us glance at the dozen gentlemen who
sat within, beginning with my dear old grandfather.
At the first long-drawn, sonorous note he had sprung
to his feet ; and there he stood, with both hands raised
and extended as though he commanded silence. And
his countenance! never had I seen it look so beau
tiful ! A happy smile lit up his noble face, and he
seemed to say as he looked from Charley to me, and
from me to Charley, "At last!" And Charley stood
leaning against a corner of the mantel-piece, with his
arms folded, replying to his friend with sympathetic
glances. It was plain to see that he was happy in his
old friend's happiness, but there was a droll twinkle in
his eyes that even he could not suppress, though he bit
his lip. What it meant I could not, of course, divine.
It was a treat to behold the Herr on this occasion.
"With his forearm resting on the table, his fingers toying
with the stem of his goblet, he leaned back in his chair
and smiled, through his gold-rimmed spectacles, with
a look of profound Germanic content and good nature.
Not once did he remove his benignant eyes from the Don,
not even when he raised his half-full glass to his lips
and drained it to the last drop. Even then he watched,
out of the corner of his eye, the fantastic caperings of the
bow and the labyrinthine wanderings of the performer's
fingers ; and slowly replacing his glass upon the table,
stroked his long and straggling beard so softly that he
seemed to fear that the sparse hairs would mar the
music by their rattling.
One word will suffice for the jolly, fat, middle-aged
gentleman. He sat with his mouth wide open, tilting
back in one of my grandfather's skeleton chairs.
Now, that was not safe.
But there is one face that I shall not attempt to de
scribe, that of young Jones, the University man, upon
200 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
whom it flashed, like a revelation, that he had been,
without knowing it, fiddling away for hours in the pres
ence of an artist. It naturally occurred to Bill} 7 that a
huge joke had been perpetrated at his expense ; and
after the first few notes, he tried to nerve himself to
meet the explosion of laughter that he momentarily ex
pected. But his furtive glances from side to side de
tected no one looking his way, no symptom of a joke, in
fact, so that the flush of confusion began to recede, sup
planted by a glow of enthusiasm. I leave it to the
reader, then, to imagine the play of expression on the
countenance of this big, manly fellow, rejoicing in his
strength, and brimful of rollicking humor, loving a joke
even at his own expense, as he stood there before the
Don ; at one time carried away by the impetuosity of
the performer, at another flushing up to his eyes when
he reflected that, if no one else had served him that
turn, he, at least, had made a fool of himself.
This is tableau No. 1, but, for clearness' sake, let me
retouch its outlines.
A large room, with a roaring fire at one end, and
doors open, Virginia fashion. In the doors and windows
a background or blackground of colored brethren
and sisters, exhibiting a breathless delight, all their
teeth, and the largest surface, functionably practicable,
of the whites of their eyes. Within, stands my grand
father, on tiptoe, with outstretched arms, which wave
gently up and down, as, from time to time, snatches of
rhythm drop out of the chaos of chords and runs that
are pouring from his Guarnerius. Next the jolly fat
middle-aged gentleman, tilting back, open-mouthed, in
one of Mr. Whacker's phantom chairs, and rather near
the fire. Then Mr. William Jones himself, who just at
this moment has compressed his lips, and resolved that
he will smash his fiddle and break his bow just so soon
as he reaches No. 28, East Lawn, U. V. Then there
is the Herr Waldteufel, smiling through clouded glasses,
but not darkly. Then to omit half a dozen gentle
men there was the inscrutable Charley, leaning, with
a certain subdued twinkle in his eyes, against one end
of the mantel-piece, while near the other stood, in re-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 201
spectful attitude, Uncle Dick, his hands clasped in front
of his portly person, his bald head bent low, his left ear
towards the music, his eyes fixed askance upon the fire
to his right.
Midst this scene of perfect stillness stood the Don,
his body swaying to and fro. The old G-uarnerius
seemed to be waking from its long slumber, and, as if
conscious that once more a master held it, to be warm
ing to its work. The music grew madder. At last
there came some fierce chords, then a furious fortissimo
chromatic scale of two or three octaves, with a sudden
and fantastic finish of fairy-like harmonics, the snarl
ing of a tiger, one might say, echoed by the slender
pipings of a phantom cicada :
Umgh - umgh I
CHAPTEE XXXI.
IT was a match to the mine, that umgh-umgli eu
logistic, and the explosion was tremendous; for my
grandfather's toddy-bowl, though wide and deep, was
now nearly empty. In an instant every man was on
his feet, cheering at the top of his voice. Such hats as
were available, seized without regard to ownership,
were frantically whirling in the air; tumblers went
round in dizzy circles ; centrifugal toddy was splashing
in every direction ; while the rear ranks of the colored
cohorts were scrambling over the backs of those in
front, to catch a glimpse of the scene. In the midst of
it all, the honest Herr was to be seen rushing to and
fro, lustily shouting out some proposition as to the
health of the stranger. He was brandishing his goblet,
which he had managed to fill, notwithstanding the con
fusion, and offering to chink glasses with any and all
comers, when, as ill luck would have it, he ran into one
202 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
of the students as enthusiastic as himself, and the twain
suddenly found themselves holding in their hands noth
ing but the stems of their goblets.
"Ah, mein freund," said he, with a glance at his
soaked shirt-front, " vot for a poonch vas dat 1"
"Very good, very good!" cried the student, with a
rousing slap on his shoulder; for a vague feeling came
over the young man that one of the Herr's puns was
lurking somewhere in the mist.
But the most stinking figure in tableau No. 2 was
that of my grandfather. As soon as Uncle Dick's ap
plauding grunt had broken the spell that held the com
pany, and while all were cheering lustily, he rushed up
to the Don, and placed his hands in an impressive way
on his shoulders. The cheering suddenly ceased, and
all listened intently save the Herr and his student, who,
having found fresh tumblers, were busy scooping up
the last of the punch.
" My friend," said my grandfather, " Charley and I
are but two in this big house," and thei-e was a simple
pathos in his manner and tones " Won't you live with
us for good ?"
Tremendous applause greeted this rather thorough
going invitation ; and tableau No. 2 dissolved in con
fusion ; in the midst of which stood the Don, bowing
and laughing, and wisely holding high above his head
the precious violin.
" Ah, dere spoke de Barrone !" quoth the Herr, bal
ancing himself, and clinking half-filled glasses with his
student.
" Good for Uncle Tom !" echoed the latter.
"So!" chimed in the Herr, blinking at the ceiling
through the bottom of his tumbler.
" I am in downright earnest, I assure you," urged
Mr. Whacker, on remarking the pleased merriment of
the Don. " Eh, Charley?"
"So say we all of us!" said Charley, with jovial
earnestness, and shaking, with great cordiality, the
stranger's right hand, whence I had removed the bow.
Uncle Dick now came to the fore again. Unclo
Richard was a humorist, and, with all the tact of his
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 203
race, know perfectly well, bow, while preserving a
severe decorum of form, to make his little hit. So
now, turning to Aunt Polly, with a look on his face of
childlike simplicity, beneath which lurked a studied
unconsciousness, he asked, in the most artless stage-
whisper,
"Polly, whar's Marse William Jones?" And rising
on his toes and letting his under jaw drop, as one will
when peering over the heads of a crowd in search of a
friend's face, he ran his eyes, with a kind of unobtru
sive curiosity, over group after group, till they met
Marse William's ; then instantly dropped them as if he
simply desired to be assured that his Marse William
was there. 'Twas perfect art, and the effect electric.
In an instant all eyes were fixed on Billy. Uproarious
laughter burst forth from the company, in the midst of
which the students made a rush for the unhappy fid-
dler. He had hardly one second's time given him to
decide what to do ; but before" his friends reached him
he had bowed himself, and, with one leap, sprung far
under the table, where he lay flat upon the floor, with
his face buried in his hands, convulsed with almost
hysterical laughter.
"Haul him out! haul him out!" rose on all sides, and
But just here I must permit myself a philosophical
reflection, the truth of which will be readily acknowl
edged by all publicans and sinners, and such other dis
reputable persons as, in company with those like-minded
with themselves, have looked upon the wine when it
was red. It is this : That fun is literally intoxicating.
At a wine-party of young men, for example, all things
will go on smoothly for hours. Conversation is going
forward pleasantly, or speeches heard with decorum.
A pleasant exhilaration is to be observed, but nothing
more. Then there will arise, by chance, some one,
who, we will say, shall sing a capital new comic song,
calling on the company to join in the chorus. At the
close of that song you shall wonder what has happened
to everybody. Why does your right-hand neighbor
throw his arm across your shoulder and call you old
boy? What sudden and inexplicable thirst is this that
204 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
has seized upon the man on your left, that he should
be calling for champagne so lustily ? What is that
little fellow, at the other end of the table, doing there,
standing up in his chair, and waving his glass? What
strange glow is this that has flashed through your
frame, bearing along with it the conviction that you
are all glorious fellows and having a glorious time?
"Haul him out! haul him out!" And instantly the
students dived, pell-mell, under the table. It would be
simply impossible to describe the scene that followed.
Under the table there was an inextricably .entangled
mass of vigorous young fellows, some on their heads,
others on their backs, with their heels in the air, tug
ging away with might and main at each other's arms
and legs; for safety, as to the Greeks at Salamis, had
arisen for Jones from the very numbers of his foes.
-Meantime the table danced and bumped over the floor,
rocking and tossing above this human earthquake;
while around it there arose such peals of uproarious
laughter as one could not expect to har twice in a
life-time.
" Mein Gott !" gasped the Herr, falling up against the
piano, and wiping his streaming eyes, " mein Gott, how
many funs I"
But the scene did not last half so long as I have been
in painting it. It was the middle-aged fat gentleman
that, in the twinkling of an eye, put an end to all thrs
tumultuous laughter, or, at any rate, drew its brunt
upon himself.
The M. A. F. Gr., as above stated, was tilting back in
one" of my grandfather's slender chairs, in front of the
fire, balancing himself on tiptoe, and rocking to and
fro with uncontrollable laughter. In front of him a
student was backing out from under the table, all
doubled up, his head not yet free from its edge, and
tugging away manfully at the leg of a comrade. Sud
denly the foot he held resigned its boot to his keeping.
The M. A. F. G. could hardly tell, afterwards, what it
was that, like a battering-ram of old, smote him at the
junction of vest and trousers ; but it would seem to
have been that student's head. Up flew his heels,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 205
nrash went the chair, and, quicker than thought, he
was sprawling upon his back in the midst of that roar
ing hickory fire. A dozen hands seized and dragged
him forth. Jones and his fiddle were forgotten; and
he and his young friends emerged from under the table
to join in the shouts of laughter that greeted the M. A.
F. Gr., as he capered briskly about, brushing the coals
and ashes from his broad back, and belabored by his
friends, who were assisting him in saving his coat.
" Tausendteufels ! vot for a shbree !" And the Herr
sank exhausted upon the piano-stool.*
CHAPTER XXXII.
"CHRISTMAS gift! young ladies, Christmas gift!"
chirped Aunt Phoebe, bustling briskly, in her resplend
ent bandanna, into the room, and courtesying and
bowing, and bowing and courtesying in turn, to the
two fair heads that lay deep-nestled in their pillows.
"Christmas gift!" modestly echoed the handmaiden
Milly, her sable daughter, modestly bringing up the
rear and showing all her ivories.
I don't think the relations between Virginia master
and Virginia slave ever appeared in a gentler or more
attractive aspect than on Christmas mornings. The
way the older and more privileged domestics had of
bursting into your room at the most unearthly hour,
shouting "Christmas gift! Christmas gift!' beaming
with smiles and brimful of good nature, was enough to
warm the heart of a Timon.
" "Well, Aunt Phoebe," said one of the drowsy beauties,
"you have caught us."
" G-racious, is it daybreak yet ?" yawned hazel-eyed
Alice. " I am s-o-o-o sleepy !" And turning over in
* It will doubtless surprise the reader to be informed that this whole
scene actually occurred, substantially as I have described it, even the
last seemingly extravagant detail having been witnessed, not invented,
by the author.
18
206 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
bed with a toss, she closed her eyes and pouted as
though she had much to endure.
" Daybreak ? Daybreak f Why, Lor', chile, ain't Polly
done put on her bread to bake ? Git up, git up, j r ou
lazy things ! Don't you know all de beaux is up and
dressed, and a-settin' round, 'most a-dyin' for to see
you?"
" Poor things, are they ?" mumbled Alice against her
pillow.
" To-be-eho, to-be-sho dey is," reiterated Aunt Phoebe ;
though, as a veracious historian, I must let the reader
know that it was a pious fraud on the old lady's part,
inspired by solicitude ftxr the reputation of the Elming-
ton breakfast; for not one of the sinners had stirred.
"I believe," added Aunt Phoebe, observing that
Mary's eyes were open, " I believe," said she, going up
to Alice and looking down upon her with an admiring
smile, " dat dis is de sleepyheadedest one of 'em all."
Alice gave a little grunt, if the expression be parlia
mentary.
"Makin* 'ten' she 'sleep now," said Aunt Phoebe,
casting knowing nods and winks at Mary.
" When she is awake, Aunt Phoebe, she is wide enough
awake for you, isn't she?"
"Lor' bless you, honey, I b'lieve you ; she cert'n'y do
beat all." And the floor trembled beneath the good
old soul's adipose chuckle. " She is a pretty chile, too,
she is mum," continued the old lady, assuming, with
her arms akimbo, a critical attitude. Mary rose on her
elbow to observe Alice's countenance. Her lips began
to twitch, slightly, under this double gaze.
"And I ain't de onliest one as thinks so, neither,"
added she, tossing back her head with a look of tri
umphant sagacity.
" Who is it? who is it ?" And Mary rose and sat up
in bed.
"Nebber mind, nebber mind!" replied she, with
diplomatic reserve. "Nebber mind ; Phoebe ain't been
livin' in this world so long for nothin'. De ole nigger
got eyes in her head, and she can see out'n 'em, too ;
you b'lieve she can, my honeys."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 207
" Oh, do tell me, that's a good Aunt Phoebe !"
" Though she ain't got no specs on her nose." And
the good soul threw herself back and gave vent to a
very audible h'yah, b'yah, h'yah.
"Is it Uncle Tom?" droned out Alice, in an
almost inarticulate murmur.
"Now jess listen at dat chile! Ole marster! She
know better! She know who 'tis I'se 'spressin' 'bout
f all she a-layin' d'yar squinched up in dat bed, making
out she 'sleep. D'yar now, what I tell you !" exclaimed
she, as Alice sprang suddenly up in bed, her eyes spark
ling, her color high, her dishevelled hair in a golden
foam about her temples.
"'Sleep, was she! h'yah, h'yah, h'yah! "Well, to-be-
sho, talk 'bout de young gent'men cert'n'y were de
wakinest-up talk for a young lady dat eber dis ole nig
ger did see. To-be-sho! To-be-sho ! Lord a' mussy !"
added she, rocking to and fro and clapping on her
knees with both hands, as Alice, with a light bound,
sprang into the middle of the floor. " Bf I didn't fotch
her clean out o' bed !" And the hilarious old domestic
wiped the tears from her eyes with a corner of her
check apron. " "Well, now, and what is she up to ?"
added she, as Alice ran nimbly across the room and
opened a closet.
"Aunt Phoabe," said Alice, advancing with all the
solemnity of a presentation orator, " permit me to offer
you, as a slight testimonial of my unbounded esteem,
this trivial memento. "Within this package is a dress,
selected especially for you with the greatest care, at the
most fashionable store in Eichmond. Wear it, and rest
assured that the dress will not become you more than
you will become the dress." And after executing, with
her tiny little feet, a variety of droll capers, all the
while maintaining a look of preternatural solemnity, she
placed the package in the arms of the amazed Phoabe,
with a tragic extension of her right arm, immediately
thereafter dropping one of the most elaborately gro
tesque courtesies ever seen off the comic stage.
" Lord a' mussy, what kind (T funny lingo is "
Squeak! squeak! Bang! bang! And two girls.
208 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
but partially dressed, tumbled tumultuously into the
room, shrieking and slamming the door after them.
The chemists tell us that if you separate two gases
by a membrane, they will insist upon mingling ; and,
not knowing why this takes place, they have christened
the process endosmose and exosmose. Sociology fur
nishes a noteworthy parallelism in the endosmose and
exosmose of girls dressing for breakfast in a country
house. You may stow as many as you will into as
many rooms as you choose, but every one of them
will find her way into every other room before her
toilet is complete ; and, by the end of a week, the rai
ment of each will be impartially distributed throughout
the several chambers allotted to their sex. Their
movements on these occasions are peculiar. " Where
is that other stocking of mine? Oh, I know!" And
she approaches the door of her room, opens it a couple
of inches, and warily reconnoitres with eye and ear.
Seizing an opportune moment when the coast is clear,
she darts like a meteor across the hall, and into a
neighboring room
" I say, girls, have any of you seen a stray stock
ing?" etc., etc.
And so, upon the present occasion, a pair of beauties
unadorned came bounding into the room, breaking in
upon Alice's impromptu tableau. This, however, they
had not time to remark ; but wheeling round, as soon
as they were safe within the door, they opened it an
inch or two, stuck their several noses into the opening,
and uttered to some person in the ball a few words of
saucy triumph. Mr. Whacker had, in fact, stepped into
the hall just as they were crossing it ; and, seeing them,
had given chase. Having made a few mocking faces
at the old gentleman, and shut the door with another
slam and another pair of pretty shrieks when he made
as though he would follow them, they turned to their
friends.
" Did you hear it, girls ?' ; began one of the intruders.
"Hear what?"
"The music."
" The music ? What music ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 209
" What! did you, too, sleep through it all?"
" What ! was there a serenade, and you did not
wake us? It was really mean of you!"
If ouch is masculine, really mean is feminine.
"Bless you, we heard never a note of it ourselves!"
"A note of what? Who heard it, and what was
there to hear? What enigma is this?"
" Why, hasn't Aunt Phcebe told you ?"
" Told us what ? What is there to tell, Aunt Phoebe,
and why have you not told us already ?"
" Bless your sweet souls un you, I ain't had time,"
said old Phoebe, bowing and courtesying all round ; while
Milly grinned ungainly in her wake.
"You see, I jess stepped in on dese two young
ladies fust, and cotched 'em Christmas gift, and very
nice presents they had, all ready and awaitin' for ole
Phcebe," and she courtesied to each, "and for Milly,
too, bless their sweet souls un 'em, jess like dey knowed
Phcebe was a-comin' to cotch 'em, bless de pretty little
honeys ! and so says I, says I to myself, says I, I'll
jess step in and catch dese two fust ; and so, I creeps
up to de door, I did, soft as a cat, I did, and turns de
knob, easy-like, and I flings open de door and ' Christ
mas gift' says I, jess so, says I, and dey had de most
loveliest presents all wrapped up and a-waiting for
Phcebe, jess as I tell you, and for Milly too, and I
dunno what Milly gwine do wid all de things she done
got, and dey is all nice and one ain't no prettier dan de
others, and Phcebe is uncommon obleeged to one and
all," and "she gave a duck in front of each, " and
Milly too. Gal, what you a-standin' dere for, wid your
fingers in your mouth, like somebody ain't got no sense ?
Ain't you gwine to make no motion ? Is dat de way I
done fotch you up, and you b'long to de quality, too ?
Dese young niggers is too much too much for Phcebe !"
It would be going too far, perhaps, to say that Milly
blushed ; but she managed to look abashed, and con
trived to appease her mother by sundry uncouth wrig-
glings, meant to express her thanks.
" Howsomedever, as I was sayin', year in and year
out ole marster have had a heap o' young ladiea
o 18*
210 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
a-spendin' Christmas at Elmin'ton, fust one Christ
mas and den another; but ef ever Phoebe saw more
lovelier "
"Oh, Aunt Phoebe!"
" Fo' de Lord, I hope de crabs may eat me ef tain't
so, jess as I tell you. Why, Lor' bless my soul, ain't I
hear all the young gent'men say de same?" [general
satisfaction.] "On course I has! I wish I may drop
dead if I don't b'lieve ole marster must a' picked Eich-
mond over pretty close."
The merriment elicited by this remark gave such
pause to the old lady's eloquence that Alice was enabled
to put in a word.
" But, Aunt Phoebe, tell me about the serenade?"
Phoebe looked puzzled.
" Tell us about the gentlemen's serenade last night ?"
" Lor', chile, ole marster don't have none o' dem high-
fangled Eichmond doin's 'bout him ; thar warn't nothin'
but apple-toddy and eggnog."
"But the music, Aunt Phoebe?" persisted Alice, re
pressing a smile.
"De music!" ejaculated Phoebe ; "de music! Didn't
you hear it through de window ? You didn't ?" And
she clasped her hands, shut her eyes, and began rock
ing to and fro, her head nodding all the while with cer
tain peculiar little jerks, "Umgh-umgh! umgh-umghl
umgh-umgh !" This inexplicable dumb-show she kept
up some time. " Don't talk, chillun ; don't talk umgh-
umgh ! don't talk, I axed Dick dis mornin', says I,
Dick, says I, huckum, } T OU reckon, nobody'never told
ole marster as how Mr. Smith drawed sich a bow, says
I?"
"Mr. Smith!" exclaimed Alice, looking at the two
girls with amazement in her wide eyes.
The two girls nodded.
"Yes, Mr. Smith was de very one. Phoebe never
did hear de like, never in her born days. Sich a
scrapin' and a scratching and sich a runnin' up and
down a fiddle, Phoebe never did see, though she thought
Bhe had seen fiddlers in her time."
And she went on and gave such an account of the
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 211
performance as 3*011 would not find in any musical jour
nal. What did she know, poor soul, about technique,
for example, or breadth of phrasing, for the matter
of that ?
"Mr. Smith!" reiterated Alice, with stark incre
dulity.
" Dat was de very one !"
Alice looked from one to another of the girls.
" Did you ever !" looked they in turn.
" I thought I should a' died a-laughin' at young Marso
Bill} 7 Jones. When I seed him and all dem young
gent'men a-scufflin' and a-bumpin' under dat table, oh,
Lord, says I, how long ! But when Marse Ealeigh, he
upsot into de fire, thinks I to myself, my legs surely is
gwine for to gin way under me ! but Marse Charley,
he cert'n'y do beat all. I reckon all you young mis-
tisses was a-thinkin' he had done gone and cut be fin
ger when he let de knife fall and went for a rag ? I
be bound you did ; but Lor' me, nobody don't never
know what Marse Charley is up to. Dey tell me as
how he knowed all along 'bout Mr. Smith playin' on
de fiddle ; but he never let on even to ole marster ; and
I heard 'em all a-questionin' him 'bout it ; but Marso
Charley, he jess laugh ancKlaugh, sort o' easy-like, and
never tell 'em nothin'."
" Mr. Frobisher knew what a great musician Mr.
Smith was ?" asked Alice, her incredulity beginning to
give way.
"Jess so, Miss Alice, jess so. Why, Dick says he
really do b'lieve into he soul dat Mr. Smith b'longs to a
show or somethin' or other; and what Dick don't know
'bout dem kind o' mysteries ain't worth knowin'. Why,
didn't Dick drive de carriage down to Yorktowh when
dey give de dinner to Ginrul Laughyet, and hear de
brass band play and all? Great musicianer? I b'lieve
you ! Umgh-umgh ! To-be-sho ! To-be-sho !"
"Well!" said Alice, dropping down into a chair with
a bump. " Well!" repeated she, with emphasis.
" Why, what is the matter ?"
" Never mind !" said she, tossing her head as she
pulled on a stocking. " I'll make him pay for it !" she
212 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
added, jerking on the other with a rather superfluous
vigor; and then, discontinuing her toilet, she dropped
her two hands upon her knees and gazed at vacancy
for a moment.
" What is it? What is it?" cried the girls, as they
saw, gradually diffusing itself over her flushed counte
nance, an intensely quizzical smile. For her only
answer Alice threw herself into an exceedingly comic
attitude of exaggerated stiffness, and began playing
upon an imaginary piano, tum-tumming, in the most
ludicrous way, a commonplace air much in vogue at
the time.
"Oh, what geese we have made of ourselves!" cried
the girls.
" Yes," continued Alice, " here have we, all this time,
been playing our little jiggetty-jigs before him, and
he affecting not to know Yankee Doodle from Hail
Columbia !" And she tossed off a few more bars with
inimitable drollery. " Oh, it is too funny !" cried she,
springing up, her sense of humor overriding her sense
of chagrin ; and from that time till the party were
ready to descend to the breakfast-room, she was in one
of her regular gales, causing the upper regions of the
house to resound with incessant peals of laughter.
" Why, you dear, crazy little goose," said one of the
girls at last, " the breakfast-bell rang fifteen minutes
ago, and all the rest of us are dressed, and there you
are still in a most unpresentable costume."
" There, then, I'll be good," said Alice, cutting short
some caper; and instantly assuming the busiest air, she
trotted briskly about the room, laying hands first on
one article of dress and then on another, contriving,
somehow, to combine with a maximum of ostenta
tious activity a minimum of actual progress in her
toilet.
"Here, girls," said Mary, "I'll hold her while the
rest of you dress her."
So saying, she seized her, and in a moment the sub
missive victim was surrounded by as lovely a band of
lady's maids as one could wish to see. First one
brought her but, somehow, there seems to arise like
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 213
an exhalation, just here, a mysterious haze, impene
trable to my bachelor eyes.
"There now, girls, you need not wait for me. I
shall be down in a moment. Go down. No, I won't
have you wait for me ! Aunt Phoebe will never forgive
you if you let the muffins get cold. Moreover, I wish
to add to my toilet, in private, a few killing touches,
of which I alone possess the secret. Maidens, retire !"
And with outstretched, dimpled arm, she pointed to the
door. Thus dismissed, they soon found their way to
the breakfast-table ; and, as was to be expected, there
immediately arose a very animated talk upon the events
of the preceding evening.
A Virginia breakfast, in those days, was not wont to
be a lugubrious affair; but I think that this was, per
haps, the brightest that I remember. The events of
the previous evening were told and retold for the
benefit of the ladies. Young Jones was invited to de
scribe the emotions which caused him to dive under the
table, the middle-aged fat gentleman got what sym
pathy was his due, when, just as each girl had, for the
twentieth time, exclaimed that it was " really mean,"
Alice stood upon the threshold.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
No one had heard her approaching footsteps. The
charming little actress stood there, her arms akimbo,
her head tossed back, her eyes fixed upon the Don with
the blackest look she could command. To the saluta
tions of the company, to my grandfather's request that
she be seated, she deigned no reply ; and suddenly
whisking herself to the side of the table, she poured in
upon the Don a still more deadly fusillade of fierce
glances at short range ; then, as the only unoccupied
seat was next his, she advanced to take it, but in the
twinkling of an eye her whole manner had changed,
though why it changed I cannot explain, nor she any
214 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
more than I, doubtless. I record facts, merely. An
she went mincing around the table to reach her scat,
she suddenly became converted into a prim and ab
surdly affected old maid. Her manner of shaking out
her napkin would have been alone sufficient to convulse
the company. In fact, for a time, all breakfasting, con
sidered as a practical business, came to an end. The
very streams of hot muffins, waffles, and buckwheat
cakes stood still, in presence of this joyous spirit, as of
old the river forgot to flow when Orpheus touched his
lyre. I can see her now, it seems to me, nibbling at
the merest crumb upon a prong of her fork, sipping
her coffee with dainty affectation, ogling the gentlemen
with inimitable drollery.
"Ah, Mr. Smith," said she, suddenly turning to the
Don and dropping the role she had assumed for one of
the most artless simplicity, " I am so delighted to hear
that you are a musician. Do you know, I had an idea
that you knew little of music, and cared less ; so that
do you know ? we girls actually feared that our
playing bored you? Indeed we did!" she added, with
emphasis, and looking up into his face with an ingenu
ous smile. "Didn't we, girls? But it is such a nice
surprise to find you were only pretending to be an igno
ramus. Why, it was only yesterday morning that I
was explaining to you the difference between the major
and the minor keys! and you knew all the time!"
And she gave a delicious, childish little laugh. " It is
such a comfort to know that you have been appreci
ating our music all this time. Oh, Mr. Smith !" ex
claimed she, infantile glee dancing in her hazel eyes,
" I have one piece that I have never played for you.
I'll play it immediately after breakfast. It is called let
me see " And with eyes upturned and fingers wan
dering up and down the table, she seemed to search for
the title of the composition. " Oh !" cried she, gush
ingly, and throwing herself forward in front of the Don,
and turning her head so as to pour her joyous smile
straight into his eyes, "oh, it is called the Jenny
Lind Polka ;" and she beamed upon our artist as though
awaiting an answering thrill. " What! You never
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 215
heard it ? No ?" (strumming on the table.) " Tump-ee!
Jenny tump-ee! Lind polka? Tump-ee, tump-ee,
tump-ee, teedle-ee possible?" (with a look of intense
surprise). "Tump-ee, teedle-ee, tump-ee, teedle-ee
No? W-h-y, g-i-r-1-s ! Second part : Teedum, teedle-
um, tee-dum, teedle-um you don't teedum teedle-um
recognize it? Tee-dum, teedle-um turn, turn, turn
You are quite sure ? Tump-ee, tump-ee Quite ? You
shall have it immediately after bi'eakfast tump-ee,
tump-ee." And apparently unable to restrain her im
patience, she recommenced the strain, and rattled it off
with an ever-increasing brio, till, at last, as though
transported with enthusiasm, she pushed back her chair
and launched forth into a pas seul, tripping round the
table, her dress spread out with thumb and forefinger
of either hand, the graceful swaying of her lithe figure
contrasting comically with the tin-pan tone she con
trived to give her voice, and the ludicrous precision of
her steps ; but, changeful as the surface of a summer
lake, she had hardly made the circuit of the table once,
when she laid her dimpled cheek upon her rosy fingers,
her rosy fingers interlaced upon the shoulder of an im
aginary partner, and stilling her own voice, and as
though drunk with the music of a mighty orchestra,
she floated about the room, with closed eyes, in a kind
of swoon.
Just at this juncture, there chanced to be standing
near the outer dining-room door our friend Zip. Zip
but, as these were Christmas times, let us call him
Moses stood there, with hanging jaw, and rolling his
rather popped eyes, first towards his chief, and then in
the direction of the table, in manifest perplexity as to
the disposition to be made of a plate of waffles he had
just brought from the kitchen. Confused by the mer
riment, he failed to observe the fair Alice bearing down
upon him. Away went the waffles over the floor.
"That's the way it goes!" said Alice to the Don, with
out even a glance at the waffles ; " and you have never
heard it before?" asked she, resuming her seat by his
Bide. In fact, the most amusing feature of her entire
performance was how utterly unconscious she seemed
216 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
that any one heard or saw her save the new-found
artist. Every word, every look, every gesture seemed
designed solely for his edification. I shall not permit
myself to describe the deportment of the company
while Alice was on her high horse; for Lord Chester
field has pronounced laughter, save in children, vulgar.
And so, I shall declare breakfast over, and allow our
merry friends to betake themselves whither fancy
impels.
" What kind of a day is it?" inquires one; and the
whole party soon find themselves scattered in groups
on the southern veranda.
It was one of those enchantingly beautiful winter
mornings, never witnessed, perhaps, out of America.
The ground was frozen hard ; while every tuft of dry
grass, every twig in view, bedecked with hoar-frost,
danced and flashed and sparkled beneath the dazzling
yet hazy sunlight, with the mingled glow of opals and
of diamonds. And what an atmosphere ! Still, but
not stagnant; for behold the dreamy undulations of
that slender column of smoke, so peacefully rocking
above yonder whitewashed cabin I Cold, not chill ;
descending into the lungs as a stimulating and refresh
ing bath ; clear, but not colorless ; tinted, rather, nay,
transfigured, with the translucent exhalations of name
less gems, such was the air that floated over lawn and
river on that bright Christmas morning.
It was a day too fine to be lost ; and a vote being
taken, it was decided that a walk should come first.
And forth the joyous procession sallied, Alice and young
Jones kindred spirits taking the lead. Let them go
their way, rejoicing in their youth ; and, while await
ing their return, I shall, with the consent of the con
temporaneous reader, say a word or two about Virginia
society, as it was, to that reader of the future for whoso
edification these slight sketches are drawn ; to wit, my
great-great-great-etc. grandson.
In my Alice, then, I have endeavored to place before
you and future generations a type taken bodily from
the joyous, careless life of ante-bellum days. Many of
my contemporaries will recognize her and her merry-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 217
glancing hazel eyes. My friends all Richmond, all
Virginia, in fact will know the original of the picture,
each one his own original. But the truth is, in paint
ing the portrait of our jolly little Alice I have aimed
at more than representing the features of a charming
girl. I have striven to place before you a marked
phase of Yirginia society, its freedom. It was this
which gave it a charm all its own, and it would be in
teresting, did it not lead me too far from the path of
my narrative, to point out the contrasts it affords to
English society. Both eminently aristocratic, it is sin
gular that the former should have been so unshackled,
so unconventional, so free, while its prototype is, with
out doubt, the most uncomfortable, the most stifling
tyranny that men and women and men and women,
too, of one of the grandest races of all time ever vol
untarily submitted to. And, strangely enough, Yir
ginia is almost the only one of the United States where
anything like a fair type of the mother society has sur
vived. The English gentlemanlike the Virginian, has
his home in the country ; but this is true, in this coun
try it may almost be said, of Virginia gentlemen alone ;
if, at least, the terms be not understood in a sense too
literally geographical. The Southern planter was wont
to betake himself to New Orleans in winter, with half
his cotton crop in his pocket, reserving the other
half for Saratoga and the North when summer came.
Charleston was the Mecca of the South Carolinian ;
while the wealthy citizen of New York, if he had his
villa on the Hudson, retired to it rather to avoid than
to seek society, or else, still unsated with the joys of
city life (the detestation of your true John Bull), even
when driven out of town by the dust of summer and the
glare of wall and of pavement, he hastens to Newport,
there to swelter through the dog-days in all the pomp
of full dress and fashionable fooleries. Some stray lord
has mentioned in his hearing or some one who has
seen a stray lord that summer is the London season
(none other being possible in that climate), and straight
way he trims his whiskers a la mutton-chop and buys
a book of the peerage j nor suspects that the more
K: 19
218 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
closely you imitate an Englishman the less you re
semble him, one of the strongest characteristics of
that great race being their disdainful refusal to imitate
any other. *
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THREE o'clock was, in those days, the dinner-hour
of the Virginia gentry; but my grandfather and
Charley, being but two in family, and not caring to bo
bothered with three meals a day, had gotten into tho
habit of dining at five ; and so, shortly before that
hour, on this Christmas day, all the company, having
made their toilets, had assembled in the drawing-room.
But, as far back as I can remember, I don't think that
Aunt Polly had ever let us have our Christmas dinner
before six. Aunt Polly could never explain this fact
to our satisfaction. " Ready," she once made reply to
my boyish impatience, " no, dat tain't, How you gwino
'spect de fire to cook all dese things quick like a few
things? Jess look at dat potl I set it d'yar to bilo
and d'yar it sets a-simperin' and a-simperin' like people
never did want to eat nothin'."
" In course," broke in old Dick, with stately pro
fundity, " a rolling stone never gathers no moss."
" Git out o' my way, Dick, and lemme lift de led off
dat d'yar skillet. Moss! Moss! Who talkin' 'bout
moss, I'd like to know ? And all de white folks a-waitin'
for dinner!" And she mopped her face with her
Bleeve.
" I meant to rubserve," rejoined Dick, with offended
dignity, " dat a watched pot never biles."
On the present occasion Mrs. Carter gave the com
pany an intimation that they had an hour on their
hands.
"Why not adjourn to the hall," suggested Mr.
Whacker, "and while away the time with some
music ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 219
The company rose with enthusiasm. " Oh, how
nice !" And all the girls clapped their hands.
" Mr. Frobisher," said Jones, dryly, " if your finger
be sufficiently healed, suppose you lead off. As for me
I have a sore throat."
"Ah, that poor finger!" cried Alice, "how remiss
in us girls not to have inquired after its health ! How
is the dear little thing ?"
" I beg your pardon ?" inquired Charley, with an
innocent look ; but his hands had somehow found their
way behind his back.
" How is your cut finger ?"
"My cut finger?"
" Yes, y-o-u-r c-u-t f-i-n-g-e-r !"
" M-y c-u-t f-i-n-g-e-r ?" And he mimicked her im
perious little gestures; at the same time looking from
face to face with a sort of dazed air.
" Isn't this a sort of conundrum ?"
"No; show me your hand."
" There," said he, holding out his right hand, " there
is my hand, you may h-h-h-h-ave it if you want it."
And immediately, as though he had said more than he
had intended, blushed to the roots of his hair.
"Nonsense!" said she, coloring slightly. "Why do
you tantalize people so? The other!"
" The other? There they are, both of them."
" But which is the finger that you cut ?"
""Who said I c-c-c-ut my finger?"
" Do you mean to say " began Jones ; but shouts
of laughter interrupted his question, and, turning to
a group of students, he pursed up his mouth and emitted
a long but inaudible whistle. Charley, meanwhile, was
assailed with questions by the girls as to what made
him suspect that the Don was a musician ; but he
passed, smiling and silent, towards the western door,
and he stood there bowing the ladies out on their way
to the Hall.
"Fiend in human shape!" breathed Alice, as she
passed out, threatening him with upraised forefinger.
" Do you really think so ?" asked he, in a hurried,
half-choking whisper, the idiot!
220 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
The enchantress stopped, and slowly turning her
head, as she stood with one foot upon the pavement
and the other on the step above, turning her head, all
gilded and glorious with the mellow rays of the setting
sun, gave him one Parthian glance, half saucy, half
serious, and bounded forward to overtake her compan
ions. Charley, with his eyes riveted upon her retiring
figure, stood motionless till she had disappeared within
the Hall. Did be hope the simpleton for another look?
The Don and I were lingering on the Hall steps when
Charley came up.
" By the way, how on earth did you divine that I
plaved on the violin ? You have no objection to telling
me?"
" None in the world. There was no divination about
the matter. When you were knocked senseless by the
runaway horses, I helped to undress you. On remov
ing your coat a paper fell out of the breast-pocket, and
I remarked, on picking it up, that it was a sheet of
manuscript music."
" Oh yes, I remember, a little waltz that I had
composed that day."
"I didn't know who had compo-po-po-sed it," re
plied Charley, dryly, " but I have m-m-m-ade it a rule
all rn-m-my life never to play before people who went
about the country, getting run over, with m-m-m-anu-
script m-m-m-u-sic in their pockets."
"And you would seem," added the Don, smiling,
" never to have mentioned your suspicions ?"
"Not to me, certainly," said I.
" Not to you, nor to Uncle Tom ; not even to Jones."
"Not even to Jones!" repeated the Don, laughing
heartily. "Thanks," added he, suddenly seizing
Charley's hand, " thanks." And he sprang lightly into
the room.
" Charley, you are a rare one. The idea of your not
letting the old man or myself into the secret."
" W-e-1-1, y-e-s," said he, abstractedly. He seemed in
no hurry to enter the room, holding me back by a firm
though unconscious grasp upon my arm. " I say,
Jack," said he, in a confidential tone. And he stopped.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 221
"Well?"
"Isn't she a stunner?" And he nodded towards a
group of girls who stood about the piano.
" Which one ?"
He dug me in the ribs and passed into the Hall
CHAPTEE XXXY.
WITH the assembling of our friends in the Hall on
that Christmas afternoon our story enters upon a new
phase, one, too, in which Mary Rolfe will figure more
prominently than she has hitherto done. Of her friend
Alice Alice with the merry-glancing hazel eyes the
reader has, I trust, a tolerably clear conception. The
picture we have of her is a pleasant one, I think, a
picture drawn not by me, but by herself. But from
Mary shy, reserved, and shrinking as she is we can
expect no such boon. Her portrait must be my work.
And first, I must repeat that she was Alice's closest
friend. When their acquaintance began, it would be
hard to say. Their mothers before them were warm
friends, and had been so fortunate as to have their
homes, after marriage, separated only by one of Rich
mond's peaceful streets ; so that, even in long clothes,
Alice and Mary, introduced by their respective nurses,
had contracted such intimacy as might be gained by
a reciprocal fumbling of each other's noses and the
poking of pink fingers into blinking eyes. Across this
street, a few years later, these little crafts had made
voyages innumerable ; beneath its branching trees
trundled their unsteady hoops, and along its not very
crowded sidewalk had swung proudly, hand in hand,
one bright October day, going to their first school. And
ever since that day they have been going, so to speak,
hand in hand. One circumstance, no doubt, that con
tributed much to binding their hearts together, was the
fact that they were only daughters ; so that each was,
as it were the adopted sister of the other. But what,
19*
222 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
above all things, as I have suggested elsewhere, ren
dered a warm friendship between them both possible
and lasting, was the singularly sharp contrasts presented
by their characters. Two girls more radically unlike
in disposition it would be hardly possible to find.
Now, among other traits of Mary's character, to
tally lacking in Alice, was one of importance for my
purposes, in that it was destined to make her play a
considerable role amid the scenes to be pictured in the
ensuing pages. It was a trait that goes by different
names. According to some of her acquaintance, kin
dred spirits they were, Mary was full of enthusiasms,
while to others of the hard-headed, practical type, she
seemed sentimental. I, as umpire, must compromise
by admitting that she was certainly what is called
romantic. And I was about to bring in a little cheap
philosophy to explain that this was due to the vast
amount of novels and poetry with which she had
stuffed her head, when I recalled the fact that some
of the most clear-headed, energetic, and every way
admirable women that I have known devoured every
novel that they could lay their hands on. I, therefore,
abandon the reflection, uncopyrighted, to such moral-
izers and others as have leisure to explain things of
which they know nothing. But the fact was as I have
stated it ; Mary was a thoroughly romantic, or, if you
will, sentimental young person, though I regret to
have to say so. For it will lower her in your estima
tion, I fear, when I make known to you, by a few
illustrations, what I mean by saying she was romantic.
It is more necessary for me to do this than would
appear to the average contemporary reader. For it is
more than likely that the expression, a romantic young
female, will be totally unintelligible in your day, or,
rather, that it will have an entirely different meaning
from that which those words convey to us. You, too,
of course, will not be without your romantic virgins,
that is to say, maidens of tender years, who, standing
apon the hither brink of that dark and troublous sea
called life, and watching the pitching and tossing of
the numberless barks that have gone before, who, see-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 223
ing some struggling amid the breakers, others going to
pieces on the reefs, still others drifting, dismantled
and shattered, upon a shore already thick-strewn with
wrecks, yet love to dream of smooth and sunny paths
across that pitiless waste of waters, if if only the
Ideal Pilot may be found.
Yes, your girls will have their ideals, but what ideals ?
I cannot tell; but very different, doubtless, from
ours. We have but to glance at here a page and there
a page of the past records of the race, to feel quite
sui'e that woman's ideal man has varied much in the
tide of time. Passing by prehistoric man, lest I
wound the susceptibilities of such as claim that he
never existed, and coming forward to the days of
Homer, we must suppose that the sentimental daugh
ters of the literary gentlemen of that day the chiefs,
to wit, who patronized the blind bard for rhapsody
divine bartering the prosaic but sustaining bacon we
must reckon it as probable that these young women
yearned if yearning were in vogue at that early
period yearned to be led from the parental roof by
some Achilles of a youth, tall, broad-chested, agile as a
panther, strong as a lion, with thews of steel, soul of
adamant, eye of consuming fire. Juvenal, again, if we
may pluck a leaf at random, tells us that, in his day, a
sentimental married woman who would shriek at a
mouse, let us say, was capable of braving the sea in
a leaky old hulk, eloping with all that was left of a
gladiator after twenty years' hacking in the arena.
And now, making a spring forward into the last quar
ter of the nineteenth century, we find the ideal of the
upper ten dozen of New York society, for example, to
be a nice young man who parts his hair and his name
in the middle, leads in the " german"* and gets all his
" things''^ in London. [And this sufficed till but re
cently. Of late, however, as I read in the papers, the
best society of New York has grown more exacting,
and no one need now aspire to be looked upon as a
lion a knight without fear and without reproach
* Dance of the period. f Clothes.
224 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
unless, after devoting for some years hulf bis time and
all his mind, as it were, to the art, he can " handle the
reins" well enough to pass for a real stage-driver. The
'bus-drivers themselves, however, whimsically enough,
are not held in half the estimation of their imitators
and rivals (just as mock-turtle soup is deemed by many
superior to the genuine decoction). They may actually
be hired at two dollars a day, more or less, and seem
positively glad to get that, being to all outward seem
ing entirely unconscious of the glamour attaching to
their ennobling art.]*
But to judge by the books they devoured with such
eagerness, and the heroes they thought so captivating,
the ideals, thirty years ago, of the Virginia young
women I may not speak for others were very differ
ent from any of those above depicted. At that period the
influence of Byron's powerful genius was still plainly
discernible in many works of fiction, especially those
by female authors. Now, just ascertain cordials lose
all their piquancy by being diluted, so the morbid crea
tions of Byron's unhealthy muse emerged, after passing
through the alembic of female fancy, very palo heroes
indeed ; pale, in truth, in a double sense. For, at one
time, I remember, a bloodless countenance was about
all that was required to constitute a hero over whom
all our girls went mad. The fellow was invariably dis
mally cold and impassive " in outward seeming ;" but
the authoress would contrive to suggest to the reader,
by a hint here and there, that this coldness was in out
ward seeming only, that this stern, haughty possessor
of the broad, pallid brow (against which he ever and
anon pressed his hand as though in pain) was the
clandestine owner of feelings fit to be compared only to
a stream of lava, a cold crust above, concealing a fiery
flood beneath ; an icebei-g, in a word, with a volcano
in its bosom. There are no such icebergs, I believe,
and it is equally certain that there are no such men ;
and I used to think, in those days, that if there were
* If oar fierce Bushwhacker could but witness the annual parade of
our New York Coaching Club, he would be heartily ashamed of tbi*
venomous passage. Ed.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 225
such, and one of this type were found hanging around
a girl, the circumstance would afford her big brother's
boot legitimate occasion for an honorable activity. And
I still think that this heroic treatment, as the faculty
would term it, would find its justification, at least from
a sanitary point of view. For it is to be remarked that
in romances infested with this form of hero, there was,
among the heroines, a veritable epidemic of brain-fever ;
whatever that may be. But the young ladies of my
acquaintance, assigning jealousy as the source of these
ferocious sentiments, could not be brought to my way
of thinking ; and of all of a certain bevy of girls with
whom I associated, I believe that Mary Rolfe was
furthest gone in her adoration of these august animals
that dwelt apart.
Now, although a romantic temperament has its com
pensations, compensations so varied and so valuable
that, on the whole, it must be regarded as a blessing,
yet its dangers are as obvious. For of what avail is an
Ideal without its Counterpart ? Now, it is in searching
for and finding this Counterpart that lies the danger
to a girl of imaginative turn, the danger, in plain Eng
lish, of falling in love without a just and reasonable
regard for the loaves and fishes of this prosaic world.
Now, even from the preliminary and partial sketch
of the Don already made, you will see (though less
clearly than when the drawings shall have been com
pleted and the colors rubbed in) that he was a man
likely to make a vivid impression on the imagination
of a girl like Mary. I should be sorry, indeed, to have
you suppose that such likelihood arose from any re
semblance on his part to the type of novel-hero so fasci
nating to her imagination. And yet he appealed to that
imagination most strongly. Of course the mystery sur
rounding him had much to do with this. Of late she had
found herself continually asking herself who he could
be. Was he a Virginian ? Hardly, else some one would
know him. Then, why had he come to Virginia ? Was
he an English nobleman, travelling incognito? Per
haps! But no! from several observations that he had
let drop, he could scarcely be that. He was a gentlo-
P
226 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
man, certainly ; but then, what need has a gentleman
of mystery? Had he committed any ? Impossible!
And so, da capo, who can he be? More than once
she bad caught herself stamping her little foot and
muttering impatiently, " What is he to me ?" But his
image kept returning to her mind. The truth is, she
was getting what the girls used to call, in those days,
" interested," a word which means far more with
women than with us men. " In love" is what we
should call it ; but that is an expression which women
are chary of using, unless of men. According to their
philosophy, it is tacitly assumed that, as it is not the
proper thing for a woman to fall in love until she has
been asked to, she never does ; and I believe this to be
true, as a rule. In fact, it seems to me that falling in
love, as it is called, is, with women, a purely voluntary
act. When entreated to lose their hearts they lose
them, should it seem judicious, all things considered, so
to do; if not, not. But as in Latin grammar, so in life:
there are exceptions to all rules; and while, in nine
cases out of ten, women are guided by judgment and
reason, men impelled by passion and instinct, in their
matrimonial ventures, yet there is, after all, a tenth
case (all my readers are tenth cases if they will) where
a woman, deluded by her imagination, wrecks her life
on breakers that seemed, to others at least, too apparent
to need a beacon. Nor are the weaker sisters most liable
to blunders of this kind ; for it seems to me that I have
remarked that gifted women are most apt to throw
themselves away on men entirely unworthy of them ;
led captive by the ideals their own hearts have fash
ioned ; making gods of stocks and stones.
CHAPTEK XXXYI.
NEVER, perhaps, was there a merrier Christmas
party than that which was now laughing and chatter
ing as they seated themselves before that noble hickory
fire which lit up the Hall with its ruddy glow. The
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 227
pleasantest thing of all was to see the happy change
that had come over the Don. He was a different man.
That air of self-restraint and conscious reserve, which
had never left him before, had entirely vanished. It
was evident that, whatever his motives for concealing
his musical talents, it was an immense relief to him to
have abandoned the singular role he had been playing;
and his long-imprisoned feelings had bounded up like
a released spring. We hardly knew him. He was not
only unconstrained and cheerful, he was even jolly.
" I say, old boy," said he, slapping Jones on the shoul
der, " you must not suppose that it was I who laid that
trap for you yesterday evening. My playing was
purely unintentional, even involuntary. But who
could have resisted Uncle Tom?" This was the first
time he had ever called my grandfather by that name.
" No apologies, no apologies," replied Billy. " Mr.
Charles Frobisher set that snare for my unwary feet."
"Not at all," rejoined Charley. "1 kept my wary
feet out of it, that was all."
"But wasn't it capital!" cried Jones; and showing
all his massive white teeth, he made the hall resound
with a laugh that echoed contagiously from group to
group.
But there was one person in the room who did not
share in the general joyousness, our friend Mary.
She had taken her stand apart, by a window that com
manded the western horizon ; and turning with a half-
startled air, at the sound of the laughter, responded to
it with a faint and preoccupied smile. In truth, the
poor child was ill at ease; though what it was that
troubled that young heart none of my readers, I feel
assured, would ever guess. Yet, while to most of them
the cause of her annoyance will appear whimsical in
the extreme, as it was characteristic of her to suffer
from such a cause, I must state it, and towards this end
a few prefatory words will be necessary.
Neither the Virginians nor the American people, nor
any branch of the great race from which they spring,
are lovers of music. Our boys, it is true, will troop up
and down the streets of village or city, following the
228 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
band-wagon of a circus. "We manufacture an enormous
number of the very best pianos in the world, and thou
sands of our girls labor for years learning to play a few
tunes on them: Mothers without number pinch them-
Belves that their daughters may have the desired in
struction. It is the correct thing. Yet, her graduating
concert over, her piano soon ceases to constitute any
more considerable element of a girl's happiness, or that
of her family, than her copy of Euclid.
Yet, although English of the purest breed, there are
Virginians who really love music; just as you shall
find Spaniards with red hair, bashful Irishmen, women
with beards, hens that crow, bullies with courage, mules
without guile, and short sermons and true happiness.
I do not allude to our charming girls who flock to the
occasional opera that visits Richmond, for in Rich
mond, as elsewhere, there are dozens of reasons for
flocking to the opera.
No ; I had in my mind the far-famed Virginia fid
dler mock him not, ye profane who, though frowned
upon by the moralist, viewed askance from the pulpit,
without honor as without profit in his own country,
still scrapes away as merrily as he can under the load
of obloquy that weighs him down. But his devotion,
if heroic, wins him no glory ; for the people of Vir
ginia, forgetting, with the usual ingratitude of repub
lics, Thomas Jefferson and Patrick Henry, regard the
worthlessness of the whole fiddling tribe as axiomatic.
Nay, worse, there is a vague feeling that the thing is
vulgar.
Now, in that word lies the key to Mary Rolfo's dis
tress of mind. Born and bred in the midst of that
singularly pure, and simple, and refined society of Rich
mond in the ante-bellum days, inheriting from her
father a love of all that was most beautiful in English
prose and verse, as well as led by his hand to the nooks
where were to be culled its choicest flowers ; her man
ners formed and her instincts moulded by her mother
upon the classic types of Virginia patrician life of the
olden time, she was more than a representative of her
class. The refined delicacy of her nature amounted,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 229
if not to a fault, at least to a misfortune. In the society
of those like herself she was easy, affable, winning;
but the slightest deviation from high breeding chilled
her into silence and unconquerable reserve. The most
trivial social solecism shocked, vulgarity stunned her.
And fiddling!
According to her high-wrought soul the thing was
unworthy of a gentleman. Nor is this so much to be
wondered at, for, although distinguished violinists had
visited Eichmon.d, it so happened that she had never
heard one. Her knowledge of violin music was con
fined to fiddling pure and simple, the compositions,
jigs and reels ; the performers, as a rule, negroes.
If, then, I have in any measure succeeded in depict
ing Mary as she really was, an exquisitely refined,
oversensitive girl just out of school, her head full of
poetry and romance, her heart beginning to flutter with
a sweet pain in presence of an Ideal Hero, so suddenly,
so strangely encountered, my reader (being a woman)
will appreciate the shock she felt on that Christmas
morning. It will be remembered that it was Aunt
Phoebe who had been the first to describe the Don's
performance to the young ladies.
" Play de fiddle ? Can he play de fiddle ? I b'lieve
you, honey! Why, Lor' bless me, I do p'int'ly b'lieve
into my soul dat Mr. Smith is de top fiddler of de
Nunited States!"
A fiddler ! And a top fiddler ! Shades of Byron and
of Bulwer ! Mary felt an icy numbness at her heart.
Half an hour afterwards, when the two girls were
nearly ready for breakfast, she was standing behind
Alice, pinning on her collar.
" Oh, Alice," cried the little hypocrite, suddenly, as
though the thought had but just occurred to her,
" what charming music we shall have now!"
" Oo-ee," cried Alice, shrinking.
"Ah, did I prick your neck ?"
" Yes ; but no matter. Oh, yes, I am just dying to
hear him play, and play he shall, or my name is not
Alice Carter: There you go again! Bear in mind,
please, that the collar is to be pinned to my dress, not
20
230 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
to ray lovely person. What could have induced him to
hide such an accomplishment!" added she, stamping
her little foot.
" There ! That sets very nicely I I don't know
what made me so awkward. So you think it is
wait a moment, ah, that's just right, an accom
plishment?"
One man in a thousand may acquire somewhat of the
art, but every woman is born a perfect actress. True,
you shall not see this perfection on the stage. There
the ambition of women is to be actresses, rather than
actresses women.
It was perfect ! But Alice was not thrown off the
Bcent.
Men can deceive men ; men may hoodwink women,
and be hoodwinked in turn ; but it has not been given
to one woman to throw dust into the eyes of another.
The silliest girl can see through the most astute as
though she were of glass.
" An accomplishment ? What ? To pin people's col
lars to their necks ?"
" Of course not, goosey I An accomplishment for
gentlemen to play on the fid violin ?"
"Oh!" said Alice, dryly. "Why, of course it is.
Any art which gives pleasure is an accomplishment."
" Yes, I know ; but"
" Go on."
" I don't think it is exactly oh, I don't know what
I think about it."
" But I do," replied Alice, quickly, turning and facing
her friend.
" And what do you know that I think, that I do not
know myself?" said Mary, putting her hands on Alice's
shoulders, drawing her close, and smiling affectionately
into her eyes.
" Don't you remember my laughing, once, at school,
over the story about Alcibiades' refusing to learn, to
play on the flute, because he deemed the necessary
puckering of the mouth undignified, and that you
thought he was right? Heroes, my dear, according to
your romantic notions, must always be heroic."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 231
"Heroes!" exclaimed Mary, with wide-eyed inno-
cence. " Who, pray, mentioned heroes !" But a height
ened color tinged her cheeks.
Alice, without making reply, placed her hand over
Mary's heart, and stood as though counting its beats.
" 'Tis a dear little heart," mused she, " but "
" But what ?"
"But very susceptible, I fear." And lifting her
right hand, she shook her forefinger at her friend.
"Take care!" said she, with a voice and look half
serious, half jocular.
" Oh, don't be uneasy about me !" And with a bright
smile on her flushed face Mary frisked away to join
some of the other girls who were descending to the
breakfast- room.
Falling in love is like getting drunk, we blush when
we betray symptoms of the malady, yet rejoice in its
progress ! *
CHAPTER XXXYII.
WE now return to our friends assembled in the Hall.
Especially among the ladies who had not heard the
Don's first performance, expectation was on tiptoe.
The excellent Herr is bustling about, rubbing his hands,
and smiling through his spectacles the vast Teutonic
smile. Charley places the case containing the Guarne-
rius upon the table. The Don opens it with an almost
nervous eagerness. She is to hear him, and he will
outdo himself.
But where is she? Presently he espies her partly
concealed behind the stalwart form of Jones. She is
gazing at the western sky, she alone of all the com
pany unconscious that he is about to play.
The thought is a sudden shock. And then he remem
bers that she alone of the ladies had made no allusion,
during the day, to the performance of the evening before,
had expressed no regret at not having been present.
* And for such sentiments I was to stand sponsor ! John Bouche
Whacker, thou corrupter of youth, avaunt ! Ed.
232 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
The artist nature is caprice itself, changeful as an
April sky; and the Don with sudden impulse relwisi-d
the neck of the violin, which sank back upon its luxuri
ous cushion of blue satin. He would excuse himself,
he could not play. But the strings, vibrating beneath
an accidental touch, gave forth a chord, and instantly
reversed the current of his feelings. Yes, he would
play ; and taking up the instrument, he sauntered over,
with as careless an air as he could command, to the
window by which Mary stood, touching the strings
lightly as he went, as though to see whether they were
in tune. Mary felt his approach ; and partly turning
her face and raising her eyes to his, as he reached her
side, she said, with what was meant for a smile, " Now
we shall have some merry music." And she dropped
her eyes.
"Why merry?"
Mary, startled as well by the abruptness of the ques
tion as by a certain hardness in his voice, gave a quick
glance at his face.
" Why, is not the violin " began she, but could get
no farther, held, as was the Wedding Guest by the
glittering eye of the Ancient Mariner.
" Is this, then, a merry world ?"
The smile faded from Mary's face. These words had
thrilled her; for it was not by nature a blithesome
heart that beat in that young bosom, and its strings
gave forth readiest response to minor chords. A slight
tremor ran through her frame as she met the gaze of
his darkly gleaming eyes, and a vague sense of having
in some way wounded his feelings oppressed her mind.
Perhaps he read her thoughts; for in an instant a
reassuring smile sad, almost pathetic came into his
eyes, followed by a look, one momentary, indescriba
ble glance; and her untutored heart began to throb so
that she thought he must hear it.
" I, at least," he added, slowly, " have not found it such,
so far; and see," said he, pointing with his bow to the
faint streaks of red that tinged the western horizon,
"still another Christmas Day and the only happy one
that I have known since I was a child one more
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 233
Christmas Day is dying!" And his voice trembled a8
he averted his face.
Mary felt a choking sensation in her throat ; for a
kindred thought had been weighing upon her natui-ally
melancholy spirit, as she stood there gazing upon the
western sky; and the Don, in giving voice to her in
most thoughts, had touched a chord that thrilled with
overmastering power. As he moved away to take his
place by the piano, she sank into a chair trembling
from head to foot. They had stood together by the
window hardly one minute, and had not exchanged
above a dozen words ; yet as she followed his retiring
form with her eyes, he was no longer the same person
to her that he had been a moment before. She was
stricken to the heart, and she knew it.
The Don spoke to Charley in a low voice. "Yes,"
replied he, " we have it ;" and hurrying into the ad
joining room he soon returned, bearing in his hand
some sheet music. "Thanks," said the Don, placing
the piano-part before the Herr, and laying the violin
score upon the piano. " Never mind about the stand ;
I know it by heart. Can you read yours, Mein Herr,
by the light of the fire ?"
"Oh, I tink so." And adjusting his spectacles, he
looked at the title of the piece. " De Blegie von Ernst !
Ah, das ist vat you call very sat, very vat you call
melancholish," and he struck a chord. "So!" and
poising his hands, he glanced upwards to signify his
readiness to begin.
A sudden stillness came over us at the sight of the
sombre face of the Don. Obviously, we all felt there
was to be a change of programme. There were to be
no musical fireworks on this occasion.
Had the Don been a consummate actor, posing for
effect, he could not have brought his audience into more
instant, more complete harmony with the spirit of the
piece he was about to render. Tall, broad-shouldered,
gaunt, he seemed in the ruddy glare of the great bank
of coals to tower above us, while his eyes, fixed for a
moment with a far-away look upon the fire, seemed
doubly dark in contrast with the red light upon his brow.
20*
234 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
He placed the violin beneath his dark, flowing beard,
and poised the bow above the strings.
I fear that but few of my readers will follow me in
this scene. To have heard pathetic music only in
theatres and concert-halls, amid a sea of careless faces
distracted by bright toilets, and under the glare of gas
light, is to have heard it, indeed, but not to have felt
it. The " Miserere" chanted in the dim religious light
of St. Peter's rends the heart of the listener. It has
been found to be meaningless elsewhere. For the
power of music, as of eloquence, lies in the heart of
the hearer, a heart prepared beforehand by the sur
roundings.
On the present occasion everything was in the
artist's favor, the dying day, the spectral glare and
shadow wrought by the glowing coals, the reaction
after a week of frolic gladness.
The bow descended upon the G string, softly as a
snow-flake, but clinging as a mother's arm.
Ernst has obeyed Horace's maxim, and plunged at
once into the middle of his story. With the very first
tone of the violin there seems to break from the over
wrought heart a low moan, which, rising and swelling,
leaps, in the second note, into a cry of rebellious an
guish, anguish too bitter to be borne ; despair were
more endurable ; and in the fourth bar the voice of the
crushed spirit sinks into a weird, muttered whisper of
resignation unresigned. The whole story is there,
there in those four bars, but the poet begins anew and
sings his sorrow in detail ; pouring forth a lament so
passionate in its frenzy that it almost passes, at times,
the bounds of true music (for can you not hear the
sobs, see the wringing of the hands ?), and rising, at
last, to a climax that is almost insupportable, the voice
of wailing then sinks for all is over into a low plaint,
and dies into silence.
The Marcia Funebre of the Eroica symphony is the
lament of a nation of Titans ; in Ernst's Elegie one poor
human heart is breaking breaking all alone. I have
heard the piece since in crowded halls and beneath the
blaze of chandeliers, and performed by artists more
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 235
finished, no doubt, than .was the Don ; but the effect he
wrought I have never seen approached. All eyes were
riveted upon him while he played, and when he ceased
when the last despairing sigh died upon the air no
one moved, not a note of applause was given, and the
only sound heard was that of long-drawn breaths of
relief.
It was an intense moment. My grandfather was the
first to break the spell. Approaching the Don with a
tender look in his eyes, he tried, I think, to speak a few
words, but could only pi'ess his hand. Then there arose
a subdued murmur of whispered enthusiasm, each one
to his neighbor. At last
" Billy," said the middle-aged-fat-gentleman, " I give
it up, he can beat you." And a ripple of laughter re
lieved the tension.
And Mary ?
She and the Don happened to be among the last to
leave the hall, and he offered her his arm. Neither
spoke for a few moments.
" How silly you must have thought me !"
" I assure you "
"Oh, but you must. But I had never heard any
thing but fiddling before. Do you know," she added
gravely, " I doubt if any of the company understood
all that you meant, save myself?"
" And are you quite sure that you understood all that
I felt ?"
Mary looked up and their eyes met. Releasing his
arm as she passed into the house, she colored deeply.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
" Is not this Thursday ?" suddenly asked my grand
father, at breakfast, a week or so after the events just
described. " It is ? Then this is the day for the Poy-
thress's return. Ah, now we shall have music."
A man talking with another may look him in the
236 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
face for an hour without knowing one of his thoughts;
a woman will flash a careless glance across your face,
across it no more, and read you to the heart.
Alice and Mary beamed upon each other and ejacu
lated, " Lucy !" But Mary's eyes bad had time to sweep
the features of the Don. " Won't it be charming to
have Lucy with us!" said she; but she hardly knew
what she said. Her face, turned towai'ds Alice, wore
a mechanical smile; but she saw only the Don and
the startled, almost dazed look that came over his
face on hearing Mr. Whacker's words. How brave
a little woman can be ! She turned to the Don and
said, a seraphic smile upon her face, " You have
never heard Lucy play. You have a great treat in
store."
"No," replied he, dropping his napkin. "No," re
peated he, his eye fixed upon vacancy. He had beard
with his ears and answered with his lips. That was
all. Suddenly recollecting himself, he turned to her
with a bow and a courteous smile: "Yes, it will be a
great treat, very great;" but his thoughts, mightier
than his will, swept the smile from his features and left
them pale and rigid as before.
How many thoughts crowded upon Mary's heart in
that instant ! " What a silly school-girl I have been I
A word here and a word there, during these last ten
days, have made me forget the intense interest he ob
viously took in Lucy at first sight. After all, what
has he said to me ? Nothing, absolutely nothing 1 And
yet I was so weak as to imagine and now he has
learned of a new bond of sympathy music between
Lucy and himself. Why did I learn nothing but
waltzes and variations and such trash? If only too
late! And he has seen so little of her! That dream,
too, that strange, terrible dream, should have warned
me. And now Lucy is coming. Lucy! is she, then,
so superior to me ? She is as good as an angel, I know ;
but I thought that I wretched vanity again" and she
stamped her foot "yet Alice has thought so too else
why surely, he cannot have been trifling with me?
Never ! Of that, at least, he is incapable ! Such a noble
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 237
Countenance as his could not " And for a second she
lifted her eyes to his
" Yes, Zip, I'll take one."
" Girls," said Alice, "just look at Mary; an untasted
waffle on her plate and taking another !"
Mary gave one of those ringing laughs that so infest
the pages of female novelists.
" Is there to be a famine ?" asked one.
"Or is the child falling in love?" chimed in Alice;
but without raising her eyes from her empty coffee-cup,
in the bottom of which she was writing and re-writing
her initials with the spoon.
To all the rest of the company these words seemed
as light and careless as the wind. Not so to Mary.
Her heart leaped ; but, by some subtle process known
only to women, she forbade the blood to mount into
her cheek.
" I warn you to beware," said Mr. Whacker. " Full
many a heart has been lost in this house !"
" All hearts, I must believe," rejoined Mary, with a
bow and half-coquettish smile.
My grandfather placed his hand upon his heart and
bent low over the table, amid the approving plaudits
of the company. Charley did the same. "There are
two of us," he explained; "Uncle T-T-Tom and
myself."
" He is laughing now ; how he seems to admire Mr.
Frobisherl But why did he turn pale, just now, at
the mention of Lucy's name? I have never read any
where of love's producing that effect, certainly. Per
haps perhaps, after all, he did not change color. My
imagination, doubtless. No, I am not mistaken ! Why,
his brow is actually beaded with perspiration! incom
prehensible enigma! would to heaven I had never met
him ! and yet "
If any of my young readers shall be so indiscreet as
to fall in love with enigmas, let them not lay the folly
to my charge. I most solemnly warn them against it.
Poor little Mary watched the Don all that day with
that scrutiny so piercing, and yet so unobtrusive, of
which a woman's eye alone is capable, hopefully fear-
238 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
ing to discover the truth of what she fearfully hoped
was not true; but it was not before the sun had sunk
low in the west, and she had begun to convince herself
of the illusory character of her observations at the
breakfast-table, that she got such rewai'd as that of the
woman who, after twenty years' searching, at last
found a burglar under her bed.
As the time approached at which the Poythress
family should arrive (at their home across the river),
my grandfather would go out upon the piazza every
few minutes, and after looking across the broad river
return and report that there were no signs of the
carriage.
" It is not yet time by half an hour," said Charley,
looking at his watch.
" At any rate I'll get the telescope and have it ready,"
replied he, as he passed into the dining-room; return
ing, bearing in his hand one of those long marine
glasses so much used at that time. " This is a remark
ably fine glass," said he to the Don.
The Don was seated behind Alice's chair, helping her
to play her hand at whist, if that name be applicable
to a rattling combination of cards, conversation, and
bursts of laughter.
" Last summer," continued Mr. Whacker, " I counted
with it a hen and seven small chickens on the Poy-
thress's lawn "
"Mr. Frobisher!" cried Alice. "There you are
trumping my ace !"
"Charley!" exclaimed Mr. Whacker, with reproach
ful surprise.
"And, Uncle Tom, would you believe it, he has
made three revokes already ? What ought to be done
to such a partner ?"
Jones, who ought to have been back at the Univer
sity long since, was, on the contrary, seated at a neigh
boring card-table. He remembered the scrape that
Charley had gotten him into on Christmas Eve.
'' I don't think," said he, soliloquizing, us he slowly
dealt out the cards, " that I could love a partner who
revoked."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 239
A smile ran around the tables. Charley bit his lip.
" What, Charley !" exclaimed Mr. Whacker. " The
ace of trumps second in hand, and you had another!"
"I wanted to take that particular trick," said Charley,
doggedly.
Charley and Jones were sitting back to back, their
chairs almost touching. Jones turned around, and, with
his lips within an inch of the back of Charley's head,
spoke in measured tones, " He is after a particu
lar trick, Uncle Tom ; hence his peculiar play."
Every one laughed, even Charley. Alice's cheeks
rivalled the tints of the conch-shell; and Mary, charmed
to see her for once on the defensive, clapped her hands
till half her cards were on the floor.
I should not have said that everybody laughed, for
my grandfather did not even smile. No suspicion of
the state of things to which Jones had maliciously
alluded had ever crossed his mind. He was totally
absorbed in contemplation of the enormity of playing
out one's ace of trumps second in hand. And that
Charley Charley, whom he had trained from a boy to
the rigor of the game according to Hoyle that he
should seem to defend such so so horrible a sole
cism ! It was too much. He was a picture to look at,
as he stood erect, the nostrils of his patrician nose
dilated with a noble indignation, his snowy hair con
trasting with his dark and glowing eyes, that swept
from group to group of mirthful faces, and back again,
oternly wondering at their untimely merriment.
" But, Uncle Tom," put in Jones
"No, no!" interrupted Mr. Whacker, with an im
patient wave of his hand. "Nothing can justify such
play."
" But, Uncle Tom, suppose "
" Very well," replied Mr. Whacker, in a gentler tone,
mollified by the anticipation of easy and certain victory,
" very well; make your supposition." And he assumed
a judicial brow.
"Now, suppose that there is a particular hand "
Billy paused.
" Well, go on."
240 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"A very particular hand."
My grandfather's ej 7 es began to flash. The vast host
of those who believe in playing " according to their
hands" rose before his mind.
"Go on," added he, controlling himself with an
effort.
"Suppose there. is a certain hand that a fellow a
hand that a certain fellow for example wants
wants to get possession of."
Charley winced, and Alice's color rose in spite of
her utmost efforts to look unconcerned.
"A band that he wants to get possession of!" cried
Mr. Whacker, with unspeakable amazement. " What
gibberish is this ? I was supposing all along that he
had the hand !"
" No ; but he wants it aw-ful-ly," said Jones, with
sepulchral solemnity.
Peal after peal of laughter arose, while Charley
shuffled his cards with the vigor of desperation. Poor
fellow, he had never been in love before, and keen
humorist that he was he knew full well that no man
could be in love without being at the same time ridicu
lous. My grandfather looked on, mystified but smiling.
" This is one of your jokes," said he, taking Billy by
both ears.
" On the contrary, it is a case ouch ! of the very
deadest earnest that I have ever smi-ling-ly beheld.
But, honestly, Uncle Tom, suppose there was a suit a
suit, mind you "
" C-c-c-cut the cards," yelled Charley.
" A suit," continued the implacable Billy, " that you
were prosecuting "
" Wished to establish, you mean."
"Yes, a suit "
"Uncle Tom," cried Charley, almost upsetting the
table, " I give it up. 'Twas an idiotic play I made."
Billy threw back his head so that it rested on Char
ley's shoulder. " When," asked he, under cover of the
feneral laughter, " when are you going to cut your
nger again ?"
Just then Mr. Whacker appeared at the window and
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 241
gave three brisk raps, and the girls went scampering
out on the piazza, followed by the gentlemen, the Don
bringing up the rear. There was a general waving of
handkerchiefs, and the telescope passed from hand to
hand.
" There they all are," cried Alice, cheerily, peering
through the glass with one eye and smiling brightly
with the other: "Lucy and Mrs. Poythress on the
back seat, her young brother and Mr. Poythress in
front. They see us now, there go the handkerchiefs !
Ah, just look at little Laura, sitting in Lucy's lap and
waving for dear life ! Here, Mary, take a look. How
distinctly you see them !"
" Yes," said Mary ; but with the eye which seemed
to be gazing through the telescope she saw nothing,
while with the other she took in every motion of the
Don. He was striding with irregular steps up and
down the piazza, now mechanically waving his hand
kerchief, now thrusting it back into his pocket; at one
time, as he stopped, his eyes fixed upon the floor; at
another rolling with a kind of glare as he started sud
denly forward. He strode past her, and his arm grazed
her shoulder. She shivered. Had her companions ob
served it ? She gave a quick glance, and was reassured.
They were all waving in frantic, girlish glee, in re
sponse to the vigorous demonstrations across the Kiver.
The rainbow knew not of the neighboring thunder-cloud.
" What a terrible love," she mused. " But, oh, to
have inspired it!" He had not yet had the glass in
his hand ; she would offer it to him. "Woman alone is
capable of such self-sacrifice. She turned towards him
as he was passing again, and, though a glance at his
dark face almost unnerved her, she stood in his path
and offered him the glass. A surprise was in store for
her. Brought to himself, he looked startled at first, as
though suddenly realizing who stood before him ; and
then, sudden as a flash of light, there came into his
eyes a look so gentle and tender as to set her heart
violently beating. Such a look, she felt, would have
been a declaration of love in any other man, but in
an enigma?
L q 21
242 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Take a look through the telescope," baid sLe, in a
voice scarcely audible.
He raised the glass to his eye.
" Lucy is on this side," said she, " with Laura in her
lap."
Her eyes were riveted upon his face now. What a
change had come over it I
" Her mother sits next her ; can't you make out her
white hair?"
The strong man's lips quivered.
" She is dressed in black ; can't you see ?"
His grasp tightened on the glass.
" She dresses always in black."
The telescope began to tremble.
Just then Charley brushed quickly past her and
stood beside the Don.
"That's not the way to use one of these long Toms,"
interposed he, with quiet decision. "They need a rest.
Here, take this pillar."
With a bow of acknowledgment the Don obeyed.
Mary's eyes followed Charley with a searching look,
as he carelessly sauntered off to the other end of the
piazza, muttering half a dozen notes of a popular song;
but his serene face gave no sign.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
FRIDAY came, and the Poythresses, having missed
the Leicester Christmas festivities, were to dine with
us that day. In the evening there was to be (no won
der my grandfather was out on the porch a dozen times,
looking for the first oar-splash on the other side) in the
evening there was to be a quintet; and Mr. Whacker,
who was as proud of Lucy as though she were his own
daughter, was eager to exhibit her prowess to the
stranger. It must not be supposed, from my silence
on this point, that we had had no music since Mr.
Whacker's discovery what a treasure he had in the
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 243
Don. During this period we bad had quartets, duets,
solos innumerable. Christmas times, in fact, as under
stood at Elmington, had irresistible charms for Herr
Waldteufel ; and he had hardly left us for an hour.
And now the company at Elmington stood on the
piazza watching the boat that, with measured stroke,
approached the foot of the lawn.
" How charming to sail forth in a boat to dine !" said
Aliee.
" And then the moonlight row home," added Mary ;
" it suggests Venice."
As the boat neared the landing, there was a general
movement from the piazza to meet the coming guests,
my grandfather leading the way. He had not made
many steps before he looked about him, and seeing the
Don bringing up the rear, he slackened his pace. Tho
Don came up biting his nails vigorously, with his eyes
fixed upon the ground, but from time to time glancing
nervously in the direction of the boat.
" We have invited the whole family, old and young,"
began Mr. Whacker.
Mary, just in fi*ont, was drinking in with upturned
face the soft nothings of some young man ; but she
chanced to turn her head sufficiently to catch the start
with which the Don aroused himself from his revery
at these words of his host.
"I thought you would like to see little Laura, too."
"Ah, yes, little Laura; it was very thoughtful of
you."
"Have you ever heard the little thing sing? Upon
my word, she promises to rival Lucy's talent for music.
They get it from their mother. But here they are."
And the old gentleman advanced with all the briskness
of hospitality, if not of youth. Charley leaned for
ward, lifted Laura from the boat, and, kissing her,
placed her upon the ground.
" Where is he?" cried she; "I don't see him." And
she looked from face to face with shining eagerness.
"Yonder he is," and away she skipped. "Here he is,"
she shouted, twining her arms around his knees ; " here
is Don Miff, sister Lucy."
244 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
There was a general smile, and he stooped and kissed
her several times.
" And here is Mr. Fat-Whacker, sister Lucy," cried
she, running up and taking my hand.
" Sister Lucy," her right hand held by one gentle
man, her left by another, stood at this moment one foot
on a seat, the other on the gunwale of the boat, bal
ancing herself for a spring. It is certain that the color
rose in her cheeks; but that may have been due to the
rocking of the boat. Sister Lucy steadied herself for
the leap.
" Mr. Fat-Whacker," began our merry tattler, address
ing herself to the Don, " is the one "
Lucy, remembering Richmond and Laura's side-walk
confidences to the Don, on the occasion of her first in
terview with him, gave Mr. Fat-Whacker, as she sprang
from the boat, a quick, appalled glance. He was equal
to the occasion. " Yes," cried he, seizing the explana
tory cherub and tossing he'r high in the air, " here's
Mr. Fat-Whacker; and here," he added, with another
toss, " is Mr. Uncle Whacker ; and here," he continued,
raising her at arm's length above his head and holding
her there while he made at her some of those faces that
were her delight, " here is everybody I"
Lucy gave Mr. F.-W. a glance, as she hurried past
him to shake hands with the Don, that he thought was
frateful ; and he was stooping slightly to pat his little
enefactress on the head, when he was sent whirling
by a blow against the shoulder like that of a battering-
ram.
It appears that Mrs. Poythress, during the merry,
confusion wrought by her little daughter, whether in
her eagerness to shake hands with the man who, as
she felt, had saved Lucy's life, or else thinking that she
needed no assistance, had attempted to alight from the
boat unaided ; but tripping, in some way, she was fall
ing at full length upon the frozen ground. The Don
saw her danger. He was almost six feet awuy from
the boat, my shoulder was in the way, and Lucy's fair
hand was extended, had touched his in fact, when
he sprang forward. 'Twas the spring of a leopard,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 245
as swift and as unerring. Crouching, he alighted be
neath her before she reached the ground, caught her
as though she had been a ball, and springing to one
side lightly as a cat, placed her feet, without a jar, upon
the ground.
"Are you much hurt?" asked he, with a singular
mixture of respectful deference and eager interest.
Women, whether old or young, generally form their
opinion of a man during the first five minutes of their
acquaintance. Mrs. Poythress, at least, was won by
those few words, that one look of the stranger, and
believed in him from that hour.
" Our introduction has been informal," said she, ex
tending her hand with a smile ; " but you made my
Lucy's acquaintance in a manner equally unconven
tional. I have long desired to greet you and thank
you." And she raised her eyes to his. " I " Mrs. Poy-
thress paused. The Don stood holding her hand, bend
ing over it, listening, but -with eyes averted and cast
upon the ground, reverence in every curve of his stal
wart frame.
" You owe me no thanks," said he, in a low murmur,
and without raising his eyes. " Far from it."
A mysterious feeling crept over Mrs. Poythress.
Was it his eyes? Was it his voice? Or his manner?
Was it something ? Was it nothing ? " I do feel rather
weak. Perhaps I was a little .jarred," said she ; " may
I lean on your strong arm?" Bending low, he offered
her his arm as a courtier would to a queen, but without
the courtier's smile ; and they moved slowly towards
the house.
" He is a gentleman of the old school," thought Mr.
Whacker.
"One would think," mused Mary, "that he was
already an accepted son-in-law."
" A case of nubbin," chirped Alice (a phrase I leave
as a kind of sample bone of contention to the philolo
gists of your day, my boy). She was leaning on
Charley's arm, and raised her eyes inquiringly. " Some
how, though," added she, interpreting his silence as dis
sent, " somehow, I don't altogether believe so."
21*
246 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
No reply.
She looked up again, and detected a faintly rippling
smile struggling with the lines of his well-schooled fea
tures. He had heard her, then, and half amused,
half indignant, she gave his arm so sudden and vigo
rous a pull as visibly to disturb his balance.
" Why don't you answer people ?" said she, a little
testily.
" You would not have a man hasty? Is it not best
to treat people's remarks as a hunter does wild ducks?
Save your ammunition. Don't fire at the first that
comes ; wait till you can bring down three or four at a
shot. Besides, it is rude."
" Kude ?"
" Yes, to interrupt the current of people's observa
tions."
" Well, you must interrupt the current of mine when
I speak to you."
" The tr-tr-tr-ouble is I'd rather hear you talk than
talk myself."
Three persons, walking behind this couple, had over
heard these words, to wit, Jones, Jones's girl, and my
self. By Jones's girl I would be understood as referring
to one of our Christmas party, through whose influence
Jones had been led to infer that the lectures at the
University immediately after Christmas were of com
paratively minor importance. We were all struck by
the absence of banter in Charley's last remark. Jones
looked at me, and opening wide his eyes, and dropping
his chin, formed his mouth into a perfect circle.
" The old fox is caught," whispered he ; and taking
another look, " sure pop 1" he added, an inelegant ex
pression which I record with regret, and only in the
interests of historic accuracy. Jones's girl, while we
smiled at Charley, had her woman's eyes on Alice, and
with raised brows and a nod directed our attention to
her. Alice had obviously noticed the peculiar tone of
Charley's voice, and coyly dropped her eyes. "Mr.
Frobisher," she began, "I must beg your pardon."
" For what, pray ?"
"For my rudeness in pulling your arm, just now I"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 247
"Ob, don't speak of it," and then a merry twinkle
coming into his eyes, " it didn't hurt a bit. I rather
liked it. D-d-d-d-o it again."
Just then Jones turned quickly, and, with the de
lighted look of a discoverer, snapped his head, first at
his girl and then at me.
"You saw it?"
His girl nodded assent. Jones looked at me inquir
ing 1 ^
"What was it?" I whispered.
"He squeezed her hand with his arm, most posi
tively didn't he ?"
Jones's girl looked assent.
" Hard ?"
She nodded again, laughter-tears bedimming her
young eyes.
" The villain 1" breathed Billy ; and throwing back
his head, he showed two rows of magnificent teeth,
while his mouth, though emitting no sound, went
through all the movements of Homeric laughter.
" Will," said she, turning towards him, " Will," said
she, softly, as she raised her eyes admiringly to his
frank and manly face, " you are the greatest goose in
the world."
" And you the dearest duck on earth."
So, at least, they seemed to me to say ; but perhaps
for I admit that they spoke in whispers perhaps
I say this less as a hearer than as a Seer.
CHAPTEK XL.
" WHERE is Mr. Smith ?" asked Mrs. Carter, as she
helped the company to soup.
"Yes, where is he?" repeated Mr. Whacker, looking
up in surprise. " Perhaps he does not know that we
are at dinner."
"After conducting me to the parlor," explained Mrs.
248 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Poythress, "he excused himself and went to his room.
I fancied he was not very well."
"Indeed I" said Mr. Whacker. "Zip, you go "
Charley made a motion to Moses, Zip for short,
and rising from the table and bowing his excuses, he
left the room.
" I am a little afraid," continued Mrs. Poythress,
turning to me, who chanced to be her nearest neighbor
at table, "that your friend over-strained himself in that
tremendous leap he made to save me from falling. I
am sure I felt his arm tremble as we walked towards
the house. Then he was so very silent. Is he always
so?"
" Generally ; though I do not think it is altogether
natural to him. He seems to constrain himself to
silence from some motive or other; but every now and
then he loses control of himself, it would seem, and
breaks forth into a real torrent of brilliant talk, no,
brilliant is not the word though torrent is. When he
bursts forth in this impassioned way, he carries every
thing before him. By the way, his leaping is of the
same character. Do you know I had to change my
shoes? For when he sprang to catch you, he actually
knocked me into the water."
"What eyes he has I Such a concentrated look 1
And no one," she added after a pause, " has any idea
who he is?"
" Not the slightest."
" Is it possible ? What a number of strange people
your dear old grandfather has contrived to bring to
Elmington from time to time! Where he has found
them all, or how they have found him, has always been
a mystery to me."
" Yes, but the Don is not one of grandfather's cap
tures. Charley must have the credit of bringing him
in."
" Then he is a good man," replied she, with decision.
" Charley never makes any mistakes. But here comes
Master Charles."
Every one looked up on Charley's entrance. As for
that young man, he looked neither to the right nor to
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 249
the left. " Mr. Smith will be down presently," said he
to Mrs. Carter. As he strode around the room to take
his chair, his firm-set lips wore a rather dogged ex
pression, as though he would warn us all that, so far
as he was concerned, the conversation was ended ; and,
hastily taking his seat, he began a vigorous attack on
his soup, as if to overtake the rest of the company.
Somehow every one was silent, and the isolated and
rather rapid click of Charley's spoon was distinctly
audible. Alice smiled, and conversation beginning to
spring up around the table, "I fear your soup is
cold," she began.
" The soup was cold ?" asked he, looking up. " I am
very sorry."
" I didn't say that," replied she, quickly. " I re
marked that I was afraid yours was cold."
"Mine?" asked he, looking puzzled. "Why?"
" You were detained so long up-stairs."
" Oh !" said he, renewing the assault upon the soup.
"You are right," he added; "it is rath erish cool."
Alice was foiled. " I believe Mrs. Poythress called
you."
Charley leaned forward.
" Nothing serious, I hope ?" asked Mrs. Poythress,
All eyes were fixed on Charley, every ear intent to
hear his answer to this question, which Mrs. Poy
thress alone had ventured to ask. For a moment this
master of fence and parry stood confounded ; but only
for a moment. "Nothing to speak of," replied he,
with careless simplicity, and, leaning back in his chair,
he glanced at Uncle Dick. Richard, briskly, though
with averted face, came to remove the soup-plate, and
then hurried out of the room to have a quiet chuckle.
" Tain't no use, Polly ; dey jess as well let Marse
Charles alone. He is a keener, he is, urngh umgh !
Dey ain't gwine to git nothin' out o' him, ef you b'lieve
Dick, dey ain't, mun." And the old worthy's sides
shook with laughter. " Dey has been tetchin' her up
pretty lively dis mornin', dat's a fac', and dey wet
Dick's whistle for him, dey did, ef you b'lieve me, and
more'n once, too. Well,
250 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
1 Christmas comes but once a year,
Den every nigger git his shear.'
Hurry up, gal ! hurry up !"
"Don't come round me, boy, wid your ' hurry up,
hurry up.' Don't you see I'se hurryin' up all I kin
hurry up already ? I b'lieve you is drunk, anyhow 1"
" Pretty close to it, thank de Lord.
' Christmas comes but once a year,
Every nigger ' "
" I tell you git out o' dis kitchen, and mind you
don't fall and break dat dish, wid your ' Christmas
comes but once a year.' Go 'long, boy. Dat ham's
seven years old, and you jess let it fall !"
" Hi !" thought Uncle Dick, as he entered the dining-
room. " What's he doin' at de table ?"
Richard was surprised.
For, as I am pained to have to say, the Virginians
had in those days the very irrational habit of drinking
before dinner ; and it was to this fact that Uncle Dick
alluded in the somewhat figurative language recorded
above. If the truth must be told, our venerable serving-
man never doubted but that the Don stayed up-stairs
simply because he was too drunk to come down. The
facts were far otherwise.
" Charley," said I that night, as we were smoking
our last pipe, " what was the matter with the Don to
day ? Why was he not with us when we sat down to
dinner?"
" Because," said Charley, lazily lolling back in his
rocking-chair, and sighting with one eye through a
ring of smoke that he had just projected from his
mouth, " because he was in his room."
" Another word, and Solomon's fame perishes."
" It is a well-known physical law" (Charley used to
avenge himself on me in private for his silence in gen
eral company), " it is a well-known physical law," said
he, inserting his forefinger with great precision into the
centre of the whirling ring, " that a body cannot occupy
two"
THE STORy OF DON MIFF. 251
"To be continued in our next. But why was he not
punctual, as usual ?"
"Nothing simpler, because he was behind time."
" Solon, Solon !"
"Yes, Sir William Hamilton has well observed that
it is positively unthinkable that the temporal limita
tions of two events occurring at different times should
be identical. Let's have another pipe."
Charley had forced me to change the subject ; but 1
contrived to make the change not very satisfactory to
him. " By the way," I began, " what were you and
the charming Alice saying to one another on your way
from the landing to-day ?"
Charley laid his half-filled pipe on the table and gave
a frightful yawn. "Let's go to bed," said he, and im
mediately began to doff his clothes with surprising
swiftness.
" Two bodies," said I, striking a match, " cannot"
Charley kicked off one boot " occupy the same
space" off flew the other; " but, as Sir William hath
well put it, or was it some other fellow?" and
leaning against the end of the mantel-piece, and pois
ing myself on my elbow, I assumed a thoughtful atti
tude, " two bodies are sometimes fond of being very
close together. Why this sudden and uncontrollable
somnolency ? Were we not to have another pipe ?"
But not another word could I get out of Charley ; and
neai'ly four years passed by before he gave me the ac
count (which I will now lay before the reader) of what
he saw that day.
The Don, as we know, had escorted Mra. Poythress
from the landing at the foot of the lawn to the house,
and had gone immediately to his room. As she leaned
upon his arm, he had seemed to her to be tremulous ;
and a certain disorder in his features as he left the par
lor had led her to fear that he was not well ; having
as she surmised, given himself an undue wrench in his
efforts to arrest her fall. Then, when the Don had
failed to put in an appearance at dinner, Charley had
gone in person to his room. To a gentle tap there was
no reply, and successively louder knocks eliciting no
252 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
response, a vague sense of dread crept over him, and
his hand shook as he turned the knob and entered the
room. "Great God !" cried Charley, stopping short, as
he saw the Don stretched diagonally across the bed,
his face buried in a pillow. There he lay, still as death.
Was he dead ? Charley hurried to the bedside with
agitated strides, and leaning over the prostrate figure,
with lips apart, intently watched and listened for signs
of life. "Thank God!" breathed Charley. For reply
the Don, with a sudden movement, threw back his
right arm obliquely across his motionless body, and
held out his open hand. The released pillow fell. It
was wetted with tears. Charley clasped the offered
hand with a sympathetic pressure that seemed quite to
unnerve the Don ; for the iron grasp of his moist hand
was tempered by a grateful tenderness, and convulsive
undulations again and again shook his stalwart frame.
For a while neither spoke.
" You will be down to dinner presently, I hope ?"
The Don nodded, and Charley crossed the room and
poured out some water and moved some towels in an
aimless sort of way.
" I'll go down now ; come as soon as you can."
Another nod.
Charley moved, half on tiptoe, to the door, and
placing his hand on the knob, turned and looked at tho
Don. A sudden impulse seized him as he saw the
strong man lying there on his face, his arm still ex
tended along his back ; and hurrying to the bedside,
he bent over him, and taking the open hand in both his,
with one fervent squeeze released it and hastened out
of the room. But he had not reached the door before
there broke upon his ear a sound that made him shiver.
It was a sob.
One I No more ! It was a sound such as we do not
often hear and can never forget, the sob of a strong
man, bursting, hoarse, guttural, discordant, from an
over-wrought heart, a stern, proud heart that would
stifle the cry of its bitterness, but may not. A look,
a word, the touch of a friendly hand, has sufficed to
unprison the floods.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 253
So, once, the dimpled finger of childhood pressed the
electric key ; and the primeval rocks of Hell-Gate
bounded into the air.
CHAPTEE XLI.
CHARLEY hurried along the upper hall, and arriving
at the head of the stairs, blew his nose three times with
a certain fierce defiance. This strictly commonplace
operation he repeated in a subdued form as he neared
the dining-room door, and stopping again, with one
hand upon the knob, he passed the other again and
again across his forehead and eyes, as though he had
been an antiquated belle who would smooth out the
wrinkles before entering a ball-room. Then, with that
severe look of determined reticence of which I have
spoken above, he entered the dining-room ; exciting in
all breasts, male and female alike, a keen but hopeless
curiosity. This feeling, however, soon subsided ; for the
Don had entered shortly after Charley, and, begging
Mrs. Carter to excuse his tardiness, had taken his seat
and passed out of our minds. For besides that the
dinner was good and the wines generous, most of us had
our own little interests to look after. -Jones, for ex
ample, and Jones's girl were too happy to care whether
any one in the world were late or early for dinner.
My grandfather, Mrs. Carter, and myself were suffi
ciently occupied as hosts, and Charley, too, though he
devoted his time principally to one guest. As a matter
of fact, therefore, during the early part of the dinner
the Don sat unobserved by the greater part of the com
pany ; and but for one faithful pair of eyes, I should
have had nothing to record.
In the spirit of mischief, Alice had so manoeuvred
that the seat left vacant for the Don was between Lucy
tind little Laura. " Won't it be sweet, mother, to see
ill three of them in a row, Lucy Mr. Don Miff
Laura? Quite a little family party!"
" Yery well," replied Lucy, laughing, " arrange it as
22
254 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
you will ; I am sure I should like very well to sit by
4 the Don.' Do you still call him by that name?"
" Of course. It has a grand sound, and grand sounds,
you know, are precious to the female heart."
The Don's looks when he entered were downcast,
his manner hesitating, and his voice, when he made his
apologies to Mrs. Carter, scarcely audible. Charley,
the moment the Don entered, had begun stammering
away at Alice with a surprising volubility, and in a
voice loud for him. He never stammered worse ; and
such a pother did he make with his m's and his p's that
he drew upon himself the smiling attention of all the
company ; so that even Jones and his girl ceased mur
muring, for a moment, their fatuous nothings. It was
under cover of this rattling volley that the Don had
taken his seat and begun intently to examine the mono
gram on his fork.
" Will you have some soup ?" asked Charley, in a
frank, off-hand way.
The commonplace nature of this question was an
obvious relief to the Don, and he raised his eyes and
looked about him. "Thanks, no soup. What!" said
ho, for the first time espying little Laura seated by his
side, " you here by me 1" And taking her sunny head
between his hands, he bent over and kissed her on the
forehead.
A mother's smile trembled in Mrs. Poythress's eyes.
" She is a very little diner-out," said she.
At the sound of Mrs. Poythress's voice a shade passed
over the Don's face. " He's the one, mumma, that
built me the block-houses." And the smile came back.
Mary watched the play of the Don's features during
the triangular conversation that followed between him
self, Mrs. Poythress, and Laura, and was much puzzled.
Light and shadow, shadow and light, chased each other
over his changeful countenance like patches of cloud
across a sunny landscape. Presently, chancing to turn
his head, his eyes full upon Lucy, seated on his right,
and Mary's interest grew deeper.
" You on my right and Laura on my left ! I feel
that I am indeed among friends."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 255
" You may be sure of that," said Lucy, in her low
and sweet, but earnest voice.
The Don's pleasure at finding that Lucy was his
neighbor at table was very obvious, and we must not
blame Mary if it gave her a pang to see it. She could
not but recall the stranger's manifest interest in Lucy
when he first met her, at breakfast, in Richmond.
Then she had not cared. Now it was different. For
the next half-hour, while contributing her share to
the conversation at her end of the table, she had man
aged to see everything that took place between the
Don and Lucy. She saw everything, and yet she
seemed to herself to see nothing. The meaning of it
all that she could not unravel. All she knew was
that she was miserable; and her wretchedness made
her unjust. She was vexed at Lucy, vexed for the
strangest of reasons ; but the human heart if the pla
giarism may be pardoned is full of inconsistencies.
Had Lucy made eyes at the Don, coquetted with him,
Mary would doubtless have thought it unkind on her
part; though that would have been unjust, as Lucy
had no cause to suspect that her friend felt any special
interest in the mysterious stranger. It was the entire
absence of everything of this kind in Lucy's manner
that nettled Mary. In her eyes the Don was a hero
of the first water. Why didn't Lucy try to weave fas
cinations around such an one as he? What kind of a
man was she looking for ? Did she expect the whole
world to fall at her feet, whence to choose ? or did
she, perhaps, and the thought shot through her heart
with a keen pang, did Lucy feel that the quarry was
hers without an effort on her part to grasp it?
The Don's deportment, too, if incomprehensible, was
at least irritating. "His lordship," thought she, bit
terly, " has hardly vouchsafed me a glance since he
took his seat. Yet, before the Poythresses came there
he sits now, patting Laura's head in an absent way,
and studying Lucy's features, as she talks, as though
he were a portrait-painter. One would think he had
quietly adopted the entire Poythress family. Upon
my word. Mr. Sphinx is a marvel of coolness ! How
256 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
little he talks, too! and yet he has contrived to bring
Lucy out wonderfully. She is rattling away like a
child, telling him about herself and all the family.
How interested he seems ! Heavens, what a look !"
" Yes," she had heard Lucy say, " Laura is a regular
Poythress, with her high color and golden hair; mine
is just like mother's. I don't mean now," said she,
with a little laugh and glancing at Mrs. Poythress's
snow-white hair; "but mother's was coal-black once.
It turned white years ago suddenly ;" and she
sighed softly, with downcast, pensive eyes, so that she
did not observe the look of pain that her words had
wrought a^nd that had startled Mary. Looking up and
seeing his face averted, Lucy thought he was admiring
her little sister's curls. " What beautiful hair Laura
has !"
" Lovely," replied he, tossing a mass of ringlets on
the tips of his fingers.
"Won't you make me a boat, after dinner, with
rudder and sails and everything?" And Laura looked
up into his troubled face with a confiding, sunny smile.
CHAPTER XLII.
AT last, the ladies rose to leave the table.
"As soon, Mrs. Carter, as the gentlemen have had a
cigar or so," said Mr. Whacker, " we shall have the
honor of joining the ladies in the parlor and of escort
ing you to the Hall, where we shall have some music."
" But when he hears her play !" thought Mary, as
she left the room, arm in arm with her dreaded rival.
"I drink your health," cried the Herr, dropping
down into his chair as soon as the ladies had left the
room. " I drink your very good health," said he, filling
the Don's glass. Of course he pronounced the words
after his own fashion.
One would err who supposed that Herr Waldteufel
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 257
felt any unusual anxiety as to the physical condition
of his neighbor. A decanter of sherry invariably
wrought in his responsive mind a general but quite
impartial interest in the well-being of all his friends.
But on this occasion Mr. Whacker was particularly
anxious that some limit should be put to the expression
of that solicitude ; and he checked with a glance the
zealous hospitality of Uncle Dick, who was about to
replenish the nearly exhausted decanters.
For this was to be a field day over at the Hall.
There was to be a quintet, think of that, and a pint
or so more sherry might disable the 'cello.
My grandfather bad been looking forward to this
glorious occasion with nervous joy. It bad been sev
eral years since he had taken part in so august a per
formance ; and before the first cigars were half burned
out he had begun to fidget and look at his watch.
Charley, therefore, was not long in proposing a move.
"Now, ladies," said my grandfather, on reaching the
parlor, " I, for one, cannot understand how it is that
there are some people who don't love music ; but there
are such people, and very good people they are, too.
Now, this is Liberty Hall, and every one must do as
he pleases. We are going to make some music; but
no one need go with us who prefers remaining here.
If there are any couples, for instance," and Mr.
Whacker raised his eyes to the ceiling " who have
softer things to say than any our instruments can pro
duce" (Jones and his girl looked unconscious), " let
them remain and say them. Hero is the parlor, there
is the dining room ; arrange yourselves as you would.
And now, Mrs. Poythress, will you take my arm and
lead the way ?"
Jones and Jones's girl were the first to move, and we
were soon on our way across the lawn ; while dark
cohorts brought up the rear and covered the flanks of
the merry column.
" To me !" said Mary, when the Don had offered her
his arm. " I feel much honored." And with a formal
bow she rested the tips of her fingers upon his sleeve.
The irony of her tones grated upon his ear, and he
r 22*
258 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
turned quickly and bent upon her a puzzled though
steady gaze.
"Honored?"
That look of honest surprise reassured her woman's
heart, but made her feel that she had forgotten herself
in meeting a courtesy with an incivility.
They always know just what to do.
Passing her arm farther within his, and leaning
upon him with a coquettish pressure, she looked up
with a gracious smile.
" Certainly. Have I not the arm of the primo vio-
lino, the lion of the evening?"
And the primo violino wondered how on earth he
had ever imagined that she was vexed.
Very naturally, I cannot remember, after the lapse
of years, what quintet they played that evening. All
that I distinctly recall is that it was a composition in
which the piano was very prominent. My grandfather
was (as I have, perhaps, said before) as proud of Lucy's
playing as though she had been his own daughter; and
I suspect that he and the Herr made the selection with
a view to showing her off.
Mary thought she had never seen Lucy look so
graceful as when, sounding "A," she turned upon the
piano-stool, and, with her arm extended backwards
and her fingers resting upon the keys, she gave the
note to each of the players in turn ; her usually serene
face lit with the enthusiasm of expectancy. It was a
truly lovely face, lovely at all times, but peculiarly so
when suifused with a certain soul-lit St. Cecilia look it
wore at times like this. Alice sparkled, and Mary
shone ; but Lucy glowed, glowed with the half-hidden
fire of fervid affections and high and holy thoughts.
Alice was a bounding, bubbling fountain, Mary a swift-
flowing river, Lucy a still lake glassing the blue
heavens in its unknown depths. Wit imagination
soul.
It chanced that the piano had to open the piece
alone, the other instruments coming in one after
another. Nervously smoothing down her music with
both hands, rather pale and tremulous, Lucy began.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 259
"Why," thought Mary," gazing with still intensity
from out the isolated corner in which she had seated
herself, " why does he look so anxious?"
For, coming to a rapid run, Lucy had stumbled bad
ly, and the Don .was pulling nervously at his tawny
beard. But soon recovering her self-possession, she ex
ecuted a difficult passage with ease and brilliancy.
"Brava! brava!" cried he, encouragingly, while the
Herr nodded and smiled. As for my grandfather, a
momentary side-flash of delight was all he could spare
the lovely young pianist ; for with eyes intently fixed
upon his score, and head bobbing up and down, he was
in mortal dread of coming in at the wrong time. With
him the merest nod of approval, by getting entangled
with the nod rhythmic, might well have introduced a
fatal error into his counting, while even an encouraging
smile was not without its dangers.
Mrs. Poythress gave the Don a grateful smile.
" He seems to be taking Lucy under his protection,"
thought Mary.
One after another the players came in ; first the Don
and Herr Waldteufel, then the second and the viola ;
and away they went, each after his own fashion ;
Charley pulling away with close, business-like atten
tion to his notes ; the Herr calm but smiling good-
humoredly, when, from time to time, he stumbled
through rapid passages where his reading was better
than his execution ; Mr. Whacker struggling manfully,
with flushed cheeks and eager eyes, and beating time
with his feet with rather unprofessional vigor. As for
Lucy, relieved of her embarrassment, when fire had
opened all along the line, she made the Herr proud of
his pupil ; while the Don, master of his score and his
instrument, kept nodding and smiling as he played ;
watching her nimble fingers, during the pauses of his
part, with undisguised satisfaction.
Mary, sitting apart, saw all this. Nor Mary alone.
" He is a goner !" whispered Billy to his girl, in ob
jectionable phrase.
"Oh, yes; hopelessly!" looked she.
" Mr. Probisher, too, he's another goner."
260 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
The beloved of "William glanced at Charley and bit
her lip. Somehow it seemed comic to every one that
Charley should be in love.
Then Billy, folding his arms across his deep chest,
and summoning his mind to a vast generalization :
" The fact is, everybody is a goner," said he ; " as for
me"
His girl placed her finger upon her rosy lip, and re
proved his chattering with a frown that was very, very
fierce ; but from beneath her darkling brows there
stole, as she raised her eyes to his manly face, a glance
soft as the breath of violets from under a hedge of
thorns.
The allegro moderato came to an end with the usual
twang twing twang.
" Unt we came out all togedder!" exclaimed the
Herr. "Dot is someding already. Shentlemen und
ladies, I tell you a little story, vot you call. Ber
lioz was once leading an orchestra, part professionals,
part amateurs. Yen dey vas near de ent of de stucko
vot you call morceau, ' Halt, shentlemens !' cry Berlioz,
rapping on the bulbit desk, vot you call. ' Now, shen
tlemens amateurs," says he, 'you just stop on dis bar unt
let de oders blay, so dat we all come out togedder.' "
The excellent Herr, after laughing himself to the
verge of asphyxiation, explained that "Berlioz, }~ou
unterstant, vas a great vit, vat you call, unt make
many funny words." It was a peculiarity of our
friend Waldteufel that his pronunciation of English
varied with the amount of water that he had neglected
to drink ; and as this was an uncertain quantity, you
could never be quite sure whether he would say vas
or was, words or vords. At certain critical moments,
too, when his soul stood vacillating between content
ment and thirst, the two systems were apt to become
mixed as above. I will add that I make no attempt
at accuracy in reproducing his dialect, preferring to
leave that, in part at least, as I have done in a parallel
case, to the resources of the reader.
The remaining movements of the quintet were
played in somewhat smoother style j but the only one
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 261
requiring special mention, for our purposes, was the
larghetto, or slow movement. In this number, the tech
nical difficulties of which were inconsiderable, Lucy's
tender religious spirit revealed itself most touchingly.
It so happened that the composer had placed this part
mainly in the bands of the piano and the first violin,
the other instruments merely giving an unobtrusive
accompaniment. First the violin gave out the theme,
and then the piano made reply.
" It is the communing of two spirits," felt Mary, in
her imaginative way.
Now the piano gave forth its tender plaint, and the
violin seemed to Mary to listen ; at one time silent, at
another interrupting, assenting rather, breaking into
low-muttered interjections of harmonious sympathy.
And then the violin would utter its lament, finding its
echo in the broken ejaculations that rose from beneath
Lucy's responsive fingers; so, at least, it seemed to
Mary.
The quintet and the congratulations to the per
formers over, Mr. "Whacker took pity on the thirsty
Herr and ordered refreshments. Jones, finding among
the rest a glass of double size, filled it and handed it
to the 'cellist.
" G-oot!" cried he, with a luminous wink ; " I play do
big fiddle already."
Mary smiled, wondering what "already" could mean ;
but she had other things to occupy her thoughts. When
the Don rose from his seat and laid his violin upon the
piano, she had been struck with the serenity of his
countenance, whence the music seemed to have chased
every cloud. He was looking for some one. Yes, it
was for her. Catching her eye, he filled a glass, or two,
rather, and coming to her side and taking a seat, he
expressed the hope that she had enjoyed the music.
" More than I can express. You have convinced me
that I have never heard any real music before. Do
you know, your quintet was as pleasing to the eye as
to the ear? You would have afforded a fine subject
for a painter. Three young men, a lovely girl, and a
grandfather, all bound together as one by the golden
262 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
chains of harmony! You can't imagine what a lovely
picture you made."
"Thanks!"
" Oh," said she, smiling, " there were five of you, so
I have paid you, at best, but one-fifth of a compli
ment."
" A vulgar fraction, as it were."
" Yes," said she, laughing ; then with eyes cast down,
and in a hesitating voice, she added, " I am going to
make a confession to you ; will you promise not to
think me very foolish ?"
" Such an idea, I am sure "
" But, you know my friends all say I am so very
sentimental, that is to say, silly. You shake your
head, but that is what they call me, and that is what
it means."
" You do your friends injustice ; but give me a speci
men, that I may judge for myself."
" Do you promise not to agree with my friends ?"
" Most solemnly."
" Well, you must know there is something very
pathetic to me about old age. The sight of an old
man sympathizing with the young, bearing up bravely
under the ills of life and his load of years, always
touches me to the heart. Now, you and Mr. Frobisher
and Mr. Waldteufel well, I need not comment on
your appearance. Lucy well, Lucy was just too
lovely. She had what I call her inspired look, and
was simply beautiful." And lifting her eyes for a
second, no, a second had been an age, compared with
the duration of that glance so momentary and yet so
intensely questioning, she flashed him through and
through. Through and through, yet saw nothing.
The Don, felt he or not the shock of that electric
lance, sat impassive, spoke no answer, looked no reply,
he raised her eyes again to his. No, his look was not.
impassive ; he was simply awaiting with interest the
rest of her story. That, at least, was all she could
see.
"Where was I?" she began again, driving from her
mind, with an effort, a tumultuous throng of hopes
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 263
and fears. " Oh ! well, you gentlemen handled your
bows gracefully, of course, and all that, and Lucy was
irresistible" (another flash), " of course ; but the cen
tral figure of the picture was Mr. Whacker. Dear
Uncle Tom ! Isn't he a grand old man ? I don't know
why it was, but when I saw in the midst of you his
snowy head contrasting so strongly, so strangely, with
Lucy's youthful bloom, with the manly vigor of the
rest, my eyes filled with tears. Was it so very fool
ish ?" And her eyes, as she lifted them to his, half
inquiring, half deprecatory, were suffused afresh with
the divine dew of sympathy.
" Foolish !" exclaimed the Don, with a vehemence
so sudden that it made her start, his nostrils dilating
and a dark flush mounting even to his forehead,
" foolish !" And bending over her he poured down
into her swimming eyes a look so intense and search-
iug that she felt that he was reading her very heart.
" Thanks !" said he, with abrupt decision. " Thanks !"
Mary breathed quicker, she knew not why. The
tension was painful. "Yes," said she, rather aimlessly,
" and then you all looked so earnest, so serenely happy,
so forgetful of this poor sordid world."
" Yes," said he, musingly, " that seems to me the
office of music, to give rest to the weary, to smooth
out the wrinkles from the brain and brow, to give re
spite ; to enable us, for a time, at least, to forget."
He seemed to muse for a moment, then turning sud
denly to her with a changed expression : " It was always
so," said he; then looking up quickly, "Do you like
Homer ?"
"Homer!" exclaimed she, startled by the abrupt
transition. " I cannot say that he is one of my favorite
authors."
"Do you know, I cannot understand that?"
"He is so very, very old," pleaded she, in extenua
tion.
" So is the human heart, of which he was master ;
so is the ocean, to which he has been compared, eter
nal movement and eternal repose. But what you said
just now, as to the Lethean eifect of music, reminded
264 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
me of that grand scene in the Iliad, where Ulysses and
Phoenix and Ajax go, as ambassadors of Agamemnon,
to Achilles, with offerings and apologies for the wrong
that has been done him. This man, whose heart was
full of indignant shame because of the insults which
had been heaped upon him, who, though the bravest
of the Greeks, had gone apart by the sea-shore to weep
bitter tears, him they found solacing his sorrows with
music. But a little while ago and he had been ready
to strike Agamemnon dead in the midst of his troops.
What a surprise when the poet draws the curtain,
and there flashes upon our astonished eyes the in
exorable, flinty-hearted captain of the Myrmidons
seated with his friend Patroklus, peacefully singing
to his lyre the illustrious deeds of heroes! What a
master-stroke!" cried he, with flashing eyes. "It is
like the sudden bursting upon the view of a green
valley in the midst of barren rocks. And you don't
like Homer ?"
" Oh, that is beautiful, really beautiful !" she hastened
to say, abashed at the sentiment she had just uttered.
" One often fails to see beauties till they are pointed
out. Won't you talk to me some day about Homer ?"
" Gladly," said he j and he smiled, then almost
laughed aloud.
" Ah, it is really unkind to laugh at me !"
"Not at all. I was laughing to think how little you
dream what you are drawing down upon your head
when you ask me to talk to you about Homer. You
see I, too, have a little confession to make."
" What is it ?" she asked, eagerly.
" Perhaps I should have said confidence rather than
confession ; but, upon second thought "
"Oh, do tell mel"
He hesitated.
" I shall positively die with curiosity !"
" If there be any danger of that," said he, and he
put his forefinger and thumb in his vest-pocket and
looked at her and smiled.
"Well?"
" Will you promise not to think me so very, very
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 265
foolish?" said he, mimicking her tones of a little while
before. And he drew an object from his pocket and
held it up.
" What is it, a book ?"
" Yes, a book ;" removing from a much- worn morocco
case a small volume.
" Oh, yes, your Testament !"
Mary had not forgotten what I had told of a certain
incident that had occurred in the Don's rooms in Rich
mond, and had heedlessly alluded to it.
" My Testament !" said he, with a quick, suspicious
look.
She felt that she had blundered; but Mary Eolfe,
like the majority of her sex, was a woman. " Why,
isn't it a Testament?" asked she, carelessly; "it has
j"~t the look of some of those little English editions."
And she held out her hand.
" Oh !" said the Don, looking relieved. " No, it is
not a Testament."
" What is it, then ?" said she, her hand still extended.
" It is a copy of the Iliad ; and my little confession
is, that I have carried it in this pocket ever so many
years."
" Indeed !" cried Mary, much interested.
" So, you see, when you ask me to talk to you about
Homer, you are getting yourself into trouble, most
probably."
" Let me have it."
The Don smiled and shook his head.
"What!" cried she, with amazement, "I may not
touch it ?"
" Well, as a special favor, you may ; but it must not
go out of my possession. Here, you hold that lid and
I this. No, this way," added the Don, rising. He had
been seated on her right ; but now placing his chair to
her left, he held out the little volume to her, holding
the left lid, together with a few pages, between finger
and thumb. What could be his object in changing his
position? Was there something written on the fly
leaf? She gave a quick glance at his face, but instantly
checked herself and broke out into a merry laugh.
M 23
266 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"How perfectly absurd!" said she. "We look, for
all the world, like two Sunday-school children reading
the same hymn-book! What!" exclaimed she, with
quick interest, and looking up into his face : " The
original Greek?"
"Yes," replied he, quietly; "no real master-piece
can ever be translated."
Just then some chords were sounded on the piano,
and the Don turned and looked in that direction.
Maiy raised her eyes and scanned his face narrowly.
She was reading him afresh by the light he had just
cast upon himself.
For her, being such as she was, this man of surprises
had acquired a new interest.
CHAPTER XLIII.
" LADIES unt shentlemens, I have de pleasure to an
nounce dot Miss Lucy will now favor de company mit
a song." The Herr was seated at the piano, while
Lucy stood by his side.
" W hat ! does she sing, too ?" inquired the Don, with
interest.
" Oh, yes ; Lucy has a very sweet voice."
The Don sat and listened, with a pleased smile, nod
ding approvingly from time to time. " Not very
strong," remarked he, when the song was ended, " but,
as you say, sweet and sympathetic very."
A second ballad was called for, which Lucy gave,
and then her mother suggested Schubert's " Serenade."
She had hardly sung half a dozen notes, when Mary
noticed a peculiar expression on the Don's face. It
was a face which, when in repose, was always grave,
to say the least ; and there were times when it seemed
to many stern, even grim. But now as he gazed, wide-
eyed and dreamy, upon the bank of coals before him.
the firm lines of his features melted into an inexpressible
softness.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 267
" Ob, that I were a musician, to bring tbat beautiful
look into his face! Lucy's fingers have stolen half his
heart, her voice the rest." Thus sighed Mary in the
depths of her troubled spirit.
The Don rose softly from his seat. " Excuse me/' said
he ; and moving silently and on tiptoe across the room,
took up his violin, placed it under his chin, and poising
the bow over the strings, stood there waiting for a
pause in Lucy's song. By Lucy alone, of all the com
pany, had these movements of the Don been unob
served ; and when there leaped forth, just behind her
and close to her ear, the vibrating tones of the Guar-
nerius, echoing her own, she gave a quick start and a
pretty little "oh!" but turning and seeing the Don
r.^ind her, she beamed upon him with a radiant smile.
"Aha, an obligato! so!" cried the Herr. "Very
goot, very goot." And he bent him over the piano with
renewed zeal.
If I knew what an "obligato" was, I would toll you
most cheerfully ; but even Charley could never get it
into my head. It was not an accompaniment, that I
know ; for the Herr was playing the accompaniment
himself.
" I tell you venn to come in," said the Herr to Lucy,
who was naturally a little confused at first. " Now
ah so, very goot."
This time the Don broke in here and there upon
Lucy's song in a fragmentary kind of way, as it seemed
to me, and just as fancy dictated, producing a very
weird and startling effect ; and when the pause came
in her score, he continued the strain in an improvisa
tion full of power and wild passion. " Wunderschon !
Ben trovato !" cried the Herr, lapsing into and out of
his mother-tongue in his enthusiasm.
I gave the reader to understand, when I brought
him acquainted with Waldteufel, that he was a musi
cian of far greater ability than one would have ex
pected to find teaching in a country neighborhood ; re
gretfully giving the reason for this anomaly. Aroused
now by the Don, he showed the stuff that was in him ;
dashing off an improvisation full of feeling on the theme
268 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
of the "Serenade." "Now," said he, striking the last
notes, "coom again, coom. Yot you got to say now?"
he added, in challenge.
The Don gave a slight bow to Lucy.
" Ah, das is so, I forgot."
Lucy began anew, her cheeks flushed, her eyes
sparkling with excitement, nodding approval, first to
one, then to the other of the rival artists, as each in
turn gave proof of his virtuosity. Schubert's "Serenade"
is of a divine beauty, and improving upon it is like
adding polish to Gray's "Elegy." But such considera
tions did not disturb our little audience. Our local
pride was up. The stranger had been carrying every
thing before him, and when our honest Herr came
back at him with a Roland for his Oliver, as described
above, there had been a lively clapping of hands. And
now, first one or two, then the entire company had
risen in a body and clustered around the performers,
applauding and cheering each in turn, but the Herr,
as I remember, most warmly ; for few of us had ever
heard him improvise before, and, besides, he seemed to
deserve special encouragement for his pluck in con
tending with this Orpheus, newly dropped among us
from the skies, as it were.
Mary had not at first risen with the rest. An un
conquerable reserve was her most marked trait. But
at last even she rose (not being able, perhaps, to see
the Don from where she sat), but did not join the
cluster that surrounded the piano. She stood apart,
resting her elbow upon the mantel-piece, her cheek
upon her hand, listening to the music, the music half
drowned by the fevered tattoo her own heart was beat
ing. For now Lucy was singing the last stanza of the
song, and the Herr had dropped into something like
an accompaniment, while the Don, seeing that his
antagonist had called a truce, had reined his own muse
down into a " second." Sustained by this and rising
with her enthusiasm, Lucy's voice came forth with a
power and a pathos it had not shown before ; and the
mellow Guarnerius, kindling and enkindled in turn,
rose to a passion almost human in its intensity. And
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 269
before Mary's eyes there seemed to float, as voice and
violin rose and fell, and fell and rose, a vision (and it
was her nature to dream dreams) ; there floated a
vision as of two souls locked in eternal embrace and
borne aloft on the wings of divinest music.
She did not close her eyes that night ; for, to add to
the perturbation of her spirit, Mrs. Poythress, seeing
Charley making ready to cross the Eiver and spend the
night under her roof, as he did every Friday, had so
cordially invited the Don to accompany him that he,
when the invitation was warmly seconded by Mr. Poy
thress and Lucy, had, after some hesitation, consented
to do so.
He had entered the very grotto of Circe.
CHAPTER XLIY.
THE Poythresses were cordiality itself. No sooner
had the Don's foot crossed their threshold, than Mr.
Poythress, taking him by the hand, gave him a warm
welcome to Oakhurst. " Yes, you are truly welcome,"
said Mrs. Poythress, taking the other hand; while
Lucy, too, smiled in hospitable assent.
The latter has told -me since that she was struck, at
the time, with a certain something very singular in his
manner of meeting these courtesies. As the boat had
neared the shore, she had observed that the Don grew
more and more silent ; and now, in response to greet
ings of such marked cordiality, he had merely bowed,
bowed low, but without a word. "Are you cold?"
asked Mrs. Poythress, looking up into his face, as they
entered the sitting-room. " Why, you are positively
shivering! Mr. Poythress, do stir the fire. Are you
subject to chills-? No ?"
" The wind was very keen on the Eiver," said the
Don. He spoke with difficulty, and as he leaned over
the fire, warming his hands, his teeth chattered.
Charley whispered to Mrs. Poythress.
23*
270 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
".Not a drop," replied she; "you know Mr. Poy-
thress will not allow a gill of anything of the kind to
be kept in the house. I am so sorry."
" Well, it does not matter. Do you know it is past
one o'clock ? Suppose all of you go to bed and leave
him to me."
"Now," said Charley, when he and the Don were
left alone, " let's adjourn to the dining-room and have
a quiet pipe, after the labors of the evening. I don't
know why it is," continued Charley, as they entered
the room, " but fiddling " Here Charley quickly drew
back, as a horse when sharply reined up, with a look
that seemed to show that his eyes had fallen upon
some unwelcome object. The suppression of all appear
ance of emotion was, as we know, a foible of his.
There was one thing, however, which he could not
suppress ; and it was this which often betrayed him to
his friends; to wit, his infirmity of stammering; of
which, as I do not care either to deface my pages or to
make sport of my friend, I shall give but sparing typo
graphical indication, leaving the rest to the reader's
imagination. " F-f-f-f-iddling," continued he, "always
gives me a consuming thirst for a smo-mo-mo-moke.
Sy the way, thirst for a smoke strikes me as a mixed
metaphor, but ' hunger' would scarcely improve mat
ters. I presume that if our Aryan ancestors had
known the divine weed, we should have had a better
word wherewithal to express our longing for it."
Whenever Charley began to stammer and philos
ophize, he always suggested to my mind a partridge
tumbling and fluttering away through the grass; there
was always a nest somewhere near.
" As it is," continued he, " we must be content to
borrow from the grovelling vocabulary of the eater and
the drinker, leaving to civilization there, toast your
toes on that fender to evolve a more fitting term."
The Don, who had been looking serious enough be
fore, could not suppress a smile at this quaint sally of
our friend, a smile that broadened into a laugh when
Charley, having succeeded, after a protracted struggle,
in shooting a word from his mouth as though from a
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 271
pop-gun, parenthetically consigned all p's and m's to
perdition ; that being the class of letters which chiefly
marred his utterance.
There is, about the damning of a mere labial, a gro
tesque impotency that goes far towards rescuing the
oath from profanity; and we may hope that Uncle
Toby's accusing angel neglected to hand this one in
for record.
" This is very snug," said Charley, drawing together
the ends of logs which had burned in two.
Charley had neglected to light the lamp, but the
logs soon began to shed a ruddy glow about the room,
in the obscure light of which the stranger began to
look about him, as was natural. Charley could always
see more with his eyes shut than I could with mine wide
open ; but I cannot very well understand how, in that
dimly-lighted room, he contrived to observe all that he
pretends to have seen on this occasion ; especially as
he acknowledges that he was steadily engaged at his
old trick of blowing smoke-rings, sighting at them
with one eye, and spearing them with the forefinger of
his right hand.
The stranger did not stroll about the room with his
hands behind his back, examining the objects on the
sideboard, and yawning in the faces of the ancestral por
traits, as he might have been pardoned fordoing at that
hour, and in the absence of the family. " Yes, this is
very snug," echoed he, in a rather hollow voice, while
he glanced from object to objeet in the room with an
eager interest that contrasted strangely with the im
mobility of his person ; his almost motionless head
giving a rather wild look to his rapidly-roving eyes.
Presently, seeming to forget Charley's presence, he
gave vent to a sigh so deep that it was almost a groan.
Charley removed his pipe from his mouth, and with
the stem thereof slowly and care. fully traced a very
exact circle just within the interior edge of one of his
whirling smoke-wreaths, in the spinning of which he
was so consummate an artist.
The stranger, coming to himself with a little start,
gave a quick glance at the sphinx beside him, who,
272 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
with head resting on the back of his chair and eyes
half closed, was lazily admiring another blue circle,
that rose silently whirling in the still air. Had he
heard the moan? And in his embarrassment the
stranger seized the tongs and, with a nervous pull,
tilted over one of the logs which Charley had drawn
together on the hearth.
They flashed into a blaze.
"Why, hello!" exclaimed the stranger, chancing to
cast his eye into the corner formed by the projecting
chimney-piece and the wall. "There's a dog. He
seems comfortable," he added, glad, seemingly, to have
hit upon so substantial a subject of conversation.
"That rug seems to have been made for him. Does
he sleep there every night ?"
"That's his corner, whenever he wants it," said
Charley, rather dryly, and without looking towards
the dog. " Let me fill your pipe for you."
Charley, somehow, did not seem anxious to talk
about the dog, but his companion, not observing this,
very likely, would not let the subject drop. Eising a
little in his chair and peering into the somewhat ob
scure corner : " He seems to be a a "
" Pointer," said Charley. " He is very old," added
he, by way of a finisher.
" Oh, I understand, an old hunting-dog of Mr. Poy-
thress's that he cherishes now for the good he has done
in his day."
This was not exactly a question, but it seemed to
require some sort of a reply.
"Well, yes, so one would naturally think ; but Mr.
Poythress was never much of a Nimrod. It is Mrs.
Poythress who claims the old fellow as her property, I
believe."
Charley pulled out his watch in rather a nervous
way, looked at the time, and, thrusting it back into his
pocket, gave a yawn.
" What rolls of fat he has along his back !" said the
stranger, rising, and taking a step or two in the direc
tion of the sleeper.
"Yes," said Charley, rising, and knocking the ashes
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 273
from his pipe with a few rapid taps, " it is the way
with all old dogs."
" Ah, I am afraid I have disturbed the slumbers of
the old fellow," said the Don, softly retracing his
steps.
" He is as deaf as a post," said Charley.
The old pointer had raised his head, and was rocking
it from side to side with a kind of low whimpering.
" Speaking of slumbers," said Charley, looking at hia
watch again, and closing it with a snap, " suppose "
" What can be the matter with the old boy?"
The dog was acting singularly. He had risen to his
feet, and, with staggering, uncertain steps, was moving
first in this direction then in that, sniffing the air with
a whine that grew more and more intense and anxious.
"He will soon get quiet, if we leave him." And
Charley made two or three rapid strides towards the
door, then stopped as suddenly, stopped and stood bit
ing his nails with unconscious vigor, then slowly turned,
and, walking up to the mantel-piece, rested his elbow
upon it and his cheek upon his hand. The attitude was
one of repose ; but his quick breathing, his quivering
lips, his restless eyes that flashed searchingly, again
and again, upon the face of his companion, these told
a different story.
"He is trying to find you," said the Don, with a
sympathetic smile. "Poor old fellow, he seems blind
as well as deaf. Hello! he is making for me. What I
is he in his dotage ? Whom does he take me for ?" he
added, as the old dog, coming up to him and sniffing at
his feet and legs with an ever-increasing eagerness,
kept wriggling and squirming and wagging his tail
with a vigor that was remarkable, considering his apo
plectic figure and extreme age. Growing more and
more excited, the old creature tried again and again to
rear and place his paws upon the breast of the Don ;
but his weak limbs, unable to sustain his unwieldy bulk,
as often gave way ; and at last, with a despair that
was almost human, he laid his head between the knees
of the young man ; and rolling his bleared, opaque
eyes, as if searching for his face, he whimpered aa
274 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
though for help. The Don looked bewildered, and
glancing at Charley, saw him standing, motionless,
leaning upon the mantel-piece, his eyes fixed upon tho
fire. The Don started, then bent a sudden, eager
glance upon the dog. The latter again strove to rear
up, but falling back upon his haunches, lifted up his
aged head, and rolling his sightless eyes, gave forth a
low howl so piteous as must have moved the hardest
heart.
It was then that the stranger, that man of surprises,
as he had done once or twice before in the course of
this story, revealed by a sudden burst of uncontrollable
impetuosity the fervid temperament that ordinarily
lay concealed beneath his studied reserve. Stooping
forward like a flash, he lifted the dog and placed his
paws upon his breast, sustaining him with his arms.
It was touching to witness the gratitude of the old
pointer, his whining and his whimpering and his eager
ness to lick the face that he might not behold. He was
iiappy, let us hope, if but for a moment. Suddenly he
fell, fell as though stricken with heart-disease, all in a
heap ; then tumbling over and measuring his length
along the carpet, his head came down upon the floor
with a thump.
There he lay motionless, motionless, save that every
now and then his tail beat the floor softly, softly, and
in a sort of drowsy rhythm, as though he but dreamt
that he wagged it, gently tapped the floor and ceased ;
once more, and stopped again, and yet again ; and he
was still. The stranger knelt over the outstretched
form of the dying pointer.
" Ponto I Ponto, old boy ! Can you hear me ? Yes ?
Then good-by, dear old fellow, good-by !"
Deaf as he was, and breathing his last, that name
and that voice seemed to penetrate the fast-closing
channels of sense; and with two or three last flutter
ing taps he had no other way he seemed to say
farewell, and forever.
The young man rose, and, staggering across the
room, threw his arm over his face and leaned against
the wall. Charley made two or three hasty, forward
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 275
strides, then halted with a hesitating look, then spring
ing forward, placed a hand on either shoulder of the
figure before him, and leaned upon his neck.
" Dory !" whispered he, in a voice that trembled.
A shiver, as from an electric shock, ran through the
stalwart frame of the stranger. For a moment he
seemed to hesitate; the next he had wheeled about,
and, clasping his companion in his mighty arms, hugged
him to his breast.
" Charley 1" cried he, in a broken voice ; and his
head rested upon the shoulder of his friend.
CHAPTEE XLV.
I GREATLY fear that when I stated, somewhere in the
course of the foregoing narrative, that I had firmly re
solved to exclude love-making from its pages, I greatly
fear that none of my readers gave me credit for sin
cerity. Yet it was not a stroke of Bushwhackerish
humor; I was in sober earnest, and was never more
convinced than at this moment of the folly of breaking
my original resolution. Here I am with three pairs
of lovers on my hands, all sighing like very furnaces
I, who am quite incapable of managing one couple. I
suppose I have only myself to blame. I assembled a
number of young Virginians in a country house. I
should have known better. Yet, when I brought them
together, it was an understood thing (on my part, at
least) that there was to be no nonsense.
The truth is, I think I have a just right to complain
of my chai'acters. I 'had a little story to tell, the
simplest in the world the merest monograph, and I
introduced the main body of my personages as a set
ting, merely; just as a jeweller surrounds a choice
stone with small pearls to bring its color into fuller
relief.
And here they are, upsetting everything.
Look at Billy, for instance. I could not have gotten
276 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
on at all without him. In the first place, no Christmas
party at Elmington could have been complete without
him and his jovial laugh. It would have been against
all nature not to have invited him, and equall} 7 " against
Billy's nature to have stayed away. But as ill luck
would have it, his girl, though of a different county,
must needs be of the party; but I, knowing nothing of
this, caused him to gallop up to the Hall, that cold
Christmas Eve, simply that he might enliven the com
pany with his " Arkansas Traveller" and the rest of his
not very classic repertoire, and still more by his mem
orable dive under the table. Now I like my Billy; but
his loves are not to our purpose. And so for I can
not have the course of my story marred any longer by
his antics I have shipped him off to the University.
Imagine him bursting into No. 28, East Lawn, and
shaking his room-mate's hand to the verge of disloca
tion. Five or six cronies have crowded in to welcome
the truant back (writhing, each in turn, under the grasp
of his obtrusively honest hand).
" No, Tom, you need not take that old gourd out of
the box. My fiddling days are over."
" What !" exclaimed an indignant chorus.
".Come back solemn ?" asked Tom. " Bad luck ?"
Billy colored a little. " Solemn ? Not I. But oh,
boys, I have such a story to tell you ! You like to hear
me scrape, wh-e-e-w !"
"What is it?"
Jones threw back his bead and gave a roar as though
Niagara laughed. While he is telling the story of his
discomfiture we will take our leave of him ; for as soon
as the chorus have departed, he will begin to tell his
friend Tom about his girl, and we have no time to
listen to any more of that. But he is such a good fel
low that I think we may forgive him the delay his loves
have cost us.
It is somewhat harder to pardon Charley's falling in
love so inopportunely ; but even as to him my heart
relents when I remember that it was his first offence,
and how penitent, how sheepish, even, were his looks,
whenever I alluded to his fall. Let him go on casting
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 277
out of the corners of his eyes timid, admiring glances
at the inimitable Alice; drinking in deep, intoxicating
draughts of her merry, laughter-spangled talk ; happy
in her presence ; in her absence fiercely wondering why,
in this otherwise wisely-ordered world (as we Virgin
ians have been taught to believe it), he alone was a
stammering idiot. Let all this go on, and more; but
as with Jones, so with Charley, their loves must equally
be brushed from the path of this story.
The case of lover No. 3 presents greater difficulties.
When I recall certain passages of the preceding narra
tive, I am forced to acknowledge that, in the case of
the Don, I have unwittingly entered into an implied
obligation to my readers. Unwittingly, for I solemnly
assure them that when (for instance) I described the
gallant rescue of Alice and Lucy by the stalwart
stranger, it did not so much as cross my mind what
tacit promise I thereby held out. Had I been a novel-
writer or even a novel-reader, instead of the phi
losopher and bushwhacker that I am, it could not
have escaped me that by suffering two of my heroines
to be valiantly rescued from deadly peril by a hand
some, nay, a mysterious and hence painfully interesting
young man, I had, in effect, signed a bond to bring
about a marriage between the rescuer and one of the
rescued, or both ;' the more charming of the two being
reserved for the end of the book, the less to be thrown
in earlier as a sort of matrimonial sop to Cerberus,
an hymeneal luncheon, as it were. Yes, I allowed one
of my heroes to rescue two of my heroines, while a
third gazed trembling upon the scene from her latticed
window. Nay, worse ; for whether drawn on insen
sibly by the current of events, or hurried thereto by
the entreaties of my friend and collaborator, Alice, who,
woman-like, declared that she would have nothing to
do with my book unless I put some love in it, whether
inveigled, therefore, or cajoled, it is a fact that I have
made allusion here and there, in the course of these
pages, to such sighings and oglings and bosom-heavings
and heart-flutter ings, accompanied by such meaning
starts and deep ineffable glances, that I am willing to
24
278 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
admit what Alice claims : that it would be almost an
actual breach of faith not to tell people what it all
meant.
" If you are going to write a novel, Jack" (I have
been plain Jack since she married Charley), " why don't
you write one and be done with it?"
"How many times must I tell you that I am not
writing a novel, but a pbilosophico-bushwhackerian
monograph on the theme "
" Bushwhackerian fiddlestick!" cried Alice, impa
tiently, but unable to suppress a smile at the rolling
thunder of my title. " You may write your monograph,
as you call it, but who would read it ?"
It was during this discussion that Alice agreed to
edit the love-passages that illumine these pages. But
what love-passages ? After much debate we effected a
compromise. If she would engage to spare the reader
all save a mere allusion to the heart-pangs of the jovial
Jones, she should have full liberty to revel through
whole chapters in the loves of the Don. "As for your
little affair with Charley," I added, "I agree to dress
that up myself."
" Indeed, indeed, Jack, if you were to put Mr. Fro-
bisher and myself in your book and and make
him"
" Make him " (Here I smiled.)
" You know, you villain !"
"Stammer forth praises of your loveliness?"
" You dare !"
And so we are reduced to a single pair of lovers :
the Don and
CHAPTEE XL VI.
Bur he was enough. At the period at which we are
now arrived, his conduct became more perplexing than
ever. The neighborhood was divided into two camps,
one maintaining that Mary found favor in his eyes, the
other that Lucy and music had carried the day. Most
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 279
of the gentlemen were of the latter party. They
pointed out his frequent visits across the Eiver, the
hours he spent playing for or with her, his obvious
efforts to win the good-will of her mother. Some few
of the girls were on our side ; and I remember that
they, at times, commented with some asperity on the
alleged court that the Don paid Mrs. Poythress, rather
plainly signifying that in their case a swain would find
it to his interest to make love to them rather than to
their mothers. But a majority of the girls, headed by
Alice, scouted the idea of the Don's being enamoured
of the gentle Lucy ; the difference between their party
and that of the men being that they could give no rea
son for the faith that was in them. They thought so
they knew it well, we should see persisted they, in
their irritating feminine way.
As a natural result of this state of things, there
arose among us a sort of anti-Don party. His popu
larity began to wane. What did he mean by playing
fast and loose with two girls? Why did he not declare
himself for one or the other? Who was he, in fact?
But against this rising tide of disapprobation Charley
was an unfailing bulwark. It was obvious to all that
a close intimacy had sprung up between Frobisher and
the Don. They were continually taking long walks
together. Secluded nooks of porches became their
favorite resting-places. The murmur of their voices
was often to be heard long after the rest of the family
had retired for the night. Charley, therefore, gave this
suspicious character the stamp of his approval, and that
approval sustained him in our little circle. I say our
little circle, though I, of course, had long since returned
to Richmond, and my supposed practice at the bar.
Fortunately for the reader, Alice remained on the
scene ; else where had been those delicious love-pas
sages that are in store for us ?
Of all this circle, Alice was most eager to ascertain
the actual state of the Don's sentiments. Nor was
hers an idle curiosity. Her penetrating eyes had not
failed to pierce the veil of bravado by which Mary had
sought to hide her heart from her friend. But did Ac
280 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
love her? She believed so, believed half in dread,
half in hope. Now was the time to learn something
definite.
For the Poythresses had given a dinner, and she and
Charley were promenading up and down the Oakhurst
piazza. Presently, there sounded from the parlor the
" A" on the piano, followed by those peculiar tones of a
violin being tuned, tones so charmingly suggestive, to
lovers of music, so exasperating to others.
"Ah, they are going to play!" said my gi-andfather,
quickly; and he turned to go into the parlor, followed
by all of the promenaders save Charley and Alice, who
still strode to and fro, arm in arm.
" They are going to play," repeated he, as he got to
the door, turning and nodding to Charley, and then
passed briskly within.
At this some of the girls smiled, and Charley red
dened, poor fellow, and bit his lip; while Alice gazed,
unconscious, at two specks of boats in the distance.
Suddenly Mr. Whacker reappeared, thrusting his
ruddy countenance and snowy hair between the fair
Leads of two girls who were just entering the door, a
pleasing picture.
"The Kreutzer Sonata!" he ejaculated at Charley,
and disappeared.
At this the two girls fairly giggled aloud, and, dart
ing Parthian glances at Alice, tumbled through the
hall into the parlor.
" What merry, thoughtless creatures we girls are !"
said Alice, removing her gaze from the specks of sails.
" Yes, and no fellow can find out, half the time, what
you are laughing about, or thinking about, for the
matter of that."
"What! do you deem us such riddles, you who,'
they say, can read one's thoughts as though we were
made of glass ?"
" I ? And who says that of me, pray ?"
" Everybody says it. / say it," she added, with a
smile of saucy defiance.
" I read people's thoughts I"
"Do you disclaim the gift?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 281
"Even to disclaim it would be preposterously vain."
Charley would have avoided that word " preposter
ous" had he bethought him, in time, how many p's it
contained. His face was red when he had stumbled
and floundered through it, and his eyes a trifle stern.
He bad been a stammerer from boyhood, but of lato
his infirmity had begun to annoy him strangely.
" Then, modest young man, I suppose you have yet
to learn the alphabet of mind-reading?"
" Yes, that is, women's minds."
" Women's minds ? Do you think that we are harder
to read than men ? Do you think, for example, that
people find it harder to see through such an unsophis
ticated girl as myself than such a deep philosopher as
you?"
" You ? Why, you are an unfathomable m-m-m-
mystery ?" (" Confound it !")
" The idea ! I a mystery ? And this from you, un
readable sphinx !"
" Yes, and unfathomable ! Why, I have no idea what
you think upon the upon well, all sorts of subjects."
Charley caressed with a shy glance the toes of his
boots, and felt red.
" Indeed ? How strange !" And she gazed upon the
dots of boats and felt pale.
"Yes; for example, I have often wondered what
in fact, for example, you thought, for instance, of of
of me, for instance. Oh, no, no, of course not, I
beg your pardon ; of course I never imagined for a
moment, of course not, that you ever thought of me at
all, in fact. What I mean is, that whenever you did
think of me, though I presume you never did for an
instant, of course, I mean that if by chance, when
you had nothing else to think about, and I happened
to pass by Oh, Lord !" cried Charley, clasping in his
hand his burning brow.
What is the matter with my people? Chatterbox
reduced to monosyllables, and the Silent Man pouring
forth words thick as those that once burst from the
deep chest of Ulysses of many wiles ; and they, as we
all know, thronged thick as flakes of wintry snow.
24*
282 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"Don't you think I am an idiot? Have you. the
least doubt of it?" exclaimed the poor fellow, with
fierce humility.
Alice gave a little start and looked up.
" A confounded stammering idiot ?"
"Mr. Frobisherl"
He didn't mean it. Charley could never have done
such a thing on purpose; but his left arm suddenly
threw off all allegiance to his will, and actually pressed
a certain modest little dimpled hand against his heart
.so hard that it blushed to the finger-tips. Alice looked
down with quickened breath, slackened pace ; but Char
ley swept her forward with loftier stride, drawing in
mighty draughts of air, and glaring defiance at the
universe. He did not, however, stride over the railing at
the end of the piazza. Taking advantage of the halt
"Strange!" said Alice, in a low voice; "do you know
that I, too, have often wondered what you thought of
me? Seeing you sitting, silent and thoughtful, while
I was rattling on in my heedless way, I often wondered
whether you did not think me a chatterer destitute as
well of brains as of heart. No? Keally and truly?
You are very kind to say so !"
"Kind!" exclaimed Charley. "Kind! * *
* * * * * * " * *^
" * * * * " said Alice, looking down " *
* # * * *_
"* * *" continued Charley, "* * *
#####*###*
yes, * * first and only * * Eichmond
* very first moment * never again
* dreaming and waking * despair
* * torments of the * * abyss !"
" * * mere passing fancy ? * as ever
were caught out of it. * * Richmond * week
* * * out of sight, out of * *."
"* * * ey, fiercely, * * * while
life * yonder river flows down to the sea
* * by all that's * * never * * *
BO long as the stars no,
never!"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" * * * naturally enough * * country-
house * * * passing whim * absence
* * * another dear charmer * * effaced."
"No * * graven * * indelible * *
revolve upon its axis * * * * sheds her
light * * * * shall beat * * *
obliterated !"
" * * * others * * vows * before
* and yet * * * woman's confiding nature
* * forgotten."
"* * * then if * * bid me * not
* altogether * * permit me * *
absolute aversion * * * grow into * *
time * * * fidelity * * * * ray
of hope ?"
"* * * so totally unexpected," [Oh! ! !
J. B. W.] " * * * breath away with surprise
* * my own mind * test *
* both of us * * for the present
* * as though not said."
" * * " said he " * * * absolute dislike ?"
* " dropping her eyes, " *
cannot altogether deny * at times *
acknowledge * * * perhaps * *."
Here the cooing of these turtle-doves was interrupted.
" The adagio is about to begin 1" [Does the learned
counsel allude, when he speaks of the "adagio," to
the andante con variazioni of Beethoven's so-called
Kreutzer Sonata, A major, Opus 47 ? But did a
lawyer ever count for anything outside of his briefs ?
Gh. Frobisher.*-']
" The adagio be " thought Charley, with a flash of
heat; but reined himself back on that modest little
verb ; so that no man will ever know what he intended
to think. [A thousand pities, too, for as his mind,
* Reading the final proofs of this book, I find, bracketed into the
text, sundry satirical observations at my expense; signed, some by
Charley, others by Alice, who had undertaken to relieve me of the
drudgery of the first proofs. Rather than bother the printer, I have
suffered many of them to remain for what they are worth ! J. B. W.
[And I suffer this astounding note to remain for what it is worth. ED.]
284 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
though originally sound, never had the advantage of
legal training, 'tis a recreation that he treats it to but
seldom. J. B. TF.]
My grandfather has passed out of the parlor on tip
toe, to make this announcement ; though why on tip
toe (there being an intermission in the music) I leave
to psychologists to determine.
The two giggling girls had popped into seats near
the door ; and when they saw him moving past them,
bent on his errand of mercy (Charley was not to miss
the adagio), they fell upon each other's necks and
wept sunny tears.
"Poor Mr. Frobisher!" gasped one.
" Isn't it too cruel !" gurgled the other.
Presently Mr. Whacker returned, looking rather dis
concerted. Charley had said, " In a moment, Uncle
Tom ;" but his flushed face, and his voice, pitched in a
strange key, as it were, rather upset his old friend ;
and he had retreated rather precipitately, a little
troubled in mind (he knew not why), but none the
wiser for what he had seen.
" Won't they come in to hear the adagio ?" asked one
of the gigglers. The little hypocrite had brought her
features under control with an effort, and had even
managed to throw into her voice an accent of sympa
thetic solicitude.
"Not even to hear the adagio I" echoed her pal,
with reproachful emphasis.
" They seem to be engaged," said Uncle Tom, simply.
At this the gigglers giggled giggloariously.
"The simpletons!" sighed my grandfather, bending
upon them a look wherein the glory of his dark eyes
was veiled with a gentle pathos that ever dimmed
them when he looked upon happiness and youth.
"Laugh while you may I You will have plenty of
time for tears in the journey of life, poor things. In
this poor world, my daughters, the height of foolishness
is often the summit of wisdom. Laugh on." And he
placed his hands upon their sunny heads, as though to
bless them and to avert the omen. And they, with one
accord, arose, and, throwing around his neck a tangle
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 285
of shining arms, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. And
he went his way, none the wiser, went his way in
that simplicity of age which is more touching than that
of childhood ; since it has known once and forgotten.
And between his departing form and their eyes, that
laughed no longer, there arose a mist that seemed to
lend a tender halo to his gray hairs and they blessed
him in turn.
" Mr. Frobisher," said Alice, halting in front of the
door, " I think we should go in."
" Go in ?" repeated Charley, with a rather dazed
look.
Things were so interesting on the piazza, 1
"Yes, we must!"
Could he be mistaken ? No, there was an unmis
takable something in that pull upon his arm that said,
Come with me.
"Not now; just one brief moment!"
" Yes, now. We might hurt Uncle Tom's feelings."
" We!" Did she mean it? Charley gave a quick,
inquiring glance. She raised her eyes and met his with
a kind of shrinking frankness.
" You say," said Charley, " that we must go in to
hear the adagio; but tell me just one little word:
while they are playing that, may my heart beat in the
frolic rhythm of the scherzo ?"
She made no reply, nor raised her head; but the
same gentle pull upon his arm seemed to say, and
plainer than before, Come with me.
" Tell me, dearest ?"
" Oh, don't bother people so !"
Then, for the first time, her face, pallid before, was
suffused with a sudden glory of roses.
286 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE reader can hardly be more amazed at the last
chapter than is the writer, amazed not so much at its
contents as at its existence. I agree, at the close of
the forty -fifth chapter, to exclude all save the loves of
the Don from these pages, and then devote the whole
of the forty-sixth to the amours of Charley and Alice !
I break a promise almost in the act of making it.
Some explanation seems proper, and one lies close at
hand.
Your modern Genius is an out-and-out business man.
He may be trusted to furnish his publisher just so many
chapters, just so many pages, paragraphs, lines, words,
as shall precisely fill the space allotted him in the maga
zine. Nor baker with his loaves, nor grocer with his
herring, could be more exact. Pegasus no longer
champs his bit, as of old, nor paws the earth. He goes
in shafts, in these days, and is warranted not to kick
in harness. He trots up to your front door, goods are
delivered, and he jogs off to another customer, his flanks
cool, no foam upon rein.
Now, I, being a mere Bushwhacker, bestride, of
course, an untrained, shaggy mustang, an animal
sorely given to buck-jumping and to unaccountable
bursts in every direction save along the beaten truck.
And how, pray, am I to know, astride such a disre
putable prairie-Pegasus, whither I am going, and how
far; and when, if ever, I may hope to return?
The average reader would probably accept this
apology, but as I am (in a small way) a disciple of
Epaminondas (who, as every school-boy knows, would
not fib, even in jest), I shall not offer it in palliation of
my conduct. The true explanation (and therefore the
only one that that unique Grecian would have thought
of giving) is to be found in the rather peculiar way in
which this story is being written.
The romantic among my readers doubtless picture
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 287
me to themselves seated in my arm-chair, my feet en
cased in embroidered slippers, my graceful person (for
they did not believe me when I admitted that I was
fat) wrapped in the folds of a rich dressing-gown. My
intellectual brow is half shaded by my long hair, half
illumined by the pale light of the midnight lamp.
Meantime, with upturned eyes I await inspiration.
This, though a pretty enough picture, is not such as
would have earned the approval of the hero who first
taught the Spartans how to yield ; for, on the con
trary, this tale, so far, has been put together in a very
different fashion and as follows :
Whenever Charley and Alice are accessible to me,
when, that is, either they are spending a few weeks in
Richmond, or I can run down to Leicester for a little
holiday, it is understood that we three are to get to
gether, alone, of coin-se, and at such hours as we are
least liable to interruption. The door is then locked
(never double-locked, to Alice's great regret, for she
says that this precaution is invariable in novels ; but,
for the life of us, none of the three could ever find out
how to double-lock a door), and we begin talking over
those old times, Alice and Charley doing most of it.
For, as the reader may recall, either one or the other
of them was an eye-witness of most of the scenes de
picted in this volume. My part in the transactions is
simple. From time to time I contribute some little in
cident which may have come within my personal
knowledge \ b,ut, as a rule, I confine myself to taking
notes; by the aid of which, I, in my leisure moments,
draw up, between meetings, as clear a narrative as I
can ; and this being submitted to my coadjutors, is
brought into its final shape by the combined efforts of
the trio.
This method of composition explains, though I fear
it will not excuse, what many readers will deem a grave
defect in our joint production. Confined to what either
Alice or Charley or myself saw or heard with our mere
outward eyes or ears, there was obviously no place in
these pages for any of that subtle analysis of thoughts,
that deep insight into feelings, that far-reaching pene-
288 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
tration into the inmost recesses of the mind and heart,
that marks Modern Genius.
But it is just on this point that Charley and I have
had battle after battle with Alice. She will insist on
Insight, on Analysis. People must be told, by the
ream, what Mary felt, what the Don thought ; and she
cites novel after novel to fortify her position.
" Why do you bring up those books," said Charley,
one day. "Are we writing a novel, pray? We are
writing, as I understand it, a by the way, Jack-
Whack, what are we writing for instance ?"
"A symph "
" Exactly so ! We are composing a Symphonic
Monograph, precisely. Now show me, in the whole
range of literature, one solitary instance of a writer
of symph ic graphs "
Charley was not stammering. He has of late years
almost entirely freed himself from this infirmity. The
verbal fragments above represented escaped from al
ternate corners of his mouth, Alice having dammed the
main channel of utterance in the most extraordinary
manner. [It was a way she had. During the com
position of this entire work, whenever Charley has
seemed on the point of saying something that she was
pleased to consider humorous, she would fly at him in
the most barefaced manner, shaking with laughter,
and cut him off. Then Charley glances at me, and
tries to frown : " Oh, it is nobody but Jack," says she.]
" Besides," went on Charley, without even wiping
his lips, " you know perfectly well, Alice, that you al
ways skip that stuff. Look me in the eyes," said he,
seizing her firmly by the wrist, " look me in the eyes
and deny it I"
" Yes, but I am but a plain body, without pretensions;
whereas people of ideas, of culture, you know "
"Then you admit that where you come to pages,
solid pages of Insight, you incontinently skip them for
those passages where the characters are either acting
or speaking ? Is it not so, you little humbug ?"
"But should we not always seek the praise of the
judicious ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 289
" Oh, the simplicity of your soul, to imagine that
we are making a book for the edification of the wisel
As I understand it, Jack-Whack, it is composed ex
clusively for the delectation of "
Alice held up her hand.
" Of the majority," added Charley. [Interruption,
remonstrance, confusion. " Pshaw ! who minds Jack?"]
"The fact is," resumed Charley, with traces of a
hypocritical frown still lingering on his features,
"the fact is, all that kind of stuff which you profess to
admire, but confess you never read, reminds one of the
annotations of the classics for schools. They are not
intended to instruct the boys, but are written by one
pedant to astound other pedants. By the way, Jack,
a capital idea strikes me. It will give our book such a
taking and original air. Suppose we go through it
from beginning to end, and simply cut out all the
skipienda, every line of it, and leave only what is
intended to be read ?"
" And then publish it in the kingdom of Liliput ?"
inquired Alice.
This, then, my reader, is the way we talk while we
write this story; some account of which I thought
might interest you ; and it was after a discussion like
that just recorded that we three agreed (by a strictly
party vote of two to one) that our lovers must, for the
rest of the book, be reduced to a single pair. We
reached this decision at the conclusion of our labors
on the forty-fifth chapter. We also settled it to our
own satisfaction, that by the time our future readers
had reached this stage in our story, they would proba
bly be consumed with curiosity to know whether it
was Lucy or Mary, that, with the Don, was to con
stitute that favored pair. The fact is, it had now be
gun to dawn upon us that (although we knew better)
we had actually given the supposed reader some right
to look upon our mysterious hero as an emissary from
Utah. So putting our heads together, we decided that
it was time that he showed his colors. With a view to
forwarding this end, therefore, I requested Alice and
Charley to give me some account of a certain inter-
v t 25
290 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
view had between them, when the former had en
deavored to discover from him which of the two ^irls
had captured the Don. For Alice had often told mo
that she had made up her mind, on the night before
that dinner at Oakhurst, to make an attack on the
redoubtable Mr. Frobisher on that day, with this in
formation in view. And she had formed this resolution
owing to something that had occurred between Mary
and herself.
It appears that on the night previous to this dinner,
that reserve which Mary had shown Alice ever since
the Don had crossed her path had suddenly given way.
The two girls had gone to bed together, as was their
wont. The Don's visits to Oakhurst had been growing
in frequency, and it was understood that this dinner
was given in his honor.
" What, aren't you asleep yet ?" said 'Alice.
" No," said Mary. Something in her voice touched
her friend.
" You must not lie awake in this way," said Alice.
And she began to pass her fingers across Mary's fore
head and through her hair.
It was a simple action, but Mary broke down under
it. Throwing her arms around her life-long friend,
she pressed her convulsively to her bosom, and hiding
her face in her pillow, wept in silence. After a while
they began to talk, and they talked all night, as I am
told that sex and age not infrequently do. Alice arose
next morning with a fixed determination to unravel
the mystery that was giving her friend so much pain.
Mr. Frobisher could make things plain, if he would.
But would he ? At any rate, she would try ; for she
was a plucky little soul. And so, when Charley had
offered her his arm, that day, after dinner, for a prom
enade on the piazza, she felt that she had her oppor
tunity. But it would appear that Charley had been
looking for an opportunity himself; and so, the other
day, when I asked this couple to let me have an ac
count of the matter, with a view to the forty-sixth
chapter of the Symphonic Monograph, it leaked out
that Master Charles had, on this occasion, taken up
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 291
Alice's time not in telling her whom the Don lovedj
but whom Charles adored. This discovery, coming
upon me so suddenly, upset my determination to ex
clude the loves of Charley and Alice from our story,
and I called for an account of the courtship. For I
felt assured that an authentic account of the first and
only love-making of Charles The Silent would be the
most delicious morsel in the whole Monograph. But
at the merest allusion to such a thing, Alice blushed in
the most becoming way ; and when Charley, clearing
his throat and putting on a bold look, made as though
he were about to begin, her face became as scarlet;
and rising from .her seat she gave him the most digni
fied look that I have ever seen in those merry-glancing
hazel eyes. Thereupon Charley and I laughed so
heartily that Alice saw that she had been taken in by
her husband's serious face. "I thought not!" said she,
laughing in turn. But the idea of a chapter given to
the amours of Charles The Silent and Alice The Merry
had seized upon my mind with so strong a fascination
that I could not shake it off; and, as soon as I reached
my bachelor quarters that night, I seized my pen. My
eyes were soon in a fine phrensy rolling, I presume ;
for in the forty-sixth, or Galaxy Chapter, as I call it,
from the numerous stars with which it is bespangled,
distinct traces of Genius may be detected by the prac
tised eye (with my assistance).
What I mean is, that chapter was composed in the
manner in which true Creative Genius is in the habit
of composing, as I understand ; made, that is, out of
the whole cloth, woven of strands of air. But even
here, though mounted on a genuine (though borrowed)
earth-spurning Pegasus, I have not swerved far from
the line that the great Boeotian would have marked
out for me. Charley's courtship was quite real. It was
the words only that I have had to invent, left in the
lurch as I was by my two collaborators. And I was
going to add that, in all probability, Charley made uso
of not one of those I have put in his mouth, when I
recalled a coincidence so singular that I feel that the
reader is entitled to hear of it. When I read to my
292 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
coadjutors my version of their amours, their merriment
was uproarious. Charley, I may mention, who only
smiled when he was a bachelor, has, since his marriage,
grown stout and taken to laughing. So far as he was
concerned, my putting the word "abyss" in his mouth
was the master-stroke of the whole chapter.
" Why," said he, choking with laughter, " I am sure
I never made use of the word in my whole life !"
" Neither had you ever before in your life made love
to a girl," I objected.
" Don't be too sure of that I" said Charley, with a
knowing look.
" H'm !" put in Alice.
"What makes the thing so truly delicious," said
Charley, "is the lachrymose and woe-begone figure
you make me cut ; whereas "
" Ah ?" said Alice, bridling up.
" Whereas a chirpier lover than "
"Chirpy! oh!"
" Why, Jack-Whack, if she did not love me the very
first time she ever saw me, love 1 if she did not dote
upon "
" Dote indeed ! Very well ! very well ! He felt sure,
did he ? Now, Jack, I'll leave it to you. I'll tell you
just what he said, and let you decide whether they
were the words of a ' chirpy' lover. Chirpy, indeed !
Mr. Frobisher, you are too absurd ! We were walking
up and down the piazza, and I had on my green and
white silk dress, plaid, you know; and he said the
first thing he said was I remember it as well as if it
had been yesterday "
I drew forth my pencil. Here, after all, providentially
as it were, we were to have an authentic version of the
amours of the silent man and her of the merry -glancing
hazel eyes.
" My dear," began Charley, with nervous haste, " wo
are interrupting Jack ; let him go on with his reading "
"Aha!" cried Alice, in triumph, "I thought "
Here Alice detected Charley giving me, with his off
eye, a wink so huge that its corrugations (like waves
bursting over a breakwater) scaled the barrier of his
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 293
nose and betrayed what the other side of his face was
at.
Charley ducked his head just in time ; and immedi
ately thereafter began a series of dextrous manoeuvres
among the chairs and other furniture in the room, in
evading Alice's persistent efforts to smooth out some
of the wrinkles that wicked wink had wrought. At
last he tumbled into his seat rather blown, and with
one cheek redder than the other.
Amid such scenes as this has this tale been tacked
together. Can the reader wonder at its harum-scarum
way of getting itself told ? Am I not driving a team
of mustangs ?
" They are all alike," puffed Charley ; " they love us to
distraction, but we must not know it. Go on, my boy."
I read on amid much hilarity ; and it was such re
ception of this solitary effort of my individual muse
that induced me to retain it in the body of the work.
At last we came to the passage where occurred the
coincidence to which I have alluded.
In my fabulous and starry account of the billing and
cooing on the piazza, I make Charley ask, May my
heart beat in the frolic rhythm of the scherzo ? This for
why should I hide my harmless self-content from my
friend, the reader ? this I don't deny that I thought
a very neat and unhackneyed way of asking a girl
whether she gave you leave to consider yourself a
happy dog. It was my little climax, and I confess it
my heart fluttered a little as I drew near the passage,
in anticipation of the plaudits I trusted to receive.
No clapping of hands. A dead silence, rather ; and
looking up, I saw my friends staring at one another.
"What's the matter?" asked I, a little sheepishly.
" I rather thought," I stammered, " that that that was
not so bad ?"
" Mr. Frobisher, I am astonished at you !" [At that
period it was not usual for Virginia wives to call their
husbands by their Christian names.]
" Indeed, my dear "
" You need not say one word 1 I should not have
thought it of you, that's all 1"
25*
294 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" But, Alice"
"Why, what's the matter?" asked I, bewildered.
" Oh, nothing !" said Alice, with a toss of her head.
" Jack-Whack, I'll tell you ; she thinks I have been
blabbing to you."
"Thinks!"
" But I have not 1"
"Do you mean to tell me that Jack, without a hint
from you actually " she hesitated.
" ' Frolic rhythm of the scherzo 1' " I shouted, in joy
ous derision ; " and you positively used that phrase,
you sentimental old fraud !"
Charley turned very red, redder still, when Alice,
relieved of the suspicion that he had been revealing
their little love-mysteries, laughed merrily at his dis
comfiture.
" It was not quite so b-b-b-b-ad as that. I admit the
'scherzo' part; b-b-b-ut 'frolic rhythm' 1 I was not so
many kinds of an idiot as that amounts to."
And so I swear it by the shades of Epaminondaa
I had actually hit upon the very word, and truth ia
again stranger than fiction.
CHAPTEE XLVIII.
TIME was pressing. In another week these long-
continued and long-to-be-remembered Christmas fes
tivities would come to an end. Yesterday, Alice had
failed to extract any information from Charley. To
day, she would make another effort.
Opportunities were not lacking,^abundant opportu
nities. Somehow, everything had changed. Yesterday,
wherever Alice was, there was a cluster of merry faces.
To-day, her mere appearance upon the piazza seemed
to dissipate the groups that chanced to be sitting there.
One by one, on one pretext or another, the young peo
ple would steal away ; and it was astounding how often
Charley constituted the sole social residuum. Charley
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 295
thought it famous luck ; but Alice detected distinct
traces of design in this sudden avoidance of her
society. " Tbey seem to be engaged," she knew that
inriocent phrase of Uncle Tom's was passing from
mouth to mouth, and it annoyed her; for, at the
period in question, it was fashionable for our Virginia
girls to be ashamed of being engaged; and so deep-
rooted was this feeling, that whereas we are assured
by Cornelius Nepos that Epaminondas was such a lover
of truth that he would not lie even in jest but enough
of the virtuous Theban
Alice, then, being superior neither to her sex nor to
her age, as I am glad to say, was half vexed at being
so constantly left alone with Charley, yet half willing
to be so vexed. There was an innuendo, it is true, in
the very absence of her companions ; but then the soft
rubbish that Charley was pouring into her pink ear!
Of all passions, love is the most selfish ; not except
ing hunger and thirst. Yesterday, Alice had been
eager to speak with Charley, alone, in the interests of
her friend Mary. To-day she has already had three
talks with him; and although he had given her noth
ing more to do than to listen to the conjugation of one
little verb, she had not thought of Mary once. Left
together for the fourth time, they were sitting on the
piazza ; and Charley, having already exhausted and
re-exhausted the other tenses, was about to tackle the
pluperfect, that is to say, having persuaded himself
that it was true, he was beginning to explain to Alice
how it was that, before he had ever seen her, and
merely from what he had heard of her, etc., etc., etc.
[Fib ! Alice F.~\ Just at this juncture, Mary brushed
past them. Charley raising his eyes and seeing in
Mary's a casual, kindly smile, returned it with interest,
the happy dog! Alice raised hers, and seeing the
casual, kindly smile, and more, looked grave.
" What is the matter?" asked Charley.
Compared with your infatuated lover, your hawk is
the merest bat.
Alice rose. " I want to have a talk with you. Let
us walk down to ' the Fateful.' "
25*
296 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
11 The Fateful"" Fateful Argo," to give the name in
full had been christened by Billy. It was neither
more nor less than a large and strongly-built row-boat,
which had been hauled up on the shore; and being old
and leaky, had been abandoned there. It had become
imbedded in the sand, and being protected from the
wind by a dense clump of low-growing bushes, was a
very pleasant resting-place for the romantic, in sunny
winter weather. It has been sung that Venus sprang
from the waves. The truth of the legend I can neither
deny nor affirm ; but it is certain that their gentle
splashing had a strange intoxication for many a couple
that ventured to take their seats in this " Fateful Argo."
Alice took her seat in the stern, and Charley (although
there were several other seats in good repair) eat beside
her.
I think it will be allowed me that no book was ever
freer than this from satirical reflections upon women
(or, in fact, freer from reflections of every sort upon
any and all subjects) ; but I am constrained to observe,
just here, that it seems to me that they have, at times,
a rather inconsequential way of talking. That is, you
cannot always tell, from what they have just said,
what is coming next.
" I have asked you," began Alice, " to come with me
to this retired spot that I may have a talk with you.
I have a favor to Mr. Frobisher, you must be beside
yourself! And the piazza full of people 1" [Shades of
Epaminondas ! A. Frobisher, .]
That's what I complain of. When they begin a sen
tence, you never know how it is going to end.
" On the contrary, thank heaven ! I am beside
you."
" But you won't be beside me long, if you don't be
have yourself. Don't, oh, don't I Are you crazy ?"
" Perfectly, and glad of it," replied Charley, with
brazen resignation.
" Well, then." And with a supple grace disengaging
herself from his proximity, so to speak, she whisked
away to the seat in front.
That's the reason I always did love women. Their
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 297
memories are so short. No matter how angry they
may be, if you will watch them while they are scolding
you, you will see that they are forgiving you as fast as
they can.
" You are perfectly outrageous !" said Alice ; at the
same time readjusting her collar, and with both hands,
-just to show how dreadfully provoked she was.
" Outrageous? Presently you will be calling me
Argo-naughty," said Charley. [This is too bad! I
never made one in my life. Chs. F.~]
Alice had purposed looking indignant for two or
three consecutive seconds, but surprised by this totally
unexpected sally, she burst out laughing. She had
opened her batteries on the enemy, but, by ceasing to
fire, she had revealed the exhaustion of her ammunition ;
and he, so far from being stampeded, showed symptoms
of an advance. As a prudent captain, all that was left
her was to retire. She took the seat next the prow.
The enemy seized the vacated position.
" That seat is very rickety."
"So I perceive," remarked the enemy, rising and
advancing.
" Oh, but there is not room on this for two. Go back
to the stern." And she threw out skirmishers.
The now exultant foe grasped one of the skirmish
ers in both his : " You will forgive me ?"
" Oh, I suppose so, if you will go back to your seat,
and behave yourself. Let go my hand."
" You have promised it to me."
"Yes, but indeed, Mr. Probisher, the girls on the
piazza "
" The piazza is nearly a hundred yards away, bless
its heart!"
" Indeed, indeed there now !" she suddenly added,
with a stamp of her foot, " I told you so !"
When? When did she tell him so? That's another
reason I could never make a woman out.
It was then that Charley heard the sound of heavy
footsteps crunching thi-ough the sand, and, turning his
head, saw through thfe twilight an approaching figure
almost at his elbow.
298 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Alice, like most, though not all of her sex, was, as I
have mentioned before, a woman. Raising her placid
face and serene eyes, she pointed out to her companion,
with the tip of her parasol, a gull that hurried above
them in zigzag, onward flight. " Yes," continued she,
^-or seemed to continue, " she seems to be belated.
I wonder where she will roost to-night? On some
distant island, I suppose."
" Sam, is that you ? Sam is one of my men, one of
the best on my farm. Sam, this is Miss Alice Miss
Alice Carter."
" Sarvant, mistiss," said Samuel, hastily removing
his hat and bowing, not without a certain rugged grace ;
while at the same time, by a backward obeisance of his
vast foot, he sent rolling riverward a peck of shining
Band.
" Well, Sam, any news from the farm ?"
" Iior', mahrster, d'yar never is no news over d'yar !
I most inginerally comes over to Elminton when a-
sarchin' for de news."
" And you want to make me believe that 3*011 walk
over here every night for the news, do you ? Sam is
courting one of Uncle Tom's women," added Charley,
addressing Alice. " I am in daily expectation of having
him ask my consent to his nuptials."
Sam threw back his head and gave one of those
serene, melodious laughs (as though a French horn
chuckled), the like of which, as I have said before, will
probably never again be heard on this earth. " Loi ->
bless me, young mistiss, what's gone and put dat -notion
'bout my courtin' in Marse Charley head? I always
tells 'em as how a nigger k'yahnt do no better'n walk
in de steps o' de mahrster, and Marse Charley and me is
nigh onto one age ; and Marse Charley ain't married,
leastwise not yet."
" You mean to say," said Alice, " that when Mr. Fro-
bisher marries it will be time enough for you to think
of taking a wife ?"
"Adzackly, young mistiss, adzackly, dat's it. But
Lor' me, I dunno, neither. I aint so sartin 'bout dut.
Sam don't want to bo hurried up. He want to take he
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 299
time a choosin'. A man got to watch hisself dese times.
D'yar ain't no sich gals as d'yar used to be. De fact
is, ole Fidjinny has been picked over pretty close,
and Sam ain't after de rubbage dat de others done
leff."
" I am afraid you are rather hard to please, Sam ?"
" Yes, mistiss, Sam is hard to please." [Three weeks
from this date Sam led to the altar a widow with one
eye and eleven children, making an even dozen, who
was lame of the left leg, black as the ace of spades, and
old enough to be his mother.] " I won't 'spute dat.
Ain't I patternin' after Marse Charley ? Slow and sho"
is de game Marse Charley play, and Sam's a-treadiu'
in he tracks. Lor', mistiss, you wouldn't believe how
many beautiful young ladies has been a-fishin' for him ;
but pshaw! dey mought as well 'a' tried to land a
porpoise wid a pin-hook!"
Encouraged by the smiles evoked by this bold com
parison, Sam bloomed into metaphor:
" But he was not to be cotched, not he ! Leastwise
not by dem baits. 'Never mind, Marse Charley,' says
I to myself, 'never you mind. You g'long! Jess
g'long a-splashin' and a-cavortin' and a-sniffin' !' 'Fore
Gaud dem's my very words, ' but d'yar's a hook some-
whar as will bring you to sho' yet,' says I ; ' and dat
hook is baited wid de loveliest little minner,' umgh
u-m-g-h ! Heish ! Don't talk !"
Charley could scarcely suppress his delight. " And
how soon," said he, carelessly dropping his hand into
his pocket, " how soon am I to be landed ?"
"How soon ?" repeated Sam, leaning upon his heavy
staff and reflecting with a diplomatic air. "How
soon ? Lor', mahrster, what for you ax a nigger dat
question ? How is a nigger to know ? But I do be
lieve," said he, turning his b".k upon the river, and at
the same time landing his metaphoi*, "dat you have
done jumped over into de clover-field already, and you
ain't gwine to jump back no mo'." (Here Charley
withdrew his hand from his pocket and threw bis arm
casually behind him, across the gunwale' of the Argo.)
" Leastwise," he added with a perceptible-imperceptible
300 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
glance at Alice, " leastwise I don't see how you could
have de heart to do it."
Here Charley gave a slight movement of his wrist,
invisible to Alice ; and Sam, with a few sidelong, care
less steps, placed himself behind his master. He
stooped and rose again, and Alice saw in his hand
three or four oyster shells. These he dropped from
time to time, pouring forth, meanwhile, a wealth of
tropes and figures drawn from both land and sea ; but
the last shell seemed to fall into his pocket.
An Anglo-Saxon, if he have a well-boi-n father, a
careful mother, and half a dozen anxious maiden aunts,
you shall sometimes see hammered into the similitude
of a gentleman ; but in your old Virginia negro good-
breeding would seem to have been innate.
"Some says dat d'yar is as good fish in de sea as
ever was cotched out of it j but I tells 'em, when you
done pulled in one to suit you, you better row for de
sho' less a squall come and upsot de boat. Well, good-
evenin', Miss Alice, and good-evenin', Marse Charley!"
And with polite left foot and courteous right the black
ploughman sent rolling the shining sand.
"There, now," said Alice, "you seel What did I
tell you ?"
" Oh," replied Charley, " Sam will keep dark !"
Yes, those were his very words! And Alice ac
knowledges that he made the one recorded above
(though I see he has denied it). Such is ever the ruin
wrought by love, even in the mind of a philosopher.
" By the way," said Alice, as she stood with her feet
upon the gunwale of the Argo, ready to spring, "in
the rather mixed metaphors of honest Sam, which of
us was the fish and which the hook ? ' Porpoise,' "
quoted she, laughing, " I trust I don't remind you of
one?"
Charley, who stood in the sand, held one of Alice's
hands in each of his with a degree of pressure entirely
incommensurate with the necessities of equilibrium :
" * * * *" sang he, with a rapt and
fatuous smile. "* *****
Absence of wings * * * vision * *
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 30 1
* * eyes beheld." For, upon my word, the
reader must not expect me to transcribe more than a
word, here and there, of such jargon.
Yet, though my tongue be harsh, I do not in my
heart blame Charley ; for Alice, at all times a pretty
girl, was, just at this moment, as she stood above
him with the dark sky for a background, radiantly
beautiful in his eyes. And more,
She looked beautiful on purpose.
I repeat it, she did it on purpose.
And here, though it is abhorrent to all my art-
instincts to break the current of my story with any
thing like a thought, original or selected, though I
have promised the reader to place before him a suc
cession of pictures merely, without even adding, This
is Daniel, and, These are the Lions I I feel that I have
used an expression requiring an explanation. That
explanation I cannot give save through the medium
of what disguise it how I will wears the semblance
of a thought.
Buckle, in his " History of Civilization in England,"
lays it down that no man can write history without a
knowledge of the physical sciences. Now it is equally
true that no one can discuss human nature scientific
ally without an acquaintance with zoology. It is
Darwin and the naturalists who have opened up this
new field of inquiry ; and Comparative Zoological Na
ture has now become as needful a study to the play
wright and novelist as Comparative Anatomy is to the
physiologist. For my own part, whenever I would know
whether a certain proposition be true of man, I first
inquire if it holds good as to the lower animals, to
speak as a man; and in the course of my desultory
investigations on this line I have stumbled upon sundry
valuable truths.
Among the convictions which I have reached in this
way is the one which led me to say just now that
our pretty little Alice, perched upon the gunwale of
the Argo, bethought her of making poor Charley
crazy with love, by simply looking very, very beauti
ful ; and did so look accordingly, then and there. Of
26
302 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
the mere fact there can be no doubt, since I have
Charley's word for that. [Fact. C. F.~\ [Goose! A.F.~\
[Who? J. B. W.~] But a scientific explanation of the
phenomenon can be given only by a student of Com
parative Zoological Nature.
The way in which I hit upon the truth in question
was as follows. A vexatious incident in my own pri
vate history had occurred just at the time when I bad
Bet myself the task of weaving this Monograph, and I
was ruefully ruminating upon woman and her ways,
and bringing up in my mind, and contrasting with her
(in my Comparative Zoological fashion) all manner of
birds and fishes and what not, when all of a sudden
there popped into my head eels, and how marvellously
slippery they were.
But, thought I, if you can but got your finger and
thumb into their gills, you've got 'em ; and if eels
But straightway I lost heart ; for I remembered,
from my Darwin, that of gills or branchice, as he will
persist in calling them no traces have for ages been
discovered in the genus homo, at least in the adult
stage. Far from it ; for the Egyptian mummies, even
in their day, for example, got on perfectly without
them.
The case was hopeless, therefore ; but still I went on
ruminating about women and eels and eels and women,
in the most aimless and unprofitable fashion, till, wan
dering off from the eel of commerce and the pie, I
chanced to think of the electric variety of that fish.
Here faint streaks of dawn began to make themselves
felt ; and so, making a rapid excursion through the
animal kingdom, and recalling the numberless appli
ances for offence, defence, and attraction to be observed
therein, I returned flushed with victory. I had made
a discovery. It is this. Just as the eel in question
(the Gymnotus electricus) has a reservoir of electricity,
to be used when needed, so woman, I find, carries about
her person more or less bottled beauty, which she has
the singular power of raying forth at will.
More or less ; in too many cases, less ; but evolution,
through selection, may ultimately mend that.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 303
How, or by what mechanism they contrive to do this,
is more than I can tell. We know, it is true, that the
Anolis principalis (the so-called chameleon of the Gulf
States) can change at will from dingy brown to a lovely
pea-green, by reversing certain minute scales along its
back ; but to jump from this fact to the conclusion that
the woman you saw at breakfast old and yellow, but
youthful and rosy at the ball, indued all this glory by
simply reversing her scales, is, in the present state of
our knowledge, premature. Besides, we have just
seen that the gills of the prehistoric sister have long
since disappeared ; so that the woman of the period
may, upon investigation, turn out not to have any
scales, minute or other, to reverse; so unsafe are analo
gies in matters of science.
But the fact remains (no other hypothesis covering
all the observed phenomena) that women carry about
their persons bottled beauty.
As to the thing itself, female beauty, I do not pretend
to know any more about it than other people. That
it is in its nature a poison has been notorious for thou
sands of years, attacking the male brain with incredi
ble virulence. This pathological condition of that or
gan has been spoken of for ages as Love, as everybody
knows. But what everybody does not know, is that
woman possesses the power of concentrating this toxic
exhalation upon a doomed male, dazzling him with
what I may provisionally term beauty's bull's-eye lamp.
Love is not blind. Just the reverse. The lovelorn see
what is invisible to others, that is all ; the focussed rays
of the most magical of all magic lanterns.
Before I made this discovery, I was continually won
dering how most of the women I knew had managed
to get married ; but it is a great comfort to me now
to know that they are all beautiful (in the eyes of their
husbands).
Setting in motion, then, this subtle mechanism, which
all women possess (though in some it don't seern to
work), Alice showered down upon Charley, from hazel
eyes and sunny hair, from well-turned throat and dim
pled hand, from undulating virgin form and momentary
304 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
ankle-flash, showered down upon him as she stood
there graceful as a gazelle ready to spring, a sparkling
wealth of youth and beauty.
No matter what Charley said.
" I am glad you think so," said she, fluttering down
from her perch.
The shining sand was deep ; and that's the reason
they walked so slowly; and that's the reason -Alice
clung so closely to his arm ; and that's the reason
Charley thought he was walking on rosy morning
clouds.
" Oh !" cried Alice, and Charley's face was corru
gated with sudden care : had some envious shell dared
bruise her alabaster toe ?
" Did you hurt your foot, est ?"
" Oh, no ; I just remembered that I had forgotten
the very thing that I came to the Argo to talk over
with you."
"What was that?"
Alice looked perplexed.
Tell me, ing ; what is it ?"
" I don't know where to begin."
"At the b-b-b-beginning, of course."
" With some people I should ; but do you know that
you are a very queer creature ?"
" Your fault ; I was just like other people till I met
you, a little cracked ever since."
" Oh, I like you that way." And she gave his arm a
little involuntary squeeze. [Nothing of the kind. Al.~\
" How am I queer, then ?"
" Well, you never tell people anything."
" I have told you a good many things within the last
day or two."
" Only one thing, but that a good many times. But
I am not a bit tired of hearing it."
Here Charley gave her hand a voluntary little squeeze
against his heart. [Inadequate statement of an actual
occurrence. G. F.~]
" The fact is, I want to ask you a question, and am
actually afraid you won't answer it. There, I knew
you would not ! A cloud passed over your face at th
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 305
very word question. You are so strange about some
things!"
"Let's hear the question ; what is it about ?"
" About the Don. There ! Why, you are positively
frowning!"
"Frowning!"
" Yes ; your face hardened as soon as I uttered the
word Don."
" The Don ! What am I supposed to know about
him ? Have not you known him as long as I, and
longer?"
" Oh, I am not going to ask you who he is, or any
thing of that kind. I presume be alone knows that."
(Charley's face grew serene.) " It is something entirely
different. Is the Don I know you will think it idle
curiosity, but, indeed, indeed, it is not is the Don in
love ?"
" Is the Don in love ?" cried Charley, with a sudden
peal of laughter. " Is the Don in love ? And that is
the weighty question that you have made such a pother
about ! Is the Don in love !"
" That sounds more like my question than an answer
to it."
" Now, seriously, my ous ing, you did not expect
me to answer such a question as that ?"
" No, I didn't I" (A little snappishly.) " Any other
man under the circumstances "
" Yes, I believe I am very different from other men,
and it is well ; for if every man were of my way of
thinking, every girl in the world, save one, would bo
deserted ; and soon there would be but one man left on
earth, such a Kilkenny fight would rage around that
one girl !"
" I knew you would not answer my question." (Not
snappishly.)
" How am I to know anything about it ?"
" You and he are inseparable "
" And hence he has made a confidant of me, and I
am to betray him ? No, he has never alluded to any
such matter. Upon my word, I know nothing what
ever upon the subject."
u 26*
306 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"Indeed? You are a droll couple, to be sure," and
she looked up, admiringly, at one-half of the couple,
" talking together for hours, and never tolling one an
other anything ! Well, then, I shall answer the ques
tion myself: The Don is in love : there I"
" What extraordinary creatures women are, to be
sure ! You ask a question, are vexed at getting no
answer, and then answer it yourself 1 The Don is in
love, then ; but with whom ?"
" That I don't know ; I only suspect. Oh, yes, I
more than suspect ; in fact, I know, but some of the
girls don't agree with me, and I want to know which
side you are on."
" On yours, of course "
"No joking; I am in earnest. The question be
tween us girls is this : it is plain to us all that he
is in love "
" Then, why on earth "
" Don't you know that when you wish to find out
about one thing the best way is to ask about an
other?"
"That aphorism, I must confess, is entirely new to
me."
" "Well, it is a household word with women. Of
course he is in love; we all of us girls, I mean
know that. But with whom? That is the question
which divides us."
" And you wish to put that conundrum to me ?
Indeed, I know nothing about it."
"Nor suspect?"
Charley hesitated.
" Honor bright? Oh, don't be so hateful !"
Charley smiled ; Alice saw he was weakening.
" Oh, do tell me, which of the two ?"
" Which of the two ?" repeated Charley, looking
puzzled. "Surely, you cannot be in earnest; for of
all the men I know, Dory the D-D-D Don" [What,
Charley, stammering on a mere linguo-palatal 1] " is tho
least likely to have two loves."
" Dody, Dody ! Why do you call him Dody ?"
" I called him the Don," said Charley, doggedly.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 307
" And Body, too ! Why Dody ? What a droll nick
name!" And she laughed.
"You are mistaken ; I did not call him Dody."
"You didn't?"
" No ; but my tongue," said Charley, coloring, " is
like a mustang, buck-jumps occasional!} 7 , and unseats
its rider her rider."
" Oh, I beg your pardon !" said Alice, with tender
earnestness, and gave his arm this time consciously
an affectionate, apologetic squeeze. [1 don't deny it!
Al Frob.~\
" So the Don is not only a lover, but a double-bar
relled one ?"
" No, we don't think that," said Alice, laughing ;
" but there is a dispute among us which of two birds
he wishes to bring down."
" Which of two birds ? Really, you puzzle me," said
Charley, reflecting. " I could guess the name of one,
perhaps; but the other I am completely at sea." And
he looked up in inquiry.
" Is it possible ! How blind, blind, blind you men
are! And yet they tell me that nothing ever escapes
your lynx eyes ! Why, Lucy and Mary, of course."
"Lucy and Mary!" cried Charley, and, throwing
back his head, he exploded with a shout of single-bai'-
relled amazement.
"Wit and humor!" " Eepeat, repeat, Alice !" cried
voices from the piazza.
The strollers looked up in surprise at finding them
selves so near the porch, while the occupants of this
favorite lounging-place were in no less wonder at hear
ing Frobisher giving forth so unusual a sound. Alice
swept the faces of her friends with a bright smile of
greeting, but there was a certain preoccupation in her
look. Charley's laugh had startled her. " Unconscious
wit, then ;" and turning, she looked up into her com
panion's face with a puzzled air.
It would seem that that sudden and unusual draft
upon Charley's cachinnatory apparatus had exhausted
that mechanism, for he was not even smiling now, but
in what is called a brown study. He slowly turned on
308 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
his heel as though to return to the Argo, or, rather, as
if he had no intentions of any kind, his movements
being directed by what Dr. Carpenter calls uncon
scious cerebration. Alice, holding her companion's
arm, turned upon him as a pivot (though with con
scious cerebration, for she could almost feel upon the back
of her head the smiles raying forth from the porch).
"Mary and Lucy, did you say? 1 ' inquired he, turn
ing quickly upon her as though it had suddenly flashed
upon him that he had not, perhaps, heard aright.
" Yes, Mr. Frobisher. What on earth is the matter?"
"What's the matter? Why, nothing, of course.
You simply amused me, that is all." And smiling
stiffly, he threw up his head with a sort of shake and
made as though he would join the party on the porch.
This time Alice did not rotate on the pivot, but,
standing firm, became the centre of revolution herself,
and brought Charley to a "front face" again, by a
sturdy pull upon his arm, and began to move slowly
forward, as though to return to the Argo. " What is
it?" asked she, looking up into his face with eager
interest. " Do tell me ?"
"Tell you what?"
"Why you act so strangely? Which of the two,
then ?"
These words threw Charley into his brown study
again. Looking far away, with drawn lids, he was
silent for some time. " Alice," said he, turning slowly
and looking into her eyes, " I am going to surprise you."
" Neither Mary nor Lucy, you are going to say !''
And her snowy bosom beat with thick-tbi'onging
breaths. " O-o-oh, I know," cried she, with a look of
pain. " He is married already /"
Yet why with a look of pain ? Ought she not rather
on her friend's account to have rejoiced? But here
was a hero evaporated ; and in this humdrum treadmill
of our life there is so little of romance ! And do we not
all of us, men and children alike, strain' our eyes
against the darkened sky, regretful that the flashing
but all too evanescent meteor has passed away into the
abyss of night ?
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 309
Charley smiled. " How fearfully and wonderfully is
woman made ! You first ask me for information which
I do not possess, but which it appears you do, then
answer your own question ; then when I am about to
say something, you tell me what I am about to say ;
and then with a little shriek discover the mare's
nest I am about to reveal ! No, I was not going to
say ' neither Lucy nor Mary,' nor yet that the Don
was married. I was about to make a proposition to
you. Are you really very anxious to have it decided
whether it is Mary or Lucy ?"
" Very."
" Then I know but one way : ask the Don himself."
"The idea!" cried Alice, with a cheery laugh.
"What!" added she, looking up into his face with
great surprise, " surely you are not in earnest !"
"lam."
" Mr. Frobisher !"
" I am. I said 1 was going to surprise you."
Alice wheeled in front of him, and they stood looking
into each other's eyes. " Upon my word," said she,
slowly, " I believe you really mean it !"
I do."
" Mr. Frobisher ! Then, if it be so important to you
to know, why don't you ask him yourself?"
" It is of no earthly importance to me to know ; it is
of importance to to to him to be asked ?"
" You awful sphinx ! You will kill me with curiosity!
But why not ask him yourself? Why put it on me ?"
" Because," said Charley, smiling, " simply because it
is your question ; you want the answer to the riddle,
not I !"
" That's just the way with you men," said Alice,
smiling ; " you affect to be lofty beings, superior to the
foible, curiosity. And so you would make a cat's paw
of me ?"
" Well, yes ; for it is you who want the chestnuts."
" And my fingers, therefore, are to be burnt ; for this
same Mr. Don is an awful somebody to approach."
" To others, perhaps, but not to you ; nor to me,
either, perhaps; but the chestnuts are for you. Be-
310 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
sides, as Dido said to her sister Anna, you know the
approaches of the man and the happy moment. How
often have I seen every one quaking with awe when
j'ou are attacking him with your saucy drolleries, and
how charmed he always is, and how he laughs!"
" And poor dear mamma," said Alice, with a tender
smile, " how she shakes and weeps and weeps and
shakes 1 Do you know, Mr. Frobisher, though I say it
' as shouldn't,' I am not, by half, so giddy and brainless as
I seem? Do you know why I cut up so many didoes?
(By the way, I wonder whether that rather colloquial
phrase has any reference to ^Eneas's girl ?) But it is the
truth, that half the time that I am cutting my nonsen
sical capers, it is just to make mamma laugh. Ah,
Mr. Frobisher, you have hardly known what a mother
can be, and you will have to love minel You won't
be able to help it." And the cutter of capers and of
didoes passed her hand across her eyes. " Look," said
she after a pause, " there she sits now, and beside the
Don, too. Don't she look serene? See how she is
smiling at me over the banister!" And throwing her
self into an attitude, she blew kiss after kiss to Her
Serenity, in rapid succession, from alternate hands.
"There! she is off. As her eyes are shut tight, she
will not be able to see me for half a minute, and I will
take the opportunity of telling you, for your comfort,
that she does not think there is a man living half good
enough for me. How do you feel ?"
" I feel that she is right!"
" And I feel that she is twice wrong. First, because
she does not know me, and secondly, because she does
not know somebody I" And skipping up the steps, she
ran to her mother and bounced into her lap: "Are you
glad to see me? Did you think I was never coming
back?"
u A bad penny is sure "
"Who's a bad penny?" And taking* the plump
cheeks between her palms, she squeezed the sorono
features into all manner of grotesque and rapidly-
changing shapes. "Who's a bad penny? Isn't she a
beauty?" said she, twisting the now unresisting head
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 311
so as to give the Don a full view of the streaming eyes
and ludicrously projecting lips. " Behold those aesthetic
lines ! Ladies and gentlemen," said she, turning, with a
quick movement, her mother's face in the opposite
direction, "I call your attention to the Cupid's bow so
plainly discernible in the curves of that upper lip.
Can you wonder that papa is a slave ? By the way,"
continued she in the same breath, and taking no heed
of the general hilarity that she had aroused, " by the
way, Mr. Don, are you glad to see me ?" But without
waiting for him to find words to reply, a quizzical look
came into her face as she observed that with the beat
of her mother's laughter her own person was gently
bobbing up and down, as though she rode a pacing
horse: "Snow-bird on de ash-bank, snow-bird on de
ash-bank, snow-bird on de ash-bank," she began, in a
sort of Runic rhythm, or shall we say in jig measure ?
" snow-bird on de ash-bank ;" and from her curving
wrists, drawn close together in front of her bosom, her
limp hands swung and tossed, keeping time, jingling
like muffled bells. The pacing horse now broke into a
canter, and the canter became a gallop : " Ride a cock
horse to Ban bury Cross, ride a cock-horse to Banbury
Cross! This steed is about to run away; discretion is
the better part." And springing from her mother's lap,
she stood before the Don.
" Have you prepai'ed your answer yet ? Are you
glad to see me once more ?"
The Don put his hand upon his heart. Alice ex
tended hers. The Don took it.
" You have not answered my question."
" Words cannot ex "
" Words ? Who is talking about words ?" And she ex
tended her hand again. " Press that lily fair, just one
little squeeze. She the rotund smiler won't be able
to see for half a minute yet. Quick! She is wiping
her eyes ! Ah ! ah ! ah ! Really and truly ? Enough !
Desist ! We are observed !"
" She is the girl to tackle him !" thought Charley,
wiping his eyes.
312 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER XLIX.
CHARLEY was right. She was the girl to tackle him,
if he was to be tackled at all ; but Charley knew that
better than the reader, who has had merely a glimpse
or so of the irrepressible Alice in her relations with the
subject of this Monograph. For Charley had, as men
tioned in the last chapter, witnessed innumerable
scenes between the two, which had caused him to wipe
his eyes and look as though something hurt him ; that
being his way of laughing before he was married.
This being a Monograph, however, I have not felt at
liberty to place those scenes before the reader; fora
Monograph is, if I understand the term, a paper rigidly
confined to one subject; alien topics being admitted
only as illustrations throwing lighten the main theme.
So that the monotony of this narrative, which a hasty
reader might attribute to poverty of invention, is in
fact due to my rigidly artistic adherence to the Unities.
A Monograph 1 promised, and a Monograph this shall be.
And the theme is not Love.
" Then why did you not say so at first?" I hear you
ask, my Ah Yung Whack, hear you say this in plain
English, for in your day all other languages will bo as
dead as that of Cicero.
I cannot blame you for asking the question, though
the answer is ready.
Because I should else have found no readers among
my contemporaries. The readers that is, the people
of leisure of my day are mostly women and preach
ers (the third sex* usually having all they can do to
take care of the other two), arid neither will bite freely
at any bait save Love. They will nibble at the hook,
but a game rush bait, hook, and all, at a gulp that
is elicited only by a novel. Love is the bait now.
Three hundred years ago it was Hate, the ODIUM THEO-
IOGICUM. Three hundred years hence it will be
* A plagiarism on Rev. Sydney Smith unconscious, let us hope. Ed.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 313
out I cannot guess what, and you will know, my almond-
eyed boy, almond-eyed and yellow of skin, though
swearing by Shakespeare, and perhaps by Magna-Charta
and Habeas Corpus.
If, indeed, in your day but enough ! and so fare
thee well, Confucian of far Cathay !
The piazza after breakfast, next morning. A bright,
sunny day in the beginning of February, with a volup
tuousness in the air hinting at the approach of spring.
" How beautiful and sparkling the river looks !" said
one of the girls. " And just to think," she added, with
a little stamp of her little foot, " we must bid farewell
to it so soon I"
" That reminds me," said Alice, rising briskly from
the rocking-chair, in which she reclined, drinking in
the balmy air and bright talk in half-dozing silence.
But the silence and half-closed eyes were those of pussy
awaiting the appearance of Mistiness Mouse.
" That reminds me." And giving a quick glance at
Charley, as she passed him, she marched with a rapid,
business-like tread, straight up to the Don. Charley
prepared to weep. I must mention, in passing, that
his way of weeping over Alice differed from her
mother's in this, that when the tears stood in his eyes,
those windows of the soul were wide open, thereby
revealing the fact that his ribs ached ; whereas Mrs.
Carter's being shut tight, it was left entirely to con
jecture whether she wept from pain or pleasure.
Alice planted her little self square in front of the
towering figure of the Don, and looked him in the eyes
as though expecting him to begin the conversation.
" What now, sauce-box ?" asked Mrs. Carter, quickly,
as though she felt that if she delayed a moment longer
she would become, as usual, speechless ; and a premo
nitory shake or two passing through her jolly figure
showed that her prudence was not ill-judged. :< What
are you up to now ?"
" Well?" said Alice, with her eyes fixed on those of
the Don.
Charley dried his with his handkerchief, for he wanted
to see everything. The Don (I regret to have to use
o 27
314 THE STORY OF DON MI Ft.
the expression) was in a broad grin. As to Mrs. Carter,
the faintest thread of hazel was still visible between
the lids of her fast-closing orbs of light. Alice turned
pettishly on her heel, and with her eyes retorted over
her shoulder, twirled her thumbs.
It was evident that there was something amiss about
Charley's ribs. Not so with Mrs. Carter ; for to any
one surveying her person, ribs remained the merest
hypothesis, based upon the analogy of other verte
brates ; but the upper part of her spinal column gave
way ; that is, she lost control of her neck, and her
head rested helplessly against the back of her chair.
" Well ?"
" What an ornament is lost to the stage 1" laughed
the Don.
" The stage I Are we not enacting a real life-drama?
and" (looking down) " to me a very serious one ?
And I have been looking for the denouement so long
so long !"
" That only comes at the end of the play !"
" And did you not hear what Jennie said just now ?
Another short week only is left ! The end of the play
has come. There is but time to come before the foot
lights and say our last say 1" She paused. " Hast
thou naught to say to me ?" resumed she, with averted
eyes, and in a stage-whisper.
" Naught to say to thee ?" replied he, falling into her
vein. " Can'st believe thy slave so flinty-hearted ?"
" Forbid the thought !" cried she, in melodramatic
tone and gesture. " No ; long have I felt that tbou
had'st some sweet whisper for me o'er-hungry ear, but
thy bashful reticence I deny it not did breed in me
girlish heart a most rantankerous doubt. Speak ! Re
move this doubt rantankerous! But st! One ap
proaches ! Let's seek some secluded nook ! Beholdest
yon fateful Argo ? On !" And passing her arm through
his, she advanced down the piazza with the tread and
look of an operatic gipsy-queen full of mezzo-soprano
mystery, which she is to unveil before the foot-lights ;
while he, to the delight and amazement of the specta
tors, strode forward in the well-known wide, yet cautious
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 315
tread of the approaching bandit ; to which nothing was
lacking save the muffling cloak and the pizzicato on the
double-basses.
Beaching the steps. " On 1" cried she, flashing forth
an arm. " Descend 1"
" Encore ! Encore !" shouted the audience, to which
she deigned no reply, and the pair stepped upon the
turf.
" Have you ever heard the ' Daughter of the Regi-
ment' ?" asked she, halting and speaking in her natural
manner. " But of course you have. Strange to relate,
I have myself heard it twice. You remember the
Rataplan duet? Of course. Well, I am what's-her-
name, and you are the old sergeant ! Come 1" And
with that she strutted gayly off, rattling an imaginary
drum with rare vivacity.
Again the Don was not to be outdone ; rubadubbing,
to the surprise of all, in a deep sonorous voice ; strutting,
who but he, and every inch a soldier.
Vociferous applause 1 The actors turned and bowed
low.
"Unprecedented enthusiasm!" (whispered Alice)
"the Gallery has tumbled into the Pit!"
Which was true ; for the audience had rushed pell-
mell upon the lawn, Mrs. Carter alone remaining upon
the porch, unable, for the present, to rise, her chubby
hands darting in every direction in vain search for her
handkerchief.
For the moment the household service at Elmington
was disorganized, and grinning heads protruded from
the chamber windows. Let them grin on ! In those
days there was time for play, as well as for work.
" Umgh umgh, heish !" ejaculated Uncle Dick, from
his pantry window. "Miss Alice are a oner, / tell
you !"
What our august butler meant by " hush !" I can
not say, as Zip had uttered no word. Perhaps he was
shutting up some imaginary person, conceived as about
to deny the proposition that Miss Alice was a " oner."
" Hein ?" (pronounce as though French), said Zip,
walling up his eyes.
316 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Wash dem dishes, boy I Do you 'spose I was gwine
for to 'dress no remarks to de likes of you 'bout a
young mistiss? Mind you business, and stop gapin'
through de window 1"
Moses made a show of obedience, rattling the plates
together with unusual vigor; but for all that he craned
his neck for a view of the lawn, keeping a weather
eye out, the while, upon the ready right hand of his
chief, a man of summary methods with his subordi
nates.
" Come," said Alice, " a repeat is demanded." And
away they went, rubadubbing back towards the piazza.
" Eataplan ! Eataplan ! Rataplan !"
This time (on the antistrophe) Alice outdid herself.
Tossing her head from side to side, with an inimitable
mixture of reckless coquetry and military precision ;
her jaunty little figure stiffened and thrown back ; tap
ping the ground with emphatic foot-falls, she was, in
all save costume, an ideal vivandiere. She glanced at
Charley as she approached him.
" Eataplan I Eataplan ! Eataplan I" thundered the
Don.
" Eataplan ! Eataplan ! Eataplan !" chirped Alice.
In obedience to the glance he had received, Charley
leaned forward ; and just as she passed him a saucy
toss of her head brought her lips within an inch or so
of his attentive ear. " Eataplan ! I've a plan, rataplan,
plan, plan, plan ;" and the couple reaching the steps,
the Don bowed in acknowledgment of the joyous
applause of the Pit; while Alice, her hand resting
lightly in his, after the manner of prime donne, exe
cuted a series of the most elaborate courtesies ever
witnessed on or off any stage.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, hasten to the side
show ! Within this tent," said she, waving her hand
towards the porch, " sits enthroned the Fat Woman,
better known as The Great American Undulator. Only
twenty-five cents, children a quarter of a dollar I A
strictly moral show, and all for the benefit of the
church! Unlike the fiendish hyena, her mocking
laughter never curdles the blood of the living, while
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 317
8he ravens among the bones of the dead. Twen-ty-five
cents! Warranted not to laugh aloud in any climate;
but has been known to smile in the face of the fabled
hyena aforesaid, well knowing that she has no bones,
herself, for his midnight mockery. Children, a quar-ter
of a dollar! Walk in, gentlemen, and take your sweet
hearts with you, and see The Unrivalled Anatomical
Paradox, or The Boneless Yertebrate ; known through
out this broad land as The Great American Undulator.
A strictly moral show, only twenty-five cents, and all
for the benefit of the church 1 Children but I detain
the primo basso," said she, bowing gravely to that
gentleman, as she passed her arm within his. "We
will now hie us to the Fateful ; since you insist on
asking me, at that spot only, what are the wild waves
saying?' or is it some other question, perhaps? be
still, my heart 1"
The Don was never so happy as when Alice was
girding at him in one of her frolic moods, and he sallied
forth in high good humor. The audience watched
from the piazza for some new mad prank on Alice's
part, but she walked slowly forward, and even seemed
to be talking about the weather. At any rate, she
raised her hand towards certain flying clouds.
" The saucy jade !" said Mrs. Carter, with ill-con
cealed admiration. "Well, I suppose she is a privi
leged character, as the saying is."
" I should like to know, Mrs. Carter, how we are to
get on without her ?" said Mr. Whacker. " If I were
thirty or forty years younger but there is Charley ;
eh, Mr. Mum?"
" If," replied Mr. Mum, " I were such as you were
thirty or forty years ago, Uncle Tom, I don't think
she could possibly escape."
" And what would become of me, then ?" said Mrs.
Carter. " How far are they going ? I believe she is
actually going to take him to the.Argo, as they call it.
There they go, straight on ; he is helping her into the
boat now ; well, upon my word ! What is she up to ?
This bright sun will tan her dreadfully, of course, but
little she cares ! She might raise her parasol, at least,
27*
318 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
instead of poking holes in the sand, as she seems to be
doing."
"Frightened? Yes, dreadfully," said Alice, giving
her collaborators an account of the interview. " Of
course I was ; but I was ' wtermined,' as poor old Uncle
Dick used to say, to go through with it. You see, my
liege-lord that was to be Mr. Chatterbox, I mean,"
tapping Charley with her fan " had, the evening be
fore, commanded "
" Commanded 1 Oh !" said Charley, darting his fore
finger as an exclamation-point into the middle of a
smoke-ring.
" Yes, commanded me to do it. I see, Jack, that you
have left out that part of our talk (to make room for
more of your own nonsense, I suppose) in your account
of our conversation ; but just as I was about to run up
the steps, he stopped me and whispered, ' Mind, I wish
ft/" 1
" Oho !" cried Charley, brushing away with a sweep
of his hand a wreath that would not work, " that's the
way I talked then, was it?"
" Yes, that was what you said, and I rather liked
it."
" Hear, hear I" murmured Charley, his left eye shut,
and slowly moving his head, so as to keep the open
centre of a whirling smoke-wreath between his right
oye and a certain portrait on the wall.
" You know, Jack, every real woman likes the man
to be master."
" Hear, hear I" gurgled Charley, in a rather choking
voice ; for by this time, in his eifort to keep his eye
on a fly on the ceiling (the ring having floated away
from the picture and over his head), he had leaned his
head so far back that (to speak rather as a Bush
whacker than as an anatomist) his Adam's apple was
impinging on his vocal cords.
Alice glanced from Charley to me, and tapped her
forehead gently with her fan, just as Charley snapped
his head back from its constrained position. " Clothed,"
said she, " but not altogether in his right mind. But
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. . 319
we shall never get done if we go on in this way. Come !
But before I go any further, Jack, I must ask you to
remember that I was not as well acquainted with the
Don at this time, as any reader would be who had read
your book up to this point. I see that you call him a
' man of surprises' (a rather Frenchified phrase, by the
way) ; but please bear in mind that the only surprise
he had ever caused me was when he bloomed forth as
a violinist. All the other surprises were devoured by
this Silent Tomb," said she, glancing towards Charley.
Him, detected in the act of smoothing with his pipe-
stem the jagged, interior edges of a blue annulus, she
brought to his senses by a sharp fan-tap on his head.
" What is to become of our Monograph if you go on
in this way?"
" Monograph ? I thought you were on a polygraph,
or a pantograph, and was amusing myself till you came
back to the subject."
" Very true. Well, I took my seat in the stern, and
he sat opposite me, looking much amused, and very
curious to know what my whim was. I think I was a
'girl of surprises' when I began. 'Do you know, Mr.
Don,' said I, ' are you aware that you are a Fiend in
Human Shape?' He burst out laughing. He obvi
ously thought that I was unusually crazy, even for me.
'No,' said he, 'I can't say that I ever appeared to
myself in that light ; but we will suppose that you are
right; what then?' And he settled himself to be
amused. I was far from amused, I assure you. I was
at my wit's end, not knowing what to say next, so I
began to make holes in the sand (as observed by the
lynx-eyed Boneless). Give a dog a bad name and kill
him ; get the reputation of being a wag should I say
waggess ? and your simplest acts amuse. As I looked
down I could see, out of the corner of my eye, his
wondering smile. I felt that he mistook my embar
rassment for archness, and that my silence was, in his
eyes, an artistic rhetorical pause. By the way, to
change the subject" (Charley groaned and received a
rap), " that's where we women have the advantage of
men. You are the besieging army, we the beleaguered
320 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
city. We can see any confusion in your ranks, while
a panic behind our walls is invisible to you. If you
feel confused, you imagine that you look so ; and then
you do look so. It is different with us. We know "
Here Charley seized his pipe and began filling it with
the most obtrusive vigor. " Conundrum !" said he,
claiming attention with uplifted forefinger.
" Well ?"
" What is the difference between a woman's tongue
and a perpetual-motion machine? Answer: I give it
up!"
As I could never learn to whirl smoke-wreaths, I
twirled my thumbs during the interruption of our ses
sion that ensued. The bashful and evasive Charley
upset every chair in the room, save mine, behind which
he was ultimately captured and punished. " Pshaw I
Who minds Jack?" said Alice, stooping to right her
rocking-chair. " Ugh ! How smoky your moustache
is!"
" I never heard anything like that while we were
engaged."
" And for a very good reason," said she, with a toss
of her head.
" Illustrious Boeotian !" sighed Charley.
Alice threw herself into her chair, panting and laugh
ing. " Where was I ?"
" You were without a compass, in a word-ocean with
out a shore."
" On the contrary, I was on the shore, and poking
holes in, the sand. 'Well,' said the Don, 'what should
be done to a man who was so unfortunate as to be a
Fiend in Human Shape ?'
" ' J should say that he needed a guardian. He lacks
the warning voice of a mother.'
" ' But we will suppose that he has no mother.'
" ' Then let him find one. How, for example,' said
I, feeling my way, ' how do you think that I would
look the character.' And I put on a demure expression.
" ' Admirably, admirably !'
" ' Then you adopt me as a mother?'
" ' Yes.'
THE STORY OF DON MIFF, 321
" ' A mother with a warning voice ?' I added, begin-
ning to find my soundings.
" ' A mother with a voice soft as a zephyr 1"
" ' No, with a voice of warning.'
" Up to this time he had been watching me some
what with the expression of a child when some one is
about to touch the spring of a Jack-in-the-Box. Up I
was going to bounce, in some high antic or other. But
just here his countenance took on a look of perplexity.
I suppose my voice became one of warning. Can't I
talk seriously sometimes, Mr. Frobisher?"
"You? Oh, Lord!"
" Well, you needn't be so emphatic. What will Jack
think?"
" Pshaw ! Who minds Jack ? Ouch !"
" Well, where was I ? Ah ! ' No, with a voice of
warning,' said I, looking rather grave, I suppose.
' Very well,' said he, ' with a voice of warning.' ' I
am your mother, then?' 'Yes.' 'And you are my
son ?' ' Yes, rnumma,' said he, smiling, and holding up
his knee with interlaced fingers and looking very com
fortable.
" ' My son,' said I, with perfect gravity, and feeling
very uncomfortable. ' My dear child, I need not tell
you that I feel all a mother's affection for you. I have
given you so many proofs of this ever since I trotted
you on my foot, a wee thing, you, not the foot, that
I do not feel called upon to add any more evidence of
the love I bear you.' 'Darling mumpsy!' said he.
You may look incredulous, but he said it. ' But no one
is perfect,' he nodded ; ' then you will not be surprised
to hear that your loving mother sees in you. mingled
with many excellencies that make her proud, some
faults, one fault at least ? You will not feel hurt ?
Consider your head patted.' And I began again poking
holes in the sand. ' What is my crime ? Speak, mother
dear ?' ' You are a handsome young man.' ' Ah, but
how could I help that, with such a lovely little mother ?'
' No frivolity, my child ; no bandying compliments with
your old mother. No matter whence your good looks
are derived, you are devastatingly handsome ' "
322 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" How could you say such a thing to a man's face,
Alice?"
"To put him in good humor. You are all vain, you
know.
" Upon that he threw back his head and gave a
shout of laughter. ' Go on,' said he, lolling back and
nursing his knee as before. ' No,' said I, ' the fatal gift
of beauty is not a crime in itself; it is the use one '
" 'Do you know,' said he, interrupting me and lean
ing forward with deep conviction in his eyes, ' that you
are the most extraordinary girl I mean mother that
I ever encountered ? You ought to write ; it is your
positive duty. So much brightness tit for tat, you
know ought not to waste its sweetness, etc. Have
you never thought of writing a book ?' ' Not I, Mary
Eolfe is our genius ; I leave that to her.'
" His face flushed slightly, and instantly I changed
my whole plan of campaign. I had been making a
reconnoissance under cover of the mother and son fic
tion ; but like a wide-awake general, I now, seeing the
enemy in confusion, unmasked my batteries and opened
fire ; that is, I dropped my parasol and sprang towards
him with an anxious look : ' Are you ill ?' I asked.
" His face grew crimson, for he knew what I meant.
You see he had once or twice heard me making fun of
a certain threadbare trick of the novelists. It would
seem that characters in romances never have the least
idea that any one is in love with any one. One party
casually mentions to a second party the name of a third
party. Instantly party No. 2 changes color. ' Are you
ill ?' cries No. 1. ' It is nothing,' gasps No. 2 ; ' it will
pass in a moment.' "
" Yes," said Charley, " and how singular it is that No.
1 never for a moment suspects the truth, but invariably
goes off under the conviction that the poor heroine has
eaten something indigestible, has a pain nay, even
who minds Jack ? an ache !"
" How shrewd a device !" said Alice, laughing. " The
author lets the reader know, while concealing it from
the actors in the drama, that the poor girl is desper
ately gone."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 323
"Yes," added Charley; "the author may be said to
tip the reader a wink, 'unbeknownst' behind No. 1's
back. Now don't, Alice; do sit down and let's go on.
That's right. Why, in a novel, even a physician would
ask, 'Are you ill?' even he could not distinguish be
tween the indications of love and the symptoms of
colic."
" In one word," said Alice, " those words make a book
a novel, and their absence makes this a sym "
Charley here burst into a quotation, speaking fear
fully through his nose : " Of this disease the great Napo
leon died. Some say that Napoleon was a great man ;
some say that Washington was a great man ; but I say
that true greatness consists in moral grandeur. With
this brief digression, gentlemen, we will resume our
subject."
" Why, who on earth could have said that ?" cried
Alice ; " it is immense 1"
"Have you never heard Jack or myself quote it
before? It was the one solitary gem of rhetoric in the
annual course of lectures delivered by old P-P-P-P too
many confounded p-p-p-p's! Imitate his example, >
resume !"
" Where did I leave him ? Ah ! ' Are you ill ?' said
I, and he blushed as red as a rose. I waited a moment,
then said, ' You have lost the cue ; repeat after me,
"It is nothing!"' 'It is nothing,' repeated he; 'it
will soon pass! it will soon pass.'
" ' Will it ?' said I, charging bayonets. ' That is the
question, Mr. Don,' said I, folding my arms, these two,
not the bayonets, 'you are in love!' I looked him
straight in the eyes, for my blood was up ! My fear
was all gone !"
(" It has never come back !" said Charley.)
'"To deny it would be useless as well as ungallant.
Who would believe me ? Constantly associated for so
long with a bevy of charming '
" ' A bevy ! Are you enamoured of the whole flock ?
Is there no bright particular star? May I make a
guess ? Ah, I see I need not name her.'
" : Miss Carter,' said he, after a pause, ' you seem sd
324 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
different from your usual self this morning! Or are
you merely laying a train for a phenomenal display of
fire- works ? Are you in earnest, or are you preparing
to blow me up with an explosion of fun ?'
" ' I am in earnest, and I am going to blow you up,
too. Listen: but before broaching my main topic, I
must say one word on Mary Rolfe.'
" ' I had thought that she was to be the main theme
of your sermon.'
" ' Of course you thought so, perfectly natural, the
wish being father to the thought' How that made
him blush and stammer, almost as badly as the Silent
Tomb in its courting days. Now, boys" (meaning her
husband and the subscriber), " I leave it to you : wasn't
I a regular Macchiavelli ? Didn't I manage it neatly?
You see it would not have done to let him see that I
was acting as Mary's friend, even though without her
knowledge and consent ; and she would never have
forgiven me. So, at the veiy outset, I planted an in
terrogation-point in his mind. ' What is she coming to ?'
he kept thinking ; but I was there already. I had made
my reconnoissance and found out where the enemy was
weak; but, as you veterans know, after a reconnois
sance, the trouble is to get back to camp without loss.
This is how I managed that: 'To begin,' said I, 'with
Mary Rolfe. Her you love. That's admitted ? Well,
silence gives consent. Now, whether you have told her
so in words or not is more than I can tell ; for, al
though Mary and I are very intimate, girls do not ' "
" Oh !" grunted Charley.
" Well, in theory they do not," replied Alice, laughing.
" ' Whether you have told her in words,' said I
" ' I have told her neither in words nor otherwise,'
said he.
" ' Indeed,' said I, ' that's strange 1 strange, that you
should have kept her alone in darkness. You must be
aware that you have told every one else, as plainly as
looks, at least, can speak. But I must proceed ; / have
no time to discuss that.' ' One moment, you say that
my looks have revealed my sentiments. Are you quite
sure of this ?' ' The fabled ostrich and the sand !' said
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 325
I, laughing. 'Confound it! Excuse me, well, I suppose
I deceive myself, as other men do. There is our friend
Charley, for instance, the woman-hater! Now, he
fondly imagines that nobody knows that he adores
somebody !' "
" Fondly ! H'm ! Well, go on," said Charley.
" I colored faintly at this, for blushing is becoming to
mo. 'And, yet,' said I, 'I venture to say that the
Homebody in question knew what was taking place in
his mind even before he suspected it.' ' Did you really?'
asked he. ' I have no doubt she did,' said I. ' All
women are alike in that,' I added ; ' but let us proceed.'
' One moment,' said he ; 'if all women are alike in this
intuitive power, then I infer that Miss Holfe cannot
fail to have remarked that I ' Here I gave my shoul
ders a diplomatic shrug, which brought him to a dead
pause. He nodded his head gently up and down a little
while, and seemed in great perplexity. ' Miss Carter,'
said he, suddenly looking up, 'will you be my friend
and advise me ?' ' I am your friend,' said I, ' and will
do what I can in the way of advice.' Then he looked
down for a long time, his face all corrugated with cross-
purposes. My blood began to run a little chill. Was
the great mystery about to be revealed ?
" ' You say that by my bearing and looks I have, to
all intents and purposes, declared myself a lover of Miss
Rolfe. Now, suppose and I pledge you my word that
it is so suppose all this was unintentional on my part;
suppose that I have striven not to show just what you
say I have shown,' he paused again as before. 'No,'
said he, resuming, in a half-musing way, as though he
thought aloud, ' I don't see how I can lay the whole
case before her' (meaning me, I suppose). ' Ah,' said
he, his face brightening, ' let us suppose a case. Sup
pose I loved you dearly, a very supposable case, by
the way, and you did not suspect it.' ' Not a suppos
able case; but go on.' 'Well,' said he, smiling, 'at that
wharf, yonder, lies a ship ready to sail. I am to go in
her to seek my fortune in the wide world, somewhere;
ought I to speak, or would it not be nobler to bid you
farewell with my secret locked in my breast?'
28
326 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" I saw, of course, how matters stood. The supposed
case was a purely imaginary one. His perplexity had
been due to the difficulty of avoiding all allusion to his
incognito. ' I don't pretend to know which would be
the nobler course for you ; but / should want to know
it, and hear it from your own lips, too, were you to be off
for Japan in fifteen minutes. The sweetest music in the
world to a woman's ears is the voice of a man telling her
that he loves her ; and it is music of so potent a charac
ter, that it often melts a heart that was cold before.'
" That shot told. He threw his head back, like a
horse taking the bit between his teeth. It was plain that
he had formed a resolution of some sort. By the way,
Jack, I could never understand how so transparent a
man as the Don, showing his inmost feelings with every
glance of his eye, and every movement of his features ;
with a face which was a barometer of his slightest emo
tions, could ever have kept a secret. Here is the S. T.,
on the other hand. Whisper a secret into hi ear, and
it is like dropping a stone into an artesian well. It is
the last you ever hear of it. There may be a subterra
nean splash, but you never see it. But the Don's face
always reminded me of a lake that the merest pebble
causes to ripple from shore to shore.
" Well, the reconnoissance was a perfect success, and
all that was left, as I thought, was to retire under
cover of a rattling skirmish fire.* Very naturally, I did
not suspect that my position was mined. But it was ;
and I trod on the percussion fuse.
" ' Well,' said I, ' I don't suppose you would ever get
tired of hearing me talk about Mary, but you have
never heard the mother's " warning voice" yet, and you
know you came to the Fateful Argo to hear that.'
"'That's true! Would you mind if I lit a cigar?
Thanks 1" And, opening my parasol, he struck a light
behind it, and began puffing away, with his head
thrown back, and nursing his knee, as before; the pic
ture of serene contentment. His face was calm as the
How strange, even pathetic, is the sound of these military metaphors
from a woman's lips. Ed
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 327
placid little lake of which I spoke just now, and he
looked as though, the absorbing question in his mind
being set at rest, he was at my service, to be amused
and entertained.
" 'A man of your wide experience, Mr. Don,' said I,
beginning the skirmishing, 'must have remarked the
fact that girls will talk.'
" ' True, very true !' And with dreamy, half-smiling,
uplifted eyes, he thrust his cigar into the other corner
of his mouth, as though by anticipation he rolled
under his tongue some morsel of my nonsense. ' Go
on, laughter-compelling siren I'
" ' Again, you cannot fail to have observed that girls,
being wound up to talk, by nature, must needs talk
about one another or the rest of mankind. As we
are not philosophers, could it be otherwise ?'
" ' Impossible !' said he, rocking gently to and fro.
' Proceed, enchantress !'
" ' Well, you being included among the rest of man
kind'
" ' You have occasionally honored me ? And what did
you say about me ?'
" ' With one accord, that you were in love !'
" ' You have already entrapped me into a confession
on that point. Chaunt, Circe !'
" ' But the accord ends there ; we are not unanimous
as to the charmer's name.'
" 'Not unanimous? I don't understand.'
" ' Well, we female doctors are agreed as to the dis
ease, but differ as to its cause. The majority of the
Faculty at Elmington assign, as the source of your
trouble, Mary's soulful eyes ; but one or two, even of
us, and most of the neighboring physicians, urge an
other name ; while one or two, with the frankness so
common among doctors, admit that they do not know
what is the matter with you.
" ' You surprise me ! I had gathered from what you
said but a moment ago, that the symptoms in my case
were so pronounced as not even to require a formal
diagnosis.'
" ' But doctors will differ, and when they do '
328 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" ' The patient must decide. Well, I have done so.
But to drop your metaphor I cannot conceive what
you mean by suggesting that I have the credit of
adoring two or more young persons ?'
"You may recall, Jack, that the Silent Tomb was
equally perplexed on the same point, and that when I
asked him 'Mary or Lucy?' he amazed our whole cir
cle by bursting into a laugh. Then the wretch, in re
peating the names after me, so carefully abstained from
placing the accent of astonishment on either, that not
even a professional piano-tuner could have detected any
difference in the sounds oh, the artesian well ! I re
membered this. The Don had expressed no surprise
when I named Mary Eolfe ; probably, then, it was the
mention of Lucy that had amazed the S. T. It flashed
across my female mind, in the tenth part of a second,
how singularly Mr. Frobisher had acted, after the first
flush of astonishment was over, how he pursed up his
brow, gazed far away, in fact, mooned around in the
most absurd fashion, instead of telling me all about it
at once. Would the Don, too, laugh, when I mentioned
Lucy's name ?
" ' We do you that honor, at any rate,' said I.
" ' We ? Who are we ? Which of you belong to the
Rolfe faction, and which to you have not mentioned
the name of the other dear charmer?'
" ' Well, so and so are for Mary, and so and so for the
other.'
" ' Her name ? But one moment, Miss Eolfe herself
you failed to place her. Would it be a breach of
confidence to do so ?'
" ' She has not taken me into her confidence ; therefore
I have the right to make what surmises I choose. I place
her between the two. She does not know what to think.'
" Again he snapped his head backwards, as though
he said that he would settle that shortly. Tranquil
lized, he relit his cigar, which had gone out, and again
lolled back ; and cocking up his cigar in the corner of
his mouth, asked. ' And the other ?'
" ' Guess,' said I.
" Dropping his chin on his breast, with a quiet smile,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 329
he pretended to reflect for a moment. ' I am afraid I
shall have to give it up. Oh, how dull I have been !
How intolerably stupid !' And placing his hand on his
heart, he made me a low bow ; then throwing back his
head, with a merry laugh, ' Capital, capital !' he ejacu
lated.
" ' No,' said I, ' her name is not Alice. Guess again.
"A flash of surprise followed by a look of rising
curiosity. ' Eeally, you perplex me !'
" ' You cannot recall any of the girls except Mary, in
whom you have shown marked interest?' he shook
his head ' an ever increasing interest ?' ' An ever in
creasing interest ?' repeated he, opening his eyes wide
upon me ; then, looking upon the ground, he appeared
to reflect. ' Not Miss Kitty ? No ? Nor Miss Jennie ?
Not Miss Jennie either ! Upon my word 1 But you
seem serious ; are you really ?'
" ' I am. You cannot think of any girl whom you
have visited again and again, of late?'
" ' Visited /' exclaimed he. ' Why, then she is not one
of our Elmington guests !'
" I fixed my eyes upon him, and saw nothing, though
I had always thought him as transparent as glass. It
was my turn now to be bewildered. ' What !' I ex
claimed, 'can't you guess, now, to whom I allude?'
" Gazing at me with the look of one who had totally
lost his reckoning, he shook his head slowly from side
to side. I was positively vexed. There came over me
the impatient feeling of a teacher who is striving in
vain to hammer an idea into the head of a numskull.
' Well, then,' said I, with some heat ; and throwing out
my arm at full length, I pointed across the Eiver.
" ' Across the Eiver, too,' said he, with contracted
features. ' Upon my word, this conundrum grows in
teresting.' And with his eyes fixed upon the sand, he
stroked his tawny beard. ' Across the Eiver let me
see Miss Jenny Eoyal dinner-call no other visit.
The Misses Surrey party -call. Miss Adelaide Temple
breakfast going to pay my respects to-morrow,
Anywhere else? No. Well,' said he, suddenly throw
ing up his hands, ' I give it up ! What is the answer ?'
23*
330 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" I looked at him for a moment, but could make
nothing of him. ' There ! There ! There !' I exclaimed,
at last, stabbing at Oakhurst with my forefinger.
" ' Where ?' asked he, looking across the River and up
and down the shore opposite.
" ' There ! There !'
" ' You seem to be pointing to Oakhurst.'
" My arm dropped across the gunwale.
" ' Oakhurst !' exclaimed he, with a most natural
look of surprise. ' You don't mean Oakhurst ? Why,
there are no guests there 1 There is no one but Lucy
Miss Lucy !'
" ' That's true,' answered I, dryly. ' No one but
Lucy.'
" He leaned forward and scanned my features with a
mixture of amusement and curiosity. 'Surely you
have not been alluding to her T I said nothing. ' Se
riously? Yes?' And with a shout of merry laughter,
he threw back his head with such vigor that his cigar
flew out of his mouth and over his shoulder upon the
sand ; and then, without the least warning, his laugh
ter ended in an abrupt ' Oh !'
" He rose to his feet ; not with a spring, but slowly,
slowly, thoughtfully tugging at his moustache, and his
eyes intently glaring into vacancy, as he rose and rose,
till he seemed to my excited imagination to assume
almost colossal proportions. Then he slowly subsided
again into his seat, and sat there raking his beard with
his long fingers. A chilly sensation crept over me. I
tried to speak, but could think of no word wherewith
to break the spell of silence. At last he turned his
eyes upon mine.
" ' So it seems to you that I have been paying Lucy
Poythress much attention ?'
"'Seems, Mr. Don? How can you use that word?
It is a patent fact that must be as clear to your eyes as
to mine.'
" ' Yes, but what kind .of attention ? She is musical
so am I. I have rowed across the River frequently,
to play with her. Nay, my object has not been pleas
ure alone. I have been giving her what are called, in
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 331
Paris, accompaniment-lessons. Does that amount to
what is called attention, in a technical sense? And
you acknowledge yourself that these visits never de
ceived you. You never thought that they were prompted
by love.'
" ' No, they did not deceive me. "What if they have
deceived '
"'HER!'
" The word shot from his lips like a ball from a
cannon. He sprang from the boat and began to stride
to and fro in the sand, his nostrils dilated and his eyes
fixed. (He used a dreadful expression, too, which was
not at all patriotic, though it did end in nation.)
Presently he turned quickly towards me, and leaning
forward, with his hands grasping the gunwale of the
boat, eagerly asked, ' But, Lucy, surely you do not
think that that she is what you call interested ?'
" ' She has not betrayed any symptoms of that char
acter.'
" ' Thank you,' said he, seizing my hand with a grip
that made me wince ; and he began to stride to and fro
again, till I stopped him.
" ' But, Mr. Don,' said I, ' though she may not be
interested now, it does not follow that she may not
become '
" ' Never fear,' said he, biting his lip with a look of
fierce determination, and striding up and down again.
" Thinking to soothe him : ' Be careful ! Remem
ber, we girls think you a handsome, fascinating dog ;
so don't raise false hopes.'
"'No danger, no danger!' replied he, earnestly, and
without even a smile for my compliment. ' "What a
fool I have been !'
" He stood reflectively stroking his moustache for a
while, and I thought the scene over, when turning im
petuously upon me, and seizing me by both wrists with
a grasp of steel, ' You don't think so ?' he cried. ' Tell
me you do not, for heaven's sake !'
" He seemed totally unconscious of the force he was
using, for he jerked me against the gunwale with such
violence that I should have been hurt had I not been
332 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
so frightened. Oh, what eyes he. had ! I can feel their
glare now, as I remember how he held me as in a vise,
and, bringing his face close to mine, looked me through
and through.
" ' Tell you what ?' I gasped.
"'Lucy she the poor child she has not fallen in
love with me: you knowl Tell me so, for God's sake!'
" His fingers sank into my wrists, and his fearful eyes
burned into my brain.
" ' No ! I am sure she has not !'
" ' Thanks, thanks, thanks!' he cried; and lifting both
my hands to his lips, he covered them with fervid
kisses. I was not surprised ; I was past that point.
Had he thrown his arms around me, I honestly believe
I should have been neither astonished nor angry."
" I wish he had," said Charley, musing. " Poor boy,
poor boy! well, well!" and, sighing, he fixed his eyes
upon the fire.
Alice, with a look of tender sympathy, took her hus
band's hand in hers.
CHAPTEK L.
THE return of our Jason and Medea from the Argo
was very different from their departure for that fateful
craft. If their going had been operatic, their coming
was elegiac. A salvo of salutations was preparing as
they approached, and the Gallery watched the couple
as they drew near, momentarily expecting some out
burst of jollity on their part ; but expectancy slowly
faded as their nearer and nearer approach brought
into ever clearer view the faces of the Argonaut and
the Enchantress.
I have called the Don a man of surprises. What
had he been saying to Alice? thought every one as she
tripped up the piazza steps with an effort to appear
jaunty and careless ; but her cheeks showed splotches
of burning red, while his features were pale and set.
What had happened ?
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 333
1 cannot say what others thought, but I happen to
have learned since what flashed across Mary's mind.
The Don had proposed to Alice and Alice had rejected
him, had declined his first proposal merely, for of
course she could not have meant to reject him for
good and all. What passed her comprehension was
how Alice had had the hardihood to propose a walk
which she must have known was to have that result.
She was amazed to think how blind she had been all
along. How could she have failed to remark what
was patent to all, that the Don hung upon every word
that fell from Alice's lips ?
I happen to know, too, what Charley thought : " She
tackled him! What a girl! what a girl! Bless her
little heart !"
" Well, Alice," said my grandfather, "you know the
rule." Alice looked up. " Whenever any of my girls
have had a trip on the Argo "
" Oh," said Alice, " we kiss you on our return." And
she suited action to word.
"I accept the amendment, but that ia not what I
meant. Give an account of yourself. What luck ?"
Alice's face grew serene under the old-time courtesy
of my grandfather's manner, and she was herself
again.
"'You will have to excuse me, Uncle Tom. A girl
who has been properly brought up cannot fail to feel
that there are occasions when her mother is her only
proper confidant."
Even the Don laughed at this, and the hard lines
passed out of his face. He looked at Alice with an ex
pression of admiring amusement, seeing how easily she
had laughed away the awkward pause that their return
had caused.
When Mary, poor tempest-tossed soul, saw that ad
miring glance, she stamped her foot, though inaudibly,
stamped it with vexation, and inwardly begged
Alice's pardon ; for it was not the glance of a lover,
rejected or other.
" There they come down the lawn," suddenly cried
my grandfather. " Charley, where is the glass ? Thank
334 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
you. They are getting into the boat, Mrs. Poythresa
is in, now for Lucy, she is in, and now Mr. P.
there! The first flash of the oars! They are off!
Charley," added he, handing the glass to Mrs. Carter,
" did you think to send word to the Herr to come, as
the Poythresses were to spend the day with us? Ah,
I remember, he could not come. Well, Lucy and Mr.
Smith will have to entertain us to-day."
u Ah," sighed Mary, " in that boat sits my real rival.
How could I have thought such a thing of dear Alice?"
When the boat neared the shore, the gentlemen (there
were only three at Elmington at this time, my grand
father, Charley, and the Don) went to meet the guests.
Mrs. Carter went also, to greet Mrs. Poythress; and
Alice, too ; saying, when she saw her mother leaning
on Mr. Whacker's arm, that she thought it prudent to
look after her father's interests, when her mother
was carrying on so in his absence. I am afraid, how
ever, that she did not keep a very strict watch on her
mother; for she and Charley were soon considerably in
the rear of the rest, and engaged, as was obvious to
Mary (who remained on the piazza), in a very earnest
conversation, the subject of which it hardly needed a
woman's instinct to divine. She felt sure that her
friend was describing to Charley her interview with
the Don ; and as Alice grew more and more earnest in
her manner and vehement in her gestures, her curiosity
rose at last into a sickening intensity, for a voice whis
pered in her ear that she, somehow, was deeply con
cerned in what those two were saying. She forgot
where she was, forgot the girls seated near her, saw
only Charley and Alice ; and leaning farther and farther
forward, as they receded, strove to drink in with her
soulful eyes the words that her ears could not hear.
" Gracious, Mary, what is the matter?"
She had seen Alice stop and turn towards Charley
and gaze at him with an almost tragic earnestness.
Then, suddenly springing towards him and seizing his
wrist, she had given him a pull that shook his equilib
rium. With nerves unstrung by the harassing doubts
of the last few weeks, and wrought up to the highest
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 335
pitch of painful curiosity as to the subject-matter of
the singular interview between Alice and the Don in
the Argo that morning, seeing Alice detailing that
interview to Charley, when she witnessed Alice's vio
lent illustration of what must have occurred between
her and the Don, Mary had leaped, with a cry, from her
seat.
11 Gracious, Mary, what is the matter?"
At these words of her neighbor Mary sank back in
her chair with a vivid blush and a confused smile, and
was silent.
"You frightened me so! I thought some one had
fallen out of the boat, perhaps. What was the matter?"
" I am sure I can't tell ; I suppose I must have been
dreaming."
The neighbor cast her eyes towards the boat, and
seeing among the approaching guests Lucy leaning on
the Don's arm, thought her own thoughts.
The day was an unusually warm one for February,
and, a vote being taken, it was decided not to enter the
house; and our friends soon grouped themselves to
their liking on the sunny piazza. ; the elders at one end,
in the middle the young people, except Charley and
Alice, who sat by themselves at the other end of the
porch.
These twain often found themselves isolated now.
Wherever they chose their seats every one seemed to
think they needed room, and moved off, treatment
that Charley bore like the philosopher that he was.
The fact is that, from being a man who seemed to have
nothing to say, he became, about this time, one who
could not find time to say all that he had on his mind.
At this period of his life he used to lie awake in bed,
for hours and hours, as he has since confessed to me
[And to me. A.~\ [Wh-e-e-e-w ! C. F.~\, running over
in his mind the things that he had omitted to say to
Alice the evening before, and resolving to say them
all immediately after breakfast next morning. On this
occasion a mountain torrent of words had risen in his
soul during the hour's absence of his charmer in the
Argo. But he was not uttering them. Nor did it
336 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
matter in the least, as they would have been as like
thousands of others that he had been whispering and
whispering into her rosy ear, as one drop of water of
the supposed torrent was like another. The twain
were rather silent, in fact. They were quietly watch
ing the Don and Lucy.
One other pair of eyes took in every movement of
the Don, another pair of ears lost never a word nor an
inflection of his voice. (Mary was, it is true, engaged
in an animated discussion with Mr. Poythress on the
subject of Byron, he denouncing the man, while she
lauded the poet, but then she was a woman.) " How
changed he is!" sighed she. "A moment ago, pale as
ashes ; how bright and cheerful now I And Lucy ! I
think I should try not to look quite so happy, if I were
you ! Why not announce your engagement in words,
as you are doing every moment by your manner?"
Alice, on the contrary, to Charley : " How well he is
acting his part! He knows we are looking at him, and
see the easy air of an old friend that he has assumed
towards Lucy! Not assumed, either, for his bearing
towards her has always been just that."
" So I have always thought," said Charley.
"Certainly; only that manner is rather more pro
nounced than usual. The merest glance would con
vince any one that he was no lover of Lucy's."
" ' He that hath bent him o'er the dead,
Ere the first day of death is fled,
The first dark day,' " etc., etc.,
quoted Mary.
No voice that I have ever heard quite equalled Mary's
in sweetness, even in familiar talk. Soft and tender, it
was yet singularly clear, though marked by a certain
patrician absence of that exaggerated articulation so
characteristic of other communities, where not the
norma loquendi of gentle ancestors is the touchstone of
speech, but the printed word, and the spelling-book,
and the unlovely precision of the free school. But now
that she was uttering a wail over her own crushed
heart, and, in unison therewith, Byron's passionate
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 337
lament over the dead glories of the Greece of Ther
mopylae and of Marathon, the tremulous fervor of her
vibrating tones was touching beyond description. Two
or three fair heads had clustered near hers to catch her
low-breathed words ; and when, turning to Mr. Poy-
thress with a certain triumphant enthusiasm in her
soulful eyes, she, with a slight but impassioned gesture,
ended with the words, " 'Tis Greece, but living Greece
no more," there was a sense of choking in more than
one snowy throat.
As for Mrs. Carter, sympathetic soul, I am told
that there were actually tears in her eyes.
"Upon my word," began Mr. Poythress, ready to
yield.
Perhaps Mary heard what he said as he re-defined
his position ; but his words can be of no interest to the
reader.
" See," mused she, " what an easy air he has assumed
towards Lucy! And Lucy! how matter-of-fact!
Any one could see at half a glance that they were
acknowledged lovers. See with what an air of con
tent he looks about him ! There, he is exchanging
glances with Alice; and she understands him, of
course. She is telling Mr. Frobisher that they are en
gaged. Ah, he glanced at me, then, and so furtively !
No wonder he averts his eyes when they meet mine !
Yet even yesterday I thought I saw in his look well,
well ; that is all over."
Alice, on the contrary: "See, he can't keep his eyes
off her! He is just dying to say something to her;
and it will be to the point. Ah, Uncle Tom has put
himself just between us." And she leaned forward so
as to put Charley almost behind her back, but went on
talking, all the same, in a low voice: "How could
those girls have thought that he was in love with Lucy
or Lucy in love with him !"
" Horrible !" ejaculated Charley, in a voice that star
tled Alice. She turned and looked at him. Had she
turned more quickly, she might have caught a differ
ent expression on his face. As it was, he was gazing
out upon the Kiver with a stony calm upon his features.
f w 29
338 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" What did you say ?" asked she, beginning to doubt
her ears. "'Horrible?'"
"Who? I?" And the gray eyes met the hazel
without blinking.
" Did you not say that the idea of the Don and Lucy
being lovers was horrible ?"
" Very likely. Of late I have been capable of saying
anything."
" What did you mean ?"
" If I said it, which I don't admit ; and if I meant
anything, which, likely enough, I did not "
" ' Horrible' is so unlike you."
" Now you flatter me."
" Tell me, goose.".
" You say that the Don loves Mary. Then wouldn't
it be sad if Lucy loved him ? And you tell me that
Mary loves the Don. Now wouldn't it be too bad if
the Don loved Lucy ? Ought not true love to run
smooth if it can ?"
Alice fixed her eyes upon Charley's, and scanned his
features long and intently. There was nothing to be
seen there save a smile that was almost infantile in its
sweetness and simplicity. "Do you think I am hand
some ?" asked he, languidly. " They tell me I am good."
"Do you know, Mr. Frobisher, I sometimes think
you know more about the There she goes, and he
after her!"
" Mr. Poythress," Mary had said, laughing, " my
defence of Byron has made my throat dry."
" Nor did it lack much of making our eyes moist,"
replied he, with a courtly inclination of his patrician
head.
" Let me ^et you a glass of water," interrupted the
Don, moving towards the door.
"Ah, thank you, never mind." And rising hastily,
she made for the door with a precipitancy that vexed
Alice ; for she saw in it a pointed indication of un
willingness on Mary's part to accept even this little
service at the hands of the Don. She moved so rapidly
that she had passed in at the door before the Don could
reach it; but he, whether or not he interpreted her
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 339
motives as Alice did, followed her within the house.
Instantly the cloud that had passed over Alice's face
was gone, and a sudden smile shone forth. She sprang
to her feet. " Why do we tarry here all the day ? It
is moved and seconded that we adjourn to the Hall.
Fall in, company ! Attention I Shoulder I mean
seize arms!" And skipping away from Charley, she
laid hands upon Mr. Poythress (" You take Mrs. Poy-
thress," she had whispered to Charley; "that will
make them all come"), and away they marched down
the steps and across the lawn, towards the Hall, Alice
leading with her rataplan, rataplan, and enacting a
sort of combination of captain, drum-major, and vivan-
diere.
Nothing so much delighted our slaves, in those days,
as any jollity on the part of their masters. Happy
and careless themselves, when they saw their betters
unbend they realized more clearly, perhaps, that they
were men and brothers.
"Lord 'a' mussy!" cried Aunt Polly at the kitchen
door, letting fall a dish-cloth.
"What dat, gal?" carelessly asked Uncle Dick, who
sat breakfasting in his usual stately and leisurely fash
ion. Aunt Polly made no reply, being seized with a
sudden paroxysm which caused her to collapse into
half her normal stature. Straightening herself out
again, and wiping her eyes with her apron, "Oh,
Lord, how long!" she ejaculated, giving the door-sill
two simultaneous flaps with slippers that were a world
too wide. "What's a-comin' next? dat's all I wants to
know." And she began to rock to and fro. Seeing her
for the second time telescope into a three-foot cook :
" What de matter wid de gal ?" said Uncle Dick, rising
with dignity, and wiping his rather unctuous lips.
"'Fore Gaud," cried his spouse, "I do b'lieve dat chile
gwine to make everybody at Elmin'ton crazy befo' she
done. Mussiful heaven, jess look at olc mahrster, and
he a-steppin' high as a colt, and Miss Alice a-struttin'
jess like she had on a ridgimental unicorn, and a-back-
m' and a-linin' of 'em up wid her parasol! Forrard,
march! Jess lisscn at her sojer talk, and ain't she a
340 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
pretty little critter? No wonder Marse Charley ravin'
'stracted 'bout her. Lor', Dick, let de boy look!"
Zip, by a dextrous ducking of his head, had just
evaded the sweeping palm of his chief. "What is deso
young niggers a-comin' to?" exclaimed this virtuous
personage. "Boy, don't you see dem flies." And he
pointed to the table he had just left. "And you a-
gapin' at de white folks, 'stid o' mindin' your business!"
One of the perquisites of Zip's position as junior
butler was waving a feather brush over the bald head
of his senior when he sat at meat. Dick had elected
him to this office on the plea of fotchin' of him up in
the way he should go; and, being a strict disciplinarian,
had resented his abandoning the post of duty without
orders.
Zip made a perfunctory dash, with his brush, at the
flies, whom, by the way, he somewhat resembled in
disposition; for as you shall not ruffle the temper, or
even hurt the feelings of one of these, during your
afternoon nap, by a slap, be it ever so violent and con
tumelious, if it but miss him ; so Zip-Moses accounted
all blows that failed to reach that anvil-shaped head of
his not as insults and injuries, but clear gain rather.
Zip, therefore, was not long in finding his way back, on
tiptoe, to where he could get a glimpse of what was
going forward on the lawn ; even as that reckless in
sect blanches not as he tickles the somnolent nose of a
blacksmith ; for hath he not his weather eye upon the
doughty fist of his foe ?
"Left face!" cried Alice; "forward, file right,
march !" And her company went tumbling with bursts
of laughter up the steps and into the Hall.
Lucy took her seat at the piano.
" Why, where is the Don ?" asked my grandfather,
looking round.
"Lucy has a new solo for us," said Alice, "per
haps, " added she, conscience-stricken.
"Oho!" cried Mr. Whacker, settling himself.
" What new solo ?" asked Lucy.
" That what do you call it ?" replied Alice, rather
vaguely.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 341
" The Sonata I have been learning ?"
" Oh, yes ; that's what we want."
Lucy struck the opening chords and began.
Charley leaned carelessly forward and whispered in
Alice's ear,
" This is a solo ; that ?" And he nodded slightly in
the direction of the house.
" A duet. What did you think of my manoeuvre ?"
" Immense !"
NOTICE TO THE PUBLIC.
BEING AN INTRODUCTION TO CHAPTER LI.
How and by how many cooks this broth has been
brewed, our patrons have already been duly informed.
Up to this point the firm, as a firm, has been respon
sible for everything that has been -written ; for though
our Mr. Whacker, having the pen of a ready writer,
has had the task of arranging our wares in show-cases,
our silent partners have furnished the bulk of said
wares. And we desire to say to the public that our
joint labors have been, thus far, carried forward most
joyously, and with perfect harmony.
Save only in one particular.
Our female associate has been grumbling, from the
very first, at the treatment that Love has received at
the hands of our Mr. Whacker. She has again and
again protested against what she calls the mocking
touches of his pencil, when he would portray that pas
sion which is so tender, and yet hath power to move
the world. He, on his side, has defended his handi
work, if not with success, at least with a certain manly
vigor, having observed more than once that he could
not for the life of him get it into his head how it could
be High Art to make your heroes say in a book what a
Christian would be hanged before he would say, or be
overheard saying, at least, in real life j adding, with a
342 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
tartness born of his wrangles at the Bar, that it passed
his comprehension why authors should be at the pains
of causing imaginary beings to make fools of them
selves, when nature had served so many real ones that
turn. In reply, our Alice said that, if that were so,
they were but holding the mirror up to nature ; a re
tort that seemed to dispose of our legal brother; and so
our Alice was encouraged to go on and add (using the
bluntness of a friend) that all this talk about love-
making being an exhibition of an aggravated type of
idiocy 'was, to use the mildest name, the merest affec
tation, and could have originated only in the brain of a
sore-headed old bachelor, who is forever talking of
marrying, but who has not the vaguest conception of
what love really means. Our Charley, meanwhile,
would only smoke and chuckle and chuckle and smoke,
when we asked for his vote to end our controversy ;
and as his smoke-wreaths were perfectly symmetrical,
inclining neither this way nor that, and as he chuckled
on both sides of him, neither of us belligerents had the
least pretext for claiming the victory. Yet, in the end,
it was he who closed our debate.
" Jack- Whack," said he (ever judicious), "turn about
is fair play. Suppose we let Alice write this fifty-first
chapter. Let it be hers entirely, and let her acknowl
edge it as such, while you may disown it."
To this we are all agreed. In testimony whereof
we have hereunto, etc., etc., etc.
CHARLES FROBISHER. [Seal.]
ALICE DITTO. [Seal.]
JOHN BOUCHE WHACKER. [Seal.*]
[*Porpoise. Ha ! ha ! ha /]
When Charley came out with his Compromise Reso
lutions, Alice was at first much taken aback, turning
red and white by turns; nor do I believe she would
ever have consented, had I not permitted myself to
smile a rather triumphant smile of defiance. It was
then that, nettled by this, she brought down her plump
little fist upon the table and cried, " I'll do it"
" Brava !" cried Charley, patting her on the back.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 343
"And you, sir!" said she, turning upon him. "I
don't believe you think I can do it."
" I believe you capable of anything."
" Well, I will show you. Decamp forthwith, both
of you !"
Charley and I decamped accordingly, and betook
ourselves to a very pleasant beer-garden (for this col
loquy chanced to be held in Eichmond), where we
spent a couple of hours. On our return we found
Alice sitting with dishevelled hair and looking very
disconsolate.
" Where is chapter fifty-one ?"
Alice pointed rather snappishly to the waste-basket,
in which lay several sheets of paper, torn into shreds.
" Ah !" said I, " let us put the pieces together, Charley,
and see how she got on." And Charley and I made for
the basket. The result was a battle royal, at the end of
which the shreds had become bits of the size of postage-
stamps, mingled with which, all over the room, lay the
ruins of the basket.
" You give it up, then ?"
" Not for a moment," replied she, panting.
A week passed before Alice summoned us to hear her
chapter read. Not with a view to criticism, however;
tor it was agreed that neither Charley nor I should
utter one word, either of praise or censure. Whatever
she produced was to be printed just as she wrote it;
and here it is, word for word, just as it came from her
pen.
And if any reader, during its perusal, shall come to
doubt whether it be, in truth, her production ; if he
shall fail to discover one solitary trait of our merry-
sparkling, laugh-compelling enchantress, it will be but
another proof that what people are has nothing to do
with what they write. If, for example, the reader
shall find this work dull but enough.
Moving nearer the lamp, Alice read with a resolute
spirit but faltering voice as follows :
344 . THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER LI.
BY ALICE FROBISHER, LOVE-EDITOR.
THEY stood face to face, these two; he with out-
Btretched hand to receive the goblet which she held.
" I'd rather help myself."
" Why ? But of course, if you prefer it." And he
stood aside.
She glanced at his face. " Oh, I didn't mean to be
rude. Help me, then ; thank you." And barely moist
ening her lips (for somehow a choking sensation seized
her), she handed him back the tumbler.
It is in our premonitions that we women have some
compensation for our inferiority in strength to men.
It was not an accident that the P} r thia and the Sibyl
were women. The delicate, responsive fibre of her
nervous system makes every woman half a prophetess.
" You must have been parched with thirst," said he,
holding up the goblet, with a smile.
"I suppose it was only imagination."
Trivial words ; yet he knew and she felt that a crisis
in their lives was at hand. It is thus, I am told, that
soldiers will often joke and babble of nothings when
crouched along the frowning edge of battle.
"Only imagination," said he, catching at the words.
(They were walking slowly, side by side, from the
dining-room to the parlor.) " And is there anything
else in life worth living for? The facts of lilTe, what
are they but dry crusts, the merest husks, which con
tent the body, perhaps, while leaving the soul unsatis
fied ?"
It was to minor chords, as I have said somewhere
above, that Mary's nature gave readiest response ; and
these had been struck with no uncertain hand.
" You speak feelingly," said she, without looking up.
"And no wonder; for of these husks of life husks
without a kernel I have had my share ; but of late "
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 345
They had reached the parlor window and found the
piazza deserted. How inconsistent is the human heart,
more especially that of woman. Mary had longed to
find herself alone, for one short quarter of an hour,
with this man who had so troubled her peace. She had
confidence in her woman's tact, felt sure that, if
opportunity were given, she could pluck away the
mask which concealed his heart, without revealing her
own. Strangely enough, during all the time they had
been under one roof, she had not had such an oppor
tunity. This had, in fact, been one cause of her
troubled curiosity. He had seemed studiously to avoid
finding himself alone with her, and with her only of all
the gii-ls. It had come now, come so suddenly, and
she trembled. She leaned out of the window.
" They are all gone," said she, withdrawing her head
and looking up at the Don with a scared look.
Was not that sinking of the heart a presage of
sorrow? "Would it not have been better for thee,
poor child, to have hearkened to the voice of its Cas
sandra-throbs ? Better to have hastened to the Hall,
whence thou couldst even now hear issuing the sounds
of merry music, and found safety in numbers ? Some
thing whispered this in her fluttering heart.
" But of late," repeated the man of her destiny.
" Let us join our friends in the Hall," said she, faintly.
"Wise words, but spoken too late. Too late ; for she
felt herself compassed round about by a nameless spell
that would not be broken ; entwined in cords soft as
silk but strong as fate.
" They seem to be getting on famously without us."
" Yes, but I thought"
" Thought what ?"
" I thought you must be longing to hear Lucy play."
And she gave a hasty glance at his face.
There was a revelation in the look that met hers.
The veil that had darkened her vision fell away.
Through those glorious eyes of his, so full of tender
flame, she saw into his heart of hearts ; and no image
of Lucy was imprinted thereon ; nor had ever been.
'Twas her own, instead sat enthroned there.
346 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Wrung as she had been, for weeks, with conflicting
emotions, the revulsion of feeling that now came over
her was too great for her strength. Her knees tottered
beneath her ; the room swam before her eyes.
"Somehow I feel a little tired," said she; and she
sank down upon a sofa which stood near.
Where was all her tact gone ? Was she not to un
veil his heart while hiding her own?
All is fair in love and war ; and in both the best-laid
schemes are undone by a surprise. The enemy had
found the citadel unguarded and rushed in.
" Will you allow me ?" said he.
She made no reply beyond a faint smile, and he took
his seat beside her.
" You spoke of music just now. Lucy has a charm
ing touch ; but I know a voice that is, to me at least,
richer than all the harmonies of a symphony, softer
than an JEolian harp, gentler than the cooing of a
dove."
She made a brave effort to look unconscious. " Oh,
how beautiful it must be ! How I should like to hear
such a voice !"
" I hear it now ! I am drinking it in !"
It was a draught which seemed to intoxicate him;
and the circle of the spell which bound them grew
narrower. She could feel his eager, frequent breath
upon her cheek, whose burning glow lent a more liquid
lustre to her dark eyes. They spoke little. What
need of multiplying words? Did they not know all?
Ah, supremest moment of our lives, and restfullest,
when two souls rush together, at last, and are one !
Somehow, by chance, just then if things which
always manage to happen can be said to come by
chance somehow their hands met. Met somewhere
along the back of the sofa, perhaps but no matter.
Hardly their hands, either. It was the forefinger
tip, merely, of his right hand that chanced to rest its
weight across the little finger of her left.
A taper and a soft and a dainty little finger, and a
weak, withal. Why should it scamper off before it
was hurt? After all, it was but an accident, perhaps,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 347
and a neighborly sort of accident, at the worst. Who
could say that it was a bold, bad forefinger? Perhaps
it did not know it was there !
And so that weak little digit lay there, still as a
mouse, though blushing, blushing (ah me, how it did
blush !), and all of a flutter.
After all, are not even strangers continually shaking
hands ? And if that be so, why should one run away,
merely because but the thing is not worth a discussion.
I have been much longer in telling it than it was in
happening. The thrill had barely flashed through that
rose-tipped little digit when he seized her hand, and
taking it in both his, pressed it again and again to his
heart; then the other; and drawing her towards him,
bent over her and breathed into her ear words never
to be forgotten. Not many, but strong, vehement
with long-suppressed passion.
As though a mountain-torrent had burst its bonds.
She had read of innumerable wooings and imagined
many besides; but never one like this. She tried to
speak, she knew not what, but her tongue refused to
do its office.
" And have you no word for me ? No little word of
hope ?"
She raised her eyes to his. It was but for a moment ;
for she could not longer withstand his impassioned
gaze. But in that brief glance, half wondering, half
shrinking, he read his answer, and in an instant she
found herself enveloped in those mighty arras, found
herself lying across that broad chest, his right arm
around her, his left supporting her head, that nestled
with upturned face against his shoulder. With upturned
face and closed eyes.
She had surrendered at discretion. When she felt
herself, again and again, pressed to his heart, she made
no protest; gave no sign when he devoured her
cheeks, her lips, with kisses, countless, vehement-ten
der, lay upon that broad shoulder in a kind of swoon.
She had waited so long and it had come so suddenly,
this cyclone of love !
Lay there upon that broad chest, she- so little,
348 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
with upturned face but closed lids, from beneath which
forced their way drop after drop of happy tears.
Happy tears? Did not they too tremble, tremble, as
they lingered, waiting to be kissed away ?
Lay there, nestled upon that strong arm, and drunk
with the wine of young love ; the past forgot, the future
banished, living in the present alone. A present, de
licious, dreamy, and wrapped in rose-colored incense-
breathing mist. Shutting out all the world save only
him and her. Prom afar comes floating to her ear,
from the Hall, the sound of muffled laughter, comes
floating the drowsy tinkling of the piano, meaningless
and inane ! All things else are shams. Love alone ia
reall
Yes, pillow thy head upon that arm, thy heart upon
that hope, while yet thou mayest I
For dost not heed how within that deep chest, against
which thy fair young bosom palpitates and flutters,
markest thou not how 'tis a lion-heart seems to beat
therein? To beat thereunder with tempestuous thud,
ominous of storm and wreck ?
And those eyes, so wondrous tender now, and soft
(for even if thou hast not stolen a look between thy
dewy lids, thou hast felt their caressing glances), and
those loving eyes ? Hast forgotten how their change
ful, bickering flashes once filled thy heart with dread,
even before he was aught to thee ?
If thou hast, dream on dream on while thou mayest !
CHAPTER LIT.
WITH the last word Alice dropped the manuscript on
the table, and hastily left the room. Charley shot
forth, with a vigorous puff, a ring of heroic proper,
tions.
" Upon my word, Jack, I didn't think it was in the
old girl 1 Capital ! It is, by Jove !"
" Capital," said I.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 349
"Yes," said he, " it is. But, I say, Jack"
" What ?" said I, with some expectancy, for he had
lowered his voice to a confidential whisper.
" It is very clever in the old girl, and all that, you
know. Jove ! didn't she hit out on a high line ?
'Incense-breathing mist,' how does that strike you,
Hein ? And ' tempestuous thud ?' what have you got
to say to that ? And ' bickering eyes ?' But I say,
Jack-Whack, old boy"
"Well?"
" I say, you won't tell her what I am going to say ?"
" Of course not."
" Well, I won't deny that it is well written, and in a
high, romantic vein ; but now you won't tell her?
but before I would have it thought that / wrote that
chapter, you might shoot me with a brass-barrelled
pistol."
With that he took up the manuscript, and began
running his eye over it and reading aloud passages
here and there. We both (I am ashamed to say) soon
got to laughing, and Charley at last went off into an
almost hysterical state, the tears streaming down his
cheeks. Just then Alice suddenly re-appeared, and his
features snapped together like a steel trap. Charley,
in point of fact, was not laughing at his wife, but
rather at the inherent absurdity of all love-scenes;
but he felt guilty when she entered the room, and
looked preternaturally solemn.
" What is the matter ?" asked Alice.
" I thought it was agreed that there were to be no
criticisms ?"
"Yes; but you and Jack have been criticising my
chapter already."
" In your absence, of course."
" And I heard you laughing."
"Laughing? What do you suppose there was to
laugh at ? In point of fact, I said it was capital ; didn't
I, Jack ?"
" Yes ; and I agreed with him."
" Really ?" asked she, looking from one to the other
of us with keen suspicion in her eyes.
30
350 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Yes ; honestly, my dear, it does you credit."
Alice looked pleased.
" Of course, however, any one could tell, at a glance,
that it was from a woman's pen."
" I don't see why," said she, bridling. " So far from
that being the case, I'll bet you a box of gloves that
when the book comes out, the critics will say that not
one line of it was written by me, and that I am a
purely mythical personage, invented out of the whole
cloth."
" Done," said he ; " they will say nothing of the kind.
By the way, can you tell me, Alice, why it is that
women always put so much hugging and kissing in
their books ?"
" I believe they do," said Alice, laughing.
"Jack would not have dared to make that chapter
so so warm, in fact. Why, it took away my breath,
the brisk way in which you enveloped Mary in the
Don's arms. Jack could not have brought about such
a consummation in less than three chapters."
" So much the worse for Jack. It was human nature,
woman's nature, at any rate."
"Oho! live and learn, Jackl"
" I am taking notes."
"And act on them," rejoined Alice, with a rather
malicious allusion to certain recent incidents in my own
personal career. " Women like aggressive lovers ; so
next time "
"But really, Alice," said Charley, coming to my
rescue, " that chapter of yours such as it is, now no
offence, I mean giving, as it does, a love-passage from
a woman's point of view, is very well done. And one
thing, Jack, seems to me especially to be commended.
It is positively artistic, the way in which she contrives
to cast a shadow upon the pair, as they sit basking in
the sunshine of ah in fact sunshine of young love
ahem match, Jack thank you ahem." Charley
reddened a little, conscious of having been betrayed
into an unwonted burst of eloquence. "And very
cleverly indeed," added he, " that shadow is wrought
by the very flash of light which will give our readers a
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 351
momentary glimpse of certain lines in the nature of
poor Dory, which you had not previously brought out."
" Inexorabilis acer" said I, musing.
" Oh, yes," said Alice, turning to her husband; "how
often have I heard you apply those words to your poor
friend. They are not to be found in Yirgil? At any
rate, I cannot recall such a passage."
" No ; they are part of a verse in which Horace gives
a characterization of Achilles."
CHAPTER LIII.
I HAVE said that Mary was romantic ; and I don't
know that I could give any clearer proof of the fact
than this : as she lay sleepless that night, reviewing
the scenes and events of the last few months, and more
especially of the preceding day, as she lay there
silently pondering, and realized that she knew nothing
of the history, and was far from sure that she knew
even the name of the man to whom she had so thor
oughly committed herself, she felt no wish that mat
ters stood otherwise. Nay, she even found herself re
joicing in the cloud of mystery that surrounded her
lover; and, to tell the truth, it was with a feeling of
relief that she had heard the sound of footsteps and
the hum of voices, the day before, announcing the re
turn from the Hall, just as she had gathered from the
Don's manner that he was on the verge of a revelation.
But they had been interrupted, and she had, for one
more day, at least, the privilege a delictous one to a
girl of her temperament of allowing her imagination,
unshackled by hard fact, to play around this strangely
interesting man, who had shot like a meteor athwart
her path. Singularly enough, or it would have been
strange, did we not all know the confidence without
reserve which a woman ever places in the man to
whom she has given her heart, strangely enough,
Mary felt not the slightest misgiving on the score of
30
352 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
the revelation she had reason to look -for on the mor
row. She had not the least dread that that revelation
might prove of such a character as to make imperative
an instant breaking off of relations with the Don.
What she dreaded was the dispersal of her illusions,
the end of her sweet dreams. To-day she could im
agine to-morrow she would know.
And so, next day, when our friends sallied forth for
a walk, and it fell out, partly through the manceuvering
of Alice, that Mary and the Don began to be farther
and farther isolated from the rest, her heart began to
beat so quick and hard that utterance became difficult.
Her companion, too, seemed preoccupied, and their con
versation became a tissue of the baldest commonplace.
At last he stood still, and with eyes fixed upon the
ground, was silent, silent for an age, as it seemed to
Mary. At last he looked up.
" Mary," he began, it was the first time he had ever
addressed her thus, and her heart gave a quick beat of
pleasure, " Mary, there is something I must say to
you, and we could not find a better opportunity. There
is the Argo ; let us take seats in it."
She assented in silence and with a sudden sinking of ,
the heart ; for there rushed before her mind, in tumult
uous throng, all the dreadful possibilities of the coming
revelation.
" Is not this," said she, as she took her seat upon one
of the benches, " the first visit that you and I hav<^
made to the ' Fateful' ?"
" ' The Fateful,' " she repeated to herself. Was the
name ominous? And she strove to hide, beneath a
careless smile, the deep agitation that she felt. " Do
you know, I feel that I have a right to quarrel with
you ? For I alone of all the girls have never been
honored by you with an invitation to visit the Argo.
It almost looks like an intentional slight. Was it?"
She was talking at random, hardly knowing what she
said ; anxious only to put off for a few brief moments
the explanation which she had suddenly begun to look
upon with genuine terror.
It is thus that, when, with swollen cheek, we have
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 353
taken our seat in his elaborate chair, we strive to delay
the pitiless dentist (while he, adamantine soul, selects
from his jingling store the instrument most diabolically
suited to our case), happy with a happiness all too
briefly bright, if he will but turn and admit that the
day is fine. [Jack's mocking pencil, again I I protest.
Alice."]
" Yes, it was intentional."
She looked up.
" Well, not a slight, of course, but intentional."
" Why ? I cannot imagine." But she did imagine
why, though but vaguely.
" Ah ! I am glad you ask that question. It enables
me to begin."
But he did not begin. He knit his brows instead,
and fixed his eyes in perplexity upon the shining sand.
" I hardly know what to say to you."
" Then don't say anything," exclaimed she, eagerly.
" Don't say anything?"
" Well, not about that /"
"About that f"
" Well, you know "
"Yes, I dare say we are both thinking about the
same thing."
" ' Great minds will,' etc., you know "
" Say loving hearts." And he took her hand. " Yes,
I admit that I have studiously avoided finding myself
alone with you."
" Were you afraid of me ? I am very little 1"
"I was afraid of myself ; yesterday proved how
justly so."
"Do you regret yesterday ?"
" I am afraid I do not. But I ought to. I had no
right to tell you I loved you."
" It is an inalienable right of every man to tell his
love."
" At any rate, I beg your pardon for having spoken
mine."
" I find forgiveness amazingly easy," said she, laugh
ing. Then, seriously, " Indeed, your scruples are over-
nice. The sweetest music that can fall on the ear of a
x 30*
354 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
woman is. as Alice says, loving words. Why should
we be denied it? What else have we to live for?"
" But I owe it to you "
" You owe me nothing !" exclaimed she, hastily.
" But I wish to tell you"
" Tell me nothing I I know what you wish to say,
but you shall not say it, not yet, at least."
He smiled.
" No ; I see you before me, hear your voice ; I have
known you, such as you are, for months. I wish to
know no more, just now. Let me dream on ; do not
awaken me. Let me float on," she continued, realis
tically clasping the gunwale of the Argo, " over rose-
tipped waves, careless what shores lie beyond. Let
rae dream yet a little longer." And rising from her
seat, she dropped on one knee in front of him, and
bringing her two hands together, placed them within
his. " Not one word. I trust you ; I am satisfied," said
she, with a voice low yet ringing, ringing with proud
enthusiasm, a voice full of strange thrills, vibrating,
eloquent. This, her speaking attitude, and the impas
sioned faith that illumined her eyes, fired his breast
with an indescribable glow of ecstasy. Pressing her
hands between his and raising his eyes, he exclaimed
with a fervor that was almost religious,
" Adorable Mary ! I have dreamed dreams, I have
seen visions, but none could compare with this!"
The exaltation of his voice, the spiritual glory of
his upturned eyes, the sudden burst of fervor, the
overmastering force of his impetuous manhood, hurried
Mary's imagination to giddy heights. She could have
fallen down and worshipped him.
" Come," said he, more gently ; " take that seat and
listen to me for a moment."
She made as though she would place two fingers on
his lips.
" No !" said he (placing his lips on the two fingers).
"Since you wish it, I will leave unsaid what 1 pur
posed saying. It is a strange whim on your part, but an
altogether charming one to me, since it gives me the
right to believe that you value me for myself alone. I
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 355
shall, therefore, respect this fancy of yours as long as
you desire. But if I may not tell you who I am, I may
at least say what I am not. I am not an adventurer.
You toss your head ; your faith is lovely, but you
know I might have been one. No ? Well, at any rate,
I am not. I am, in fact, your equal in social position ;
so that, if you can spare a place for me in your heart,
without knowing who I am, you will not have to expel
me when you condescend to hear what I have to say."
" Do you know," said Mary, with a merry twinkle in
her eyes, " I believe you are just dying to tell me all
about yourself?"
" And you wild to have me do so."
The sun sparkled upon the Eiver, the waves mur
mured softly at their feet, beneath a gentle breeze
laden with the mysterious breath of awakening spring ;
and these two sat there bantering one another, like
children, gleefully. Maiy no longer recognized the man
who sat before her. Every line had passed from his face ;
and but for his Olympic beard, he might have seemed a
great jolly boy just come home for his holidays. She
could not take her eyes off his face. She was scru
tinizing it, wondering where could be lurking those
ambuscades of passion that she thought she had de
tected more than once. And the fire-darting flashes,
where were they hidden, beneath those ingenuous
glances, so tender, so soft, so caressing ?
CHAPTER LIY.
To four people at Elmington that was a happy week.
I suspect it was rather a dull one to every one else.
The friendship of Alice and Mary had renewed its
youth. Each had told the other everything. That is,
they did what they could ; for there was always no
end left to tell. Not a word was wasted, not a moment
spent on any subject but one. Never had two young
men been more talked about.
356 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" We are both so well suited," said Alice. " To a
matter-of-fact body like me, Mr. Frobisher "
" Oh, Alice, he is just too charming, with his quaint,
humorous ways ; and then so devoted !"
" Do you think so ?"
" Why, the poor man is just dying with love, and "
" But just think of your affair, Mary ! When are you
oing to let him tell you who he is ? Oh, I'll tell you.
uppose we let them both come up to Richmond at the
same time to interview our respective and respected
papas. Oh, won't it be dreadful /" And with that they
fell on each other's necks and giggled.
" Mr. Frobisher says he will be hanged if he speaks
to my father. He says he thinks it a liberty to ask
any man for his daughter ; so he intends to speak to
mother. Bashful ? O-o-o-oh !"
Charley and the Don, too, had their confabulations,
but how was any one to find out what they said ? But
a merrier, jollier soul than the latter it would have
been hard to find. (I believe my grandfather would
have been somewhat scandalized at the way he pro
faned the Gruarnerius with his jigs, had not Charley
made casual mention of the gigas of Corelli and the
old Italian school ; which seemed to lend a certain air
of classicity to their homely Virginia descendants.)
These four, then, were happy. But upon the horizon
of Mary's dreams there hung a speck of cloud. It was
no bigger than a man's hand, but its jagged edges,
splotching the rosy east, marred the perfection of the
dawn.
To say what that cloud was, brings up a subject
upon which I touch with extreme reluctance.
A Bushwhacker discussing the problems of religion,
what will be said of him? Love feeling my in
ability to depict that, I accepted the kind offices of
our friend Alice. But where, among the bishops and
other clergy regular officers, am I to find one will
ing to be associated with a guerilla like myself? Who
among them would write a few chapters for this book ?
But the chapters must be written.
The reader will recall, I beg, one of the earlier inci-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 357
dents recorded in this narrative ; where the writer calls
upon the Don at his rooms in Richmond, to invite him
to spend Christmas at Blmington. It will be remem
bered that I found him reading a small book, which he
laid down upon my entrance, and that chancing to
glance at the little volume as I passed out of the
room, I saw with surprise that it was a copy of the
New Testament. With surprise. I would not be
understood (not for the world) as casting a slur upon
the youth of Virginia. They read their Bibles, of
course ; but generally, I believe, at the beginning and
end of the day. At any rate, whether it was the hour
of the evening or the man himself, I was astonished.
When I told the girls what I had seen, they were
variously affected, according to their several natures.
Here, thought Lucy, is one more good young man,
good not being, with her, a term of contempt. Mary's
imagination was fired. Behold, thought she, a high,
brave young spirit that hath chosen the better part.
Alice, being what neither of the others was, in the
main an average Yirginia girl, Alice could not help it,
the little scamp laughed. I don't know that it oc
curred to her that these very good young men are, take
them " by and large," no better than the bad young
men (and not half so interesting) ; all I know is that
she laughed, and made the others laugh, too, though
against their will.
And not once only. For weeks afterwards she never
spoke of the Don save as Parson (or, rather, Pass'n)
Smith. Her merry fancy played countless variations
upon this single string; but it snapped one day,
snapped very suddenly, the first Sunday after her and
Mary's arrival at Elmington.
" I wonder," said Alice, as she and the other girls
were getting ready for church, " I wonder whether the
Pass'n will go with us? Has any one heard him in
quiring about a meeting-house? What a favorite he
would be among the sistern of the county !"
As they went down-stairs, they could see him leaning
against a pillar on the porch.
" Look, Mary ; your Pass'n has his Sunday face on.
358 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
How dreadfully serious he looks! Mind, girls, no fri
volity ! I'll be bound he says ' Sabbath.' "
" No gentleman ever speaks of Sunday as ' the Sab
bath,' " said Mary, reproachfully.
" Very true ; and he is a gentleman if he is a pass'n.
Oh, this glove! Mr. Whacker," she continued, "here
we are ; and all ready, for a wonder, in time."
Wheels were crunching along up to the steps; horses,
held by boys, were pawing the earth ; and on the piazza
there was the rustle of dresses and the subdued hum
of preparation. The Don alone seemed to have no
part in the proceedings. Alice drew two girls' heads
together.
" The exhorter looks solemn ! The drive will be
hilarious in the carriage that takes him! Listen !"
" By the way," Mr. Whacker was saying, " I had
forgotten to ask you, will you take a seat in the car
riage, or would you prefer going on horseback ?"
" Horseback, by all means," whispered Alice ; " the
jolting might cheer up his Kiverence."
The Don, looking down, changed color, and was
visiblj 7 embarrassed. " I" remember," said he, presently,
raising his eyes to those of Mr. Whacker, " that one of
the first things you said to me, when you welcomed
me to Elmington, was that it was 'Liberty Hall.' "
"Certainly, oh, certainly," rejoined my grandfather,
in his cordial way. " Choose for yourself. That pair
of thoroughbreds may look a trifle light; but you will
find they will take you spinning. Then there is the
buggy. But perhaps you would prefer to ride? I can
recommend that sorrel that Zip is holding." (Zip gave
a furtive pressure on the curb which made the sorrel
arch his neck and paw the ground.)
" I have not made myself clear," said the Don, with
a constrained smile. " I meant to beg you to to let
me take care of ' Liberty Hall' to-day."
"You mean," said my grandfather, taking in the idea
with some difficulty, " that you do not wish to go to
church to-day?"
The Don bowed.
" Oh, certainly," said Mr. Whacker, with some eager-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 359
ness ; for he felt that he had inadvertently pressed hig
guest beyond the limits of good breeding. "Certjiinly,
of course, I had not thought of it. Of course you have
not yet quite recovered your strength."
The Don bowed his head deferentially, as though
willing to let this explanation of his host pass un
challenged ; but a certain something that lurked be
neath his rather mechanical smile showed that that
explanation was Mr. Whacker's, not his. A sudden
constraint came over the company, and they were glad
to get off.
When the party returned, the Don was absent, walk
ing ; and when, at dinner, there was the usual rambling
discussion of the sermon, the singing, and so forth, he
took no part in the conversation. The next Sunday,
when the vehicles and horses came up to the door, the
Don was found to be missing; having absented himself
purposely, as seemed likely ; and so on the next Sunday
and on the next to the end.
It was remarked, too, that never once did he take
part in those innocent little theological discussions
which are apt to spring up in Virginia homes, around
the family hearth, after tea, Sunday evenings. As he
was not a talker, as a rule, his silence would not have
been obtrusive, save for his persistency in maintaining
it. As it was, in the end his very silence seemed a
sort of crying aloud. Alice had called him "Pass'n"
for the last time.
All this gave Mary, for reasons of her own, great
concern, far greater concern than an average girl
would have felt. What those reasons were I shall ex
plain at the proper time. Suffice it to say at present,
that just in proportion as her interest in this singular
man deepened did her anxiety as to his religious views
grow keener. The time had come, at last, when she
felt that she had the right to question him ; but the
very thought (though ever in her mind) of asking him
why he never went to church made her shiver.
Strange! Now that he was her avowed lover, her
awe of him was greater than ever before. He was
now frank, joyous, playful
360 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
But even when a caged lion is romping with his
mate, you shall ofttimes see the glitter of his mighty
teeth !
CHAPTER LV.
MY grandfather was looking serious. Mr. Carter
had come down from Richmond, and, next day, the
great American 'Undulator and Boneless Vertebrate
was to leave Elmington, taking with her Alice and
Mary ; and these notable Christmas holidays would
come to an end.
It was late in the afternoon of one of those delicious
days in February, which every year (in the Land of
the Free and the Home of the Brave) delude us with
the hope of an early spring (though we all know that we
never have any spring, late or early); deceiving even
yonder pair of bluebirds, who, warmed into forgetful-
ness of that March which lies between them and the
abundant and nutritious worm of summer, go gallivan
ting up and down the orchard, chirruping eternal fidel
ity ; peering into this old tree and into that, in quest
of some hollow knot, so suggestive (to the bluebirdish
mind) of matrimony.
Where Charley and Alice were on this bright after
noon does not much matter. No doubt they were
together and happy; or, if wretched, wretched with
that sweet wretchedness which makes the tearful part
ings of young lovers so truly delicious.
There's your Araminta. Nineteen years of her life
had she passed, ignorant of your existence. T'other
day you met ; and now, she who gave you not so much
as a sigh during all those nineteen years, cannot hear
you speak of a month's absence but she distils upon
your collar the briny tear! She has found out during
the last few days, your Araminta, that she cannot,
breathe where you are not.
Absurd Araminta but nice?
Wherever else they may have been, they were not in
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 361
the Argo. The Don and Mary were there; and in the
then infancy of naval architecture row-boats were not
built large enough to hold, comfortably, two pairs of
lovers.
Mary was seated in the boat, he lounging around it ;
now leaning against the gunwale, now stalking idly to
and fro in the shining sand, rejoicing in his youth. They
talked of the passing sea-gulls, the twittering bluebirds,
the rippling waves, the rosy clouds, the generous sun
light, of everything, of nothing, it mattered not ; for
love hath power to transfigure the plainest things.
Presently the Don said, standing with fingers inter
laced behind his back, and looking far away down the
River, " Do you know, it would be hard for me to live
at a spot remote from salt water? All the great
thoughts that have moved the world have arisen
within sound of the sea-waves. She is the mother of
civilization. It is the land which separates the peo
ples of the earth, not the water. It thrills me to think
that, as I stand here, this river which splashes against
my foot is part of that ocean which washes the shores
of England, of France, of Italy, of Greece, of Pales
tine."
Palestine ! Strange word on the lips of a man who
never went to church.
" Then, again," continued he, with a smile, " I love the
sea because it reminds me I don't mind telling you,
since I have let you into my little secret because it
reminds me of Homer, and the epithets he has applied
to it."
"Ah, that reminds me of something! Have you
forgotten your promise to talk to me about Homer?
Have you that little copy of the Iliad in your pocket
now ?"
" Of course," said he, tapping his vest.
" Will you not let me have it in my hand now ?"
He shook his head, smiling. " No ; but have you not
the right to command me now? Speak, and I obey!"
" Ah ! Then I command you, on your allegiance, to
deliver that book into my hands."
He hesitated for a moment, and his hand shook a
Q 31
362 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
little when he placed the hook in hers. She took the
left lid between finger and thumb ; but his look of ill-
suppressed agitation made her hesitate, and her hand
began to tremble now, she knew not why.
" May I look ?" she asked, in a rather shaky voice.
" If you will ! But I warn you that that fly-leaf will
tell you what you have forbidden me to reveal."
" Oh 1" cried she, with a start. And the book fell
upon the shining sand.
He stooped and picked it up. " Have you had enough
of it ?" -
" More than enough, for the present, at least," she
replied, smiling faintly. "However," she added, "I
should like to look at the outside of it. How veiy old
it looks," said she, as she took it in her hand. " Why,
the corners are worn perfectly round j you must know
it all by heart."
" Almost," said he.
"And the back what I" exclaimed she, with aston
ishment. " Why, this is not the Iliad I It is a copy
of the New Testament !" And she held up the faded
title before his eyes.
With a black look of annoyance, but without a word,
the Don seized the book, thrust it into his pocket, and
began striding to and fro. Presently he stopped in
front of her.
" I put my hand into the wrong pocket," said he,
with obvioiis vexation.
" Why, yes. But what's the harm ?" said she, in u
soothing voice. " Carrying a Testament in one's pocket
is nothing to be ashamed of, I hope ?"
" Certainly not ! But," he added, with a half smile,
" taking it out is different."
" And so," she began, feeling her way, " you carry
the Iliad in one pocket and the Testament in the other."
But it was not now of the Iliad that she wished to
hear him talk.
" Yes ; a rather ill-assorted couple, you would say ?"
" Very ! One might suppose you either a Greek
professor in disguise or a minister."
He threw his head back and laughed. " I never
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 363
thought of that ; so one might. "We generally look
too deep for motives. Truth is not often found in the
bottom of a well. I carry these two books simply
because "
She looked up.
" Because," he added, gravely, " they were given to
me by people that I cared for."
Constituted as she was, these few words affected
Mary strongly. He had said so little, yet so much;
revealing, in the unconscious simplicity of his nature,
the very intensity of feeling that he strove to hide.
And as she looked upon the two little volumes that he
had carried all these years, saw how they had been
worn away against his heart, a feeling of awe came
over her. She found herself comparing, in her imagi
native way, the man before her with one of the great,
silent powers of nature, the dark-floating tide, for in
stance, so noiseless when unresisted ; or a black cloud
charged with thunder, that seems, at first, but to mut
ter in its sleep, like a Cyclops in a battle-dream, but
when yonder mountain dares to rear his crest in its
path
" You value them very highly on account of the
givers," put in Mary, as an entering wedge.
" Naturally j but not exclusively on that account."
And he drew the two little volumes from his pockets,
arid, placing them side by side, surveyed them lov
ingly.
Here was Mary's opportunity. Painfully anxious as
she had been as to her lover's religious convictions, she
had shrunk, hitherto, from a direct question. But it
would be easy now, she saw, to lead him on to a full
confession of his faith without seeming to interrogate
him.
She began by drawing him out on Homer ; but what
he said she hardly heard, so tremulously eager was she
to know what he thought of that other little book
which he held iu his hand. One thing struck her at
the time, and she had cause to remember it afterwards:
the strong admiration he evinced for the character of
Achilles, the flinty-hearted captain of the Myrmidons.
364 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Presently she said, in a low voice, " You hold them
side by side ; but could two books be more different ?"
He laid the Iliad upon the seat beside him, and taking
the other little volume in his hand, held it up before
him. As he did so, there was something in his look
that thrilled her with expectancy. While he had been
indicating the clear-cut outlines of Homer's marvellous
creation, she had felt (though hardly hearing with more
than her outward ear) that ho spoke admirably, and
remarked the high intellectuality that illumined his
features ; but now a sudden glow suffused his counte
nance, and strange, soft lights danced in his eyes. She
hung upon his opening lips with deep suspense ; for
something told her that upon the words he was about
to utter her own happiness depended.
The hour that followed was passed in a way which
is probably rare with parting lovers.
**** #*
**** * *
"No, I have never read Chateaubriand's Genie du
Christianisme, and," added he, with an admiring glance,
"I am glad of it; for otherwise I should not have
heard your brilliant version of what he says. I am
afraid, however, that, well as he puts it, I am hardly
frank enough to admit that parts of the Old Testament
are superior, as mere literature, to everything that the
Greeks have left us. The truth is, however, that I
know so little of the Old Testament that I have no
right to an opinion ; but this little book," continued
he, holding it up, " I know by heart. I mean the gos
pels," he added, quickly ; " and I don't hesitate to say
that in all literature you shall not find such a gem."
The gospels a gem of literature ! A weight seemed
to press on Mary's heart.
" Listen 1" And he opened the book, and turning a
few pages with nervous eagerness, found a passage.
"Listen! Could anything be more beautiful?"
His lips parted; but, without reading a word, he
closed the volume upon his forefinger. " Pardon me ;
but do you know, I fear you can hardly have more than
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 365
a suspicion of how divinely beautiful this little book
really is ?"
She looked up, puzzled.
" You have heard it read, week after week, it is true,
but read with a saintly snivel, a holy whine."
Mary would have protested, but a certain dark flash
of bitter disdain that accompanied these words checked
her ; and she was silent.
"Let me read you," said he, after a pause, "a few
of my favorite passages, in the voice of a mere man."
He read and commented, commented and read, for
perhaps an hour; commented without rhetoric, read
without art. He merely gave himself up to that won
drous story.
And what an hour for Mary ! For weeks she had
longed to know what he thought upon the one great
subject which overshadowed all others in her mind.
Yes, overshadowed, for hers was not a blithe spirit.
Had longed to know, yet feared to ask. And now that
he had been reading and talking so long, did he as
she had so often and so fervently prayed that he
should did he think as she did? Alas, it was but too
clear that he did not! But what did he think ? That
she could not tell, so strange and bewildering were the
flashes that came from his words. Her Virginia the
ology gave her no clue. As though a mariner bore
down upon a coast not to be found upon his chart : the
lights are there, but have no meaning for him.
Equally bewildered was Mary. How did he regard
the central figure of that wondrous drama? As he
read and talked and^ talked and read, a will-o'-the-wisp
danced before her eyes, leading her here, there, every
where, but not to be seized !
How tender his voice now! borrowing pathos not
from art, but from the narrative itself. A voice full of
tears. And do not his eyes answer the fading sunlight
with a dewy shimmer?
He was right, she thought, when he said she knew
not the beauties of this little book. Not a month ago,
and she had dozed under this very passage.
And now there rose before her he read on but she
31*
H66 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
heard him not (so the trooping fancies evoked by music
have power to dull the mere outward ear) rose before
her soul a vision of ineffable softness, a vision of one
with a face full of sorrow, but a sun-lit head ; and he
beckoned to little children, and they followed him ; and
as he passed, the burdens of the heavy-laden grew
lighter, and the weary smiled again and forgot their
weariness, and rose and followed, they too. And as
he passed (he read on but she heeded not) as he
passed along his stony path, violets seemed to spring
from beneath his feet, violets shedding perfume. And
along the roadside lilies nodded. And sinners beat
their breasts, but lifted up their hearts. And one of
her own sex followed, one who had loved much ; and
as she followed she dried her tears with her sunny
hair
GENERATION OF VIPERS !"
She started from her seat and clutched the gunwale
of the boat. As he towered above her, his nostrils
breathed defiance, his white teeth glittered with scorn,
his dark eyes gleamed, his whole figure was eloquent
with indignation. 'Twas but a bunch of dry sea-weed
that he held aloft, crushed in his right hand ; but to
her he seemed to brandish the serpent-thongs of Tisiph-
one ; and the milksop ideal of Raphael and the rest
vanished from her mind. In its stead there rose before
her exalted imagination the heroic figure of a valiant
young Jew. He stands before a mob that thirsts for
his blood. Alone, but intrepid. He knows full well,
O Jerusalem, that thou dost stone thy prophets (for
what land doth not?), but though his face be pale
beneath the shadow of approaching death, his brave
spirit is undaunted. He is willing that the cup shall
pass from him ; but, being such as he is, he may turn
neither to the right nor to the left. If he must drain
it, then be it so. His mission is to live for man and,
if need be, to die for him.
But is this the vision of a manlike God ? Is it not
rather that of a godlike man ?
The Argo stands firm in its bed of shining sand; but
tempest-tossed is the soul of the young girl who sits
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 367
therein, straining her eager eyes for a sight of land.
Every now and then a glorious mirage seems to spring
into the air, gladdening, for a moment, the darkening
horizon, and then to fall as suddenly, dispersed by a
word.
" Yes, Rousseau was right ; Socrates did die like a
philosopher, but Jesus like a God 1"
Mary leaned forward and held her breath.
He clasped his hands, and uplifting his face that was
pale with emotion: "My God," cried he, in a voice
that made her shiver " my God, my God, why hast
tbou forsaken me?"
The mirage vanished, for a mere tone may outline
a whole system of theology. That cry, as he gave it,
was one of bitter human anguish. In her lover's eyes
'twas not a God that died, but a man, godlike, but a
man.
"With that cry" (he added), "the bitterest that ever
broke from mortal lips "
She heard but heeded not; she knew more than
enough already.
" With that cry there burst the grandest heart that
ever beat for mankind. Who can wonder that sixty
generations of men have worshipped him as a God !"
Mary rose, and, descending from the Argo, took his
arm. She needed its support.
Just before reaching the piazza, she stopped suddenly,
and, wheeling in front of him, fixed her gaze upon hia
face. A gaze long, wistful, pitiful-tender. As though
a mother learned by heart the features of her boy just
going forth to battle, not knowing what may happen.
She tried to answer the smile that greeted this burst
of feminine impulse j but the soulful eyes were swim
ming with tears.
The Pythia was a woman and Cassandra
368 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTEE LVI.
I PICTURE thee to my fancy, my Ah Yung Whack,
popping thine almond eyes out of all almond shape.
No? Then thou hast not read my last chapter.
Couldst not? Ah, but thou must. I felt that it would
be so much Choctaw to thee. Still, thou must read it ;
for in that chapter I strike the key-note of this, my
Symphonic Monograph.
I know it is Choctaw to thee ; nay, Comanche ; but
I rejoice, rather, in that ; for it gives me a pretext for
writing an entire chapter for thine enlightenment.
Nor exclusively for thine ; for I would make matters
clear for the contemporary reader, who will, I trust
(or else alas for my poor publishers !), who will, J trust,
outnumber thee.
This, then, is my case. I have thrown upon my
canvas a young person who has had the misfortune to
fall in love with a man of whom she may be fairly said
to know nothing. (Her feminine intuitions cannot, of
course, pass muster as knowledge with us Bushwhack
ers and philosophers.) And this young person, so far
as is made to appear, is anxious to know but one
thing in regard to her lover. Had she been a good
sensible girl, with no nonsense about her, it might
have been supposed that she would have been curious
to know whether he were rich. Then, being but just
turned of eighteen, who could have blamed her if she
had wondered whether he were of a jealous temper,
and likely to put an end to her dancing with other
men ? Again ; many women have a pardonable ambi
tion to shine in the eyes of their friends ; and was he,
if rich, generous as well ? And was she likely to dazzle
Alice with her diamonds, perhaps, or .beam upon Lucy
from a handsome equipage? He had shown, too, some
iondness for field sports, and would he ah, would he
(harrowing thought to every'truly feminine bosom)
would he bring her into the country, there to drag out
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 369
a weary, dreary life, and shoppinglessly vegetate?
Nay, was this splendid ci'eature (as is too often the
case with splendid creatures), was he, perhaps, a slave
to creature comforts? Would he be an exacting critic
of her housekeeping? Might not muddy coffee exacer
bate even an heroic soul ? Could it be that a roast not
done to a turn might corrugate that admirable brow ?
No; we have not painted her as anxious in respect
to any of these things. Yet I beg the reader will not
accuse me of drawing a monstrosity of a girl, one desti
tute of the common instincts of her sex. Far from it.
She, very likely, trusting implicitly to her intuitions (as
women will), felt too confident as to these possibilities
of her future to give them a second thought. Besides,
was she not desperately in love? And we all know
(or, at least, I believe, which amounts to the same
thing, so far as this book is concerned) that there are
women who, if but deeply enamoured, would scorn
such thoughts, as a degradation to true love. At any
rate, the fact was as I have stated it. Mary, while
seemingly careless (though that may have been due to
confidence) as to the mere details of her destiny in this
world, was morbidly solicitous touching her lover's
views as to the next.
Laugh not, gentle reader. True, I am a humoristic
Bushwhacker by trade; but I would not have you
smile out of order. And as for thee, my great-to-the-
tenth-power-grandson, brush the wrinkles from thy
yellow brow, lest thou crack, not this nut, but thine
addled pate, instead.
Know, then, all men (and by all men I mean, ot
course, all women and clergymen, who, alone, in these
busy days,have leisure to read symphonic monographs)
Know, all women and clergymen, of this and more
or less future generations, that the story I am telling
has very narrow limitations, as well in time as in
space. It is of Virginia* alone that I am writing. Of
Virginia not in the fourth quarter, but Virginia in the
beginning of the second half of the' nineteenth century.
* Conspicuously inexact; but the reader must judge for herself. Ed.
V
370 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Strolling through this narrow field, at this particular
harvest-time, I have selected three sheaves wherewith
to fashion such rural picture as my hand should have
cunning to form.
Lucy, I chose, originally, as symbolizing the purity
and simplicity of the womanhood of our old Virginia
life. But of her I am conscious that I have given the
merest outline; and I find that I cannot fill in the
picture adequately, and at the same time maintain the
rigidly monographic type of my work. ' Let her stand,
therefore, just outside of our central group (where the
full light falls), illumining the half-shadow with her
gentle, St. Cecilia look. Is that a smile that lights her
eye, or is it the glancing of a tear ?
Our Alice illustrates for us, as I have said elsewhere,
the careless freedom of those old days, and shows how
our democratic-aristocratic Virginia girls could be gay
without being indiscreet, joyous yet not loud, uncon
ventional yet full of real dignity ; how, in the hundreds
of years that separate them from the mother-country,
they have shaken off English stiffness, while clinging
fast to English love of liberty. But she is fully capable
of speaking for herself; and wo pass on to Mary Rolfe.
The reader has already, I hope, a tolerably clear con
ception of this young person. Stature below the aver
age, eyes full of soul, a manner painfully shy with
strangers, childlike and confiding with intimates; a
mind admirably stored, considering her years, with all
that can adorn ; often silent, and preferring to hear
rather than to be heard, but murmuring, when, forget
ting her reserve, she does speak, like a brook, and in a
voice of such surpassing sweetness that one could have
wished that, like the brook, she would go on forever.
Eloquent rather than witty. And I fear few would
have called her wise. For the rest, full of high imagin
ings, and a born hero-worshipper.
Such was Mary Kolfe in herself; and to know her as
such has sufficed for the reader, so far. But a crisis is
approaching in Mary's life ; and to foretell how people
are going to act in crises, it is not enough to know
what they are in themselves, merely. What they are
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 371
is something; the where and the when are more. Do
you see that pleasant, genial-looking man walking along
the streets of a Southern city? Could anything be
gentler than his look, kinder than his eye? Yet it
was but the other day that he went out, deliberately,
to a secluded spot called the Field of Honor, and sent
a ball through the person of an excellent gentleman,
who at the same time was addressing a bullet to his
care. These worthy persons were no worse than other
people (true, they were editors), but they lived in the
South. That was the trouble. In the North the same
man would have simply said, you're another, and called
the account square. And I, for one, applaud the North,
and say she is right and the South wrong.
No ; if you would forecast the actions of men, you
must be acquainted with their environment, as Herbert
Spencer would call it. To use an illustration that this
leader of modern scientific thought would not object
to ; you strike that white ball with your cue. The
table being smooth, it would seem that it would main
tain its initial direction till the initial force was ex
hausted, or at least till it struck the opposite cushion ;
but, lo ! it strikes a light red ball that lies in its path,
and off it flies at a tangent. If Mr. Spencer held the
cue and were conducting the experiment in person, our
illustration would now be at an end (for I am told that
he is the worst billiard-player in all England); but let
us suppose that that cue-thrust was delivered by one
of those solid-headed young men (in shirt-sleeves) who
delight in what they humorously call the scientific game.
The white strikes the light red and darts away ; but
click ! and off it speeds along a different track. It has
carromed on the dark red.
And are we not, we mortals, so many billiard-balls,
launched forth upon our little arena by we know not
what force, and rolling we know not whither? It may
be a little wider or a trifle narrower, perhaps, the stage
on which we play our several parts ; but all the same,
around it rise the unscalable barriei-s of human life, the
adamantine limitations of human endeavor. And we,
embracing within our little selves (as did the tusk
372 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
whence that ball was cut) countless conflicting forces, the
inextricably intermingled traits, that is, of numberless
ancestors, fashioned, too, by the loving hands of father,
mother, brother, sister, teacher; we spin forth on the
journey of life. And a seemly roll of it we may have,
and a safe, perhaps, if we be but smooth and round
and mediocre (not bulging on this side, say, with
big thoughts, or jagged on that with untamable con
science). There stands the goal, and making for it,
merrily we spin forth, but, click! click! and where are
we ? Nay, may not a pinch of cigar-ashes wrest victory
from an expert? And hath not, sometime, a mere
rumpled thread sufficed to bring triumph to a tyro?
Surely it is not a great matter to stoop and pick up a
pin; but was it not enough, once, as we are told, to
make a beggar a millionaire? And who shall say that the
merest casual fly, alighting on the intent nose of some
gunner in beleaguered Toulon, might not have so
warped the parabola of a shell as to have rendered
needless the slaughter of Waterloo ?
I have made life a parallelogram, I see, though it is
notoriously a circle ; and I have symbolized failure in
life by carroming on the light and dark reds ; whereas,
as we all know, that is success in billiards. But, my
Ah Yung Whack, is it not night in China when it ia
day with us ? And does not white raiment signify grief
there? And do they not take off their shoes instead
of their hats when calling on a friend, and shake their
own hands rather than the other fellow's ? We will let
the illustration stand, my boy, for your sake ; for, in
the new Flowery Kingdom which is coming, all things
will be changed. In that day, when the wielder of the
cue shall also wear one (spell it how he will), the game
will bo to miss rather than to hit ; so that what seemed,
at the first blush, to be due to the buck-jumping of a
mustang Pegasus, turns out to be, in reality, the pro
phetic vision of a philosophic Bushwhacker.
But the environment of Mary?
And now, at last, it has come, that chapter which I
have so long dreaded, my chapter on Virginia theology.
" Dearest Alice, could you not manage it for me ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 373
A backward toss in her rocking-chair, one ejacula-
tory clapping together of her plump hands, one shout
of laughing amazement was her answer.
" I ?" said Charley. "You must have forgotten that
I am hard at work on that Essay on Military Glory
which you say you will shortly need."
CHAPTEK LVIL
HERE I am, then, since it must be.
Every one has heard the story of the Frenchman
who, after a tour through America (or was it Eng
land ?), had but this to say of us : that we were a
people with thirty religions and but a single sauce. 1
hardly think that we in Virginia, at least at the period
of this story, were quite so rich in religions as this.
Yery likely, some of the sects discovered by our observ
ant G-aul had no representatives in the Old Dominion.
At any rate, I, after diligent inquiry in many quarters,
have not been able to unearth more than fifteen dis
tinct varieties. I did not count, I admit, a certain flock
of migratory Mormons that I once encountered on the
wing ; just as, I presume, a naturalist would hardly
class the Canada goose among Virginia birds, from the
mere fact that they refresh themselves, in the spring
of the year, in our wheat-fields. Nor did I think that
a man and his wife and a boy whom I once knew,
could fairly claim to be numbered as a sect merely
because, as their fellow-villagers asserted, they pro
fessed to believe something that nobody could under
stand. Then I am afraid that even the very sects
themselves would insist on my leaving out the Bush
whackers, slack-twisted Christians like myself, that is,
who can't abide uniforms, and find it hot marching in
ranks, and irksome to keep step ; though we do cover
the flanks of the main column, and, while we don't
attack in line, yet keep up a rattling fire upon such
stray sinners as we find prowling about.
32
374 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
And so forth, and so forth.
Still (for I would not incur the suspicion of niggard,
liness), it is very possible that, had I searched with
greater diligence, I should have found more than fifteen.
We will allow, then, that, at the period which we are
sketching, there were, say, a dozen and a half religions
in Virginia.
And when I say religions, I have not in ray mind a
milk-and-water, namby-pamby, good -enough -for -me
kind of creed, but one of your up-and-down, robustious,
straight-from-the-shoulder dogmas, that could ship off
entire churchfuls of heterodoxers to (but since the
Revised Edition the word is scarcely parliamentaiy)
without a wry face. Thither our Virginia Catholics
used to despatch all our Protestants, to a man ; but,
inasmuch as their numbers were few (and, strictly
speaking, the thing was, perhaps, contrary to the Con
stitution of the United States), they did it all very
decently and quietly; sending them off by night-train,
as it were, and making no loud mention of the fact.
Not so their opponents. Greatly outnumbering the
followers of the Scarlet Woman of Babylon, they rat
tled them off in broad daylight, by the Through Mail,
making no bones of naming the terminus of the road.
Ah, but it was thorough work on both sides I
Ole Virginny nebber tire !
But there was one awkward thing about the business :
if they kept this thing up, not a solitary Virginian
would ever reach heaven. That thought gave me
pause, one day; and ever since I have hoped that some
body had made a mistake, somehow. At any rate, said
I to myself, in my slack-twisted, Bushwhackerish way,
the Jews will get away ; and that will be a comfort,
considering what an Unrevised Edition of a time they
have had for these two thousand years.
But as a guerilla, as a free lance, unattached and un-
uniformed, and falling in, as occasion served, now with
one regiment and now with another, I found that things
were even worse than I have represented them. You
see they didn't mind me, and so talked very freely in
my presence; and I was shocked to find that these
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 375
various companies and battalions privately nourished a
keener animosity one against the other than towards
the common enemy, Ah Sin. If each could have heard
what the others said of them (as I did), and where they
sent them ! I came to the conclusion, at last, that there
was not the shadow of a chance for any Virginia
Protestant. There were not enough Catholics to keep
them busy ; they fell upon one another, and so many
cars did they couple on to the Through Mail (ole Vir-
ginny nebber tire!) that it became a most Unlimited
Express, choke-full of Virginia gentlemen, Virginia
gentlemen who had erred in the interpretation of a
phrase or so, or, it may be, of a word merely, of Holy
Writ.
Ole Virginny nebber tire !
I say Virginia gentlemen advisedly.
Environments may have their environments (just as
fleas have other fleas to bite 'em, and so we go ad in-
finitum'), and, thorough-going as was our theology, it
had to succumb in the presence of our chivalry towards
the sex ; for throughout all our borders there lived not
a man, lay or clerical, who would not have scorned to
send a woman to the bottomless pit.
But as for the Virginia gentlemen, we shovelled them
all in with an industry (ole Virginny nebber tire !) and
an undoubting zeal that were above all praise.
That's the reason I always did love a Virginian ; he
won't stand any nonsense. " Do you believe that a
prodigious majority of mankind were elected unto
damnation, ages before they were born ? No?" Swish!
and that is the end of you ! Another: " And so you say
that baptizo means baptize, do you?" "Why, don't the
dictionaries and all the Greek profess " budjum! and
where are you now ?
For, in matters of this kind, we Virginians of that
day, if you would agree with us, would agree with you ;
but if not you might go your way, for the King
James version obtained in those times.
Ah, but we were out-and-outers in those good old
days!
Ole Virginny nebber tire !
376 THE STORY OF DON MIFjf.
Strange! for time was when things were very differ
ent in the Old Dominion. Our ancestors had brought
over with them the spirit of the merrie old England of
hundreds of years ago; and merry men were they, too,
for a long time after they landed on these fair shores.
And, after all, what was the harm? for do not
philosophers tell us that a people's conception of the
Deity is but the reflex of the powers of nature (be they
kindly or hostile) by which they are surrounded ? And
was not this a fair land ? and if their sun was bright,
but not too fierce, and their wheat-fields nodded to soft
breezes, but knew not the hurricane, and if their snows
were a fairy mantle for mother-earth, rather than a
shroud, and Jack Frost spread, over pond and creek, ice
just thick enough to store against what time the mint
the jolly jolly mint should sprout, if all nature
smiled, why should these merry Norman-English pull
long faces? Nor did they, but laughed and danced,
bless their jovial souls !
But a time came when merrie England was merry
no longer.
Somebody had invented a new religion.
It floated down upon her, a dense fog, impenetrable
to the mild radiance of the star of Bethlehem. Floated
across the Atlantic, and darkened our life, too. With
us, as well, laughter became frivolity, and dancing
blasphemous. There are rifts in the fog now, and
here and there the sun is bursting through ; but at the
period of our story the shadow was unbroken. There
was laughter, it is true. Do not the condemned often
make merry in their cells? and young people will
dance, just as lambs frisk, even upon a bed of mint
heedless, for 'tis their nature to. But they laughed
and danced under a shadow, the shadow of the next
world. That world, alone, was real, so we thought,
while this, from Greenland's icy mountains to India's
coral strand, was (though it seemed so solid) but a fleet
ing show, for man's illusion given.
And of this theology, which spread, like a black pall,
over the land, this was the central conception ; and I
give it for the reason that you will not find it laid down
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 377
in the books, or in any single discourse. It is the
epitome of the thousands upon thousands of sermons
which I (not that I would boast) have heard in my day.
Listen ; for this was the atmosphere that our Mary
breathed :
The world is the battle-ground of two mighty beings,
the Spirit of Good and the Spirit of Evil. These two,
from the first appearance of man on earth, have un
ceasingly battled together, the one to save him, the
other to destroy. To save mankind to destroy man
kind that has been the sole contention these thousands
of years. Incidentally, of course (for such is war), the
Evil Spirit has, beyond the harm done the human
family, wrought immense damage to earth's fauna and
flora (as the innumerable imperfections of nature
testify), but man, alone, has been the objective point of
all his strategy ; and with every new soul that comes
into the world the conflict is renewed.
And perhaps I am wrong, for there are those who
maintain that I have a bee in my theological bonnet,
but, were I a preacher, I should stand up for my side.
I should not go about proclaiming it from the house
tops that in the vast majority of these struggles the
good spirit is worsted ; nor glory in announcing to the
world that Satan held the field, and that the only hope
was that a few of us poor captives might elude his
vigilance and escape. Captives! They told us that
we were his when we were born !
Is there any harm in saying that to a mere Bush
whacker (who has not had the privilege of passing
through a theological seminary) it seems that we have
hardly a fair chance? It were better we were born
orphans! Better that than to be the children of Sin
and Satan, as those who know tell me we are, though
I will say that I cannot help hoping that there is some
mistake about it.
But if it be, indeed, too true, if it be a fact that all
the poor souls that flit darkly, for a season, about this
little ball of earth, are, in very deed, condemned before
they are born, may we not hope that it is otherwise in
Venus, for example, or Mars? I, at least, sometimes,
32*
378 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
overborne by the immense tragedy of human life, steal
forth alone into the night; and lifting my weary eyes
to the blue spangled dome above, try to drown the
darkness here in the light I see shining there; and oft-
times I find myself wondering whether they be indeed
as bright as they seem, find myself praying, even,
that it may be so.
For indeed it were pitiful, were all those worlds such
as ours !
And sometimes I have felt, as I swept, with brim
ming eyes, constellation after constellation, and galaxy
after galaxy, that I could bear up with a braver heart
could I but know that there was, wandering some
where in the immensity of space, one little planet, at
least, upon which the Prince of Darkness had not set
his foot, one little world in which poverty and hunger
and thirst, and toil and failure, and blood and tears,
and disease and eternal farewells were unknown, one
world where a mother could smile back upon her babe,
as it lay kicking and crowing in her lap, and laughing
in her face, and not feel that the Grip of Hell was upon
its throat.
Alice buried her face in her hands ; but Charley sat
bolt upright in his seat.
For such was our creed in those days. If any one
shall say that Virginians do not believe that now, I
shall not argue the point. It was notoriously orthodox
then to hold that every infant came into the world under
sentence. Not under sentence to be hanged by the
neck, as murderers are
Alice shivered. Charley lifted his hand. I ceased
reading.
SYMPHONY OF LIFE.
MOVEMENT III.
ALLEGRO MOLTO.
CHAPTEE LYIII.
IT must, in former days, before we Christianized them
(at any rate, if we didn't do that, quite, we did what
we could ; we cut their throats for their heathenism
and lands), it must have been a comfort to an old In
dian brave (before the Pale Faces had taught him what
was meant by Peace on Earth) when his stalwart son,
heir to his prowess, returned to the parental wigwam
and cast into his veteran lap his first string of scalps.
And so, in our day (for conditions change, not man), the
youthful sparkle comes back to a mother's eye, and
nascent wrinkles on her fading cheek become twink
ling dimples again, when her blooming daughter re
turns, flushed with victory, from her first campaign.
How did you leave your uncle and your aunt ? And
I hope all the children are well ? And so you have had
a good time ? Glorious I Well, you must be tired ;
you need not go up-stairs; come into my room and
take off your things.
But she has not had time to unbutton her left glove
before her mother wants to know all about the scalps :
how many and whose.
And here there makes its appearance a seeming dif
ference between our young campaigner and the brave
I have mentioned. He, as he dances around the camp-
fire, waving in one hand the sinister trophies of his
379
380 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
victory, and brandishing his tomahawk in the other,
proclaims, not without ingenuous yells, what a sin
gularly Big Injun he conceives himself to be. She,
returning from the war-path, has nothing to show;
denies everything (as she laughingly unties her bonnet-
strings), even to her mother. To the next-door neigh
bor, who runs in to hear, denies ; but smiles mysteri
ously. Idle tales. Nonsense. Not a word of truth
in it. Pooh ! He was making love to another girl.
But in the end, young man, your scalp is nailed above
the door of that young woman's chamber, where all
may see, nailed up with laughing protests and mys
terious smiles.
Which is as it should be. There are ways and ways
of blowing one's little trumpet or of getting it blown.
Conditions change, not man. The vanity of Ajax was
not greater than that of a nineteenth century hero.
Where, pray, was the son of Telamon to find a bottle
of champagne to crack with a war-correspondent?
Alice and Mary managed things economically. Each
was the war-correspondent of the other. In their let
ters to Kichmond, during these notable holidays, Mary
recounted the victories of the enchantress, while Alice
numbered the slain of Mary and her soulful eyes. For
be it understood, fair reader, that while as a monog-
raphist I have indicated one scalp, merely, apiece, in
reality a pile of corses lay in front of each of these
lovely archers. They were Big Injuns, both. But
this by the way.
" Which one of them all did you like best ?" asked
Mrs. Rolfe.
" All !" laughed Mary, letting down her hair as she
dropped upon a lounge. "How many were there,
pray ?"
" Alice wrote me that "
" Oh, she's been telling tales, has she? And you be
lieved all she wrote ?"
* * * * * *****
"Oh, yes, I knew his father, when I was a girl, and
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 881
I don't wonder at the son's being stupid, as you say.
He could talk of nothing but horses, I remember. By
the way, speaking of horses, what has become of that
poor Mr. Smith who was so badly hurt last October?"
" He is still at Elmington, I believe ; that is yes, of
course he is there. I mean we left him there."
" You believe /" laughed Mrs. Rolfe. " Upon my
word," added she, " that is a summary way of dispos
ing of a young man. He must be a nonentity indeed.
I often wondered that you never mentioned him in
your letters. Alice, on the contrary, could write of no
one else. It was the Don did this and the Don said
that."
" Her beloved Charley and Mr. Smith are close
friends."
" Oh, I see ; but I don't understand how it was that
Alice seemed to take such a lively interest in 'the
Don,' as she calls him, while you can scarcely remem
ber that he is still at Elmington. She never wrote a
letter without singing his praises."
" As I said just now, ' the Don' has the good taste to
admire Mr. Frobisher."
"Ah, that accounts for Alice's liking 'the Don.' Am
I to suppose" (something in Mary's manner made her
mother feel sure that she was on the right track)
" am I to suppose, then, that you are interested in
some one whom the Don has not the good taste to
admire?"
" You are a marvellous guesser, to be sure," cried
Mary, with a bi-ight laugh, and springing from the
lounge and into her mother's lap.
"Ah, I have hit the nail on the head, have I?" asked
Mrs. Rolfe, with a pleased look of conscious sagacity.
"What a subtle brain is here!" continued Mary,
smoothing back the white hairs from her mother's
forehead, and gazing tenderly into her loving eyes.
"And so you have been hiding something from your
poor old mother? But you are going to tell her now,
aren't you ?" added she, coaxingly. " Who is this per
son in whom you are interested ?"
"Mary Eolfe!"
382 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"Yourself? Ah, I see. Mr. Smith does not like
you, and therefore you do not fancy Mr. Smith. Am I
right?"
" Not entirely."
" Oho I Then he is another of those upon whom you
have found it impossible to smile. Well, I cannot
blame him, poor fellow." And she kissed her daugh
ter's forehead. " The idea of your having never but
why did Alice never allude to this affair ? She gave
me an account of all the others."
" I can't say," replied Mary, leaving her mother's
lap for the lounge.
" So you did not fancy him. Of course not, of course
not. He is a handsome fellow, very; but really, I
cannot see how he could have had the hardihood to
make love to you while maintaining bis incognito, as
Alice writes that .he still does."
"Hardihood in making love is just what some girls
would like."
" Of course, some girls ; but not a girl brought up
as you have been. Did he make no apology ? Yes ?
"Well, that was to his honor. He is a gentleman, there
can be no doubt about that. And you ?"
Mary was lying at full length upon the lounge. " I
forgave him," said she, averting her face.
"Ah, we can't help that, my daughter. A woman
would not be a woman unless" and reminiscent lights
and shadows flitted across her face " unless she kept
a soft place in her heart for every man who ever loved
her. But forgiveness and love are different parts of
speech."
No answer.
" To pardon, I say, and to love, are different things,"
repeated she ; and her heart began to throb, she hardly
knew why.
" Sometimes," said Mary, covering her face with her
hands.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 383
CHAPTEK LIX.
IT was not many minutes after this before Mrs. Eolfe
found herself across the street and closeted with Alice.
" I am too tired and nervous to talk now," Mary had
said ; " wait till to-morrow ; or, if you are very im
patient, ask Alice to tell you. She knows all."
" My dear Alice," asked Mrs. Eolfe, for the twentieth
time, at the close of a two-hours' investigation, "who is
this Mr. Don or Smith? "Who is his father? Who is
his mother? How am I to know that my daughter is
not interested in an adventurer or an escaped lunatic?"
Alice did her best to reassure Mrs. Rolfe on this point ;
adding, with a becoming little blush, that she did not
rely upon her own judgment, solely, that e-v-e-r-y-
b-o-d-y was sure that the Don was all that he should
be.
"E-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y! Then why don't you take him
yourself? I suppose this same e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y ob
jected !"
"Oh!"
That was all that this whilom merry babbler could
say. Her chin (just as though it thought itself the
most highly improper little chin in the world) tried to
hide between her shoulder and her throat, nestling
down somewhere. In those days we thought it was
becoming, that sudden rush of roses. to a young girl's
cheek. Now she will look you straight in the face,
and tell you without blinking that next spring she is to
marry a man weighing (just as likely as not) two hun
dred pounds. It is straightforward, and manly, and
"good form," but some of us can't forget the old way,
and like it still.
" I must confess, Alice, that I can make nothing of
the whole business. You tell me that Mary's suitor is
entirely devoted to her, and that every one has the
highest respect for him. His incognito need not trouble
me, you say, since its removal is only delayed, and
384 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
delayed, too, through some romantic whim or other of
Mary herself. But there is one thing which nothing
you say explains ; that everything you say darkens ;
why is the poor child so wretched ?"
Alice was silent.
" Alice," continued Mrs. Eolfe, placing her hand af
fectionately on the young girl's shoulder, " have you
told me all? It is Mary's express injunction that you
do so, you know."
Alice seemed to have something to say, but hesitated.
" Ah, I see," cried Mrs. Eolfe, jumping to a conclu
sion. " He has thrown off his incognito, and there was
something dreadful, a living wife in a lunatic asylum
or"
Alice smiled. " No, it is nothing of that kind. To
tell you the truth, it is all nonsense. Mary is making
a mountain of a mole-hill."
" A mountain of a mole-hill ?"
" Yes."
"Well?"
" It is all perfectly absurd "
" What disturbs the poor child, tell me?"
" Some nonsensical fears as to his religious tenden
cies."
" His religious tendencies ?" echoed Mrs. Eolfe, puz
zled. Suddenly light seemed to break upon her. "For
heaven's sake, Alice," she cried, pale with anxiety,
" you do not mean to say that he is a Catholic ! Don't
tell me that. Tell me that he is a a an Atheist,
anything but a Catholic!"
"An Atheist rather than a Catholic?" said Alice,
raising her eyes to those of Mrs. Eolfe for the first time
for several minutes.
"Most assuredly; a thousand times rather. Why,
when I was a girl, several of my acquaintances married
young men who were pleased to consider themselves
sceptics, it was rather the fashion in those days,
but, bless you, the last one of them was a vestryman
before five years of married life had passed. But a
Catholic ! Heaven forbid ! One of two things, Alice,
invariably happens to a Protestant girl who marries a
THE STORY )F DON MIFF. 385
Catholic. Either, halting between opposing claims,,
she loses all interest in religion itself, or else she goes
over to the enemy. Oh, Alice, Alice," cried she, with
sudden vehemence, " do not tell me that my poor
Mary loves a Catholic ! Lost to me in this world
and"
I will tell you, my Ah Yung Whack, what Mrs.
Eolfe was going to say when Alice interrupted her
with a merry laugh. She was going to add, "lost -in
the next."
It was, indeed, as I have hinted in earlier chapters
of this work, the settled conviction of the Protestants
of Virginia, at that day, that all Catholics were as
surely destined to the bottomless pit as the very
heathen who had never so much as heard a whisper of
the Glad Tidings. (My Catholic friends often com
plained to me of this bigotry. For my part, I hardly
knew whether to laugh or to weep when I remembered
that they had made precisely the same arrangements
for my Protestant acquaintance.)
" Why, who told you he was a Catholic ?"
" Heaven be praised ! Then what is he, pray ?"
" I am afraid he is a little sceptical, or or some
thing."
"And is that all? Sceptical or something ! Capital,
Alice!" cried she, with a bright laugh. "You have hit
them off to a nicety. Sceptical or something, that's
just it. You see, my dear, when the beard begins to
sprout on a youth's chin, he fancies that it is time he
had opinions of his own. At this period he begins to
sneer at the 'fiery furnace' story, and discovers that
whales, though their mouths be large, have small
throats, and could never have swallowed Jonah. His
throat, at any rate, is too small to swallow such musty
tales, leave that to the old women! Sceptical or
something ! Excellent, excellent, Alice ! Ah, that
merry tongue of yours !"
"I am delighted that you take so philosophical a
view of the case," said Alice, much taken aback at this
unexpected praise of her wit. She might have added
that she was amazed. How often do those we know
R z 33
386 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
best utterly confound us in this way ! Mrs. Eolfo was
what some lukewarm people called fanatically pious;
and Alice had been looking forward with dread to the
scene that poor Mary must have with her when she
learned that her daughter had given her heart to a
sceptic (or something). Strange! it was the very
energy of this fanaticism which wrought the result
which so surprised Alice. It is possible for convictions
to be so strong as to inspire a merry incredulity touch
ing the honesty of opposing beliefs.
" Why, of course," rejoined Mrs. Eolfo, smiling com
placently. (It was the word philosophical that did the
business.) " The fact is, my dear, there are no infidels.
It is all the merest affectation. Most young men pass
through an attack of scepticism, just as, earlier in life,
teething must be gone through with. It is a cheap
mode of earning a reputation for brains. With girls,
this striving to be brilliant takes a different shape.
Many young women cultivate sarcasm for a year or so
after leaving school, not having seen enough of man
kind to know that a satirical turn infallibly indicates
the combination of a bad heart with an empty head.
But people of experience learn to pardon these foibles
of youth. The fact is, Alice," added Mrs. Eolfe, smiling,
"I know nothing in life more dcliciously comic than a
young graduate posing as a 'thinker.' Of course, if
they are loud-mouthed "
" That, at least, he is not."
"Of course not, of course not; since I hear he is a
gentleman. But how, pray, does he show that he is a
sceptic, or something? (Capital phrase, upon my word,
Alice!) How do you know it?"
" During the whole time that he has been at Elming-
ton he has never once I am afraid it is more serious
than you imagine "
" Go on !"
" Never once put his foot inside the church."
"Impossible!" cried Mrs. Eolfe. "Why, 'tisn't gen
teel !"
" Never once /"
" And his apology ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 387
" The Don apologizing !" broke in Alice, with a little
laugh. "You don't know him!"
" What ! paying court to my daughter, and allowing
her to go to church, Sunday after Sunday, without
ever offering to attend her? I should just have liked
Mr. Eolfe to have tried that game with me ! Even now,
and we have been married thirty years I just fancy
me marching off to church alone !"
To do Mr. Eolfe justice, those who knew him and the
partner of his bosom best would never have suspected
him of trying to play any such game on Mrs. Eolfe in
their courting days, still less now. He discovered
during the first month of the fii'st year of the thirty
alluded to, that his Araminta was a woman of views;
and he had spent the twenty-nine years and eleven
months immediately preceding these obsei'vations of
Mrs. Eolfe in learning just what those views were, that
he might the better conform to the same.
" The i-d-e-a I" chirped Alice.
" Yes, indeed. And if Mary will be guided by me
Upon my word, Alice, aren't we both too absurd ! Has
the wedding-day been fixed ? If so, I have not heard
of it. Before that happens, your Mr. Don, or whatever
he is, will have to have a talk with me I mean Mr.
Eolfe." (Which, as she went on to explain, was, as in
all harmonious households, one and the same thing.
She could not remember, in fact, when she had expressed
an opinion different from Mr. Eolfe's.)
Sly was Mr. Eolfe, they say ; who always let his wife
have the first say, and then he had her just where he
wanted her.
" He won't find me, or, rather, Mr. Eolfe, so senti
mental as to refuse to hear who he is I"
In the end our spirited matron was much mollified
at learning that the Don had not been " paying court"
to her daughter, and yet, at the same time, publicly
slighting her. The affair had been so sudden, etc., etc.
But Alice's master-stroke was delivered when she told
how the Don had fought against the avowal of his love.
Ah ! they never, as we men do, get so old as quite to
forget all their romance, these women !
388 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"Honor is a good thing to begin with," said she.
"As to the church business, I think we shall be able
to manage that," she added, with a slightly influential
expression about those lips which had so often carried
conviction to the peace-loving bosom of the harmonious
Mr. Eolfe.
" Provided, of course " continued she.
" Oh, of course," chimed in Alice.
CHAPTEK LX.
IP there was one feeling which swayed Mrs. Eolte
quite as strongly as her religious fanaticism (to use the
word of the lukewarm), it was iier absorbing love and
admiration of her daughter. Not a specially intellect
ual woman herself, Mary's gifts and wide culture were
a source of continual exultation to her. " She gets
her literary turn from her father," she used to say,
truly enough ; for he was a cultivated man (there were
no " cultured" men in existence then, thank God), who
would have made his mark in letters had he lived in a
more stimulating atmosphere. In fact (though Mrs.
R. always denied it with a blush), he had carried the
day over more than one suitor for her hand, and won
her young heart by means of his endowments in this
very direction ; for while they had been confined, by
the limitations of their several geniuses, to sighing like
furnaces, he had made a woful ballad to his mistress's
eyebrow ; bringing victory ; and the defeated went their
way, full of strange oaths.
So that a sort of sentimental interest in literature
heightened Mrs. Rolfe's admiration for her daughter's
accomplishments.
She was her only child, too ; and no one can blame
her for looking upon it as axiomatic that few men were
good enough for her Mary.
Judge of her dismay, then, when she learned so sud
denly that her daughter was profoundly interested in
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 389
a man whom it was quite natural for her to look upon
as a suspicious character. No wonder, then, that she
surprised her neighbors by the rapid pace at which she
had crossed the street. She walked briskly, too, when
she returned from her long talk with Alice, but her face
wore a different expression.
For she was rehearsing a pleasant little drama as she
hurried back across the street.
Her daughter's sad face had deeply pained her. It
was plain to see that if she loved not wisely, she loved,
at least, too well ; and she pitied her from the bottom
of her heart. Perhaps some anger had been mingled
with the softer feeling at first; but Alice had put a
new face upon the matter ; and she was hurrying home
to say to her daughter that she for one (and her father
for another) looked upon the alleged scepticism of
young men as the most harmless of eccentricities ; and
her face wore a determined smile. She did not intend
to commit herself. It would be time enough to ex
press her views (that is to say, Mr. Eolfe's) when this
Enigma had given an account of himself. But if that
was all that could be said against him, etc., etc., etc.,
etc.
And, would you believe it ? the very incognito of
our hero had begun to make the imagination of this
staid matron cut fantastic capers. Who could tell?
Strange things had happened before. Why not ?
" Sceptic or something I" She almost laughed as she
turned the knob of the door. " The poor child should
laugh, too !"
The poor child did not laugh I
3<JO THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER LXI.
THE poor child did not laugh.
"You do not know him, you do not know him,"
again and again she replied, wearily.
She might have added, but she did not, " You do
not know me." And after all, what mother, of them
all, knows her daughter, enveloped as she is in a double
veil ? For between the old heart and the young lies
the mist of the years ; and what eye can pierce aright
the diffracting medium of maternal love?
Even Doctor Alice, when called in consultation, next
day, could not probe to the bottom of the mystery.
And are there not ever some little nooks and corners
of our hearts unsuspected by our dearest friends, even ?
aspirations that they would have laughed at, per
haps, fears which we should have blushed to confess,
hopes, alas, withered and fallen now, that we have
never revealed to mortal ears ?
Now, within our Mary's breast there was, I shall not
say a nook or a recess, but a dark and dismal chamber,
the key of which had never left her keeping.
Let us call it the Cavern of Religious Terror, and
cut the allegory short.
Suppose we try to put ourselves in her place, and
see how things looked, not to an average girl of that
period (still less to any one of this), but to one such as
Mary was.
At the time in question, the dogma of what is known
among theologians, I believe, as that of the plenary
inspiration of the Scriptures, was held from one end of
Virginia to the other.
That is to say, my Ah Yung, that every chapter,
every sentence, every word, and every syllable of the
Bible had been literally inspired, and was absolutely
true. This we were expected to believe and did be
lieve ; and by what ingenuity we were to escape the
dogma of eternal damnation I, for one, cannot see.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 391
But we made no effort to escape it, regarding it, to a
man, as the mainstay of society and the sheet-anchor
of all the virtues. A belief in hell was ranked among
the necessaries of life.
" 'Twas the merest luxury," quoth Charley.
Now, what is the imagination but a kind of inner
eye, revealing to us, often with fearful distinctness,
that which may be, but is not. And imagination was,
as we know, an overshadowing trait of Mary's mind.
And what a training that imagination had ! Her
mother thought it was her duty, so let that pass ; but
hardly had she shed her long clothes when her preco
cious little head began to teem with burning lakes, and
writhing souls, and mocking demons, and worms that
die not. And, ofttimes, her little heart almost ceased
to beat, as she lay in her trundle-bed, and, with wide-
staring e} T es, saw her own baby-self engirdled with un
quenchable flames. For had she not fretted over her
Sunday-school lesson that very morning (longing to
dress her new doll), and said it was too long, and oh!
that she hated the catechism ?
Now, among those who accept this dogma, there are
various ways of dealing with it. The immense ma
jority inscribe it among the articles of their creed,
fold the paper, label it, and file it away in some dusty
pigeon-hole, in an out-of-the way corner of their heads,
and go about their business. They are satisfied to
know that it is thei'e, and that there is no heresy about
them. A true Virginian looks upon his faith much as
he does upon a Potomac herring, and would no more
think of finding fault with the one because of a knotty
point or so, than with the other for the bones it con
tains. He wouldn't be caught carrying a stomach
about with him that was capable of making wry faces
over such spiculse, not he. Look at that noble roe,
that firm flesh, as stimulating as cognac! No cod-fish,
no heresy for him !
So with the vast majority.
Then, there is another class of minds, with which to
believe is to realize. To such this article of their faith
assumes abnormal proportions, dwarfing all others.
392 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Upon this alone their glassy eyes are fixed. Let us
pass them by with bowed heads. Seeking heaven in
the world to come, they have found a hell in this.
Our Mary stood between these two classes, belong
ing to neither ; but by the nature of her mental con
stitution she leaned fearfully towards the latter. See
ing is believing ; but with Mary to believe was to see.
And from her infancy to her womanhood her fond
mother had done all that in her lay, unwittingly, to
overthrow her reason. That that fair mind did not
become as sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh,
was due to her father. It was he that saved her, un
wittingly as well, saved her through books.
Mr. Rolfe had no son, and Mary was his only daugh
ter. He made her his companion in his walks and in
his study.; and she became, like him, an omnivorous
reader; and the baleful phantasms of her distempered
spirit grew paler in the presence of other and brighter
thoughts. The process went further. As she read and
read, drawing upon all the great literatures (when she
could, in the original else in translations), there grad
ually dawned upon her a sense of the immense diver
sity of human opinion.
And yet, with what undoubting tenacit} 7 each people
clung to its faith! Hindu, Turk, Greek, Spaniard,
Scotchman, each was in exclusive possession of the
Eternal Verities !
The materials of the generalization were all there ;
and one fine morning she said to herself: Religious truth
is simply a question of geography.
Mary Rolfe was a sceptic I
And yet she had not read one sceptical book. Where
was she to find such in Richmond?
But this demure little miss of sixteen summers did
what she could to keep her doubts to herself. How
shockingly ungenteel to be an infidel ! And a female
infidel! An agnostic would have been different. The
very sound of the word is ladylike ; but, unhappily
for our heroine, their day had not yet come. And for
a whole year there was not a more wretched littlo
woman in all Richmond.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. ,{93
Two clocks shall stare at each other, from opposite
walls, year in and year out, and agree to disagree with
out the least discomfort to either. And would that we
men were even as these serenely-ticking philosophers!
Alas for the shadow that falls on the friendship of Mrs.
A. and Mrs. B., when they become adherents of rival
sewing-machines! And why, because our whilom
chum now goes about with the pellets of the Homoeo
path in his vest-pocket, forsaking the boluses of the
Regulars, why should we turn and rend him ?
Dreading to be rent, our sweet-sixteener kept her
daring speculations locked within her bosom, and was
wretched; for man's opinions, like man himself, are
gregarious, and a thought is as restless in solitude as
a bird cut off from its mate.
So this state of things could not last. And when
Alice, after looking very serious for a week, announced
her intention of being confirmed on the approaching
visitation of the bishop, Mary had to speak. Alice
was horrified at first ; but, being a plucky little soul,
more given to acting, under difficulties, than repining,
she posted off to their pastor.
He made short work of Mary's difficulties ; and,
being well up in evidential polemics, battered down
her vague objections to the credibility of Christianity
with such ease, that, at the close of a two-hours' in
terview, she begged, in deep humiliation, that he would
not consider her an entirely brainless creature ; so ut
terly frivolous had all her objections been made to
appear. Two or three books, left in her hands, finished
the business. And, a few weeks later, Mary and Alice
knelt side by side, and took upon themselves their bap
tismal vows.
Now, among the various phases of infidelity, there
are two forms which are strongly antithetical, the
scepticism of the body and the scepticism of the mind.
Who has not seen a vigorous young animal of our spe
cies, his head as void of brains as his body is full of
riotous passions, who has not seen such a one masquer
ading as a freethinker? Never fear, reverend and
dear sir; thinking will have to be wondrous free
394 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
before any of it passes his way. Sooner or later you
shall number him among the meekest of your lambs.
A hemorrhage a twinge of gout in the stomach
any reminder that he is mortal and you shall see him
passing the plate along the aisles, and offering to take
a class in your Sunday-school. In fact, a few such re
claimed sheep are a positive necessity in every flock.
They point a moral. .Remember what he was, and see
what he is. And the blasphemer of yesterday becomes
the beacon-light of to-day.
But when doubts have their origin in the higher
rather than the lower nature, when a mind, at once
candid and searching, gradually finds itself forced to
question dogmas learned from a mother's lips, for this
phase of scepticism, the cure is far more difficult, and
rarely radical. You may mow down the doubts with
irresistible logic, they may be crushed into the very
earth by the enormous weight of unanimous opposing
opinion, but they are not dead. JRemove the pressure,
and the mind bristles, instantly, with interrogation-
points.
"No," said her kindly pastor, patting her brown
hair, "I am far from thinking that this little head is
brainless. The trouble lies in the opposite direction.
Stop thinking about things that are above the reach of
the human mind, above it, for the very reason that
they are of God. Honestly, now, if we could grasp the
meaning of every word in that Bible of ours, as though
it were a human production, would not that, of itself,
prove that it was of man ? To be of God is to be in
scrutable. Is not that what a fair mind should expect?
Undoubtedly. But my advice to you is, not to bother
your head about such subtleties. Stop thinking, and
go to work. You will find that a panacea worth all
the logic in the world."
And such Mary found it to be. And her class in the
Sunday-school was soon recognized as the best. And
she taught the servants of her mother's household, and
read to them till they nodded again.
And so, when she went down to spend Christmas in
Leicester, after a year spent in these works of charity,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 395
phe had forgotten that she had ever been a doubter.
Two months had'passed, and she was all at sea again.
fihe felt that her faith was slipping from beneath her
feet. She repeated to herself, over and over again, the
arguments of her pastor ; she read and re-read his books.
Their logic seemed irresistible; yet it did not give her
rest. Her head was convinced, 'twas her heart that
was in rebellion. And she was woman enough to know
the danger of that.
Faith or love, which should it be? One cannot
serve two masters.
"Nonsense!" said the cheery Alice, one day. "I
can imagine now how he will look, marching to church
with your prayer-book in his hand !"
" No, it is not nonsense."
"Pooh! we shall have him singing in the choir
before you have been married six months."
Mary laughed (for who could resist the Enchantress ?) ;
and Alice, seizing her advantage, drew picture after
picture of the reclaimed Don, each more ludicrous than
the other (throwing in parenthetical glimpses of her
own Charley), till both girls were convulsed with
merriment.
"No, Alice," said Mary, at last, wiping the tears
from her eyes, " it is a very serious matter. Do you
know what would happen? He would not be saved,
but /should be lost."
That was what troubled Mary. That was why she
could not laugh when her mother made merry over
sceptical youths. He who had spoken so well and so
strangely, down there by the Argo, was not a sceptical
youth, but a man of most vehement convictions. And
she felt that she would be clay in his hands. His faith
was formed ; hers would be formed upon it. Formed
upon it? Crushed against it, rather! For, after all,
though of a deeply religious nature, as was plain, had
he any religion ?
That was the way we Virginians* looked at it. If
* Why Virginians f Can this so-called Mr. Job! Bouche Whacker be a
carpet-bagger ? Ed.
396 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
you were not orthodox, you didn't count. If you
were not for us, you were against us. " I look upon
all Protestant ministers as wolves in sheep's clothing,"
said a Catholic to me. Per contra, I once asked a
Presbyterian minister a friend of mine how ho rated
Catholicism. "What do you mean?" "Do you look
upon it as a religion, for example ?" He was a good
fellow, and wished to be charitable. He hung his head.
He felt half ashamed of what he was going to say.
But he said it. Slowly raising his eyes to mine, he
answered, in a voice full of sadness, " I do not. I re
gard it as worse than nothing."
Ah, we were out-and-outers in those days ! An error
was worse than a crime. That could be atoned for,
with the one, by confession and absolution ; with the
other by repentance, even at the eleventh hour. But
getting into the wrong pew! "A blind horse tumbles
headforemost into a well. He did not know it was there I
Does that save his neck f"
Ole Virginny nebbcr tire!
Such was the atmosphere which our Mary breathed.
And strange psychological paradox just in propor
tion as her faith weakened did its terrors grow darker
to her mind. That yawning gulf, upon the brink of
which she used to tremble as a little child, seemed to
have opened again. She believed less she feared more.
The peace she had gained was gone. The old dark
days had come back. One cannot serve two masters ;
for either
But faith or love which ?
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 397
CHAPTER LXII.
ONE day, Mary burst into Alice's room. "Bead
that," said she ; and she threw herself upon the lounge,
with her face to the wall.
Alice was a brave little soul ; but Mary's pale face
and tear-stained cheeks upset her, and her hands shook
a little as she unfolded the letter. She read the first
page with eager haste and contracted brows; then
turned nervously to the last (the sixteenth), and read
the concluding sentence and signature.
" Why, what can the matter be, Mary ? It begins
well, it ends well ?"
" It is the same all through."
"The same all through! And you crying I Upon
my word, Mary, you "
" Read it."
Those satirists who claim that nothing can stop a
woman's tongue have never tried the experiment of
handing her a love-letter. Over Alice there now came
a sudden stillness, chequered only by exclamations of
delight,
"So nice ! beautiful ! too lovely ! A-a-a-a-h, M-a-r-y!
Mary, let me read this aloud? A-a-a-hl No? You
goose! A-a-a-h, too beautiful, too sweet for any
thing! I declare I shall be heels over head in love
with him myself before Gracious, what a torrent!
What vehemence! Do you know, Mary, he almost
frightens me ? Well, I have read the letter ; and now,
miss, be so good as to explain what you mean by
scaring people so with your white face and red
eyes ?"
" It is hard," said Mary, after a pause, and trying to
control her voice. "it is hard to give up all that
love. And such love!"
34
398 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Give it up ! Are you crazy ?"
"Much nearer than you think. I have scarcely
closed my eyes for two nights. I feel that I cannot
stand this state of things much longer."
" What dreadful things does he believe, Mary ?"
" I have no idea."
" Then write and ask him. I feel sure that you
could bring him over, you who are so brilliant and all
that, you know. I wouldn't say so to your face, but
I don't care what compliments I pay the back of your
head."
Mary turned and laughed.
" I am glad," continued Alice, " I am not a genius
with a bee in my bonnet ; and let me tell you, there is
a gigantic one, of the bumble variety, buzzing, at this
very moment, just here" And she rapped Mary's head
with the rosy knuckle of her forefinger.
Mary adopted Alice's suggestion ; and there sprang
up, between herself and the Don, a correspondence
which lasted for two months. Bight or nine weeks of
theological discussion between two lovers! Think of
it!
Ole Virginny nebber tire !
Think of it, but tremble not, my reader. Not one
line of it all shall you be called on to read. Were I
an adherent of the Analytical and Intellectual School,
as it is called, of American Novelists, you should have
every word of it. Then you would be able to trace
the most minute processes of our Mary's soul, and real
ize, step by stop, how she reached the state of mind
to which this correspondence ultimately brought her.
But I will spare you; for I am a kind, good Bush
whacker, if ever there was one.
Assume, therefore, a hundred pages, or so, of keenest
Insight and most Intellectual Dissection, and that we
have reached the end of it. Here is where we find
ourselves. (No thanks; it would have bored me as
much to write it as you to read it.)
During these two months Mary has been in a per
petual ferment. She has read all the books of eviden
tial polemics that she could lay her hands on. and her
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 399
mind has become a very magazine of crushing syllo
gisms. She has been pouring these out with all that
eloquence that love is so sure to lend a woman's pen.
Day by day she has become more thoroughly convinced
of the impregnability of her position (just as lawyers'
convictions bloom ever stronger under the irrigation
of repeated fees, retainer, reminder, refresher, con-
vincer). From a trembling doubter she has grown
into a valiant knight-errant of the faith, ready to
measure lances with all comers.
And what has he had to say on the other side ? Noth
ing. Or next to nothing. Has patted her on the head,
rather, and praised her eloquence. Has promised that
if ever she turn preacher, he will be there, every Sun
day, to hear. And, instead of answering her letters, has
told her that every one made him love her a thousand
times more than before. Not an argument any more
than a cliff argues with the waves that break against it.
And, like the waves, her enthusiasm had its ebb
tides. Days of profound discouragement came over her,
when arrows she thought sure to pierce his armor
glanced harmless away and left him smiling.
Left him smiling. So she thought. But it was not
so. Our little heroine stood upon a volcano.
When she was with the Don, there was something
about him which told her what she could say to him,
what not. But the paper on which he wrote was like
other paper, and gave no warning. How could she, so
far away, see the dark look that came into his face as
he read this in one of her letters :
" How can you," she had said, at the close of an im
passioned burst on the beneficence of the Creator, as
evinced in the beauties of nature, " how can you, as
you look upon that beautiful, shining river, and the
rosy clouds that float above it, and breathe this balmy
air of spring, how can you lift your eyes from such a
scene of loveliness and bounteous plenty as surrounds
you, how dare you raise your eyes to heaven and say,
there is no God !"
She could not see his look when he read that. All
she saw was something like this :
34
400 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
11 1 cannot pretend to argue with such a wonderful
little theologian as you, I who know nothing of the
ology. But where did you get the notion that I was
an atheist? I could almost wish I were one, for the
mere happiness of being converted by you. In point
of fact, I am nothing of the kind. How could I be?
I need not look at the rosy sunset, or the smiling fields
about me, to learn that there is a God. I have but to
gaze into my own heart, and upon your image im
printed there. A fool might say that land and sea came
by chance ; but my Mary ! Her arguments are not
needed. She herself is all-sufficient proof, to me at
least, that there exists, somewhere, a Divine Artificer.
So don't call names. It isn't fair. Atheist,- deist, in
fidel, old Nick, what arrow can I send back in retort ?
Arrows I have, a quiver full to bursting, but all are
labelled angel /"
How was she to know that she stood upon a preci
pice? But Charley saw that all was not well. Look
ing up from a letter he was reading (his face was red
from a sudden stoop to snatch, unobserved, some vio
lets that had fluttered out as he unfolded it). Looking
up from this letter
But Charley had his troubles, too, of which I must
tell you before we go an inch further.
Between him and Alice, as well, a controversy raged.
But in the case of this couple it was Charley that did
all the arguing.
The proposition that young Frobisher maintained, in
letter after letter, was this : that when a girl had prom
ised to marry a fellow, she should never thereafter write
to him without telling him somewhere he did not care
a fig (not hel) whether it was in the beginning, or the
end, or the middle of the letter that she loved him;
just for the sake of cheering a fellow up, you know,
away down here in the country, and all that. He
would be satisfied even with a postscript of three words
(he would), if you would but let him name the words,
etc., etc. After this she had never written a letter with
out a postscript; but whether from the love of teasing,
which is innate in cats and young women, when they
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 401
have a mouse or a man in their power, or from genuine
maidenly modesty, she never said, in plain English, ex
actly what Charley wished to hear; as, P. S. Unreason
able old goose, or, How could I? or, 7 wonder if I do? or,
What do you think ? But they were the merriest letters
that ever were seen, and made Charley so happy (for
all his grumbling) that at this period of his life he used
to wake up a dozen times a night, smiling to himself,
all in the dark ; then float off again into a dreamland
populous with postscripts of the most maudlin descrip
tion. " Do you know," said he, in one of his letters,
" that never once in my whole life has a woman said
to me, 7 love you ?"
Opening the reply hastily (to read the postscript
first), the violets had dropped out, covering the poor
boy with blissful confusion. 7 don't hate you a bit, said
the postscript.
Some metaphysical notion must have come into
Charley's head, as he read those words don't hate. Did
he, perhaps, think, that somewhere between the nega
tive don't and the positive hate there must lurk,
though invisible, the longed-for word love? At any
rate, selecting a spot midway, he kissed it with accu
racy and fervor.
" Umgh umgh !" grunted Uncle Dick, who had hap
pened to step up on the threshold just at this critical
and romantic juncture.
" I did nothing of the kind !'* said Charley.
" What ?" asked the Don, looking up from his letter.
" Nothing," said Charley.
" Uncle Dick !" called Charley, at the door whence
the venerable butler had vanished, "come here! I say,
if ever you tell Uncle Tom "
"Tell him what, Marse Charley?"
" You old villain ! There, go to the sideboard and
help yourself!"
"Much obleeged, mahrster; my mouf is a leetle
tetched wid de drought, dat's a fac'. And here's many
happy returns to you, likewise all enquirin' friends;
and here's hopin' dat de peach may tase as sweet in you
mouf as it look to you a-hangin' on de tree !" And he
aa 34*
402 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
vanished, backing out of the room, smiling and bow
ing
As though a courtier quitted the presence-chamber
of Louis Quatorze 1
It was looking up from this very same violet-scented
letter that Charley saw the Don gazing out of the
window with a troubled look. " What has Mary been
writing to the Don ?" he asked Alice. " He and I
don't compare notes, as I suppose you do. For some
time past his face has been clouded after reading one
of her letters. What does it mean?"
Alice acquainted him, in her next, with the nature
of the correspondence, and was surprised at the
earnestness of Charley's protest against the course
Mary was pursuing. "If you have any influence over
Mary, stop this thing; stop it instantly. She is tread
ing on a mine. You and Maiy are deceived by the
gentleness and courtesy of his replies. You don't
know the man. I do ; and, as Uncle Dick says about
a certain mule on the place here, he isn't the kind of
man to projick 'longo'. 'She am a sleepy-lookin' ani-
mil, Marse Charley, and she look like butter wouldn't
melt in her mouf ; no mor'n 'twouldn't, eff you leff
her 'lone ; but I rickommen' dat you don't tetch her
nowhar of a suddent, leastwise whar she don't want
to be tetched. De man what tickle dat mail in de
flank, to wake her up, sort o', will find hisself waked
up powerful, hisself. Lightnin' ain't a suckumstance to
dat d'yar self-same Sally-muil when she are tetched
on proper to her notion. Don't you projick 'long o'
Sally, I tell you, mun. Krrrup! Umgh umgh! Grood-
by, chile; for you're a-gwine to kingdom come.' "
Alice laughed so at this comical illustration that,
most likely, she would have forgotten the injunction it
enforced, but for a postscript in these words : " It is a
habit with me an affectation, if you will always to
say less than I mean. C. F."
Startled by this ominous hint, Alice fluttered across
the street and into Mary's room ; and there was a field-
day between them.
The conflict lasted for hours, and seemed likely to
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 403
end in a drawn battle, a defeat, that is, for the attack
ing party. Alice's old weapons, with which she had
so often gained the victory over her less ready ad
versary, seemed to have lost their edge. In vain did
she coruscate with wit, bubble with humor, caper about
the room in a hundred little droll dramatic impromptus.
Mary was unmoved, and sat with her eyes bent upon
the floor. At last, with a flushed face, Alice rose to
go ; and it was then that she shot a Parthian arrow.
"Very well, Mary." And her eyes looked so dark
that you would never have said that they were hazel.
" Very well ; have your way ; but I should not have
thought it of you !"
" You are not angry with me ?" said she, seizing her
hand.
"No, not angry; but disappointed. I never pre
tended to have anything heroic about me, Mary. I am
only an every-day sort of a girl ; but I can tell you
this. If I loved a man "
" Don't you ?"
" If I loved a man, I should stand by him to the last,
no matter what he might think of the the Penta
teuch or even Deuteronomy." And a twinkle danced,
for a moment, in her flashing eyes. " What he thought
of Alice," added she, with a parenthetical smile, "that
would be the main point with me. And if he loved me
as the Don loves you, I would follow him to the ends
of the earth. Yes, and to the end of the world. To
the end of the world and and beyond I"
A noble devotion illumined her face as she uttered
these words, and Mary's eyes kindled in sympathy.
"Then you would marry an unbeliever?"
"Mary, if you were to fall into a river, the Don
would leap in to save you. You see him battling with
waves of another kind and you hesitate 1 Plunge
boldly in, throw your loving arms around "
"Oh!"
" Metaphorically speaking !"
"Ah!"
" Of course I"
404 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER LXIII.
THE two friends sat down and talked ever so much
more. Alice did not show Charley's letter to Mary,
but before she said good-night she exacted a promise
from her to give up her religious warfare upon the
Don.
Mary meant to keep her word, but the fates were too
strong for her.
Among her relatives there was a young man a
second cousin, I believe whose society she greatly en
joyed ; for he was well-read, naturally bright, and a
capital talker. He had studied law, and, in fact, been ad
mitted to the bar ; but he was not strong enough for
that laborious profession, and, being an ardent student,
soon broke down. During Mary's stay at Elmington he
had had an alarming hemorrhage. This visitation (it
had occurred on Christmas Day, too) he looked upon
as a call to the ministry, to use the language of the
period. And so the man whom she had left, two
months before, a bright ambitious young lawyer, she
found, on her return, an exceedingly serious theological
student.
In Virginia, the relations existing between cousins
of opposite sex are pleasanter, I believe, than in most
other parts of the world. At any rate, these two were
almost like brother and sister.
What kind of man was this Don ? and, most impor
tant of all, in his eyes, how did he stand as to the ques
tion of questions? It was some time before he got the
whole truth out of Mary ; partly because she was loath
to tell it, partly because, as a Virginian of the period,
it was difficult for him to take it in. But it dawned on
him by degrees, and gave him all the greater concern,
knowing Mary, as he did, so thoroughly. Mary had,
in fact, made an exception of him in her sceptical days,
and told him everything. And now again (when once
the ice was broken) she was as unreserved. She felt
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 405
that her heart would burst if she could not pour forth
her troubles into some sympathetic ear. Sbe had
Alice, it is true ; but there are many things which a
woman would sooner say to a man than to one of her
own sex.
And especially, during these conferences, was she
never tired of sketching the Don. But, as line after
line of his character came out in bolder and bolder re
lief, more and more convinced became her cousin that
it would be a fatal blunder on Mary's part to unite her
destiny with that of this man, whose convictions were
as firm as they were objectionable. It was easy to see
who would lead and who follow in such partnership.
And at first he had joined the crusade against the
erroneous tenets of the Don : lending books and sug
gesting arguments to Mary; but he soon gave up even
the slender hopes he at first had of success, and from
that day, to Alice's great indignation, left no stone un
turned to induce Mary to break with her lover.
And his words had great weight with Mary. His
strength was rapidly failing. The hectic flush on his
wan cheeks and the unnatural lustre of his eyes showed
but too plainly that he was not long for this world ;
and his hollow voice seemed to Mary, at times, almost
a warning from the next. Between him and Alice it
was an even battle ; victory inclining first to one stand
ard and then to the other. Just at the present junc
ture she is perched on Alice's banner. For Mary has
promised to let Hume and Yoltaire take care of them
selves for the future ; and, since logic had failed, to
trust to love.
She slept well that night, and awoke next morning
blithe and gay. Awoke singing rather than sighing.
Her song was short.
That evening her cousin came. She told him of her
resolution. He seemed unusually ill that day; and
whether from that cause (he coughed a good deal) or
because he deemed it useless to remonstrate, he said
little, and soon took his leave, giving her, as he bade
her good-night, a look full of affectionate compassion.
Two or three days after this, on Sunday, Mary took
406 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
her seat in her mother's pew, nestling in her aoeus
tomed corner. I hardly think she heard much of the
service; and when the pastor gave out chapter and
verse (of his sermon), his voice tell upon her outward
ear merely. Her thoughts were far away.
Ah, brother and sister Virginians, who can wonder
that we stream to church so, on Sunday ? What serener
half-hour can there be than when the good man is talk
ing to us? Have we not sat under his teaching for
years? And doth not all the world allow him to bo
orthodox ? Shall we watch him, then ? Shall we weigh
his words? That, being a safe man, he will do. Let
him talk! Ho will say the right thing, never fear!
Trust him! Give him room! While we, free from the
anxieties of business and the petty cares of home, sit
there, peacefully dreaming, each one of us the dreams
that each loves best !
No ; I am afraid Mary did not even hoar what chap
ter and verse the text was from that Sunday. That
Sunday, particularly ; for the very day before she had
received a letter in which her lover had said something
like this: Yes, he went to church now; that is, he sat
in the Argo every Sunday, from eleven till one; sat
there and thought of nothing but her, and so found
that heaven which she sought.
Strictly speaking, these were what were thought
wicked words in those days (ole Virginny neber tire);
but Mary forgave, though she did not even try to for
get them. And no sooner had she taken her seat than
her thoughts flew to the Argo. She could see him as
plainly as though he stood before her; and he was
thinking of her. And of her only, of all the world !
Are you in love, lovely reader? Then you will not
be hard on my poor little heroine, who ought to have
waited, I allow, till Monday.
" You will find the words of my text in II. Corin
thians, vi. 14."
In those days I sat in the Carters' pew. The Rolfes
were across the aisle, a few pews in advance of us.
Mary's cousin was still nearer the pulpit.
I suppose it is none of my business, but when I cast
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 407
my eyes over the placid faces of a congregation, I
always fall to wondering what they are thinking about.
Not the grandmothers in Israel, but the rest?
" II. Corinthians, vi. 14," repeated the preacher,
slowly emphasizing the figures. They all do it.
There was to be heard that faint rustle that we all
know, of the people making themselves comfortable.
Here a little foot peeps cautiously around, and, finding
the accustomed stool, draws it deftly beneath snowy
skirts. There a wide sole seeks unoccupied space ;
while length of limb penetrates unexplored regions,
avoiding cramp. Let us adjust ourselves, you in that
corner, I in this, where we can sit and muse according
to the bent of our several backs and minds.
" II. Corinthians, vk 14."
My eye chanced to fall on Mary's face just at that
moment. It wore the usual Sunday-dreamy look.
"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbe
lievers."
She shivered.
Alice glanced quickly towards her; but the thrill
had already passed. She had regained outward com
posure, and sat looking at the preacher, calm and un
obtrusively attentive.
The cousin fidgeted in his seat and coughed softly
in his hand.
Alice fixed her eyes upon him.
Perhaps he felt them, for a deeper glow suffused hrs
hectic cheek.
The preacher, after a few introductory remarks on
the state of things which led the apostle to use these
words, began with a sort of apology for calling the
attention of his flock to such a text. And again Alice
fixed her eyes upon the cousin, and again he seemed to
feel their glow.
I shall not attempt to reproduce the sermon. His
sketch of the advance of skepticism in Europe, in Eng
land, and in the North, struck me as labored ; showing
clearly that he had been set upon the task. But I
shall not criticise it. He was at home, certainly, when
ne pictured the life of a pious, Christian woman whoso
408 THE STORY OF DON MIFF. .
yoke-fellow was an atheist. It was a fearful picture
(from the point of view of his hearers, and he was
preaching to them), of which every detail was harrow
ing. But I leave that picture to the imagination of
my readers.
It is the last feather that breaks the camel's back.
Alice had lost.
The dying cousin had won.
CHAPTER LXIV.
I HAVE stated, elsewhere, that the dogma of the
plenary inspiration of the Scriptures was held, at this
period, throughout the length and breadth of Virginia.
It was held, in truth, in a way to warm the heart of a
thoroughgoing theologian ; for to doubt it was to be
totally bereft of reason. But many of my middle-aged
fellow-citizens who are accustomed to laugh at the
Catholic doctrine of papal infallibility, will be surprised
when I remind them that, at that day, we believed,
also, in something very nearly akin to the plenary in
spiration of sermons (those of our own sect, of course).
And my Bushwhackerish candor compels me to go
further, and to add that it seems to me that we Vir
ginia Protestants, at that day, carried the dogma of
parsonic infallibility to even greater lengths than
Catholics do that of the papal. For, as I understand
it, it is only in matters of faith that the Pope cannot
err (and if he be infallible more than that, I kiss his
holiness's toe and beg absolution) ; whereas, our Prot
estant pontiffs did not hesitate to pronounce on all
manner of questions, questions of hygiene, for ex
ample ; going so far as to add an eleventh command
ment. As it is short, I will give it :
" Thou shalt not dance !" they cried in thunder tones j
and, trembling, their flocks obeyed !
Yet dancing is (as you may find in the first diction
ary you shall lay your hands on) dancing is but the
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 409
rhythmic capering of the young of our species for a
brief season (ah, how brief and fleeting!). The rhyth
mic capering of the boj's and girls, reinforced, perhaps,
by an occasional widower (vivacious, high-prancing,
nor hard to please), or else a sporadic widow or so,
forgetting her first and for getting her second.
This capering our Protestant pontiffs put down.
Motion, per se, they argued, was harmless; for the
lamb, most scriptural of animals, frisketh where he
listeth. 'Twas the rhythm of motion that was hurt
ful.
" Miss Sally," cried a colored slave and sister to her
young mistress, "you jump de rope and swing in de
hammock, and you a member o' de church!" [Her
very words ; nor were they the remains of a half-for
gotten African fetich. They were a legitimate deduc
tion from the theology current in my young days.]
" Thou shalt not dance !" they thundered.
As though one bade the birds cease singing. And
Virginia bowed her head and obeyed.
We had our youthful sinners, of course, who wickedly
refused to be content with Blind Man's Buff and Who's
Got the Thimble? (just as His Holiness is bothered
with his heretics). The Pope, however, wisely remem
bering that this is the nineteenth century, would prob
ably leave it to the astronomers to say whether the
earth revolves around its axis; but as to the exclu
sively physiological question whether it were injurious
to dance a Virginia reel, no Virginian of those days
ever dreamed of consulting his family physician.
Am I beyond the mark, reader, when I say that the
papal infallibility pales in presence of the parsonic?
Can you wonder, then, that our poor little Mary was
pale as ashes as she hurried home that day ?
Her mother walked beside her in silence. That was
bitter; for during these two months past Mrs. Eolfe
had been more and more won over to the side of the
Don by what she had heard, not only from Mrs. Carter
and Alice, but from several of her acquaintance who
had met him in Leicester during the winter ; and the
aggregate of her favorable impressions had been greatly
s 35
410 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
strengthened by a little incident that bad recently come
to her ears.
It appears that Mrs. Poythress had been greatly in
terested in having a new roof and other repairs put
upon the old church, and had succeeded in raising tho
whole amount, with the exception of eighty dollars.
Now, one Sunday, as she was coming out of church
with the congregation, a negro man, taking off his hat,
handed her a small parcel, saying, " I were inquested
to han' you dis, ma'am," and immediately bowed him
self around the corner of the building and disappeared.
When this was opened it was found to contain five
twenty-dollar gold-pieces and a strip of paper on which
was written the word roof in a disguised hand. The
incident made some stir, as such things will, in a
country neighborhood. Who was this, who was hiding
from his left hand what his right hand did? The negro
was hunted down by amateur female detectives, and
proved to be none other than our friend Sam (who, it
will be remembered, caught Charley and Alice at their
love-making in the Argo). But nothing could be gotten
out of honest Sam. " I was not to name no names,"
that was all he would say (adding thereunto, in the
Elmington kitchen that night, that eff a five-dollar
note wouldn't "shot a nigger mouf, twan't no use to
wase stickin'-plaster on him).
It was never discovered who had contributed the
hundred dollars, but it was generally believed that it
was the Don. As for Mrs. JRolfe, she never doubted
for one moment that it was he, basing, too, upon this
conclusion, half a dozen inferences, all favorable to the
young man, first, that his not going to church was a
transient eccentricity ; secondly, that he was a man of
means ; and, thirdly, that he was freehanded with the
said means, etc., etc., etc.
This trait, as I presume everybody knows, is that
which, next to personal courage, women most admire
in a man. With what enthusiasm will a bevy of girls
hail a bouquet, costly beyond the means of the giver,
while the recipient of it, as she passes it from nose to
nose, actually tosses hers with pride, yes, because
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 411
her lover has not had the prudence to lay by what ho
gave for it against a rainy day and shoes for the chil
dren. Which is enough to make a philosopher rage ;
and it is all I can do to restrain my hand from levelling
a sneer at the whole sex ; and I'll do it yet, one of
these days, and come out as a wit, one of these days
when I can manage to forget that I once had a mother.
The more, therefore, Mrs. Rolfe heard of the Don,
the more favorable she grew to his suit ; and the more
favorable she grew to his suit the more frequently did
she allude to the absolute necessity of Mr. Rolfe's seeing
the young man and hearing his account of himself, be
fore he could be allowed even to look at her Mary. It
would be time enough, etc., etc. ; but let a cloud appear
on her daughter's brow, let her come down to break
fast pale and worn
" I believe, Mary," Alice used to say, "that you often
assume a rueful countenance simply to lead your mother
on to sing his praises."
Never, in truth, had Mary felt herself so drawn to
her mother as during this trying period of her young
life; and to her ineffably tender, maternal solicitude
her heart made answer with an unspoken yet passionate
gratitude.
And now this mother, who was always ready with a
soothing word, walked by her side in silence.
And Alice, Alice, the merry and the brave, where
was she? Why does she, contrary to her custom, hang
back so far in the rear, talking to Mr. Whacker in
undertones ? See, she has crossed over, and is walking
down the street on the other side 1 Has she, too, de
serted me ? Oh, that terrible, terrible sermon ! She
ran up-stairs, locked her door, and threw herself upon
the lounge.
Mary was right. The same words of the preacher
which had stunned her had staggered her mother and
Alice. Such was the power of the pulpit in those days.
To both, as they stepped from the church-door into the
street, the responsibility of combating the fulminationa
of their pastor seemed too heavy for their shoulders.
But our plucky little Alice was only staggered, and
412 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
soon rallied. She would not go to 8ee Mary that even
ing, so she told me ; next morning would be better.
And so the shades of evening came, and the shades
of evening deepened into night; and still she came not.
Is it not enough that my mother should desert, me ?
The clock struck nine. No hope! There, the bell
rangl A soft tap on her door; not Alice's merry rub-
a-dub. A young slave and sister announced the cousin.
Mary sprang to her feet: "I won't see him," she almost
screamed ; " tell him that !" cried she, advancing upon
her late pupil in Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress" with
looks so fierce and gestures so vehement as to drive
her back in alarm upon the door which she had just
entered with a smile.
" Yes, ma'am, yes, ma'am," stammered the Pilgrim,
fumbling over the door-knob in her confused effort to
escape. " Yes, ma'am, I'll tell him," added she, cour-
tesying herself out, and shutting the door softly behind
her.
"Hi!" half whispered, half thought she to herself,
as she stood upon the landing, collecting her breath
and her wits. " Hi, what do matter wid Miss Mary ?
Fore Gaud, I was afeard she was gvvine to bite me, I
was! What he done do, I wonder? Oh, I tell you.
She done git tired o' him a-comin' round and a-comin'
round, and f'reverlahstin' coughin', and coughin' and
coughin', same like one o' dese here little fice-dogs what
bark and bai'k and never tree nothin', dough he do
drive off de oder varmints dat you mought cotch ; and
no gal don't like dat, be she white or black. He's a
nice gent'mun, I don't 'spute dat ; but he are power
ful wizzened up, dat's a fac'. Howsomdever, I ain't got
de heart to give him no sich message. A gent'mun is
a gent'mun, for all dat, and I ain't had no sich raisin'.
Nebberdeless, I ain't a-blamin' Miss Mary. She tired
o' dat kind. Well, I likes 'em spry and sassy myself,
I does, and I s'pose folks is folks, dough dey be diff'ent
colors. Ahem ! Ahem !"
She was nearing the parlor-door, and was clearing
her throat for a polite paraphrase, when she saw the
front door gently close.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 413
He had heard, and was gone.
Mary never saw him again. When he died, about a
year afterwards, she said that she had forgiven him ;
but I doubt if she knew her own heart. There are
some things a woman can never pardon.
Nor do I think that Alice has ever quite forgiven
herself for her delay at this crisis. For she feels to
this day, I suspect, that had she gone to see Mary that
evening this story might have ended like a fairy-tale,
with everybody happy, just as it fares in real life. But
she waited till next morning.
And she awoke with the first twittering salutations
of the birds to the dawn ; the dawn of a lovely April
day. She too (for she was young and happy) saluted
Aurora; but with a sleepy smile; and readjusting the
pillow to her fair head, dozed off again ; dozed off
again, just as her friend across the way, exhausted
with pacing her room, had thrown herself, all dressed
as she was, upon her bed. Her mother, stealing softly
in, found her lying there, shortly afterwards, pale, hag
gard, breathing hard, her features bearing, even while
she slept, traces of the struggle through which she had
passed. And every now and then her overwrought
frame shook with a quick nervous tremor. Her mother
wrung her hands in silence, and turned to leave the
room.
There was a letter, sealed and addressed, lying upon
the table at which her daughter wrote ; while all about
her chair lay fragments of other letters, begun, but
torn in pieces, and thrown upon the floor, though a
basket stood near at hand. " This will not do," thought
her mother. " She must tell me what is in that letter
before she mails it. We must look into this matter,
carefully, before any irrevocable step be taken. Shall
I take possession of it now ? No, I will speak to her
after breakfast. Poor child 1 Poor child 1" And she
stole out on tiptoe.
This was not the first time that Mrs. Eolfe had vis
ited her daughter that night. At two o'clock in the
morning, detecting the sound of footsteps in Mary's
room, she had gone up-stairs and found her pacing her
35*
414 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
room. She had entreated her to go to bed, begged
her to compose herself, had pressed her daughter to
her heart and wept upon her shoulder and bidden her
good-night. Mary, hearing her mother coming, had
oped for a word of encouragement. But Mrs. Rolfe
had not dared to give it, with the words of the preacher
still resounding in her ears.
" It is all over, then," she thought, when her mother
closed the door; and seizing her pen, began to write.
"Wrote letter after letter, each in a different vein ; each
to be torn in pieces in turn. At last she wrote one
which was barely two pages long. As she folded the
letter there fell upon it a big tear, which she quickly
dried with her handkerchief.
That tear-stain, poor child, had you left it there,
but it was not to be.
Another fell upon the address, blotting it. She got
another envelope. This time, as she wrote the address,
she averted her head. The hot tears fell upon the table.
That would tell no tales.
Her mother had seen the letter lying there, and was
startled. She would talk to her daughter after break
fast.
After breakfast. That was Alice's plan, too, you
remember.
Mr. Rolfe, that man of peace, had slept through all
the turmoil of the night. " Where is Mary ?" asked
he, as he seated himself at table, next morning; a
question which evoked two simultaneous, though diver
gent replies : one from Mrs. Rolfe that Mary was rather
indisposed, and would hardly be down to breakfast ; the
other from the Pilgrim, to the effect that her young mis
tress had gone out, betimes, for a walk. " D'yar she is
now," she added, as Mary's footsteps were heard in the
front hall.
Mr. Rolfe greeted his daughter with a smile of bright
benignity. He praised the roses in her cheeks. After
all, there was nothing like fresh air and exercise. As
she bent over him and kissed him with unusual affec
tion, he patted her cheek ; accompanying each tap with
a sort of cooing little murmur, which was his way when
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 415
she caressed him. He was delighted. He couldn't re
member when he had seen her so gay. She must walk
before breakfast every morning. What would she have ?
No doubt her walk had made her ravenous. No ? Yes,
Ave all lose our appetites in spring.
But her mother's eye saw no roses painted by the
breath of morning, but a burning flush, rather; and
when she took her daughter's hand in hers, it was icy
cold. Her gayety, too, which rejoiced her father's
heart, made her mother's ache.
Presently, and while our party still lingered around
the breakfast-table, Alice came tripping in, fresh and
cheery, the very personification of that April which
was abroad in the land.
Alice was not long in detecting the hysteria which,
lurked beneath Mary's assumed joyousness. What
had happened ? An acute attack of curiosity, compli
cated with anxiety, seized upon her ; and in less than
a quarter of an hour she and Mary stood in the hall
way across the street, exchanging a few words with
Mrs. Carter.
" Let us go up to my room," said Alice.
" State secrets, I suppose," said Mrs. Carter.
" Oh, of course." And the two girls tripped lightly
up the stairs.
" How jolly you are to-day, Mary," called out Mrs.
Carter.
" Oh," replied she from the first landing, " as merry
as a lark. It's the bright spring weather, I suppose."
" Well, that's right ; be happy while the sun shines,
nay child. The clouds will come soon enough."
No sooner had the girls entered Alice's room than
her face became serious. " Sit down in that chair,"
said she, in her quick, business-like manner. " And
now," added she, drawing a seat close beside Mary, and
taking her hand, " now tell me, what is all this ?"
" I am happy, that's all."
" Happy ?"
" Yes, it is all over and I am free and so-o-o-o
ha-ha-ha-happy !" And throwing herself on Alice's
neck, she sobbed convulsively.
416 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Alice stroked her friend's hair in silence, waiting till
she should recover from this paroxysm of bliss. At
last Mary began to speak.
" It is all over," she sobbed. " It was more than my
strength could bear. After that sermon " and she
shivered.
"How all over?"
"I have broken off the engagement."
"How? when? where?"
" I wrote the letter last night."
" Oh," said Alice, with a sigh of relief. " Will you
just be so kind as to let me have that letter ?" added
she, reaching out her hand.
" It is already mailed."
" Mailed 1" shouted Alice, springing to her feet.
"Yes. I took it to the post-office myself before
breakfast."
CHAPTEK LXV.
IN those days, before the mail-delivery system had
been introduced, we had to send to the post-office for
our letters.
If we were in love, we went in person, of course.
" Where are you going ?" called out Alice across the
street.
Mary came over to her. " I am going to the post-
office," said she, in a low voice.
"I will go part of the way with you," said Alice.
The two girls walked on for a little while in silence.
"Mary," said Alice, presently, "tell me, what do
you expect him to say ?"
" Don't ask me that," she said, with a shiver.
" I think I can tell you. Your letter, as you quoted
it to me, severed all relations between you. But have
you not a kind of dim, unacknowledged hope that ho
will recant his heresies and bridge the chasm between
you ?"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 417
Mary walked on in silence.
" It is natural that you should nourish such a hope.
But suppose it should prove delusive ?"
" The die is cast. I must abide the issue. And, Alice,
though you think I have been hasty, I feel a pro
found conviction that it is best as it is."
" Well, good-by ! Be brave." And more than once,
as she hastened homeward, Alice passed her hand across
her eyes.
Mary stood before the little square window at the
post-office.
" Any letters ?"
The clerk knew who she was, and the sight of her
pretty, pale face lent a certain alacrity to his calm,
official legs. Briskly diving into her father's box, he
handed her half a dozen letters. As she passed them
nervously between thumb and finger, glancing at the
addresses, he held his steady, postmasterish eye upon
her. "What else had he to do? Could not that other
woman who stood there, could not she wait? Was
not her nose red ; and her chin, was not her chin (by a
mysterious dispensation of Providence) bumpy? Let
her stand there, then, craning her anatomical neck to
catch his stony gaze. Let her wait till pretty little
Miss Rolfe sorts her letters. Ah, that's the one she
hoped to get, that with the distinct, } 7 et bold and
jagged address, that I have noticed so often. Ah,
that's the one What name, madam ? Adkins ? Miss
Elizabeth Ann ? One for Miss Elizabeth Adkins. Bog
your pardon, five cents due, Miss Adkins.
My reader, be pretty. Let me entreat you be
pretty, if you can in anywise compass it. If not, be
good. Even that is better than nothing. It will be a
comfort to you in your declining years.
And your little nephews and nieces will rise up, some
day, and call you blessed.
" Will you be so kind as to put these back in the
box ?"
The clerk bowed with a gracious smile ; and Mary,
placing three or four letters in her pocket, left the
building, and turned in the direction of the Capitol
N
418 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Square. She passed in through the first gate, and bur*
ried along the gravel path. By the time she had
reached the first seat she had grown so weak that she
was glad to throw herself upon it.
Had Mary had her eyes about her, she would have
been struck with the unwonted aspect of the Square.
Our pretty little park, usually the resort of merry
children, wore, on this particular -day, a rather serious
look. Men, in earnest conversation, stood about in
groups. Others hurried past, without even giving her
pretty face the tribute of a glance. But she saw noth
ing, heeded nothing; not even the dark, gathering
throng which crowned the summit of the green slope
in front of the Capitol; though it was not a stone's
throw from where she sat.
She drew her letters from her pocket, placing the
one with the jagged address quickly beneath the others.
She tore open an envelope and began to read. The
letter was from a former schoolmate, a bright girl,
but its cleverness gave Mary no pleasure now, but
seemed frivolity, rather; and as for the cordial invita
tion (on the eighth page), before she got to that she
had thrust the letter back into its cover. She gave but
a glance at the contents of the next. The third made
her forget herself, for an instant. It was a large, busi
ness-looking envelope, stamped New York ; and she
gave a quick little start, when, upon opening it, a
cheque fluttered down before her feet. As she read
the accompanying letter, a sudden flash of joyful sur
prise illumined her face when she found that her article
(mailed with many misgivings two months ago, and
long since forgotten) had been accepted. A sudden
flash of joyous surprise, followed by quick gathering
clouds; for, as she stooped to pick up the cheque, a
fourth letter slid from her lap and fell upon it. The
characteristic hand in which it was addressed she had
often admired ; it was so firm and bold. Was it her
imagination that transformed it now ? Was it changed ?
Was it more than firm now, and had its boldness be
come ferocity ? A sudden revulsion came over Mary ;
and upon the words of the publishers words of com-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 419
mendation and encouragement, which, a fortnight since,
would have filled her young heart with exultation,
for would not he be proud ? more than one big tear fell.
But that fourth letter remained unread. She held it
in her hand, as one does a telegram, sometimes, dread
ing to open it.
Her own to him had been brief and to the point;
giving him to understand that their engagement was at
an end, without betraying the fact that her heart, too,
was broken. She had even dried the tears that fell
upon the paper, you remember. She had begged his
pardon, of course, but had purposely excluded from her
language all traces of feeling. As the thing had to be
done, it should be done effectually.
What would he do? What would he say? A thou
sand possibilities had been dancing through Mary's
mind.
First and foremost, would he recant?
Inconceivable! Still, this hope .refused to vanish.
Would he be violent ? Would his reply be a burst
of fierce indignation ? Very likely. Yes, that was
just what one might expect from such a man.
Would he be sarcastic ? Will he sneer at a re
ligion which can make me break my word ? That was
what she dreaded most of all. Not, oh male reader
(if I shall have any such), not lest his flings and gibes
should wound her. If you think that, sir, you have
never penetrated into the mysteries of the female heart.
It was a dread lest he lest HE should descend to
such weapons, lest this soaring eagle of her imagina
tion should stoop to be a mousing owl. A Hero may
not use poisoned arrows ; least of "all against a woman.
She had never known the Don to use a sarcastic word.
He was too earnest, too fearfully earnest to be satirical.
He left that to triflers, male and female. He was never
witty, even. He is above it, Mar} T used to say, withiu
her heart, with that blessed alchemy whereby women
know how to convert into virtues the blemishes of
those whom they love. No, thought she ; let him up
braid me ; let him tell me that I have been false to my
word ; let him even say that I have proven myself un-
420 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
worthy to link my destiny with his (and am I worthy
of the homage of such a heart? Did not even unsenti
mental Alice say that a true woman would follow the
man she loved to the ends of the earth ?) ; no ; let him
cover me with fierce reproaches, but let him not be
little! It is enough, and more than enough, that I
have to give him up. Let his image remain untarnished
in my heart !
Or, would his letter be a broken-hearted wail ? She
hoped not, so she said, at least ; and let us try to be
lieve her.
Pressing her hand upon her heart for a moment, to
calm its tumultuous throbbing, she broke the seal of
the letter, took in the first page at one mad, ravenous
glance, and the hand that held the sheet fell upon her
lap.
No sarcasms, no fierce reproaches, no wail of a
broken heart! no anything that she had though*
possible.
Brief, yet not curt, he accepted her decree without a
murmur; as though a prisoner bowed in silence under
the sentence of the judge. No commonplace, no
rhetoric ; no trace of feeling ; and yet no flippant sug
gestion of the want of it. In a word, his letter was
an absolutely impenetrable veil. As though ho had
not written. Mary was stunned.
She had seen, as she drew the letter from the en
velope, that the top of the second page contained little
more than the signature. She had not strength, just
yet, to read the dozen concluding words. She leaned
back upon the bench, resting her poor, dizzy head upon
her hand. She heard nothing, saw nothing. Yet there
was something to see and something to hear.
The craunching of many feet upon the gravel walk,
the feet of strong, earnest men. And every now and
then women passed, with faces pale but resolute. And
here, close beside her, a mob of boys, with eager eyes,
sweep across the greensward, unmindful of the injunc
tion to keep off the grass. Movement everywhere.
The very air of the peaceful little park seemed to
palpitate.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 421
Then a sudden hush !
She turned the page and read,
" It is not probable that we shall ever meet again,
and I therefore bid you an eternal farewell."
A shiver ran through her frame. A moment after
wards she leaped from her seat with a piercing shriek ;
for almost at the very instant that those cruel words
froze her heart a terrific sound smote upon her ear.
A few feet from where she sat the fierce throats of
cannon proclaimed to the city and the world that old
Virginia was no longer one of the United States of
America.
CHAPTEE LXVL
FOUR years have passed since our story opened, and
the autumn of 1864 is upon us. For more than three
years Virginia has been devastated by war. Most of
Leicester's pleasant homes have been broken up. My
grandfather, however, trusting to his gray hairs, had
remained at Elmington. The Poythresses were re
fugees in Eichmond. Charley, who was now a major,
commanding a battalion of artillery in the army defend
ing Eichmond, had, two months before, been taken in an
ambulance-wagon to Mr. Carter's. A bullet had passed
through his body, but he was now convalescent. Any
bright morning you might see him sunning himself in
the garden. The house was crowded to overflowing with
refugee relatives and friends from the invaded districts.
And illumined by a baby.
" He was born the very day I was wounded," said
Charley. " I remember how anxious I was to see him
before I died."
" I knew you wouldn't die," said Alice ; " and you
didn't!"
" I am here," said Charley.
So, fair reader, Charley, in the last week of Sep
tember, 1864, was a father two months old. As for
the baby (and I hereby set the fashion of introducing
36
422 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
one or more into every romance*), his mother had
already discovered whom he was like. He was a
Carter, every inch of him, especially his nose. But he
had his father's sense of humor, there was not the
slightest doubt of that. For when Charley, who, in
speaking to the infant, always alluded to himself in
those words, when Charley, chucking him gingerly
under the chin, would ask him what he thought of his
venerable p-p-p-p-pop, he could be seen to smile, with
the naked eye. To smile that jerky, sudden-spreading,
sudden-shrinking smile of babyhood. You see it, 'tis
gone! Ah, can it be that even then we dimly discern
how serious a world this is to be born into!
Major Frobisher's battalion was in front of Rich
mond. The Don and I were under General Jubal
Early, in the lower valley, he a captain in command
of the skirmishers of the Stonewall Division, I a staff-
officer of the same rank.
I know nothing which makes one's morning paper
more interesting than the news of a great battle. It's
nice to read, between sips of coffee, how the grape and
canister mowed 'em down ; and the flashing of sabres
is most picturesque, and bayonets glitter delightfully,
in the columns of a well-printed journal. Taking a
hand in it that's different. Then the bodily discom
fort and mental inanition of camp-life. Thinking is
impossible. This, perhaps, does not bear hard upon
professionals, with whom, for the most part, abstention
from all forms of thought is normal and persistent ; but
to a civilian, accustomed to give his faculties daily ex
ercise, the routine-life of a soldier is an artesian bore.
So, at least, I found it. No doubt, with us, the ever-
present consciousness that we were enormously out
numbered made a difference. One boy, attacked by
three or four, may be plucky. It is rather too much
to expect him to be gay. I was not gay.
It was different with our friend, Captain Smith. He
was one of the half-dozen men I knew in those days
who actually rejoiced in wai\ He longed for death,
* Is this the language of a bachelor ? Ed.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 423
my lovely and romantic reader is anxious to be told ;
but I am sorry I cannot give her any proofs of this. It
was Attila's gaudium certaminis that inspired him. He
was never tired of talking of war, which, with Hobbes,
he held to be the natural state of man. At any rate,
said he, one day, drawing forth his Iliad and tapping
it affectionately, they have been hard at it some time.
This little volume was on its last legs. He had
read it to pieces, and could recite page after page of it
in the original. How closely, he would say, we skir
mishers resemble the forefighters of Homer. He never
spoke of his own men save as Myrmidons.
He had become an ardent student, too, of the art of
war, and had Dumont and Jomini at his fingers' ends.
Indeed, I am convinced that he would' have risen to
high rank had he not begun, and for two years re
mained, a private in the ranks. At the time of which
we speak, his capacity and courage were beginning to at
tract attention ; and more than one general officer looked
upon Captain Smith as a man destined to rise high.
It remains for me to say that he and Mary have
never met since that farewell letter. What his feelings
are towards her I can only conjecture ; for, although
he frequently speaks of the old times, her name never
passes his lips. An analytical writer could tell you
every thought that had crossed his mind during all
these years, and, in twenty pages of Insight, work him
up, by slow degrees, from a state of tranquil bliss to
one of tumultuous jimjams. But, if you wish to know
what my characters feel and think, you must listen to
what they say, and see what they do; which I find is
the only way I have of judging of people in real life.
I should say, therefore (for guessing is inexpensive),
that the captain's lips were sealed, either by deep, sor
rowing love, or else by implacable resentment. Choose
for yourself, fair reader. I told you, long ago, that this
book is but the record of things seen or heard by Charley,
or by Alice, supplemented occasionally by facts which
chanced to fall under my own observation. Even where
I seemed to play analytical, through those weary chap
ters touching Mary's religious misgivings, I was not
424 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
swerving from the line I had laid down. Every word
therein written down is from the lips of Mary herself,
as reported to me by Alice. Now, Charley tells me
that never once did Captain Smith mention Mary's
name, even to him. How, then, am I to know what
were his feelings towards her? I remember, indeed,
that once a young lieutenant of his, returning from
furlough, greeted him with warmth; adding, almost
with his first breath, that he had met a friend of his a
lady in Eichmond, MissRolfe Leigh Street I spent
an evening there we talked a great deal of you
The captain touched the visor of his cap.
Here was a chance of finding out what he thought 1
" She said she she said she "
The young -fellow had met a siren during his fur
lough, and fallen horribly in love himself (as he told
me, a few moments afterwards, in a burst of confidence),
and would willingly have invented a tender phrase for
the consolation of his captain, whom he adored ; but
truth forbade.
" She said she was glad to hear you were well."
" Miss Rolfe is very kind," replied the captain, again
touching his cap.
The young officer glanced at his chief, and instantly
fell back upon the weather. " I think there is a storm
brewing," he faltered.
" Very likely," replied the captain of the Myrmidons.
CHAPTER LXVIL
[LETTER FROM CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH TO MAJOR CHARLES
FROBISHER.]
FISHER'S HILL, September 21, 1364.
MY DEAR CHARLEY:
Many thanks to your dear wife for the frequent bul
letins she has found time to send me in the intervals
of nursing you, getting well herself, and worshipping
King Charles II. Have you agreed upon a namo yet?
THE STORY OF DON MIPF. 425
Or, rather, has Alice settled upon one ? For I am told
women claim the right of naming the first.
Old boy, when I heard that a bullet had gone clean
through you I thought I had seen the last of you ;
and here you are on your pins again ! A far slighter
wound would have sufficed to make " darkness veil the
eyes" of the stoutest of Homer's heroes. What pin-
scratches used to send them to Hades 1
And now, Patroklus, I will tell you why I refused,
at the opening of the war, to enter the same company
of artillery with you. Your feelings were wounded at
the time, and I wanted to tell you why I was so obsti
nate, but could not. To confess the honest truth, I had
not the pluck to place myself where I might have to
see you die before my eyes. It would have been differ
ent were we warring around Troy. There, I could
have helped you, on a pinch, and you me. But these
winged messengers of death, who can ward them off,
even from the dearest friend I
I had a cruel trial in last week's battle. When it
became necessary to order Edmund's company to ad
vance, my heart sank within me. [Edmund was Mr.
Poythress's youngest child, a lad of barely sixteen sum
mers, who had chafed and pined till he had wrung from
his mother a tearful consent to his joining the army.]
" If I do not come back," he whispered in my ear,
" tell mother that her ' baby' was man enough to do his
duty, for I am going to do it." " Your company is
moving," I replied, in as stern a voice as I could mus
ter ; for I felt a rush of tears coming ; and he bounded
into his place. I have seen fair women in my day, and
lovely landscapes, and noble chargers ; but never have
my eyes beheld anything so surpassingly beautiful as
that ingenuous boy springing forward, under a rain
of bullets, with a farewell to his mother on his lips, and
the light of battle on his brow. I held my breath till
he disappeared within the wood. Why is it that we all
shudder at the dangers of those we love, and yet can
be calm when our own lives hang by a thread? Is it
not because, while we know that the loss of a true
friend is one never to be repaired, and which casts a
36*
426 . THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
shadow upon our lives that can never be lifted [Charley
keeps this letter, with another little note; which you
will read later on, in a blue satin case, that Alice has
embroidered with forget-me-nots. He showed it to mo
on the nineteenth of last October. The satin is all
faded (and spotted, here and there) but time has not
dulled the colors of the flowers], there is a profound,
though veiled conviction, deep down in the heart of
hearts of all of us, that, as for ourselves, it were better
were we at rest ? It seems to me that it is only the
instinctive fear of death, which we share with the
lower animals, and that conscience which makes brave
men, not cowards of us all, that nerves such of us as
have the cruel gift of thought to bear up to the end,
against the slings and arrows of the most favored life,
even. But it is a shame that I should write thus to a
man with a brand-new baby !
I cannot picture to myself Alice as a mother;
though, thanks to her graphic pen, I have a very clear
conception of you as pater familias. I have laughed
till I cried over her accounts of you sunning the
youngster in the garden while the nurse was at her
dinner, and the way you held him, and the extraor
dinary observations you see fit to make to him. I
can't blame him for smiling. The andante in Mozart's
D minor quartet is very beautiful; but never did I ex
pect to hear of Charles Frobisher extemporizing words
to it as a lullaby, while he rocked his infant to sleep !
But it is time I gave you some account of our late
disastrous battle at Winchester. In order to under
stand it, you must have before your mind a picture of
the region in which it was fought.
The valley of Virginia is a narrow ribbon of land, as
it were, stretching diagonally across the State, between
the Blue Ridge and Alleghany Mountains. As its
fertility attracted settlers at an early date, its forests
have mostly fallen years ago. This is especially true
of the region around Winchester, which is situated in
the midst of a broad, fertile plain, .broken by rolling
hills, crowned, here and there, by the fair remains of
singularly noble forests. One would say, standing
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. . 427
upon an eminence, and surveying the smiling land-
scape, that-this lovely plain was fashioned by the hand
of the Creator as the abode of plenty and eternal peace.
Yet a poet, remembering that it is not peace, but war
that man loves, could not, in his dreams, picture to him
self a more beautiful battle-field. And if I have to fall,
may it be on one of thy sunny slopes, valiant little
Winchester ; and may the last thing my eyes behold
be the handkerchiefs waving from thy housetops. Such
women are worth dying, yes, even worth living for.
Observe, therefore, that the plains of Winchester are
admirably adapted for the rapid and intelligent ma
noeuvring of large masses of troops. Artillery, infan
try, cavalry, every arm of the service may move in
any direction with perfect facility. And I need not
tell an old soldier that such a field gives overwhelming
advantage to a greatly superior force. When a gen
eral, as his troops advance to the attack, can see just
where the enemy are, and how far they extend, can
see their reserves hurrying forward, and knows that
when they are all hotly engaged he can push heavy
masses of fresh troops around both flanks, and attack
in the rear men who are already outnumbered in front,
what can save the weaker army from annihilation?
And yet, on the nineteenth of this month, Early's little
army of ten thousand troops withstood, in front of
Winchester, in the open field, without breastworks,
from dawn till late in the afternoon, the assaults of
forty thousand of the enemy. [Note. This is an error
on the part of the captain, but I retain his statement
of the numbers engaged, just as he gives them, simply
to show what was the universal belief of our soldiers
at the time, that they were outnumbered four to one.
The true figures show that Early had fifteen thousand,
Sheridan forty-five thousand men, or only three to
one. J. B. W.~\ * How a solitary man of us escaped I
shall never be able to understand.
Possibly you have not seen in the papers that on the
* See Geo. A. Pond's " Shenandoah Valley Campaigns," if more minute
accuracy is desired. Ed.
428 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
seventeenth Early sent our division down the valley to
Martinsburg (twenty-two miles) to make a reconnois-
sance. We did a little skirmishing there, and on the
next day encamped, on our return, at a place called
Bunker's Hill, named, I presume, in honor of the
Bunker's Hill on which Boston, with a magnanimity
unparalleled in history, has erected an imposing monu
ment to commemorate the gallant storming of Breed's
Hill by the British. Here we lay down to rest. I
will not say to sleep ; for never, since the beginning of
the war, had I felt so profoundly anxious. Picture to
yourself our situation.
There we were, twelve miles down the valley, twenty-
five hundred men ; while, near Berryville, over against
our main body of about eight thousand men at Win
chester, lay an army forty thousand strong. Suppose
Sheridan should attack in our absence ? True, Early
had marched over to Berryville, a few days before, and
offered him battle in vain. But suppose he did attack?
Could he not in an hour's time (for forty thousand
against eight is rather too much) drive Early's force
pell-mell across the pike, and, with his immense force
of cavalry, capture the last man he had ? And then we
would have nothing to do but march up the valley, like
a covey of partridges, into a net.
Such were the thoughts which flashed across my
mind, with painful intensity, at dawn next morning.
Weary with anxious thinking, I had fallen to sleep at
last. The boom of a cannon swept down from Win
chester. We are lost, was my first thought. Our
army will be annihilated. Sheridan will set out on his
march to the rear of Richmond to-morrow morning.
I rose without a word, as did others around me, and
completed my toilet by buckling on my sword and
pistols. There, on my blanket, lay Edmund, sleeping
the sweet, deep sleep of boyhood. I could hardly
make up my mind to arouse him. " Get up," said I,
touching his shoulder; "they are fighting at Win
chester." " They are !" cried he, leaping to his feet.
The gaudium ceriaminis was in his eyes. The boy is
every inch a soldier.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 429
We hurried up the turnpike without thinking of
breakfast, the roar of the battle growing louder as
we advanced. Edmund chattered the whole way,
asking me, again and again, whether I thought it
would be all over before we got there. He had not
yet been in a battle, and was full of eager courage. I
told him I thought he would have a chance at them,
though I actually thought that all would be over before
we reached the ground. And what do you suppose we
learned as we neared the field ? That Eamseur, with
his twelve hundred men covering our front with hardly
more than a skirmish line, had held in check the heavy
masses of the enemy all this time ! They had been at
tacked at dawn ; we had marched twelve miles ; and
there they were still, Eamseur and his heroic little
band of North Carolinians. And I single out the North
Carolinians by name, not so much because of their cour
age, as of their modesty.
Well, we were beaten that day, and badly beaten.
That we were not annihilated is what I cannot com
prehend. And why we are allowed to rest here and
recuperate, with a vastly superior army, flushed with
victory, in our front, is equally difficult to understand.
Why were we not attacked at dawn next day ? Yet,
that he has not done so does not surprise me, alter
what I saw of his generalship at the close of the late
battle. Put yourself beside me, and see what I saw on
the afternoon of September 19th.
We are standing on an open hill, just in rear of where
our troops have fought so stubbornly the livelong day.
Where is our army ? It no longer exists. It has been
hammered to pieces. Here and there you see a man
slowly retiring, and loading his rifle as he falls back.
Every now and then he turns and fires. One here, and
one there, this is all the army we have.
Now look over there, at that field, to the left of the
position lately held by us. Those are the enemy's
skirmishers, advancing from a wood. Their long line
stretches far away, and is lost to view behind that rise
in the hill. At whom are they firing ? Heaven knows,
for there is no enemy in their front. And now the
430 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
dense masses of their infantiy appear, in rear of tht
skirmishers, and glide slowly across the hill, like the
shadow of a black cloud. Come, Edmund, cheer up,
and have a crack at them. (The boy is standing apart,
his powder-begrimed face streaked with decorous tears.)
Set your sight at six hundred yards. Come here, and
let me give you a rest on my hip. Yes, the man with
the flag. Ah, you have made a stir among them. The
line moves on, but one man lies stretched upon the field,
with two others kneeling beside him. There is the
making of a sharpshooter in the boy !
And what ponderous form is this~that comes towards
us, limping and disconsolate? 'Tis our friend Jack.
He, I need hardly tell you, *
But he lost heart when his powerful charger fell be
neath him, disembowelled by a cannon-ball. Poor
Bucephalus! He had carried him through twenty
battles as though he were a feather; and where was
he to find another horse that could carry him at all!
(Edmund tells a good story of Jack. He says that
while he stood lamenting the death of his valiant steed,
one of our advancing brigades, first staggering under
the heavy fire, then halting, were beginning to give
way. "Boys," cried Jack (he will have his joke),
" boys, follow me ! If they can't hit me, they can't hit
anybody!" Edmund says that some of the soldiers
laughed; and that as they followed the burly captain
he heard one of them say to his neighbor, " Mind now ;
if they do hit him, I claim his breeches as a winter-
quarters tent.")
Look, now, at those dark masses, halted in full view
on that rising ground to our right. They are as near
Winchester as we are. What are they doing there ?
Surely they can see that there are no troops between
themselves and the town! Why do they not go and
take it? Can it be their advance has been checked by
the stray shots of a score of retreating sharpshooters ?
Now turn and look a mile away, to our left. See
that dense cloud of dust, lit up with the flashing of
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 431
carbine-shots, the gleaming of sabres, and the glare of
bursting shells! There, along the pike, our handful
of cavalry, struggling bravely with overwhelming odds,
is falling back upon the town. Come. Edmund, there
is no use staying here any longer. Yes, I think they
will get there before us. Pluck up your spirits, my
boy ; a true soldier shows best in adversity.
I have not tried, my dear Charley, to give you a mili
tary account of this battle. I have striven, instead, to
lay before you a picture of the field as it appeared when
Edmund, Jack, and I sadly turned towards Winchester.
It was then the middle of the afternoon. Would you
believe that we reached the town in safety, entered a
house, whose fair inmates gave us bread (it was all
almost more than all they had), retired, afterwards,
up the pike, along which our soldiers straggled in twos
and threes, went into camp, arose next morning,
and made our way to Fisher's Hill? And here we are
still, resting as quietly as though no enemy were in our
front !
I have known men to leave the gaming-table, after
a big run of luck, so as to spend their winnings before
the tide turned. Perhaps our friends the enemy wish
to enjoy their glory awhile before risking the loss of it
in another battle; but it isn't war.
***** * * * * *
***** * ****
Yours, ever,
DORY.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
" JACK," said Alice, " every time I read this letter of
poor Dory's, I find it hai'der to understand how General
Sheridan has so high a reputation in the North as a
soldier. Can you explain it ?"
" I cannot," I replied, thumping the table fiercely
with my fist ; for every Whacker molecule in me stood
on end.
"I can," put in Charley, in his dry way.
432 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
I turned and fixed my eyes on that philosopher. His
were fixed upon the ceiling. His head rested upon the
back of his chair, his legs (they are stoutish now) were
stretched across another.
" The deuse you can !" for my sturdy Saxon atoms
were in arms.
Charley removed his solid limbs from the chair in
front of him, with the effort and grunt of incipient obes
ity [incipient obesity indeed I and from you I whe-e-eu? /
Alice}, and, walking up to the mantel-piece, rested both
arms upon it at full length ; then, tilting his short pipe
at an angle of forty-five degrees, he surveyed me with a
smile of amiable derision. '' Yes, I can," said he, at last.
And with each word the short pipe nodded conviction.
" Do it, then," said I.
" I will," said he. And diving down into his pocket,
he drew forth a manuscript; and striking an attitude,
and placing his glasses (eheu, fugaces, Postume, Postume,
labuntur anni) upon his oratorical nose, he unfolded the
paper. Clearing his throat:
"HANNIBAL!" began he, in thunder-tones; then,
dropping suddenly into his usual soft voice, and letting
fall his right hand containing the paper to the level of
his knee, "this," he added, peering gravely at us over
his spectacles, "is my Essay on Military Glory!"
Alice made herself comfortable, and spread out her
fan ; for laughing makes her warm nowadays.
Had she any right to look for humor in an essay by
her husband ? Look at her own chapter on the loves
of Mary and the Don. A more sentimental perform
ance I never read. Show me a trace therein, if you
can, of witty, sparkling Alice of the merry-glancing
hazel eyes ! Look, for the matter of that, at this book
of mine. Why, the other day, glancing over the proofs*
of a certain chapter, and forgetting for the moment, as
I read the printed page, that I had written it, would
you believe it, my eyes filled with tears ? (And a big
one rolled down so softly that I started when it struck
* Mr. Whacker must mean that he intended " glancing over the proofs. **
Ed.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 433
the paper.) Is this, cried I, the jolly book that my
friends expect of me? Alas, fair reader, fellow-pilgrim
through this valley of shadows, 1 trust full many a
sun-streak may fall across your path. As for me, I
can only sing the song that is given me.
CHAPTEK LXIX.
[Being an Essay on Military Glory ; by Charles Frobisher, Esquire,
M.A. (Univ. Va.),- late Major of Artillery C. S. A.
Omnibus, mentis compotibus, SKIPIENDUM, utpote quod TINKERII MOLEM
KON VALEAT.]
CHARLEY shifted his manuscript to his left hand, and
smoothing down the leaves with his right, and glancing
at the paper, raised his eyes to mine. The tip of his
forefinger, placed lightly against the tip of his nose,
lent to that organ an air of rare subtlety.
"A julep," he began, "differs from a thought in this:
that while"
" A julep !" cried Alice ; " why, just now you began
with Hannibal."
Charley stood for a moment, smiling, as he toyed
with the leaves of his essay with the forefinger of his
right hand.
" True ; I had turned the thing upside down, and
was reading it backwards. A julep," he began again,
with an authoritative air
"What connection," interrupted Alice, "can there be
between juleps and military men ?"
"Innocence," ejaculated Charley, raising his eyes to
heaven, " thy name is Alice !"
" Go on ; I shall not interrupt you again."
"A julep differs from a thought in this: that while
an average man goes to the bottom of the former, of
the latter only philosophers can sound the depths."
"With that he sat down.
" Is that the end of your Essay on Military Glory ?"
I asked.
"No. That is the first round. I call for time. I
T cc 37
434 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
am exhausted by the vastness of the generalization."
And leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes with a
sigh of profound lassitude. " My dear," said he, pres
ently, in a feeble whisper, " my dear, don't you think
this lecture would go off better were it illustrated ?"
Alice looked puzzled for a moment, then rose with a
bright laugh, and, making a pass at Charley (who
minds Jack ?) which he dodged, tripped briskly out of
the room.
" Charley," said I, "you are a boundless idiot !"
" Too true ; but there is method in my madness."
which I found to be so when Alice (who could have
wished a more charming waitress ?) returned with the
illustrations.
Illustrations in the highest form of art; for they ap
pealed to the ear with the soft music of their jingle, the
nostrils by their fragrance, the touch by their coldness,
to the eye by the fascinating contrast of cracked ice
and vivid green ; while the imagination, soaring above
the regions of sense, beheld within those frosted gob
lets, jocund, blooming summer seated in the lap of
rimy winter, or the triumph of man over nature.
Ole Virginny nebber tire !
" What kind of an idiot did you say ?" said Charley,
as we chinked glasses.
" I couldn't find any straws," said Alice.
"I accept your apology," said Charley. His voice
sounded soft, mellow, and far away ; for his nose was
plunged beneath a mass of crushed ice. "Straws,"
added he, growing magnanimous, " they are only fit to
show which way the wind blows." And with a mag
nificent sweep of his left hand he indicated his disdain
for all possible atmospheric currents. " Ladies and
gentlemen," added he, as he rose from his seat ; and
this time there was an indescribable jumble in the voice
of the orator (not at all, Mr. Teetotaller ! 'twas caused
by the cracked ice), for as Charley rose to continue the
reading of his Essay on Military Glory, he had pointed
the stem of his goblet at the ceiling; striving, at the
same time, by a skilful adjustment of his features, to
prevent its contents from falling on the floor, such
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 435
great store did Alice set by her new carpet. But, of
course, when he opened his mouth to say ladies and
gentlemen, a baby avalanche fell in upon his organs of
speech ; so that he didn't manage to say anything of
the kind. " That," said he, placing the glass upon the
table, " will do as a vignette ; the illustrations we shall
contrive to work in farther on."
One julep gives Charley the swagger of a four-bottle
man.
" Where was I ?" asked he, drawing the manuscript
from his pocket. "I'll begin again. HANNIBAL!
No, confound itl Ah, here we are: "An average man
has strength to go to the bottom of a julep ; only a
philosopher can sound the depth of a thought."
At these words Alice rose from her seat, and, leaning
forward, first fixed a scrutinizing glance upon her hus
band, then advanced towards him with a twinkle in
her merry -glancing hazel eye.
"If half the audience," said Charley, with an im
perious wave of the hand, " will persist in wandering
over the floor, the reading is suspended."
Alice took her seat, and did nothing but laugh till
the end of the chapter. I laughed, too, but without
exactly knowing why. But laughter (singularly enough,
for it is a blessing) is contagious. And then the
julep had been stiff; so that the very tables and chairs
about the room seemed to beam upon me with a certain
twinkling, kindly Bushwhackerishness.*
" Here's a lot of stuff that I shall skip," began Char
ley ; and he turned over, with careless finger, leaf after
leaf. As he did so Alice rose slightly from her seat
with a peering look.
"Who is reading this Essay on Military Glory?"
asked Charley, with a severe look at his wife over his
glasses (alas, alas, nee pietas moramf).
" Very well ; go on," said Alice, dropping back into
her chair with a fresh burst of laughter. She had had
no julep. What was she laughing at ?
* I need hardly say that I decline to be responsible for such seiiti-
ments. Ed.
436 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" It consists (my opening) of a series of illustrations,
showing how much nonsense comes to be believed
through people's not going to the bottom of things. We
suppose ourselves to have an opinion (there is no com
moner delusion), but we fail to subject that opinion to
any crucial test ; though nothing is easier. The crucial
test, for example, of sulphuretted hydrogen, is a certain
odor which we encounter, when, with incautious toe,
we explode an egg in some outlying nest which no
boy could find during the summer "
" That will do," said Alice ; though why women
should turn up their blessed little noses at such allu
sions is hard to understand, seeing what keen and tri
umphant pleasure they all derive from the detection of
unparliamentary odors at unexpected times and places.
" I have here," continued Charley, carelessly turning
the leaves of his manuscript, " a nestful of such illus
trations."
" We will excuse you from hatching them in our pres
ence," said Alice ; and with wrinkled nose she disdain
fully sniffed a supposititious egg of abandoned character.
"I have already passed them over. After all, what
is the use of them ? You and Charley can understand
what I mean without them ; and if you can, why not
the reader, too ? Are readers idiots ? I'll plunge in
medias res. Let us begin here :" (reading) " It is the same
with military glory. How many battles have been
fought since the world began ? Arithmetic stands pale
in the presence of such a question ! In every one of
these conflicts one or the other commander had the
advantage. How many of them are famous? Count
them. For every celebrated general that you show
me, I will show you a finger or a toe "
" You are too anatomical by half," protested Alice.
" Why is this ? Think for a moment ? Why is this
victor famous, that victor not ? It is the simplest thing
in the world if you will but apply the crucial test."
Charley paused in his reading and peered gravely
over his glasses. " What is it, goose ?" asked his ad
miring spouse.
" The crucial test is disparity of numbers. Formulae :
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 437
equality, victory, obscurity, disparity, victory, glory.
There you have it in a nutshell. Example (from Gib
bon's Decline and Fall of the Eoman Empire): imperator
of the West and imperator of the East, battling, with
the world as a stake. Innumerable but equal hosts.
Days of hacking and hewing. Victory to him of the
East (or West). His name? Have forgotten it. Equality,
victory, obscurity!
" See ? By the way, Jack, does not the brevity of my
military style rather smack of Csesar's Commentaries ?
"Again scene, Syria. Christians of the Byzantine
empire, and Mahometans. Final struggle. Vast but
equal armies. Three days of carnage. Eemnant of
Christians decline crown of glory. Name of victor ?
I pause ? and so on, and so on, and so on.
" But now, per contra, read, by the light of our
hypothesis, the following :
PARADIGM OF GLORY.
Nominative Napoleon Italy disparity victory glory
Genitive CaBsar Pharsalia ditto ditto ditto
Dative Alexander Persia ditto ditto ditto
Accusative Zengis Khan Asia ditto ditto ditto
Vocative Sheridan Winchester ditto ditto ditto
Ablative Hannibal "
" Ah, you have gotten to him at last," said Alice.
" Yes, my dear," said Charley, raising his eyes from
the manuscript ; " but the vignettes grow dim. Let's
have an illustration in honor of the victor of Cannae.
Let there be lots of ice as a memorial of the avalanches
he defied, piled mountain-high because of the Alps he
overcame. Typify with mint the glorious verdure of
Italy as it first bursts upon his view."
Alice typified
***** * ****
***** * ****
" After all," said Charley, " this is a pretty good old
world to live in." And he fillipped, gently, the rim of
his goblet with his middle finger. (Ching! chingl)
37*
438 THE STORP OF DON MIFF.
"It was B flat when it was full, and now (ching!
ching!) it is a good C sharp. Listen I" And shutting
one eye, he cocked the other meditatively towards the
ceiling. (Ching! ching!) "Acoustics or something,
I suppose. A pretty good old world, I tell you, boys.
(Ching! ching!) H'm ! h'm ! h'm!" It was a low,
contented chuckle. " Jack-Whack, you ought to have
a sweet little darling of a wife, just like "
" Mr. Frobisher, you are positively boozy !"
"Well, well, my precious little ducky dumpling, I
don't write Essays on Military Glory every day. H'm !
h'm ! h'm ! h'm 1 I left out my very best illustration,
simply because I couldn't work it into my paradigm.
It is a little poem I heard once, h'm ! h'm ! h'm ! h'm !
(Ching! ching!)
' Dad and Jamie bad a fight,
They fit all day, and they fit all night ;
And in the mornin' Dad was seen
A-punchin' Jamie on the Bowlin' Green.'
" One would say, taking the four lines together, that
Dad probably got the better of Jamie in the end. But
who thinks of ranking him, for that reason, with the
world's famed conquerors ? Preposterous ! They were
obviously too evenly matched. See? No one knows,
even, who Dad was, or Jamie ; or what Bowlin' Green
drank their gore. (Ching! ching!) D natural. Nor
even the name of the poet. Some old, old Aryan myth,
I suppose, symbolizing the struggle between Light and
Darkness, ' in the morning Dad' the sun ' was seen
a-punchin' Jamie' moon, of course ' on the Bowlin'
Green,' that is, this beautiful world. (Ching! ching!)
What are you up to ?"
Alice had made a dive at Charley, who, mistaking
her object, defended himself vigorously. Meantime,
she had darted with her right hand down into his
'breast-pocket, drawing out the manuscript.
" If you supposed I wished to kiss your juleppy
moustache, you are much mistaken. This is what I
wanted." And she brandished the Essay high in the
air in triumph. "I knew it I I knew it!" cried she.
" Listen, Jack 1"
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 439
" ' BALTIMORE, August 14, 1885.
" ' CHARLES FROBISHER, ESQ. :
" ' Dear Sir, ' The guano will be shipped by to-mor-
row's boat, as per valued order.
" ' Very truly yours,
"' BUMPKINS & WINDUP.'
" And look here and look here, nothing but a lot
of business letters. He has not written one line ! His
so-called Essay on Military Glory is a myth !"
" We got the juleps, at any rate. Jack- Whack, you
write it up."
" If Alice will agree to illustrate again."
"Not I!"
"Q minor!" sighed Charley, thumping his empty
goblet. "Jack-Whack, my poor boy, we dwell in a
vale of tears 1"
CHAPTEK LXX.
IT is eight o'clock in the morning, at Harrisonburg,
in the leafy month of June. You board the train from
Staunton. As it rushes down the Valley there lies
spread out before you, on either side, a scene of rare
loveliness. Fertile plains, waving with grain ; rolling,
grass-clad hills, laughing in the sunshine, dotted here
and there with woods of singular beauty ; limpid
streams, brawling over glittering, many-hued pebbles;
a pure air filling the lungs with a glad sense of health
and well-being. There are few such lands.
But come, take this seat on the right-hand side of
the car, and I will tell you of some things which hap
pened twenty years ago.
Ah, there it is ! Don't you see that bluish thread,
winding along over there, skirting that hill? That is
the Valley Pike. There was no railroad there then.
Take a good look at it. Take a good look, for heroes
have trodden it.
Ah, the train has stopped. Do you see that grizzled
440 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
farmer, who has ridden over to the station to get his
mail? I know him, for I never forget a face. He was
there at Manassas when Bee said, " Look at Jackson,
standing like a stone wall !" Yes, many of the sur
vivors of the Stonewall -Brigade live along this road.
That is the Massanutten Mountain, a spur of the
Blue. Ridge. How beautiful it is! Straight and smooth
and even, with a little notch every now and then ;
clothed from base to summit with primeval forests, it
looks, crested as it is hero and there with snowy clouds,
like a gigantic green wave rolling across the plain.
A wall not unlike this once stood on either hand in
the Red Sea; and Miriam smote her tambourine in
triumph, praising the God of Israel.
As we rush along, the mountain bears us company,
as though doing the honors of the Valley.
The train stops at Strasburg. There, too, Massa
nutten ends.
As though a Titan had cleft it with his sword, so
abruptly does it sink into the plain.
You are on your way to Alexandria, and will have
to wait here four hours ; so let us look about us. Run
your eye up that sharp acclivity lying over against the
town.
Upon the brink of that steep, twenty years ago,
stood Gordon. Accompanied by a few staff-officers, he
had spent the greater part of the day in the toilsome
ascent, tearing his way through dense, pathless jungles,
struggling among untrodden rocks ; and now, on the
seventeenth of October, 1864, he stands there sweeping
the plain with his field-glass. What does he see? Why
does he forget, in an instant, his fatigue? What is it
that fires with ardor his martial face ?
But before I tell you that, a word with you.
In the South, at the breaking out of the war, there
was not to be found one solitary statesman ; nor one
throughout the length and breadth of the North. Not
that capacity was lacking to either side. Great capacity
is not required. Chesterfield heard the rumble of the
coming French revolution, to which the ears of Burke
were deaf. After all, statecraft is but the application
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 441
of temporary expedients to temporary emergencies;
and you might carve a score of Gladstones and Dis
raelis out of the brain of Herbert Spencer without in
the least impairing his cerebrum. Pericles shone in
Athens for an hour ; Aristotle dominated the world for
twenty centuries. Such is the measure of a states
man ; such that of a thipker.
Statesmen, therefore (or the making of such), we
had, I must suppose, by the thousand. I have said
they were not to be found.
For years before we came to blows the animosity
between North and South had been deepening, reach
ing at last this point, that he who would catch the ear
of either side could do so only by fierce denunciation
of the other; he that would have it thought that he
loved us had only to show that he hated you. Men of
moderation found no hearers. The voices of the calm
and clear-headed sank into silence; and Wigfall and
Toombs, and Sumner and Phillips walked up and down
in the land.
Yes, no doubt we had thousands of statesmen who
knew better. But who knew them? And so Seward
kept piping of peace in ninety days, and Yancey
Polyphemus of politicians was willing to drink all
the blood that would be shed. A Yankee wouldn't
fight, said the one. The slave-drivers, perhaps, would,
said the other ; but they were, after all, a mere handful ;
and the poor white trash would be as flocks of sheep.
A Yankee wouldn't fight! And why not, pray?
Two bulls will, meeting in a path ; two dogs, over a
bone. The fishes of the sea fight; the birds of the air;
nay, do not even the little midgets, warmed by the
slanting rays of the summer's sun, rend one another
with infinitesimal tooth and microscopic nail? All
nature is but one vast battle-field ; and if the nations
of men seem at times to be at peace, what is that peace
but taking breath for another grapple ? And con
gresses and kings are but bottle-holders, and time will
be called in due season. The Yankees wouldn't fight!
And suppose they v T ouldn't, why should they, pray,
being sensible men ?
442 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Where was the Almighty Dollar?
Had any one of the Southern leaders read one page
of history, not to know that money means men? means
cannon, rifles, sabres? means ships, and commissariat,
and clothing? means rallying from reverses, and vic
tory in the end ? The Yankee would not fight, they
told us. His omnipotent ally, they forgot to mention
or to meet. Had our Congress consisted of bankers,
merchants, railway superintendents, they would have
seen to the gathering of the sinews of war. We had
only the statesmen of the period, God save the
mark!
It was in finance that we blundered fatally. 'Twas
not the eagle of the orator that overcame us, but the
effigy thereof, in silver and in gold.
When we fired on Fort Sumter there was a burst of
patriotism throughout the North, and her young men
flocked to her standards. They fought, and fought
well. The difference between them and us was, that
when they got tired of poor fare and hard knocks they
could find others to take their places. Being sensible,
practical men, they used their opportunities. When a
man was drafted (as the war went on) he or his friends
found the means of hiring a substitute (persons who
have visited the North since the war tell me that you
rarely find a man of means who served in the army);
and at last cities and counties and States began to
meet each successive call for fresh troops by votes of
money ; their magnificent bounty system grew up, and
from that time the composition of the Northern armies
rapidly changed. Trained soldiers from every part of
the world flocked to the El Dorado of the West ; and
as the war went on each successive battle brought less
and less grief to the hearts and homes of the N/orth,
while with us with us!
From every corner of Europe they poured.
From Italy, from Sweden, from Eussia r and from
Spain.
From the Danube and the Loire; from the marshy
borders of the Elbe and the sunny slopes of the
Guadalquivir.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 443
From the Alps and the Balkan. From the home of
the reindeer and the land of the olive. From Majorca
and Minorca, and from the Isles of Greece.
From Berlin and Vienna ; from Dublin and from
Paris ; from the vine-clad hills of the Adriatic and
the frozen shores of the Baltic Sea.
From Skager Eack and Skater Gat, and from Como
and Killarney.
From sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,
from the banks and braes o' bonny Doon, and from
Bingen-on-the-Rhine.
Catholic and Calvinist; Teuton, Slav, and Celt,
who was not there to swell that host, and the babel
of tongues around their camp-fires? For to every hut
in Europe, where the pinch of want was known, had
gone the rumor of fabulous bounty and high pay now,
generous pension hereafter.
At Bull Run the North met the South ; at Appomat-
tox Lee laid down his sword in the presence of the
world in arms.
CHAPTER LXXL
AND Gordon ? What did he see, standing on Massa-
nutten's crest ?
They lay there, beyond Cedar Creek, the Eighth
Corps, the Nineteenth Corps and the Sixth; and, further
away, the heavy masses of their cavalry; spread out
before him, forty or fifty thousand strong.
Like a map. " I can distinguish the very chevrons
of that sergeant," said he.
And now he bends his eyes on Fisher's Hill.
Those men lying there were beaten at "Winchester,
one month ago. Against brigade Early can bring regi
ment, against division, brigade ; can oppose division to
corps. And yet he is going to hurl this little handful
against that mighty host.
A mere handful; but hearts of English oak! The
ancestors of these men fought and won at Crecy and
444 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
Agincourt; and they are going to fight and lose at
Cedar Creek. The result was different, but the odda
and the spirit were the same.
Have 1 forgotten the brigade of Louisiana Creoles ?
No ; but when I would speak of them, a certain indig
nant sorrow chokes my utterance. They came to us
many and they went away few ; and the Valley has
been made historic by their blood, mingled with ours.
And now is heard the voice of one, speaking as with
authority, the voice of a Louisianian, proclaiming to
the world that these Louisianians died in an unjust
cause. Unjust ! It is a word not to be used lightly.
Your share of the obloquy, living comrades, you can
bear ; but theirs ? For they are not here to speak for
themselves.
And to say it to their widows and their orphans !
That word could not help the slave. He is free,
thank heaven. Nor was the war in which these men
died waged to free him. He was freed to wage the
war, rather, as everybody knew when the proclamation
of emancipation was promulgated. In point of fact,
the struggle was between conflicting interpretations of
the Constitution ; and the Northern people, by a great
and successful war, established their view of its obliga
tions; the freedom of the slave being a corollary of
victory.
Unjust! had it not been as well to leave that word
to others ? 'Tis an ill bird that fouls its own nest.
The war wrought wide ruin ; but it has been a boon
to the South in this, at least: that it has jostled our
minds out of their accustomed grooves. Bold thinking
has come to be the fashion. And so we should not
find fault with the author of Doctor Sevier, if, dazzled
by the voluptuous beauty of quadroon and octoroon,
he should find a solution of our race troubles in in
termarriage. Let him think his little thought. Let
him say his little say. It will do no harm. On one
question he will find, I think, a "solid" North and
a " solid" South. Both are content to choose their
wives from among the daughters of that great Aryan
race which boasts so many illustrious women j and
THE STORF OF DON MIFF. 445
which boasts still more the millions of gentle mothers
and brave wives, whose names the trump of fame has
never sounded. And with such, I think, both the blue
and the gray are likely to rest content. Content, too,
that their children, like themselves, should be of that
pure Indo-Germanic stock whence has sprung a Socrates
and a Homer; a Csesar and a Galileo; a Descartes
and a Pascal; a Goethe and a Beethoven; a Newton
and a Shakespeare. The countrymen of Cervantes and
of Cortez, failing to keep their blood pure, have peopled
a continent with Greasers and with Gauchos.* And
shall the children of Washington become a nation of
Pullman car porters and octoroon heroines be theii
eyes never so lustrous ?
But such matters are legitimate subjects of discus
sion. So let him have his say. But there are things
which it is moi'e seemly to leave unsaid.
When a step-mother is installed in the house, you
may think her vastly superior, if you will, with her
velvets and her laces and her diamonds, to her that bore
you ; and you may, perhaps, win fame as an original
thinker by saying so to the world ; but there is a cer
tain instinct of manhood that would seal the lips of
most men. And I, for my part, know many, very
many Northern men ; and not one of them seems to
wish to have me grovel in the dust and cry peccavi.
Would it not have been a disgrace to them to have
spent, with all their resources and odds, four years in
subduing a race of snivellers? No; let us say to the
end : you were right in fighting for your country, we
equally right in battling for ours. The North will, the
North does respect us all the more for it.
As I read these words, Charley rose, and, opening a
book-case, took out a volume. Finding, apparently, the
passage he sought, he closed the book upon his fore
finger.
"When a man takes upon himself," he began, "to
rise up before Israel to confess and make atonement
* I do not forget the admirable men of pure Castilian blood to be foun.l
throughout Spanish America. But their very superiority accentuates tbe
argument. J. H. W.
38
446 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
for the sins of the people, he should be quite sure that
he has the right to exercise the functions of high-priest.
" If either his father or his mother, for example,
sprang from the region roundabout Tyre and Sidon,
that should bid him pause. It is not enough that one
wields the pen of a ready writer. One must be an
Hebrew of the Hebrews. Else the confession goes
for naught.
" What Jack has just read," added he, " brought to
my mind a passage which I have not thought of for
ages. You must know, Alice, that after the death of
Cyrus at the battle of Cunaxa, the Ten Thousand made
a truce with Tissaphernes, lieutenant of Artaxerxes,
who agreed to conduct them back to Greece. After
journeying together for some time, he invited the Greek
generals to a conference at his headquarters. Clearchus
and almost all of the leading officers accepted the invi
tation, and at a given signal were seized and murdered.
" The Ten Thousand were in as bad plight as ever an
army was. Without leaders, confronted by a countless
host, they had either to surrender or cut their way
through a thousand miles of hostile territory.
" Xenophon, though not an officer, called an assembly,
and soon aroused a stern enthusiasm. Speech after
speech was made, and no one uttered other than brave
words, except a certain Apollonides ; and he cried out
that the others spoke nonsense, that the safe and prof
itable thing to do was to grovel before the Great King.
Xenophon replied in a sarcastic vein, ending as fol
lows:
" ' It seems to me, oh men, that we should not admit
this man into any fellowship with us, but that we should
cashier him of his captaincy and put baggage upon his
back, and use him as a beast of burden. For he is a
disgrace to his native land and to all Greece, since,
being a Greek, he is such as he is.'
" ' And thereupon. Agasias, the Stymphalian, taking
up the discourse, said, ' But this man is not a Greek ;
for I see that, like a Lydian, he has both his ears
bored.'
" And such was the fact. Him, therefore, they cast
out."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 447
CHAPTER LXXIL
IT is not my purpose to describe the battle of Cedar
Creek. Even of the role played by Gordon's division,
of which the present writer formed, according to Alice,
a large part, I shall give no detailed account ; for my
object is not so much to instruct military men as to en
tertain my fair reader.
Three simultaneous attacks were to be made. Ros-
ser, advancing along the " Back-road," far away to our
left, was to swoop down, with his cavalry, upon that
of the enemy. Kershaw and Wharton were to attack
his centre ; Gordon, with Eamseur and Pegram, to turn
and assault his left.
At eight o'clock, therefore, in the evening of October
18, 1864, our men, rising from around their camp-fires
and buckling on their accoutrements, took up their
line of march. The enemy was miles away, yet they
spoke in undertones ; for their instinct told them that
they were to surprise him. Their very tread as they
moved along was in a muffled rhythm, as it seemed to
me, and their canteens gave forth a dim jingle, as of
sheep-bells, by night, from a nodding flock on a distant
hill.
Leaving the pike and turning to the right, we (Gor
don's command) at one time marched down a country
road, at another straggled, single-file, along bridle
paths, at times fought our way through briers and
amid jagged rocks as we toiled along under the shadow
of Massanutten.
At last, when the night was wellnigh spent, we
stacked arms in a field. The shining Shenandoah mur
mured just in front of us. We talked almost in whis
pers.
Suddenly the notes of a bugle, faint, far away, broke
the stillness of the night. The enemy's cavalry at
Front Royal were sounding the reveille. We held our
breath, had they divined our intentions?
448 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
The bugle- call to our right had scarcely died away,
when, from far away to our left, the rattle of carbines
was heard, low and soft, as though one dreamt of battle !
'Twas Rosser. Unfortunately, he had found a portion
of the enemy in the saddle and ready to march, though
not expecting an attack.
Just then the clanking of sabres and the trampling
of hoofs was heard close beside us; and turning, we
saw a squadron of our cavalry moving upon the ford.
A thick noist had begun to rise, and as they rode through
it they seemed colossal phantoms rather than earthly
horsemen. A few moments, and the crack of carbine-
shots was heard. The enemy's videttes retired, and
our horsemen dashed across the stream. We followed,
and formed in a field beyond the river.
The mist thickened with the approach of day. ' You
could scarcely see a man thirty feet away. Captain
Smith had deployed his skirmishers. As he stood near
me, waiting for the word forward, a terrific rattle of
musketiy burst upon our ears, coming from our left.
It was Kershaw, we knew. And then the cannon be
gan to roar. Kershaw had left his artillery behind
him. Had they been ready to receive him, and were
the cannon and rifles of an entire corps mowing down
his gallant little division? It was an appalling
moment!
The word was given, and Captain Smith and his
skirmishers dashed into the wood at a double-quick.
We followed, and soon the air was filled with the roar
of wide-spread battle. The cannon that we had heard,
as we soon learned, were captured guns that Kershaw
had turned upon the enemy. His division had rushed
up a steep hill and put a corps to flight. Between us,
we had soon driven, in headlong rout from their camps,
the Eighth and the Nineteenth Corps. The Sixth re
mained, but we could not see it, so dense was the mist.
Our assault slackened, ceased.
What would have been the result had we pushed on
it is needless, now, to inquire. Desultory firing con
tinued till about four o'clock in the afternoon, when
Sheridan, who was at Winchester when the battle be-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 449
gan, having galloped up, rallied thousands of the fugi
tives, and adding them to the Sixth Corps and his
heavy force of cavalry, attacked and routed us in
turn.
There were those who said that Early, if he did not
choose to continue the attack (the most brilliant move
ment of the war, I think), should have withdrawn his
troops, and not held them there, in an open plain, with
greatly superior forces in his immediate front. He
himself, smarting under defeat, attributed the disaster
to the fact that his men, scattering through the cap
tured camps, were engaged in plundering instead of
being at their posts ; and his words have been quoted
by our friends the enemy. But I think that a moment's
reflection will dispel this idea. Our hungry men, pur
suing the enemy, and coming upon their sutlers' wagons,
did undoubtedly snatch up such edibles as came in their
way ; but this occurred at day-break, and we were not
attacked till four o'clock in the afternoon. I remember
that I myself, espying a fat leg of mutton (of which
some farmer had been robbed), laid hands on it with a
view to a royal supper when the battle should be over;
and, by brandishing it over my head, like a battle-axe,
caused much laughter in the ranks. What became of
it I cannot recall. I know I did not eat it ; but I know,
too, that my seizing it had no influence on the fortunes
of the day.
The truth is, our defeat requires no explanation or
apology from our brave old general. When Sheridan
attacked us, he brought against our thin, single line of
jaded men, overwhelming masses of fresh troops, as
saulting our front, and, at the same time, turning both
our flanks. I remember that Gordon's men, who held
the left of our line, did not give way till bodies of the
enemy had marched entirely around our flank, and be
gan to pour deadly and unanswered volleys into our
backs.
One more word and I am done with the battle as such.
Captain Smith, in his letter to Major Frobisher, found
it impossible to understand why our army was not
entirely destroyed at Winchester. I, on the contrary,
dd 38*
450 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
can explain how it was that we were not annihilated at
Cedar Creek.
When the enemy, in their pursuit, reached Stras-
burg, and saw, below them, slowly retreating along the
road to Fisher's Hill, a dark mass of troops, they called
a halt. That halt saved our army. I can hardly re
press a smile now, when I remember that that serried
phalanx which looked so formidable, and gave the
enemy pause, consisted of fifteen hundred Federal
prisoners, guarded by a few hundred of our men. But
the eccentric strategy of that halt, instead of being
comic, was, in truth, fearfully tragic ; for it proti'acted
the defence of Eichmond, and delayed the close of the
war till the following spring, and cost the lives of thou
sands of brave men on both sides.
So much for the battle of Cedar Creek. Such slight
sketch of it as I have given has cost me more pain than
it can give the reader pleasure. Not willingly did I
introduce it into my story.
That story grows sombre. It opened bright and joy
ous as the sunny nook of Earth in which my earlier
scenes were laid. But between my hero and the land
he helped to defend there is a parallelism of fortunes.
The shadow of the same fate hangs over both.
Adas
Flauti.
Oboi.
Clarinetti
inB.
Fagotti,
jorno I, u, II.
iiiC.
Corno III.
iu Es.
Trombe
inC.
Timpani
in C. G.
Violino I.
Violino II.
Viola.
Violoncello.
Basso,
5--EJ
Sotto i
~$1 3t ~*
SYMPHONY OF LIFE.
MOVEMENT IV.
MARCIA FUNEBRE.
CHAPTER LXXIII.
DURING the night of this 18th of October, while we
were making our toilsome advance upon the enemy, a
Virginia soldier, wounded in the battle of "Winchester,
lay in a small room of - a house in the edge of Middle-
town ; around which village the battle of Cedar Creek
was chiefly fought. Upon some bedding, spread upon
the floor, lay a young woman, his cousin ; who, having
heard that he had been hard hit, had made her way to
the enemy's pickets, and, after some parleying, gained
permission to pass within their lines and nurse her
wounded relative. This young woman had, since the
beginning of the war, passed her life, as one might say,
in our hospitals. But her present position, within the
enemy's lines, was a trying one. It so happened that
between the Federal officer who occupied a room in the
same house and herself a strong antipathy soon grew
up. The little nurse was too busy attending to the
wants of her wounded cousin to leave his side often ;
but being under the same roof with the Federal officer,
they met, in a casual manner, not infrequently. These
meetings he contrived to make very disagreeable, by
continually attempting to force political discussions
upon her. But she, on her side, managed to render
them far more exasperating to him.
He that would get the better of a woman had best
finish her with a club at once and be done with it; he
451
452 THE STORY OF DON MIF*.
is sure to get the worst of it in a tongue-battle. It
may be a washerwoman opening on you with Gatling-
gun invective, and sweeping you from the face of the
earth; or a dainty society belle, with a dropping sharp
shooter fire of soft-voiced sarcasm, in either case you
shall wish that you had held your peace.
A.nd so this big Federal colonel never had an en
counter with the little rebel nurse but he gnashed his
teeth and raged for hours afterwards. She always
contrived, in the subtlest way, and without saying so,
to make him feel that she did not look upon him as a
gentleman. One day, for exaihple, he had been care
fully explaining to her in how many ways the Northern
people were superior to the Southern.
" But I don't believe," added he, with evident acri
mony, " that you F. F. V.'s think there is one gentle
man in the whole North. This arrogance on your part
is really one main cause of the war."
" I can readily believe you, for I understand the
feeling. But really you do us an injustice. I know,
personally, a number of Northern gentlemen. In New
York, for instance" (the colonel was from that city),
" I am acquainted with the family and the s
and the s, do you know them ?"
The colonel hesitated.
"No?" said she, in soft surprise. "Ah, you should
lose no time in making their acquaintance on your
return to the city. They are very nice. But I hear
my patient calling. Good-day!"
The colonel knew, and he saw plainly that she knew,
that he could no more enter one of those houses than
he could fly. Ho could not answer her. All that was
left him was to hate her, and this he did with his whole
heart ; and all aristocrats, living and dead.
When the crash of battle burst forth, on the morning
of the nineteenth, the colonel hurried forth to form his
regiment. He met his men rushing pell-mell to the
rear, and he ran back to his headquarters to gather a
few things that lay scattered about his room. Although
the bullets were flying thick, frequently striking the
house itself, he found the little nurse standing on tho
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 453
porch, exultation in every feature. The whizzing of
the rifle-balls seemed sweet to her ears. Confederate
bullets would not hurt her.
" Get out of my way," said he, in a gruff voice. " This
is no place for women"
" IN or for men, either, you seem to think !"
He gave her a black look.
. " Why this unseemly haste, colonel ?" said she, follow
ing him into the hall. " What ! through the back door ?
The Confederates are there!" And she stabbed the air
in the direction of the coming bullets with a gesture
that would have made the fortune of a tragedy queen.
" Take that, d n you !" And he brought his open
hand down upon her cheek with such force that, reeling
through the open door of her room, she fell headlong
upon the floor.
" Coward I" roared a voice from the threshold of the
hall.
Rising to her knees and turning, she saw the colonel
spring forwai'd with a fierce glare in his eyes and a
cocked pistol in his extended hand. She shut her eyes
and stopped her ears.
Had he killed the Confederate ? No, for she heard
no fall ; but the clear ring, instead, of a sabre drawn
quickly from its scabbard. The colonel stepped across
the threshold of the room in which she was, cocking
his pistol for another shot. He raised the weapon, but
she heard a spring in the hall, and saw a flash of steel;
and the colonel fell at full length upon the floor, with a
sword-blade buried up to the hilt in his breast. W ith such
terrific force had the thrust been delivered that he was
knocked entirely off his feet, and the whole house shook.
"dounyffsv ds xeffwv, apdftyjas 8k TSO^S' in 'GOTO}," * mut-
tered the victor, as the young woman, springing to her
feet, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"My brave defender!" cried she, in a fervor of
patriotic exaltation, lifting her eyes to his ; and then
she sprang back with a shiver, and stood breathless
* He fell with a crash, and his arms rattled upon him. (The Homeric
formula when a warrior falls.)
454 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
before him, her head bowed upon her breast, her face
ashy pale.
A scene within a scene.
Without, the roar of cannon, the incessant rattle of
musketry, the bursting of shells, the panic-stricken
rush of riderless horses, the tramp of hurrying men,
the Eebel Yell sweeping by like a tornado, shouts of
victory, moans of the dying.
Within, four people for a moment oblivious of all this
mad hurly-burly that billowed around them.
The convalescent soldier, rising upon his elbow,
looked with silent amazement upon the crouching
figure of his fair cousin ; while the dying Union sol
dier forgot, for a moment, his gaping wound as he
gazed upon the man who had inflicted it. Tall, broad-
shouldered, gaunt of flank, supple, straight as an In-
dian, he held in his right hand the gory sword, from
which the prostrate officer saw his own life-blood trick
ling, drop by drop, upon the floor. In his left he held
his cap uplifted.
Attila and Monsieur Deux-pas in one!
With cap uplifted; but head thrown back and eyes
averted. His right shoulder and breast were soaked
with blood, which was streaming down his brown
beard upon his coat, from a bullet-hole in his bronzed
cheek. But it was his eyes which riveted the attention
of his fallen enemy. He had been appalled by their
fierce glare, when, angered by the pistol-shot, he had
sprung upon him in the hall. But that look had been
soft compared with the cold, steady, pitiless gleam
they poured forth now. That man, thought he, would
not give a cup of water to a dying enemy.
Captain Smith made two steps towards the door, and
turning, bowed.
Feeling that he was going (for she had not dared to
raise her eyes), Mary Eolfe quivered for a moment
from head to foot ; then springing forward, with pas
sionate entreaty in every gesture and a cry of anguish
upon her lips :
" And you will leave me without a word ? Listen 1
How frightfully the battle is raging 1 And you are so
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 455
cruel, cruel, as to go forth, and die, perhaps, without
ever I know you will be killed, I know it, I know it !
And you won't say you forgive me! Won't you say
just that one little word ? You loved me once, and
dearly, for you pressed me against your heart and told
me so ; and can that heart, once BO tender, bo so hard
now ? Oh, say you forgive me ; for the sake of that
dear, dead love, say you forgive your little Mary !"
And round about them the battle roared and surged
and thundered.
Her cousin has told me that such was the pathos and
passion of her tones,- her looks, her gestures, as she
uttered these words (which hardly seemed unconven
tional in their fearful setting), that the eyes of the
dying soldier grew moist. But Captain Smith, stand
ing like a granite cliff:
" There is nothing to forgive. You did your duty
as you saw it. So did I when I ran that officer through.
Ah, pardon me : I had forgotten you. Can I do any
thing for you ?" added he in a tender voice, as he
kneeled beside him.
" Unbutton my coat, please ; I am choking."
The captain shuddered as he saw the broad gash in
the breast of his enemy. " I am sorry I hit you so
hard."
"It is all right," replied he, wearily. "I tried to
kill you, and you killed me, that's all. But thank you
for your kind words."
The captain's eyes filled with tears. " I hope it is
not as bad as you think. I'll send you a surgeon im
mediately. Meanwhile, keep up your spirits." And
taking the wounded man's hand in his, he pressed it
softly. Then, rising, " Good-by," said he, with a cheer
ing smile, and moved towards the door.
It was then that Mary, catching, for the first time, a
view of the right side of his face, saw the blood trick
ling down his cheek.
" You are wounded already," she cried in terror.
" Yes ; wounded beyond healing," said the captain
of the Myrmidons ; and with a cold bow, he passed out
of the door and into the tempest of the battle.
456 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" Oh oh oh !" gasped Mary, wringing her inter
locked hands high above her head ; and she sank slowly
down upon the floor.
The measures fashioned by the hands of men can
hold but so much ; but anguish without limit may be
pent up within a human heart that is bursting, yet
will not burst.
The officer turned his eyes, and, even in his own great
extremity, pitied her.
And, after all, which of the two was most to be pitied?
He was about to speak a few kind words, when ho
saw upon her pallid cheek the dark bruises made by his
own heavy hand ; and he held his peace. His lips were
parched, his throat tortured with that cruel thirst that
loss of blood entails. His wounded neighbor could not,
she would not hand him a cup of water. At any rate,
it were worthier to die there, where he lay, rather than
ask a favor of the woman he had so insulted. Three
times he tried to rise, and as often fell heavily back.
She raised her head and saw the longing, wistful look
in his eyes, fixed upon a bucket which stood in a corner
of the room.
It is wonderful how sorrow softens the heart !
She rose in an instant and brought him the cup.
He could not lift his head. Bending over him, she
placed her arm beneath his neck and raised him. As
he drank, the tears poured down his cheeks. Gently
withdrawing her arm, she tripped softly across the
room and brought her own pillow and placed it beneath
his head ; and sitting down upon the floor, by his side,
stroked his brown forehead with her soft white hand.
He raised his streaming eyes to hers, and again and
again essayed to speak ; but his quivering lips refused
to obey.
." I know what you would say ; so never mind. Don't
worry now. You may beg my pardon when you get
well."
He shook his head sadly. " I am dying now, I feel
it."
His voice sank into a whisper. She bent over him
to catch his words.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 457
" Promise me to write to my mother and tell her how
I died, and that you sat beside me. Leave out one
thing. It would break her heart to hear that of me.
You will? God bless you. Her address is in my
pocket. Write to her. You promise ? Oh, how good
of you to hold the very hand that "
" Hush ! Don't talk of that now."
" You won't have to hold it long. I feel it coming,
coming. Press my hand hard, harder ! You have for
given me I Tell her, that as I lay dying far away
from home an angel of light "
CHAPTEK LXXIY.
IF only night would come !
They were pouring down upon us and around us in
overwhelming masses. They had turned our left, and
were raking Gordon's flank and rear. It was a ques
tion of a few minutes only.
In our front was a narrow field. Beyond that, a wood.
Through this the enemy were driving our skirmishers
back upon the main line. One by one these brave men
emerged from the wood and trotted briskly across the
field, targets, every one of them, for a dozen rifles v
There come two more ! They are the last. But they
do not trot, as the rest did and as skirmishers should.
Upon those two, convergent rifles from all along the
line of the wood poured a rain of lead. Still they re
fused to hurry. And one was tall and bearded, and
the other slender, and with a face as smooth as a girl's.
The boy, as fast as he loaded his rifle, wheeled and fired;
the man carried a pistol in bis hand. Weeds fell about
them, mowed down by the bullets; spurts of dust
leaped from under their very feet.
The few men left in our line stood, under cover of a
thin curtain of trees, fascinated by the sight of these
u 39
458 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
two, leisurely stalking along, under that murderous
fire.*
" Kun, run I" we shouted.
" Kun 1" cried Captain Smith, giving the shoulder of
his companion a push.
" And leave my commander !" replied Edmund.
Stoop, then !"
" Show me how, captain !"
" Obey me !" thundered he.
The boy lowered his head, as he rammed a bullet
home ; then turned, and, cocking his rifle, scanned the
opposite wood narrowly. Presently he raised his rifle;
but before he could fire we heard that terrible sound
which old soldiers know so well.
" Oh !" cried the boy, falling upon his face.
"My God! my God!" ejaculated the captain of the
Myrmidons, with a woman's tenderness in his voice
and the despair of Laocoon in his corrugated brow.
Hearing that cry, the boy turned quickly and smiled
in his captain's face. " It is only a flesh-wound, through
the thigh," said he ; "I can walk, I think."
He was attempting to rise, when his captain, placing
his strong arms beneath him, lifted him high in the air.
He ran, then ; and his face was full of terror, as the
thick -flying bullets whistled past him and his burden.
The two were within a few paces of where I stood,
when again that terrific sound was heard; and they
both fell heavily at my veiy feet.
A bullet, coming from our flank and rear, had struck
Captain Smith in the right breast.
It was a wound in front, at any rate.
There was but one ambulance-wagon in sight, and
that was retreating. A skirmisher ran to overtake it.
Others placed the captain and Edmund on stretchers
and hurried after it.
"Jack, old boy, good-by. I am done for; but I
particularly desire to get within our lines; so hold
them in check as long as you can. Say farewell to
Charley."
* Meis ipsius vidi oculis.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 459
A few of his own men held their ground till they
saw their captain and Edmund disappear, in the "wagon,"
over the hill, when they fell back, loading and firing as
they went. When the wagon reached the bridge be
yond Strasburg, it was found broken down; but the
men with the stretchers managed to get our two
wounded friends across the stream, and to find another
wagon ; so, the pursuit slackening at this juncture,
they were not captured.
Late in the night, I found them by the road-side.
Edmund was asleep. The captain lay awake, watched
by one of his brave skirmishers. He gave messages
to my grandfather, to Charley and Alice, to the Poy-
thresses. "And now, good-night," said he. "You need
rest. Throw yourself down by that fire and go to
sleep. Don't bother about me. I shall set out for
Harrisonburg at daybreak."
" The ride will kill you."
He smiled faintly. " I must get well within our
lines. Remember Harrisonburg good-night !" And
he closed his eyes and wearily turned his face away.
"Shelton!"
The skirmisher bent tenderly over his captain.
" Lie down by the fire and sleep. You cannot help
me. God alone can do that, and he will release me
from my sufferings before many days. Shelton, give
me your hand. Tell your little boy, when he grows up,
that I said you were as brave as a lion in battle; and
tell your wife that you could be as gentle as a woman
to a suffering comrade. And now lie down and rest.
Good-night !"
" Presently, captain."
"What are you crying about, man? Such things
will happen. Good-night!"
460 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER LXXV.
LET us return to that little parlor on Leigh Street,
from the windows of which, four years ago, we caught
our first glimpse of the man who has played so large a
part in our story. It is full of people, now, half a
dozen elderly men, all the rest women. Of the men,
one is a minister, with a face so singularly gentle that
his smile is a sort of subdued sunbeam.
The countenances of the women all wear looks of
happy expectancy. Mr. and Mrs. Poythress are there,
and Lucy. Mr. and Mrs. Rolfe, but not Mary. And
others whom the reader, to her cost, does not know.
Our plump friend, Mrs. Carter, is bustling about, who
but she, her jolly face wreathed in smiles.
At every sound in the hall, every female neck is
craned towards the door. Somebody or something is
expected.
" Mrs. Carter," said Mrs. Poythress, " what name
has Alice selected for the little man ?"
" Oh, yes ! what is to be his name ?" echoed every
lady in the room.
Thereupon, Mrs. Carter, being constitutionally inca
pable of laughing, began to shake.
At this eccentric behavior on the part of the young
grandmother, curiosity rose to fever heat; but the
more they plied her with questions, the more she could
not answer. Seeing her incapable of speech, her grave
and silent husband came to the rescue, and explained
that what amused Mrs. Carter was that she did not
know what their grandchild was to be called. It ap
peared that Alice, as a reward for his getting well of his
wound, had allowed Charley the privilege of naming
their son. He had accepted the responsibility, but no
mortal, not even his wife, had been able to make him
say what the name was to be.
This statement sent the curiosity of the audience up
to the boiling point. Did you ever!
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 4G1
Mrs. Rolfe interrogated Mr. Eolfe with her impressive
eyes.
" Such a fancy would never have occurred to me, I'm
sure," said that man of peace.
" Al-i-ce !" called Mrs. Carter, from the foot of the
stairs.
" We are coming, mother," answered a cheery voice
from the hall above ; and Alice, giving two or three
final little jerks at the ends of certain ribbons and bits
of lace that adorned her boy (he was asleep on his
nurse's shoulder), stood aside to let that dignitary pass
down-stairs, at the head of the procession.
"And now," said Alice, going up to her husband,
" what is his name to be?"
" One that he will never have cause to be ashamed
of," replied Charley.
Alice drew back in surprise. Up to this point she
had looked upon the thing as a joke, and enjoyed it,
too, as so characteristic of her husband. This time,
however, he had not smiled, as usual. On the contrary,
he betrayed, both in voice and look, a certain suppressed
excitement. She imagined, even, that he was a trifle
pale; and her heart began to flutter a little, she knew
not why.
The column halted when it reached the closed par
lor door. Here Charley took the sleeping boy in hia
arms.
When the audience within heard the knob rattle, the
excitement was intense. It was dissipated, in an in
stant, by the sight of Charley bearing the child.
In this wide world there lives not a woman who can
look upon a bearded man, with his first infant in his
arms, without smiling.
The admiring ohs and ahs made the young mother's
heart beat high with joy. And who shall call her
weak, because she forgot that they are. to be heard at
every christening? In the name of pity, let us sip
whatever illusive nectar chance flowers along our stony
path may afford !
Every one noticed how awkward Charley was in
handing the baby to the minister while the good man,
39*
462 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
on the contrary, received an ovation of approving
smiles for his skill in holding him.
The little fellow, himself, appeared to feel the differ
ence. He nestled, at any rate, against the comfortable
shoulder, and threw his head back; and his little twink
ling nose, pointing heavenward, seemed to say that he
knew what it all meant.
"Name this child!"
" Ah-ah-ah-ah 1"
Every neck was craned, every ear eager to catch the
first mysterious syllable !
Alice glanced anxiously at her husband.
Why that determined look? What was he going to
do?
A lightning-flash darted through her brain ! Char
ley's mother's father was named Peter ! He had been
a man of mark in his day ; and, besides, Charley wor
shipped his mother's memory. Peter! Horrors! And
then he stammers so over his P's ! That half-defiant
look, too !
Charley leaned forward.
She could not hear what he said ; but she saw, from
the obstinate recusancy of his lips, that there was a P
in the name. She felt a choking in her throat.
'Twas her first, and Peter! And he knew how
painfully absurd she thought the name! Poor little
innocent babe ! Peter! Her eyes filled with tears.
No one had heard the name ; not even the minister.
He bent an inquiring look upon Charley.
Charley repeated the words.
This time the good man heard, though no one else
did. Bringing his left arm around in front of his
breast, he dipped his right hand into the water, and
raised it above the head of the sleeping boy.
Alice's heart stood still !
" Theodoric Poythress, I baptize thee "
A gasp of surprise, followed by a stifled moan,
startled minister and people ; and all eyes were turned
towards the Poythress group.
Mrs. Poythress lay with her head upon her husband's
breast, silent tears streaming from her closed eyes.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 463
Lucy, half-risen from her seat, leaned over her mother,
holding her hand, deep compassion in her gentle eyes.
Her father sat bolt upright, looking stern, in his effort
to appear calm. Her mother pressed Lucy gently back
into her chair, and the minister went on.
Hurried leave-takings followed the ceremony. The
baby was awake and gurgling, but nobody noticed him ;
not even his mother. Mrs. Poythress did not stir.
The front door was heard to close.
"Lucy, are they all gone?"
" Yes, mother."
She opened her eyes, and seeing Charley standing,
silent, by the side of his wife, rose and staggered to
wards him, with oustretched arms. He ran to meet
her ; and she folded him to her breast with a long, con
vulsive embrace ; then dropped into a chair, without a
word, and covered her face with one hand, while she
held one of bis with the other.
First, Lucy thanked Charley, and then Mr. Poythress,
coming up, and taking Charley's hand in both his : " My
boy, you are as true as steel, I thank you." And he
strode stiffly out into the hall.
And instantly, as Alice's quick eye noticed, the cloud
which had lingered on her husband's brow vanished.
He drew a long, deep breath, and turning with a bright
smile, chucked young Theodoric under the chin. " How
do you like your name, young fellow?"
The corners of the young fellow's mouth made for
his ears, then snapped together beneath his nose.
" Your views vary with kaleidoscopic rap-p-p-pidity,"
remarked the philosopher.
The son of the philosopher crowed.
"He says he rather likes his name," said Charley;
" but," added he, drawing his handkerchief from his
pocket, " those drops of water, at the corners of his
eyes, look too much like "
" Hush !" cried Alice, quickly ; and she laid her hand
on her husband's mouth.
" Absit omen I" said he.
464 THE STORY OF DON MIFF
CHAPTEK LXXYI.
ON the morn ing folio wing this christening, the papers
contained a telegraphic account of our defeat at Cedai
Creek. And, late in the afternoon of the same day,
Lucy Poythress walked into the Carters' back parlor.
Her eyes were red and swollen.
" Have you any news ?" asked Alice, anxiously.
" Here is a letter from Edmund."
" Then he is safe, thank God !"
" Not exactly. The poor child was shot through the
thigh. Mr. Whacker is unhurt."
" And Captain Smith ?"
Lucy's lips quivered.
"Not killed?" cried Alice, clasping her hands.
" No, but dangerously wounded, very. Here is Ed
mund's letter to mother."
Alice read it aloud. He gave an account of the bat
tle, making light of his own wound (" The rascals
popped me in the second joint"), but represented his
captain's as very serious. The captain had advised him
to remain in Harrisonburg, but had himself gone to
Taylor's Springs, four miles distant. As for himself,
he was in luck
" Who do you think is my nurse ? Why, Miss Mary
Eolfe! The battle caught her in Middletown, nursing
a Confederate soldier; and when, in the afternoon, the
enemy showed signs of an intention to attack, the cap
tain sent me, with an ambulance-wagon, to Miss Mary.
I was to tell her that in my opinion (that is what he
told me to say) it would be safest for her to move her
patient to the rear. And here she is now ; and a gen
tler nurse no one ever had. He never mentioned her
name to me; but she tells me that she knew him
slightly, once. It is a pity he went off to Taylor's,
for she would have nursed him, too, I am sure.
" He told me a lot of things to tell you about my
self, but I shan't repeat them, as I don't think I be-
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 465
Laved any better than hundreds of others that I saw
around me. I could not help crying when they took
him from his cot by my side ; for from the way he
told me good-by, I saw that he did not expect ever to
see me again. No brother was ever kinder than he
has been to me. The last thing he said to me was to
give his dear, dear love to you, (those were his words),
and to say that he relied on you to keep your promise.
I asked him what promise, but he said never mind, she
will remember."
In conclusion, Edmund besought his mother to come
on to see him. Miss Mary was as good as could be,
but, after all, one's mother was different, etc., etc., etc.
"What promise could he have alluded to?" asked
A.lice.
" That is just what I asked mother," said Lucy. " Do
you believe in presentiments, Alice ? I do ; and when
mother told me what her promise to the Don was"
(here Charley, who had not spoken a word, rose and
left the room), " I was filled with dreadful forebodings.
You know that during the latter part of his stay down
in the country, before joining the army, the Don spent
a great deal of his time with us. One afternoon we
were taking a little stroll, before tea, Mr. Frobisher
walking with me, and, some distance behind us, the Don,
with mother. She stopped at our family cemetery to
set out some plants ; and she tells me that it was on
this occasion that she made him the promise in ques
tion.
" She says that when she pointed out to him the
spot that she had selected for her own resting-place, he
looked down for some time, and then said that he had
a favor to ask her.
" ' I am to join the army, next week,' said he.
" ' Well ?' said she.
" ' There is no fighting without danger/ said he.
' Suppose I should fall ?'
" 'Oh, I hope not!' said mother.
" ' Yes ; but in case I do ? This, you say, is the spot
you have chosen for yourself. If I fall would you
give me two yards of earth just here, at your feet ? I
466 THE STORF OF DON MIFF.
would not be in the way there, would I?' Mother
makes a longer story of it, and an affecting one. When
she gave him her word (mother took the greatest fancy
to the Don from the first day she saw him) she says
he was more deeply moved than she should have
thought it possible for a big, strong man to be by
such a thing. This is th.e promise he alludes to ; and
I have a painful presentiment that "
" Mr. Frobisher recovered from an equally severe
wound."
" Yes, I know ; but"
"Miss Alice," said a servant, entering the parlor,
" there is a soldier at the door, who wants to speak to
Marse Charley."
Alice, going into the hall, found a man standing
there. He was in his shirt-sleeves as to his right
arm, which was bound in splints.
" Do you wish to see Major Frobishor ?"
" Yes, ma'am ; I have a letter for him."
" You may give it to me ; I am his wife."
" Beggin' your pai'don, ma'am, my orders was to give
it to him, and nobody else."
"Very well. Won't you come in and have some
thing to eat?"
"Thank you, ma'am; I shouldn't mind a bite, if it
wasn't too much trouble."
" Walk in and sit down while the servant is getting
something for you. You look tired. I hope your arm
is not much hurt."
" Well, sort o'. They broke it for me at Cedar Creek ;
but I got a furlough by it, and can see my wife and
children ; so tain't worth mentionin'."
" Cedar Creek I Do you know Captain Smith ? How
is he ?"
" He is my captain, ma'am, and he was the one what
writ the letter. He is pretty bad, I am afeard."
" This is Major Frobisher," said Alice, as Charley en
tered the room. Charley read the note and put it hur
riedly into his pocket. After asking the man a few
questions, he was about to leave the room :
" Won't you let me see it ?" asked Alice.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 467
"Not yet," said Charley; and thanking the soldier,
he went up-stairs to his room.
Alice heard the key turn in the lock ; and when she
went up-stairs, later, to beg him to come down to tea,
she did not find him in the room. An hour afterwards
he came in, saying that he had been to see Mrs. Poy-
thress, that she was to set out for Harrisonburg in
the morning, and that he was going with her.
It was in vain that Alice urged his weak condition.
"A friend is a friend," he kept repeating. And so
Alice set about packing his valise. Just as she had
finished this little task the baby stirred ; Alice went up
to his crib and patted him till he thought better of it,
and nestled down into his pillow again.
"Theodoric! I think it such a pretty name! The-
idea of my thinking you were going to call him Peter!
Won't you tell me something of his namesake, Lucy's
brother ? Mother tells me that she vaguely remembers
that there was some dreadful mystery about his loss,
which occurred when I was about four years old ; but
she did not know the Poythresses at that time, and
does not remember any of the details, if she ever knew
them, in fact. Lucy, in explaining the scene at the
christening yesterday, told me it was a long story,
and a sad one, so I did not press her. But won't
you tell me? You never tell me anything. Now be
good, for once !"
Alice was bringing to bear upon her obdurate hus
band the battery of all her cajoleries, when, to her
surprise, he surrendered at once.
"Yes," said he, "since our child is named in his
honor, I will tell you the story of Theodoric Poy-
thress."
In the next chapter that story will be found ; though
not in as colloquial a form as that in which Charley
actually told it, and with most of Alice's interruptions
omitted.
468 THE STORV OF DON MIFF.
CHAPTER LXXVII.
" THEODORIO was the eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Poy
thress. He was born on the 15th day of April, 1832, I
on the 2d of the preceding March ; so that I was his
senior by six weeks. Our intimacy began when we
were not more than six years old. Mr. Poythress had
a tutor for Theodoric at that period, by whom half a
dozen of the neighbors' sons were taught, myself
among the number. I was put across the River every
morning ; but there was an understanding between my
mother and Mrs. Poythress that whenever the weather
grew threatening, I was to be allowed to spend the
night with Theodoric. During the winter and early
spring there was hardly a week that I did not pass at
least one night with him ; he, in turn, spending Friday
night and Saturday with me. Ah, how happy we
were ! When two congenial boys are thrown together
in that way, they get about as much out of life as is to
be gotten at any other age. I can recall but one
quarrel that we ever had ; and that was when I said,
one day, that my mother was, beyond doubt, the best
woman in the world. We compromised the matter, in
the end, by reciprocal admissions that the mother of
each was best to him.
" I think few boys were ever better friends than we ;
and for the reason, no doubt, that we differed so. Even
as a boy I had an indolent, easy-going way of taking
things as they came. My anger, too, was hard to
arouse, and as easy to appease ; while his was sudden
and fierce, and, I am sorry to add, implacable. And
this is true generally, notwithstanding the proverb. It
may be that people who give waj 7 to little gusts of
temper soon forget their wrath; but my observation
has taught me that unappeasable, undying resentment
is always found associated with readiness to take
offence. This, at any rate, was Theodoric's disposition."
" I trust," said Alice, " that our boy will not re-
semble him in that respect."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 469
" I hope not. But that was the only serious defect
in his character ; in my partial eyes, at least. He was
generous, chivalrous, truth itself, absolutely unselfish,
and, withal, paradoxical as it may appear, as tender
hearted as a girl. I remember a little incident which
shows this. One day, as we school-boys were racing
about the lawn during recess, a wretched-looking man
walked up to us and asked for food. He was the first
beggar we had ever seen, and two or three of us ran
into the kitchen and returned with enough for five
men. While he ate, the drunken old humbug, for
such he proved to be, taking advantage of our sim
plicity, wrought powerfully on our sympathies by
recounting the tale of his woes. He had not tasted
food for two days.
" ' Why did you not buy something to eat ?' asked
Theodoric, with quivering lip.
" ' I hadn't any money.'
" ' Then why didn't you go home to your friends?'
" ' I ain't got no home and no friends.'
"Whereupon Theodoric burst into a loud boohoo.
Some of the boys began to titter; and I think I was
just beginning to despise him, a little, as a cry-baby,
when his mother, who stood near, threw her arms
around him, and said, with brimming eyes and choking
voice, ' God will remember these tears one day, my
precious boy !' "
Alice rose, and, stealing softly to her baby, bent
over and kissed him.
" You said, just now, that you hoped our boy would
not resemble his namesake."
" I take that back."
" You will say so all the more when I have shown
you what kind of a son he was to that mother.
" I believe that the English race surpasses all others in
respect for woman ; and I think that, of the English
race, the Americans are superior to their brethren
across the water in this regard. And I believe, too, that
it will hardly be denied that, among Americans, South
erners are conspicuous for this virtue. Arid it seems
to me that of respect for woman, the love for one's
40
470 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
mother is the very crown, and blossom, and glory. It
means manliness, it means soul, it means a gratefuj
heart. It is unwritten poetry; and if that be so, then
the life of the boy after whom we have named our boy
was one beautiful lyric.
" His mother had a great fund of fairy-tales and other
stories, which she used to tell us after supper. I can
see him now, sitting on a low stool at her feet, he
would never sit anywhere else, with hands clasped
over her knees, drinking in the story, while his eyes
clung to the gentle face of the story-teller with a kind
of rapt adoration. And such eyes ! now flashing with
fierce indignation at one turn of the story, now melting
with tenderness at another !
" And she could never pass him without his throwing
his arms around her and tip-toeing for a kiss. 'Another !
another! another!' he kept pleading. 'Go away, you
silly boy!' she would say; but more than once I
caught her, behind the door, after one of these little
scenes, wiping her eyes with her apron. And once, when
Theodoric had left the room, and I, in my simplicit}'',
asked her what was the matter, she burst into a sob.
'Nothing, my child,' she said; 'only, I am too happy.'
" It was hard"
Charley rose and walked up and down the room
three or four times.
" It was hard to lose such a boy as that !"
Alice was silent.
" His love for his mother was his religion. And this
brings me to the sad part of my story.
"We Virginians are in the habit of denouncing New
England puritanism ; unaware, seemingly, that Yir-
ginia numbers among her people thousands of puri
tans."
Alice looked up, but said nothing.
"And how could it have been otherwise? Are not
we, equally with the New Englandere, English ? But,
as the people who came over in the 'Mayflower'
belonged to a different class of English society from
those who sailed with Captain John Smith" (Charley
stopped speaking for a moment, then went on), "our
THE STORF OF DON MIFF. 471
puritanism has assumed a shape so different from that
of Massachusetts, that we have failed to recognize it.
The aristocratic element of our colonists was so strong
and numerous, that it gave a tone to our society which
it has never lost. And it is because the maxim that
an Englishman's house is his castle has, among people
of a certain social standing, a meaning far wider than
its merely legal one, that puritanism never became
blatant with us. Hence, though it exists among us,
often in the most intense form, we have ignored it."
Alice shook her head, slowly : " I can't make out
what you mean."
" Well, then, to come to concrete examples, Mr.
Poythress."
" Mr. Poythress !"
" There lives not a more intense puritan. You have
failed to remark it, because he is a gentleman. That
forbids his ramming his personal convictions down other
people's throats. He is a puritan for himself and his
family only. Nothing could induce him to harbor a
bottle of wine under his roof; but believing that every
Virginian's house is his castle, he is equally incapable
of resenting its presence on the Elmington table. I
have a story about him that you have never heard.
" Years ago, he gave up the use of liquors of all kinds.
For some time, however, his guests were as liberally
supplied as ever. But at last he gave a dinner at
which only his rarest and most costly wines were
brought on the table ; so that some of the gentlemen
even remonstrated at his pouring out, like water,
Madeira that his father had imported. What was the
gastronomic horror of these gentlemen to learn, a few
days afterwards, that he had caused every barrel in his
cellar to be rolled out on his lawn, where, with an axe
in his own hands, he staved in the head of every one.
From that day to this there has not been a gill of wine
or brandy in his house. Yet, to mention the ' Maine
liquor law' to him is to shake a red flag in the face of
a bull. His aversion to drinking is great; but his love
of personal liberty is greater.
" Again, would it surprise you to learn that not so
472 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
very many years ago, Mr. Poythress favored freeing
our slaves ?"
" Mr. Poythress an abolitionist 1" cried Alice, in
horrified amazement.
" No," replied Charley, smiling, " he was nothing of
the kind. He was an emancipationist."
" I fail to see the difference."
" They are about as much alike as chalk and cheese.
The Virginia emancipationists, of whom a considerable
and growing party existed at the time of which I speak,
favored the gradual manumission of their own slaves.
An abolitionist is for freeing some one else's. Mr
Poythress quietly spilt his own valuable wine on his
lawn. Had he been an abolitionist, he would have
headed a mob to burst the barrels of his neighbors."
" Mr. Poythress an emancipationist, well !"
" I don't wonder at your surprise ; for he is now the
most ardent advocate of slavery that I know. He
positively pities all those benighted countries where it
does not exist. The abolitionists have converted an
enthusiastic apostle of emancipation into an ardent
pro-slavery champion ; so infuriated is ho that the
Northern people are unwilling for us to get rid of
slavery as they did, and as the nations of Europe have
done, gradually, and without foreign interference;
and a man who once looked upon the institution as a
blot upon our civilization, now regards it as its crown
of glory.
" I have given you these details that you may
thoroughly understand what kind of a man Theodoric's
father was. He was, in fact, a puritan in every fibre
of his soul. He looked upon the world as a dark valley,
through which we had to pass on our way to a better ;
and it seemed to him that any hilarity on the part of
us poor wayfarers smacked of frivolity, to use the
mildest term. Dancing he never allowed under his
roof, and secular music he rated as a snare for the feet
of the unwary. Therefore he shook his head with un
affected uneasiness when he discovered in Theodoric,
at a very early age, a passionate love for this half-
wicked form of noise. And so, when, year after year,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 473
as Theodoric's birthday came round, and the hoy,
when asked what he wanted, always answered, a fiddle,
his father put his foot down. At last, on his thirteenth
birthday, a compromise was effected. Theodoric got
a flute ; an instrument which Mr. Poythress allowed to
be as nearly harmless as any could be ; at least to the
performer. I had been piping away on one for a year,
but he soon surpassed me. His progress pleased his
mother, from whom, in fact, he had inherited his love
for music ; but his father looked upon the time spent
practising as wasted. Conscious, therefore, that his
flute annoyed his father, he hit upon a plan to give him
as little of it as possible.
" In a little clump of trees, about a quarter of a mile
from the house, he constructed a music-desk against
an old tree ; and thither he repaired, on all fair after
noons, and played to his heart's content, surrounded by
an admiring audience of a dozen or so dusky adherents.
" It was this harmless flute that brought on the catas
trophe that I shall presently relate.
" Mr. Poythress's religion, I need hardly tell you,
was of the most sombre character. (I say was ; for ho
is much changed since those days.) It is singular how
extremes meet in everything. Puritanism among the
Protestants, and asceticism in the Catholic Church,
each seek, by making a hell of this world, to win
heaven in the next. I have said that Theodoric fre
quently spent Saturday with me. He was never allowed
to be absent from home on Sunday; and month by
month, and year by year, as he grew older, those Sun
days grew more and more intolerable to him. It was
a firm hand that crammed religion down his throat,
and, as a child, he was, if wretched, unresisting. But
Theodoric w r as his father's own son. He too loved
personal liberty. To be brief, the time came when he
hated the very name of religion ; and, when we were
about thirteen years old, he often shocked me by his
fierce irreverence. And, unfortunately, his parents had
no suspicion of what was going on in his mind. His
love for his mother, equally with his awe of his father,
sealed his lips.
40*
474 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" There are those whose discontent is like damp pow
der burning. It sputters, flashes, smokes, but does not
explode. But with Theodoric, everything was sudden,
unexpected, violent. He had immense self-control;
but it was that of a boiler, that at one moment is pro
pelling a steamer, an instant later has shattered it.
There was an element of the irrevocable and the irrep
arable in all that he did.
" It was, as I have said, the hard, relentless Sabbata
rianism of Mr. Poythress that bore hardest upon hia
son. And, when you think of it, what a curse Sabba
tarianism has been to the world ! How the Protestants
of England and America ever managed to ingraft it
upon Christianity I could never understand ; for not
only is it without trace of authority in the New Testa
ment, but the very founder of our religion never lost
an opportunity of striking it a blow. And I can't help
thinking, sometimes, that when he said, Suffer little
children to come unto me, he said it in pity of their
tortures on this one long, dreary day in every week.
But I am getting away from my story.
" One Sunday it was the first after Theodoric's four
teenth birthday he complained of headache. He did
not ask to be excused from going to church ; but the
day was warm, and the road long and dusty, and his
mother begged him off; and the family coach went off
without him. The party had gone but a few miles,
when they learned that owing to the illness of the pas
tor there would be no service that day. So they turned
about.
"At last, hoofs and wheels ploughing noiselessly
through the heavy sand, they approached the little
clump of trees which we have mentioned. Suddenly
an anxious, pained look came into Mrs. Poythress'a
face. Mr. Poythress put his hand to his ear and listened.
An angry flush overspread his countenance.
" ' Stop !' cried he to the coachman.
" There could be no doubt about it : it was Theodoric'8
flute, and shades of John Knox! playing a jig.
" Mr. Poythress opened the door with a quick push and
stepped out. ' Go on to the house,' said he to the driver,
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 475
" A moment later, the carriage turned a corner of the
little wood, and Mrs. Poythress saw her boy, seated
upon a log, playing away, while in front of him a
negro lad, of about his age, was dancing for dear life.
A gang of happy urchins stood around them with open
mouths. Mr. Poythress was sti'iding down upon the
party unperceived.
" The off horse, annoyed by the dust, gave a snort.
" One glance was enough for the audience ; and panic-
stricken, they were off in an instant, like a covey of
partridges.
" The musician and the dancer had not heard the
horse, and followed, for an instant, with puzzled looks,
the backs of the fugitive sinners.
"When Theodoric saw his father bearing rapidly
down upon him, he rose from his rustic seat and stood,
with downcast look and pale face, awaiting his ap
proach. The dancer turned to run.
'"Stop, sir!"
" The father stood towering above the son, shaking
from head to foot.
" ' Give me that flute, sir !' And seizing it, he broke it
into a dozen pieces against the log.
"The boy stood perfectly still, with his arms hanging
by his side and his head bowed.
"'You are silent! I am glad that you have some
sense of shame, at any rate ! To think that a son of
mine should do such a thing! When I am done with
you, you will know better for the future, I promise
you.' And cutting a branch from a neighboring tree,
he began to trim it. 'And not content with desecrat
ing the day yourself, you must needs teach my servants
to do so. How often have I not told you that we
were responsible for their souls ?'
" ' Lor', mahrster,' chattered the terrified dancer,
' Marse The., he didn't ax me to dance, 'fo' Gaud he
didn't. I was jess a-passin' by, an' I hear de music,
and somehownuther de debbil he jump into my heel.
'Twan't Marse The., 'twas me; leastwise de old debbil
he wouldn't lemme hold my foot on de groun', and &o I
jess sort o' give one or two backsteps, an' cut two or
476 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
three little pigeon-wings, jess as I was a-passin' by
like. 1
" ' Yery well, I shan't pass you by.'
" ' Yes, mahrster, but I didn't fling down de steps
keen, like 'twas Sad'day night, 'deed I didn't, mahrster;
and I was jess a-sayin' as how Marse The. didn't ax
me ; de ole debbil, he '
"'Shut up, sir!'
"' Yes, mahrster!'
"Theodoric gave a quick, grateful glance at his
brother sinner.
" Although he was without coat or vest, for the day
was warm, he did not wince when the blows fell
heavy and fast upon his shoulders. At last his father
desisted, and turned to the negro lad.
" Mr. Poythress had never, in the memory of this
boy, punished one of his servants ; but seeing that this
precedent was in a fair way of being reversed in his
case, he began to plead for mercy with all the volubility
of untutored eloquence. Meantime, he found extreme
difficulty in removing his coat ; for his heart was not
in the work ; and before he got off the second sleeve
he had pledged himself nebber to do so no mo' in a
dozen keys.
" Theodoric stepped between his father and the culprit.
" ' I take all the blame on myself. If there is to be
any more flogging, give it to me.'
" His father pushed him violently aside, and aimed a
stroke at the young negro ; but Theodoric sprang in
front of him and received the descending rod upon his
shoulders.
"Was this magnanimity? or was it not rebellion,
rather ?
" ' Do you presume to dictate to me ?'
" ' I do not. I simply protest against an injustice.'
" These were not the words of a boy, nor was the
look a boy's look ; but his father, blinded by the odium
theologicum, could not see that a man's spirit shone in
those dark, kindling eyes.
"'How dare you!' said the father, seizing him by
the arm.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 477
"The boy held his ground.
" This resistance maddened Mr. Poythress, and tfre
rod came down with a sounding whack. It was one
blow too many !
" Instantly the boy tossed back his head, and folding
his arms, met his father's angry look with one of calm
ferocity.
" The look of an Indian at the stake, defying his
enemies !
" The blows came thick and heavy. Not a muscle
moved ; while the lad who stood behind him writhed
with an agony that was half fear, half sympathy. At
last he could endure it no longer. Coming forward,
he laid his hand, timidly, on his master's arm.
" ' He nuvver ax me to dance, mahrster, 'deed he
nuvver! For de love o' Gaud let Marse The. 'lone,
an' gimme my shear ! My back tougher'n his'n, heap
tougher !'
" His master pushed him aside, but the lad came for
ward again, this time grasping the terrible right arm.
" ' Have mussy, mahrster, have mussy ! Stop jess one
minute and look at Marse The. back, he shirt soakin'
wid blood !'
"At these words Mr. Poythress came to himself.
' Take your coat and vest and follow me to the house,
sir,' said he.
" They found Mrs. Poythress pacing nervously up
and down the front porch.
" ' He will not play any more jigs on Sunday, that I
promise you. Go to your room, sir, and do nOt leave
it again to-day.'
" The mother, divining what had happened, said
nothing; but her eyes filled with tears. The boy
turned his face aside, and his lips twitched as he passed
her, on his way into the house. Just as he entered the
door, she gave a cry of horror and sprang forward ;
and though the boy struggled hard to free himself, she
dragged him back upon the porch.
" ' What is this, Mr. Poythress? What do you mean,
sir?' she almost shrieked.
"Every family must have a head; and Mr. Poy-
478 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
threes was the head of his. Few women could have
stood up long against his firm will and his clear-cut,
vigorous convictions. At any rate, acquiescence in
whatever he thought and did had become a second
nature with his gentle wife ; who had come to look
upon him as a model of wisdom, virtue, and piety.
She had even reached the point, by degrees, of heartily
accepting his various isms ; and though she sometimes
winced under the austere puritanism that marked the
restrictions he imposed upon their boy, she never
doubted that it was all for the best. Yery well, she
would end by saying, I suppose you are right. There
were no disputes, hardly any discussions under the
Oak hurst roof.
" Imagine, therefore, the scene, when this soft-eyed
woman, dragging her son up to his father, pointed to
his bloody back with quivering finger and a face on
fire with eloquent indignation 1
" ' Were you mad ? What fiend possessed you ? And
such a son ! Merciful Father,' she cried, with clasped
hands, ' what have I done, that I should see such a
eight as this ! Come,' said she ; and taking her son's
arm, she hurried him to his room, leaving Mr. Poy-
thress speechless and stunned ; as well by shame as by
the suddenness of her passionate invective.
" There she cut the shirt from his back, and after
washing away the blood, helped him to dress. ' Now
lie down,' said she.
"He did as he was bidden; obeying her, mechanic
ally, in all things. But he spoke not a single word.
"She left the room and came back, an hour after
wards. His position was not changed in the least.
Even his eyes were still staring straight in front of
him, just as when she left the room. She said, after
wards, that there was no anger in his look, but dead
despair only. When she asked if he would come down
to dinner, there was a change. He gave her one
searching glance of amazement, then fixed his eyes on
the wall again. At supper-time he came down-stairs,
but passed by the dining-room door without stopping.
His mot her called to him, but he did not seem to hear.
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 479
He returned in half an hour, and went to his room.
He had gone, as she afterwards learned, to the cabin
of the negro lad, and called him out. ' You stood by
me to-day,' said he. ' I have come to thank you. I
shan't forget it, that's all.' And he wrung his hand and
returned to the house.
" At eleven his mother found him lying on his bed,
dressed. ' Get up, my darling, and undress yourself
and go to bed.'
" He rose, and she threw her arms around him.
"Presently, releasing himself, gently, from her em
brace, he placed his hands upon her shoulders, and hold
ing her at arm's length, gave her one long look of un
approachable tenderness; then suddenly clasping her
in his arms, and covering her face with devouring
kisses, he released her.
" ' Good-night, my precious boy !'
"He made no reply; and she had hardly begun to
descend the stairs before she heard the key turn in the
lock.
" The poor mother could not sleep. At three o'clock
she had not closed her eyes. She rose and stole up
stairs. His door stood open. She ran, breathless, into
the room.
" A flood of moonlight lay upon his bed. The bed
was empty. Her boy was gone !
"To this day she has never been able to learn his
fate."
" How terrible !"
" And now you see why I was so agitated at the
christening of our boy, and why I looked so grim, as
you said. I was determined, at all hazards, to name
him Theodoric. But I did not know how Mr. Poy-
thress would take it. I was delighted when I saw that
his heart was touched by my tribute to his son."
" Yesterday and to-day you have been tried severely.
Go to bed and get some sleep."
"I will."
" Would you mind letting me read, now, the Don's
letter?"
Charley bent his head in thought for a while. " Yes,"
480 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
said he, drawing the letter from his pocket, " you may
read it," And handing it to her, ho left the room.
With trembling fingers she opened it, and read ae
follows :
" TAYLOR'S SPRINGS, Tuesday.
"MY BELOVED CHARLEY:
" It wrings my heart to have to tell you, but I fear
it is all over with me. For several days I have been
growing consciously weaker, and just now I overheard
the surgeon say to my nurse that I could not live a
week. Come to me, if you can with prudence. It
would not be so lonely, dying, with my hand clasped
in yours. And oh ! if she could come too ; but with
out knowing to whom ; I insist on that. Tell her (I
leave the time to you) tell her, that when she follows
after, she will find me sitting without the Golden Grate,
waiting waiting to ask forgiveness, and bid her fare
well, there or it may be to enter therein, hand in
hand with her perhaps for I have loved much.
" Come to me, friend of friends if you can but if
jiot farewell, farewell and may God bless you and
your Alice I
" DORY."
When Charley returned, his wife sprang to meet
him.
"And 'Dory' means ?"
" Yes," said Charley.
CHAPTEE LXXVIIL
THEY talked far into the night. What he told her
of scenes already described in this book it is needless
to repeat. But he gave her some other details which
may interest the reader.
" I felt strongly drawn toward him while I nursed
him in this very house, four years ago. There was
nothing supernatural about that. I suppose I liked him
because I liked him, just as I had done as a boy. No,
THE STORF OF DON MIFF. 481
I had not the least suspicion who he was at first; and
when, finally, I had read his secret, I had no intention
of letting him know that he was discovered ; but I was
betrayed into doing so on the occasion of the death of
old Ponto. We talked all that night, and he gave me
a sketch of his history."
That sketch, supplemented by additional details that
he had afterwards, from time to time, given Charley,
would fill a volume. For our purposes, it is only
necessary to say that his life, for some time after he
left his home, was one of many hardships and vicis
situdes. These came to a sudden end.
He had found his way to New York, and was pick
ing up precarious pennies by playing the flute in beer-
saloons, when he had the good fortune to touch the
heart of an old man by the pathos of his " Home,
Sweet Home." This old man was, as it turned out, of
humble birth, and had amassed and retired on a snug
little fortune. He was a Bostonian, yet deficient in
culture, as was clear ; for, though abundantly able to
pay for champagne, he was drinking beer. He had lost
an only son years before, who, had he lived, would
have been of about Theodoric's age; and when he saw
a tear glisten in the boy's eye as he played (it was his
own kind, sympathetic look that had evoked it. be
sides, the boy had not tasted food that day), he stealthily
slipped two half-dollars into his hand. The boy looked
at the money, looked at the man ; then plunged through
the door of the saloon into the street. The look was
the only thanks the old man got, but he felt that that
was enough. He followed him and found him standing
in the shadow of a booth ; and when he laid his hand
upon his shoulder, the boy began to sob.
Hunger is king. The pampered pug sniffs, without
emotion, boned turkey on a silver dish ; a gaunt street-
cur whines over a proffered crust.
That very night his new friend rigged him out in a
new suit, and telegraphed his wife that he had found
a boy for her. They reached Boston next day. That
night a family consultation was held between the old
couple; and next morning, after breakfast, they an-
v ff 41
482 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
nounced to-Theodoric that they were to set out, in two
days, for Europe, where they expected to travel for
several yeai-s. They were in comfortable circumstances,
they told him, but very lonely since the loss of their
son. Would he go with them ? If he did not like them,
they would send him back to America ; if he did, they
would adopt him as their son. Theodoric, though his
pride revolted, was so eager to put the ocean between
himself and his former home, that he accepted their
offer.
Gratitude being a strong trait in his character, he
soon grew deeply attached to his benefactors, notwith
standing their lack of exterior polish. They idolized
him. They were both, especially his adopted mother,
particularly proud of his strikingly aristocratic air.
Accordingly, they lavished money upon him, and con
stantly scolded him because he could not be induced to
spend it. They were made happy, one day, by his re
questing permission to employ a violin master. It was
the first favor, involving money, that he had ever asked.
He had declined, from the first, to reveal his name.
Nor did they press him, feeling that if that were known,
it might lead to their losing him. So he took theirs,
a name with which all English-speaking people are
familiar; christening himself John, to the deep chagrin
of Mrs. S., who had set her heart on Reginald de
Courcy.
And philosophers, who saw the trio, explained that
it no longer, in these days of steam and telegraphs
and wide travel, took three generations to make a
gentleman.
The tour in Europe resulted in permanent residence
across the water. At the end of three years, the party
had returned to Boston, but the old people found that
such acquaintances as they had there were no longer
to their taste. At any rate, their society was not good
enough, to their thinking, for John, who, they were glad
to believe, was sprung from Virginia's bluest blood. So
they shook the dust of America from their feet.
In 1858 his kind adopted mother died in Paris, his
father a year later, in London ; and Theodoric found
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 483
himself residuary legatee in the sum of nearly one
hundred and fifty thousand dollars (twenty-seven
thousand pounds).
In the midst of all this prosperity, Theodoric had
not been happy. At times the thought of his own sor
rowing mother greatly troubled him. And when he
found himself again alone in the world, this feeling
came over him with redoubled force. Eemorse, at last,
growing stronger and stronger, gave him no rest ;
travel brought him no alleviation ; and finally, his
longing for home becoming irresistible, he took passage
for America, and found himself, two weeks later, stroll
ing through the streets of Richmond, with no very
definite plans as to how he should make himself known
to his family. It was on the very day of his arrival
that he encountered little Laura, and discovered that
she was his sister.
" What prevented him from revealing himself while
he was in Leicester," said Charley, " was the approach
of the war. He would wait till peace came. His
mother had already lost him once, he said. Once he
was on the very verge of betraying himself. It was
when you so deeply agitated him by unconsciously
opening his eyes to the fact that, though he knew that
Lucy was his sister, she did not. Don't you remem
ber?"
"Kemember!"
" And so you are going to escort Mrs. Poythress to
Harrisonburg and Taylor's Springs to-morrow morn
ing ? You are not strong enough for such a journey ;
but now that I know all, I too, say go. Are you going
to tell his mother who he is?"
" No ; he has expressly forbidden that. I am to
choose my time, hereafter."
" I think it would be cruel ever to tell her. To lose
Buch a son twice ! No, let the secret remain with you
and me forever."
" It will be unavoidable."
Alice looked up.
484 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"You see, he has made a will, of which I havo
possession ; and as, after certain legacies are deducted.
the residue of his estate goes to his father and his
mother, in equal shares "
"His father?"
"Yes. I found no difficulty in convincing him that
his resentment against his father was unjust, seeing
that he had punished him from a sense of duty. The
influence that I have over him has always surprised
me."
" Why could you not make him forgive Mary ?"
" I didn't try. A man has but one father ; but as for
sweethearts, there are as good fish in the sea as "
"What!"
" Well, except one" .
"Ah!"
"Besides, Mary opened an old wound. Bigotry, as
he deemed it, had wrecked his life once, already. I
suspect that he is very bitter against her."
"How sad that he should be so implacable in his
wrath !"
"He is equally as 'implacable' in his gratitude.
Would you believe it ? He directs that the freedom
of the lad who ' stood by him' be bought, and a hun
dred dollars counted into his hand besides. By the
way, I forgot to mention that this lad is none other
than my man Sam, who passed into the possession of
our family, by exchange, years ago. He, you remem
ber, when you and I were sitting in the Argo a-May-
ing "
CHAPTEE LXXIX.
ON the piazza of a house in Harrisonburg sat two
young surgeons. One of them was on duty there;
the other had driven in from Taylor's Springs to pro
cure supplies, and his ambulance-wagon stood in front
of the door.
"Well," said the visitor, rising, "I must hurry back."
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 485
" Any serious cases ?"
" Yes ; one more than serious. Captain Smith gal
lant fellow pity I"
" Ah, indeed. Poor fellow, I feared so. He stopped
here for an hour or so, then persisted, against my re
monstrances, in going out to Taylor's. Well, good-by.
Drop in whenever you are in town."
" Thank you, I will. Good-day."
"Doctor! doctor!"
The voice was quick and nervous, and the young
surgeon hurried to the open window. "What can I
do for you, Miss Rolfe ?"
" Ask your friend to wait one moment," said she, as
she hastily tied her bonnet-strings ; " I want to go to
Taylor's." .And running to a little closet, she drew forth
a shawl.
The doctor had hardly had time to deliver the mes
sage before Mary was on the piazza. " Can you give
me a seat in your wagon ?"
" Certainly," said the surgeon, lifting his cap.
He was proud to have so pretty a woman grace his
equipage, and he looked forward to a pleasant chat
along the road ; but he soon discovered that, though
she made an effort to appear interested, she did not
hear what he said. And so he gave over his effort to
entertain her, and they drove forward in a silence that
was hardly broken till the driver turned out of the
Port Republic Road.
"Are we almost there?"
" It is less than a mile from here. We shall be there
in a few minutes."
She gave a slight shiver.
" Have you any friends there, among the wounded?"
" Yes no that is, he is not exactly a friend of mine.
He is a friend of some very dear friends of mine, who
would like to know how he is."
" Oh, I see. I am surgeon in charge; may I ask the
name ?"
" Captain Smith."
" Captain Smith ?"
"Yes, of the Stonewall skirmishers."
41*
486 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
"Oh, yes. I was speaking of him, to-day, in Har-
risonburg."
" Is his wound dangerous ?"
" He was shot through the right lung."
"Are such wounds very dangerous? I mean, are
they necessarily fatal ?"
" No, not always."
Then there was silence for a hundred yards. Sud
denly she asked, in a low voice, " Do you think there
is any hope ?"
The surgeon was silent for a little while. " I cannot
give you much encouragement," he said, at last.
She did not speak again till the wagon stopped in
front of the farm-house, which at that time constituted,
with the usual out-buildings, Taylor's Springs. It has
since been added to, and the name changed to Massa-
netta. Then, as now, the waters of the beautiful, bub
bling spring below the house, at the foot of the hill,
enjoyed a high repute as a potent specific in cases of
malarial trouble ; and a military sanitarium had been
established there, the tents of which dotted the little
valley.
" The house, as you see," said the surgeon, as they
descended the slope from the road to the front door,
"is too small for a hospital; so the men are under
canvas. Your friend, however, I mean your friends'
friend, is in the house. It is right to warn you that
you will find him much changed. Or did I understand
you to say that you had never met him ?"
" I knew him once, years ago."
" Walk in," said he, opening the door ; but she had
already dropped into a chair that stood upon the
porch. " Ah, you are tired," said he. " Let me bring
you a glass of water. No? Is there anything that I
can do for you ?"
She shook her head, lifting her eyes, for a moment,
to his. That moment was enough, he read them ; " I
will leave you here for a little while, till you got
rested."
She bowed her head in silent acquiescence.
Three or four convalescent soldiers who sat on the
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 487
porch looked at her pale face, and then at each other ;
and they stole away, one by one, making as little noise
as they could with their heavy brogans.
If a man be a man, he is not far from being a gentle
man.
And Mary was alone with her anguish.
Two or three times the surgeon stole to the door,
glanced at the bowed, motionless figure, and as often
retired within the house. At last she beckoned him
to her side.
" I am rested now," she said. " How is he ?"
" About the same."
" Can I see him ?"
" Yes ; walk in. One moment." And stepping to
the second door on the right-hand side of the hall, he
opened it and beckoned. A soldier came out into the
hall.
"Shelton," said he, "you can stroll around for a
while ; when I want you I will call you. This way."
And he bowed Mary into the room and closed the door
softly behind her.
" Poor girl I poor girl !" said he, shaking his head ;
and he left the hall.
CHAPTER LXXX.
FOR a moment Mary stood with downcast eyes ; then,
looking up, gave a start.
" Oh I beg your pardon ! I was told I should fhd
Captain Smith in this room," said she, making for the
door.
Just then the evening sun, which was slowly sink
ing in the west, burst from behind a cloud, and poured
a stream of light in the room. She looked agaiu- A
clean-shaven face of chiselled marble, as clear-cut a>-J as
pale. Could it be he ?
" I am Captain Smith or was "
" I did not know you without your beard."
488 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
" The doctor had it taken off to get at the wound in
ray cheek."
" I can hardly believe you are the same person. But
for your eyes, I They tell me you are the same. I had
hoped"
Mary sank into a chair.
" I beg your pardon. In my surprise, I forgot the
courtesy due a lady."
" I am not come as a lady, but as a woman. Turn
away your eyes if you will ; but hear me. Why do
you hate me so? What have I d.one? You loved me
once. At least you told me so ; and as for myself
but I shall not trouble you with that. We plighted
our faith. I broke my word, I acknowledge that. But
do you deny the claims of conscience ? Not if you are
the man you have always seemed. Did it cost me
nothing? It broke my heart, and you-ou know-ow
ow it. You need not sneer! Alice knows it, and my
mother, too, if you do not know or care. Look at
me, and remember the fresh-hearted young girl you
knew four years ago and told her you would love
her al-al-al-always !"
Mary covered her face with her hands, and the tears
streamed down her cheeks, but with a supreme effort
she suppressed her sobs.
The captain of the Myrmidons was silent.
At last, Mary, drying her eyes, arose, tottering, from
her seat.
" And so I have come in vain ! Once before I hum
bled myself in the dust before you and you spurned
me" '
The captain shook his head wearily.
"Yes, spurned me, and in the presence of others; so
that even that poor dying man found it in his heart to
pity me. And you, too, are dying, yet have not the
mercy of a stranger and an enemy. You bade me read
Homer, and taught me to admire Achilles, yet even
his flinty heart was melted by the tears of Priam."
The adamantine lips trembled.
"I have read the passage again and again, and won
dered how you, as brave in battle, could be so much
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 489
more pitiless than he. And Priam was a man, I a
woman ; Priam was his enemy, while I "
A slight tremor shook his frame.
" At least, I am not that 1"
She bowed her head for a moment ; then, lifting her
clasped hands and impassioned and despairing eyes to
heaven :
" Merciful Father, have I not suffered enough 1 Must
it be that from this time forth I shall know no peace,
haunted forever by the cold glitter of those implacable
eyes, that were once "
" Mary !"
She started. Had she heard aright ?
" Mary, my beloved 1"
She gave two cries; for she had heard and she
saw one of exultant joy, the other of frenzied de
spair.
Found and lost !
Falling upon her knees by the bedside, she buried
her face in her hands.
He laid his hand upon her head.
Then the great sobs, long pent up, burst forth,
" Mary 1"
His words were too precious to be lost, and she mas
tered herself to listen.
" Mary, I have been a monster I"
She seized his hand.
" Can you ever forgive me ?"
She covered it with tearful kisses.
" I don't deserve this ; but oh, how I have loved you
all these years 1"
" Oh, don't tell me that, don't tell me that 1" And a
moan. burst forth from her very heart.
" I am too weak to talk. Charley will tell you why
I was so bitter. He knows all. Ask him."
She drew up a chair, and, sitting beside him, tried to
smile, as she stroked back the chestnut hair from his
forehead.
" Wonderful !" said she.
He looked up.
" I wish Lucy could see you without your beard, you
490 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
are so much like her. And Edmund, too. Wonder
ful !" repeated she, drawing back for a better look.
"And Mr. Poythress, too! Father and son were never
more alike. Look !" And she handed him a littlo
broken mirror that hung upon the wall.
She looked at him to see what he thought. And a
thrill of terror shot through her heart. She had nursed
men before who had been shot through the lungs. She
pressed her handkerchief to his lips.
It was soaked with blood.
The door opened softly. " A lady and a gentleman
from Eichmond," said the surgeon. "Will you see
them now ? Yes ?"
Charley entered first. As soon as she saw him Mary
threw herself upon his breast, and hung upon his neck
with convulsive, half-suppressed sobs, then greeted
Mrs. Poythress in the same way. Then she ran back
to Charley. "He has forgiven me!"
"No, Charley; she has forgiven me. And you camel
I knew you would. And she, too !"
Mrs. Poythress, sitting on the edge of the bed, held
one of his hands, Charley the other. Mary sat stroking
back the chestnut hair. The room was dark; for a
little cloud floated across the face of the sun, whoso
lower edge was just kissing the rim of the hill that
rises between Massanetta and the west.
" How is the baby ?" asked he, with a faint smile,
and gently pressing Charley's hand. " What did
Alice name him?"
" Alice left that to me. He was christened Theo-
doric."
" True as steel ! I die happy ! Charley my Mary
has forgiven me my selfish anger. If there is any
other person that I have wronged tell her my last
breath "
The cloud passed on, and the last soft rays of that
setting October sun flashed upon his pallid face.
Mrs. Poythress sprang to her feet. Bending over
him with clasped hands, she poured upon him one long
look of passionate interrogation.
He tried to speak. His eyes glanced from face to
THE STORY OF DON MIFF. 491
face, as though beseeching help. Mrs. Poythress turned
to Charley. He stood with his eyes fixed upon the
floor. She sprang in front of him, and placing a hand
upon either shoulder, and drawing him close to her,
with wide-staring, eager eyes, that would wring an
answer from him, looked into his :
" Charley ?"
" Yes," said he.
She turned to the bed.
He had heard; and an ineffable tenderness had como
into his face, softening, sweeping away, with the rush
of unspeakable love, the hard lines that years of suf
fering had wrought. 'Twas a boy's face once more
'twas Edmund's 'twas ?
She stood before him with outstretched arms, eager
with certainty, held motionless by a slender thread
of doubt.
He tried to speak. And again
At last, with one supreme effort, and borne upon hia
last breath, a murmured word broke the stillness of the
room. One little word, but that the sweetest, tender-
est, that tongue of man can utter,
"Mother!"
" My Dory 1" and she fell upon his neck. And the
snowy hair and the chestnut, intermingled, lay, motion
less, on one pillow!
And which of the two shall we piiy?
He seemed to hear that name. At any rate, a beam
ing look a serenely exultant smile
I remember hurrying, once, to the roar of a battle
which was over before our command reached the field.
The combatants were gone. The wounded, even, had
been removed. Only the Silent lay there, upon their
gory bed. Wandering a little way from the road,
while our troops halted, I saw a fair young boy (he was
not over sixteen years of age) seated upon the ground,
and leaning back against a young white oak, with his
rifle across his lap. Struck with his rare beauty, I
drew nearer.
The boy sat still.
I spoke to him.
492 THE STORY OF DON MIFF.
He did not move.
I stooped and touched his damask cheek.
Twas cold !
Kneeling in front of him, I saw a bullet-hole in his
coat, just over his heart I
But, even then I could hardly believe. His head,
thrown back, rested naturally against the tree. His
parted lips showed two rows of pearly teeth. His up
lifted eyes, which seemed to have drawn their azure
from that sky upon which they were so intently fixed,
wide open, were lit with a seraphic smile
As though, peering, with his last look, into that blue
ab3 T ss, he saw beckoning angels there !
Such a smile illumined poor Dory's face. The heroic
spirit had. fled. The tumultuous, high-beating heart
was still 1
And who among us all who, at least, from whom
the sweet bloom the rosy hopes of youth are gone
who among us, knowing what life really is, would dare
awaken its fierce throbbings again ?
And the seraphic smile lingered, lit up by the fare
well rays of that October sun.
And the sun went down behind Massanetta's hill I
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