Chapter VIII

Society.

"Our Daisy is a singular girl," said Mrs. Bell to her husband the evening after Mrs. Lane's party, as they sat alone over the library fire, after all the young people had retired, and fell to talking about their children, as parents will.

"Is she? I think most parents would be glad to have a daughter as 'singular.'"

"Yes, I knew you would say that; and I appreciate her as highly as you do; but nevertheless, sometimes I am puzzled to know what to do with her. If she gets an idea into that quiet little head of hers, it is hard to modify it."

"Well, what is it now?"

"It's just this. I don't believe she will ever be willing to go out anywhere, or even have company at home. I proposed to her to-day that we should have a little company next week, and she looked absolutely pained, and said, 'O, mamma, if we could get along without it, I should be so glad—unless you wish it very much. Or, perhaps, I could stay up stairs.' I was quite provoked for the moment, and said, 'No, indeed, you couldn't. I should insist on your entertaining our friends.' And then she was so sorry she had offended me. She is so good and conscientious, that I can't bear to thwart her; and yet I am sure it will not be good for her to shut herself up entirely."

"Oh, well dear," said Mr. Bell, who had the most utter confidence in his wife's ability to train her children, as he might well have, "she will get over it in time. Let her go out a little and she will soon learn to like it."

"No, I am afraid not. Everything she does is done on principle, and unless I can make society a matter of principle, I am afraid she will never enter into it at all, her diffidence makes it a positive pain to her to meet strangers."

"Well, get a principle into it, then, somehow," said Mr. Bell. "You can manage it; you understand all these matters. I am sure Daisy is just like you in requiring a principle for everything."

"She is not a bit like me," said Mrs. Bell; but she could not help smiling nevertheless, and the conversation turned to something else. But the mother, who was in real difficulty about this matter, carried her perplexities where she always did, to the throne of grace, and there obtained light to show her how to act. She knew that nothing in her children's lives was unimportant in the eyes of the Heavenly Father, and prayed for wisdom to guide her young daughter aright at this important time of her life.

The next time that Daisy brought her work basket to her mother's room, for a "good quiet sit-down," as she expressed it, Mrs. Bell resolved to open the subject that was on her mind; but the young girl anticipated her design by saying, "Now, mamma, before we begin the second volume of our Macauley (how tempting it looks and what lovely readings we will have!) I want to ask you something."

"Well, dear?"

"I know I troubled you yesterday when you spoke about having company, dear mamma. I was so sorry afterwards; but if you knew how I dread it, I don't think you would blame me. I have been thinking about it a great deal since, and now I want to ask you a question and get one of your real good answers—a settling answer, mamma. Do you think it is my duty to go into company? Now begin, please, and tell me all about it;" and Daisy took up her work and assumed the attitude of a listener, as though she had referred her question to an oracle, and was waiting for a response.

The mother smiled a happy and gratified smile before she answered. It was very pleasant to her to see how her sweet daughter deferred to her opinion; and kissing the fair cheek she said: "I can't answer you in one word, darling. What do you mean by 'going into company?' Of course you know that I have no desire to see you absorbed in a round of parties, or even going often to companies."

"Oh, I know that, mamma; I mean quiet parties, such as you and papa go to; reading and talking parties, and big sewing societies and musicals."

"You mean going anywhere out of your own family?"

"Yes'm, that is just it. I am so happy at home. I have plenty to do, and all I want to enjoy. With you and papa and Nelly and our pet Lucy, and the boys coming home Sundays, what could one wish for more? I am perfectly happy, mamma."

"And would you never care to make acquaintances, then—to make and receive calls?"

"Oh, no'm. I dislike calls of all things, except, of course, to go and see Mrs. Lane, for she asked me to come and see her, mamma, and to go over to Fanny's to play duets, and to a few other places."

"You are a singular girl, Daisy."

"I know I am," said Daisy, earnestly, dropping her work, "and that's the very reason why I think it's just as well for me to stay at home. Now, last night, I'm sure there wasn't a girl there thought of such a thing as being frightened; except me; but I didn't really enjoy the last part very much; it was so disagreeable being among so many strangers; and even during the reading, I wished myself back in our old composition room, where I could hear Mrs. Lane without being dressed up, and being surrounded by girls dressed even more than I was."

"And would you like, then, always to live retired at home?"

"Indeed I should, mamma! and I can't see why I may not. We are told not to love the world," said Daisy in a lower tone. "Why is it not better to keep out of it entirely?"

"I will tell you, darling, why it is not," said Mrs. Bell, seriously. "Because our Master did not do so, and we cannot follow His example perfectly, if we do."

"Was it not the poor and sick that He visited, mamma, chiefly?"

"Yes, dear, and so it should be with us; but He visited, too, the rich and the high. He seems to have gone wherever His presence was desired, to make that presence felt by all classes of people, and we ought to imitate Him in this as in all other things."

"Do you think we can do that?"

"Yes, I think we can in some measure. At any rate, I am sure we ought to try. Suppose, Daisy, that every one adopted your rule—that every house was a castle, and no one in it cared for anybody outside. What a selfish world this would be! Our Christian love would be limited to our own family."

"But I would visit the poor, mamma."

"Yes, and that is by far the most important. But, dear, you have gifts of mind and heart and education that enable you to do good in other ways than in ministering to the poor and the ignorant. There are other hearts to reach, over whom you can have even greater influence, because they sympathize more entirely with you. You can show forth the love of Christ, and set a Christian example in your own sphere, darling, where you were born and brought up, and it would be wrong for my daughter to hide the talents God has given her under a bushel, and not to care for anyone or anything outside of these four walls."

Daisy had left her seat and taken her favorite place at her mother's feet, and now looking up into her face, she said, earnestly, "You are right, mamma, as you always are. But poor me! I would rather face an army, it seems to me, than a roomful of people. I know what you are going to say—all the more my duty—and I shall try with all my might."

"My darling, in every roomful of people there are some whom you can cheer and please; and even Christ pleased not Himself. Think of that, and it will give you strength to overcome your timidity. You can serve your Master in some way, be sure of it. And you can learn much from others. You would not develop all round, but would be a one-sided character, if you had only books and your own family for companions."

"Mamma, let us have the company. I am ashamed that I have been so cowardly. You shall see how hard I will try."

Hon. John Whitehead.

Our grave and reverend scholar and historian, taking his place later among Historians, has surprised and delighted us all by appearing suddenly in a new character, writing a very lively, graphic, and, of course, instructive story for boys; "A Fishing Trip to Barnegat", which we find in the St. Nicholas for August, 1892. The following is an extract:

FROM "A FISHING TRIP TO BARNEGAT."

"Now this fish of yours, Jack," said the uncle, "is not only called the toad-fish and the oyster-fish, but, sometimes, the grunting toad-fish. There are species of it found all over the world, but this is the regular American toad-fish.

"This fish of mine is called the weakfish. Notice its beautiful colors, brownish blue on its back, with irregular brown spots, the sides silvery, and the belly white. It grows from one to three feet long and is a very sharp biter. When one takes the hook, there is no difficulty in knowing when to pull in. Why it is called the weakfish, I do not know, unless because when it has been out of the water its flesh softens and soon becomes unfit for food. When eaten soon after it is caught, it is very good."

Just as Uncle John finished his little lecture, an exclamation from Will, who had baited with a piece of the crab, and dropped his line into the water, attracted their attention. Not quite so impetuous as Jack, he landed his prize more carefully, and stood looking at it with wonder, hardly knowing what to say. At last he called out:

"Well, what have I caught?"

It was a beautiful fish, though entirely different from Uncle John's. It had a small head and the funniest little tail that ever was seen. Its back was of a bright, brown color, but its belly was almost pure white; it was quite round and flat, with a rough skin.

"Turn him over on his back, and rub him gently," said the captain. "Do it softly, and watch him."

Will complied and gently rubbed him. Immediately the fish began swelling and as Will continued the rubbing it grew larger and larger until Will feared that the fish would burst its little body.

"Well," he said, "I never saw anything like that, Captain! Do tell me what this is."

"This we call, here in Barnegat, the balloon-fish. It is elsewhere called the puffer, swell-fish, and globe-fish. One kind is called the sea-porcupine, because of its being covered with short, sharp spines. It is of no value for food."

Jack thought his time had come to catch another prodigy, and when his hook had been re-baited by the skipper, he dropped his line into the water, and was soon rewarded by another bite. Using more caution this time, he landed his fish securely on deck instead of over the sail, and exclaimed:

"Wonders will never cease! I don't know what I've got now, but I suppose that Captain John can tell!"

Mrs. John King Duer.

Mrs. Duer, whose family as well as herself has long been associated with Morristown, has published, in Morristown, in 1880, a short story entitled "The Robbers of the Woods, by Grandmother". It is a pretty, fascinating tale for children, in which the winsome innocence of two loving boys charm away all the cruelty of the "Robbers of the Woods". It is only thirty minutes reading and yet the story leaves after it an impression of the tender beauty of childhood.

The following extract is expressive both of the touching pathos and of a certain nicety of description which belongs pre-eminently to Mrs. Duer.

FROM "THE ROBBERS OF THE WOODS."

The sun was up and the room quite light when Carl opened his eyes at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. "It is daylight now my little man and we must be getting you on your way home ere long, but first come and get some breakfast." The boys were soon dressed, and after saying a short prayer in which they thanked God for his goodness in making the robbers so kind to them, they opened the door and found themselves again in the hall and with a substantial meal before them. Having eaten enough and all being ready, the man who found them in the woods now came near, and putting his large brown hand gently on Carl's arm, he said, "My boys, before I can open that door you must let me tie a cloth over your eyes, and consent to let it be there till we tell you to take it off. No harm shall come to you, for I myself am going to take you through the woods and not leave you till I put you on the road that leads to your mother's door." When Eddie first heard that his eyes were to be blindfolded, he began to cry and clung tightly to his brother, fearing to look about him "lest one of the robbers should be there to cut my poor little head off," as he whispered to Carl. But when Carl said, "Eddie, you must be good and believe what these men say. They are not going to harm us and we are going straight home to mother. See I will put the bandage on your eyes myself, and will sit close to you and hold your hand all the time." He then tied a clean handkerchief, which the man gave him, close over Eddie's eyes and allowed the man to do the same to him. They then were led out of the hall.

They heard the heavy door close after them, and felt the cool, morning air blow over their faces, then the boys knew they were outside the stone wall. Soon they were lifted up, and put in a wagon, and a man's voice close to them said: "Boys, I am going to put your little cart in the wagon too, so that you may get it home safely." When all was ready, the wagon began to move away, and as they drove off, they heard the voices of the robbers calling after them, "good-bye, brave boys, we wish you good luck."

Little Eddie sat quite still beside Carl; as they drove away he held tight fast to his brother, and neither of them spoke a word.

They were astonished at all they had seen and heard, while they were in the robbers' castle, and now they were once more in the free and open woods, they could not do as they pleased, but sat with their eyes bound up, not knowing where they were going. Carl did not doubt the words of the men who told him that no harm should come to him, but at times he had to comfort and assure poor little Eddie, for he sat trembling with fear. After they had driven several miles, and the man who was with them had answered their questions as to how far they were from home now, the wagon stopped and the man got out saying, "Now boys, you are on the road that leads direct to your home and I am going to leave you very soon, but before I go you must promise me not to untie the bandage from your eyes, till you hear a long whistle, which will blow from my horn, after leaving you; you will then undo the bandage, and find something beside you to take to your mother." Saying this, the man took the boys from the wagon, and setting them carefully down, he lifted their cart out also and shaking hands with the still astonished boys, and wishing them good-bye, he sprang into the wagon and they heard him drive rapidly along the road.

They sat for some time very quiet, until the loud, long whistle from a distant horn told them the time of their captivity was at an end, and hastily tearing off the bandage from their eyes they looked eagerly around on all sides. Not a vestige of the wagon could be seen. It had been turned just at the spot where they had been left, and whether it went back the same way, or took another road, they never knew. But what was their surprise, when they turned to look for their own little cart, to see beside it a pile of wood cut just so as to fit in, and on top of the pile a package containing many pieces of money in bright shining gold. This was the present they were told to "take back to their mother." Carl's heart gave a great bound of joy, for he knew how sorely his dear mother needed help, and he knew now that these men were her friends, and would never harm them.

They had scarcely recovered from their surprise, and had just begun to load the little cart with the well-cut wood, when sounds of voices were heard, and the boys could distinctly hear their own names called. They knew it was the neighbors who were out searching for them, and soon saw them coming out in the open space where they stood.

The neighbors were heartily glad to find the boys safe and well, and surprised at the wonderful things they had to tell of all that had befallen them.

Madame de Meisner.

Many Morristonians will remember well Miss Sophie Radford, first as a little girl, living in the old Doughty House on Mt. Kemble avenue, then owned and occupied by her grandfather, Mr. Joseph Lovell, who purchased it of the Doughty estate and lived in it for a long period of time. Afterwards, Miss Radford is recalled as a charming girl and a belle in Washington Society, whence her father, Rear Admiral Radford, U. S. N., went from here, and where she met and married the handsome and elegant Secretary of the Russian Legation, M. de Meisner. Their marriage was performed first in the Episcopal church and afterwards with the ceremony of the Greek church, at her father's house, it being a law of Russia, with regard to every officer of the Empire, that the marriage ceremony of the Greek church shall be always used, a law like "that of the Medes and Persians, that altereth not".

Both M. and Mme. de Meisner were in Morristown a few years ago and met many friends. It is since then, that they went to Russia and there, after a delightful reception and experience, Mme. de Meisner was inspired with the idea of writing "The Terrace of Mon Désir".

It was published in the fall of 1886, by Cuppies, Upham & Co., of Boston. A curious fact about this book is that it was Mme. de Meisner's first appearance in the field of literature and she had never before contributed even the briefest article to the press.

"The Terrace of Mon Désir" is a pretty love story, gracefully written. The opening scenes are laid in Peterhoff, near St. Petersburg, and where is the summer residence of the Czar. The author thus finds an opportunity of describing a charming social life among the higher classes, with which, though an American girl, but married to a Russian, she seems to be and is perfectly at home, having it is evident taken kindly to the new and interesting situations of her adopted country. The characters are delightfully and simply natural and the combinations are vivacious and sparkling, by which quality American women are distinguished, and in which characteristic foreigners find an indescribable charm.

Mme. de Meisner herself has a bright animation in conversation. Some authors talk well only on paper, but to this observation the author of "The Terrace of Mon Désir" is a marked exception, as all those who know her graceful, easy flow of language will recognize.

The continuity of the story forbids an extract.

Miss Isabel Stone.

Miss Stone who has long lived and moved in our society, has written, beside the poem already given, many bright papers and stories for children which have been published in various magazines and journals, among them The Observer; Life; Little Ones in the Nursery, edited by Oliver Optic; The Press, of Philadelphia; The Troy Press and The Christian Weekly. These stories and other writings were published under an assumed name.

In 1885, she published a very clever booklet entitled Who Was Old Mother Hubbard? A Modern Sermon from the Portsmouth (Eng.) Monitor and a Refutation by an M. M. C., New York; G. P. Putnam Sons.

This booklet had a very large sale and went through several editions. The story of this publication is interesting. "The Modern Sermon" appeared anonymously, first in one of our prominent magazines. It was written in England and traced to its origin. This was read at a meeting of the Mediæval Club, (a literary club of some celebrity in Morristown), at the house of Mr. John Wood, one of its members. Miss Stone was at once inspired to write the "Refutation"; which was read at her own house by Mr. John Wood, arrayed in characteristic costume for the occasion. (For the benefit of those who may not know him, we may add that Mr. John Wood is one of Morristown's best readers and amateur actors.)

We give the "Refutation" which is a clever dissection of the subject. As "A Modern Sermon illustrates the method upon which some Parsons Construct their Discourses", so "A Refutation" appears "in the Combative, Lucid and Argumentative Style of Some Others".

REFUTATION.

MY DEAR HEARERS: It is my purpose this evening to give to you the result of many hours of thought and consultation of various authors regarding the subject to which our attention has been lately called.

While I hesitate to engage in the controversial spirit of the day, I feel it my duty to expound to you the truth and to unmask any heresy that may be gaining ground.

The discourse to which I allude was upon the text,—

I propose to prove to you this evening that all its arguments were founded on false premises; that the whole picture drawn of the subject of our text—viz., old Mother Hubbard—was diametrically the reverse of the reality; in short, to give a complete refutation of the text to all those who listened to those first erroneous statements.

Firstly, Old Mother Hubbard was not a widow.

I am at a loss to understand why our learned brother should so have drawn upon his imagination as to represent her as such, when, as I shall endeavor to set before you conclusively this evening, it is distinctly stated in the text that she was the wife of an ogre!

My friends, in those days men and husbands were designated by the term "poor dog;" and, indeed, the lightest scholar knows that the term has descended to the present day and is often appropriated by a man himself under certain existing circumstances.

Now, that this "poor dog" of a husband was an ogre is abundantly proved by the fact that Mother Hubbard provided for him bones.

Yes! bones! my friends; but—they—were—human—bones!

Deep research has convinced me of this fact. I find that in those days ogres did not catch and kill their own meat, as is commonly supposed. They were but human, my friends, and, like the rest of humanity, preferred rather to purchase labor than perform it. They, therefore, employed their own individual butchers; but, with rare wisdom, they chose some carnivorous animal to supply their table.

In proof of this, we come, Secondly, to the word cupboard, as mentioned in the text,—

This word cupboard is in our present version misspelt, owing to some fault in copying from the original, and thus is rendered c-u-p-b-o-a-r-d; but the word properly should be spelt c-u-b-b-e-d. This is a compound word, derived from cub—a young bear—and bed, or deposit, as we speak of the bed of a river.

This was a bone deposit—a place where the ogre's food was deposited by the cub.

A young cub was a less expensive butcher than a bear, as nowadays labor is cheaper from the young aspirant than from the assured professional. Therefore they were the usual employees.

But this ogre, though evidently in the habit of employing a cub in this department, had now become dissatisfied and procured the more satisfactory service of an old bear; for, if you will carefully examine the text, you will see that the meaning is obvious, for, as though to insure all its readers from misunderstanding, you will see that it is distinctly stated that—

Now we come Thirdly to the word "none."

This word in the original stands for two things—first, n-o-n-e, meaning nothing, which was the heretical sense deducted by my opponent, and the other and correct sense being n-u-n—a woman with black veil, generally of tender years; and Mother Hubbard, who intended to supply her lord's table with one small bone, found that instead the bear had secured the bones of a whole nun!

Fourthly and lastly, it is clear from the words "poor dog," that the ogre was poor, but not Mother Hubbard.

No, my hearers, evidently she was rich, evidently she held the purse-strings, and the ogre had stealthily supplied his table with a luxury, and his house with a steward, for which he individually was incapable of providing the means.

This is clearly the fact from the words of the text, for you will notice that it was when she got there—not before, but when she got there, that she found the change that had been made in the household arrangements.

And then, doubtless, ensued a scene such as some "poor dogs" nowadays understand only too well!

And now, my friends, we come to the moral. It is not to beware of widows as my opponent tried to prove, but for you, my hearers, on one hand, to beware of marrying a poor but extravagant dog, and you, on the other, to beware of marrying a rich but penurious wife.

Augustus Wood.

Charles P. Sherman.

Miss Helen M. Graham.

It is scarcely necessary to state the fact that Mr. Augustus Wood is a native of Morristown, belonging as he does to a very old and well-known family, or that he is the author of a little volume entitled "Cupid on Crutches". This is a summer story of life at Narragansett Pier and makes one of a group of light novels which we will give in succession.

"A BACHELOR'S WEDDING TRIP."

BY "HIMSELF."

"Himself" we recognize as Mr. Charles Sherman, then a bachelor, who cleverly dedicates the book in these words: "To the Unmarried: as Instance of the Bliss which may be Theirs, and to the Married, as Reminiscent of The trip, These Threaded Sketches are Fraternally Dedicated by the Author".

The third of the group is

GUY HERNDON OR "A TALE OF GETTYSBURG."

BY "ELAYNE."

Elayne, we know, is Miss Helen M. Graham, one of Morristown's Society girls who spends much of her time in New York.

This "Tale of Gettysburg" is the first venture of Miss Graham into the field of literature. Her choice of subject indicates that she is in touch with the growing realization among our novelists of how wide and fruitful a field is presented to them in the events of our civil war. The few graphic pictures already given by them of the social and other conditions of those stirring times, will be more and more valued by the present generation, and by those to come, as the years go on.

Other Novelists and Story Writers.

Among the poets, we have already mentioned as writers also of stories, many of them for children and young people,—

the last being the author of a summer novel, "Not of Her Father's Race".

who, in addition to his editorial work and more serious writing, has published more than thirty small juvenile works, written under the name of "Robin Ranger", and which are all very great favorites with children, and

who, besides her many volumes on many subjects, has written novels, among them, "A Wife Hard Won," published by Lippincott, and a large number of stories for young people, found in many Sunday School libraries, as well as stories on the subject of Temperance, which are found in the collected libraries of Temperance societies.