"I have no trap-door in my garret, no dungeon in my cellar," said Nepenthe, "nor have I frescoed on the walls within any faithful copies or skilful reproductions of the great masters of fiction-but I have led my readers along the winding river of mortal life, and I hope they may find some little thought flower growing on its banks to lay away and keep in their hearts forever. "I finished Hannah Thurston when you was out to-day, Frank. The book so bewitched me I couldn't leave it off until I had finished it. I don't believe one man in ten thousand could have so put off the shoes of conventionality and stolen so noiselessly into the inmost holy of a woman's heart, and given us those inimitable stereoscoptic views as Bayard Taylor has done. For a new traveller in the realm of fiction, he has made marvellous progress. You'd think he had lived and breathed there always. "The hero Woodbury is just such an ideal real man as lives in many a woman's soul, but which few authors ever sketch. I almost wonder a man could so faithfully, gracefully and symmetrically portray such a real live hero. I wouldn't blame all the girls for falling in love and marrying such a man as Woodbury, if they could find him. Then the book is so fragrant all through with a woody perfume, you feel as if you were walking the 666 Secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove.' "The author has the good sense to find his heroine in the country, and keep her there. You almost breathe the odor of the new mown hay as you read, and you can see the wild flowers on Hannah's table. The author has studied nature reverently and honestly, and she has given him her most illustrious diploma in the university of fame." CHAPTER XLIV. COMPATIBILITY. "So 'tis with us when fond hopes cherished long, And gates of Paradise are open thrown."-GOETHE. "ONE thing is certain," said Kate Howard; "Frank Carleyn and his wife will never separate for want of compatibility. Miss Prudence says the first question a girl should ask now-a-days of the man who makes her an offer is, 'Have you got compatibility?' A great many matches are not made in Heaven. Mr. Vole says many of them are lucifer matches, made by the prince of the fallen angels." 66 'As Miss Potter says, we do hear a great deal about this compatibility. It really seems to be an acknowledged ground for separation. If our grandmothers who had unreasonable husbands, and our grandfathers who had vixenish wives, had only thought of this before, how much trouble they would have saved themselves. I don't believe I shall ever marry-so few of the gentlemen I know have this precious compatibility, and I would as soon try to domesticate myself in a snow-bank for life as with a man without it." Kate has been reading "Prue and I" over again.She's so delighted with it; she says it is full of compatibility. She says she has a husband in Spain, and so long as he and she live so happily together, she is most afraid to think of any other husband. Her husband in Spain has such kind, urbane manners. He likes everything she likes, and he has none of those queer little fidgetty ways they say husbands do have-yet if she could find such a man as Prue's husband was, she'd marry him to-morrow, even if he were an old book-keeper in a white cravat, and she'd be willing to have him for the autocrat of her breakfast-table as long as she lived. Did you see the bride in church on Sunday?" asked Miss Charity Gouge, coming in suddenly and interrupting Kate's solitary soliloquy, as she seated herself by the regis ter to warm her feet. Charity is always warming her feet. If she can get into a kitchen, she will open the oven door of the cooking stove, and taking off both shoes, put her feet in the oven and toast them, as she says. She is warming her feet the year round, except in the middle of August, and I sometimes think they are a little chilly then. All winter she wears two pair of stockings, and in very severe weather, two pair of shoes. She says half the diseases are caused by too thinly covering the feet. Wherever she goes, visits, or calls, her first object seems to be to warm her feet. "I saw the bride," said Kate, "but I was so taken up with watching Dr. Wendon, I forgot to see what she had on. I never saw such a look on a man's face before. "Rev. Henry Selwyn Stuart, the bride's father, preached a beautiful and impressive sermon from the text, All things work together for good.' "You know it was Easter Sunday, and the day of the Hebrew Passover. It was just one year ago on Easter Sunday morning that Dr. Wendon thought he saw the dawn once more so it was truly his Passover, for blindness passed away from the door of his spirit; it was his Easter morning too, for his long-entombed soul had its resurrection to light. "As he looked over the hymn book with Mrs. Carleyn, I never heard a sweeter voice as he sung this verse of that beautiful hymn. I could see tears in his eyes—I am sure there were tears in mine. 66 Walk in the light, and thou shalt own Because that light hath on thee shone "At the close of the services they sang again, and as Dr. Wendon stood up the cloud suddenly broke away, the sunlight streamed in through the window, and shone on his ra diant face. I could hear his rich manly voice in tremulous tones "Now that the sun is gleaming bright, Implore we, bending low, That He, the uncreated light, May guide us as we go." "What will he do now ?" asked Charity, in her practical way. "Will he make his home with his former protege, Mrs. Carleyn ?" "He is going next week on a mission to India," said Kate." He heard a sermon a year ago from the text'Come over and help us,' and he says that like a succession of alarum bells, breaking ever and anon on his ears, have sounded these words, Behold, I come quickly,' he goes to wait with the weary night-watch for the breaking of the eastern sky." Reader! you and I have some dear little hungry hope climbing the toilsome hills of our longing life; may it find at last some bright Easter morning its radiant dawn. If you have patiently followed my story to its end, how I would like to look into your face as you lay the book away up in your soul's attic, where you lay away all stories read long ago. Yet much as I peer out into life's darkness to get a glimpse of you, I see you not, only in that weird dreamland where unseen friends nightly gather, and I fancy sing me to sleep. Take this my prayer, that if soul-thirsty and weary, you may quaff life's purest Nepenthe, sweet with blessing and fragrant with balm. If we ever meet in the palace called Beautiful, above, I may look over your shoulder, and read your name among the names of earth's tired wayfarers. THE ENS |