CHARLOTTE MESSENGER.
VOL. I. NO. 23.
Scarlet Pimpernel.
’Ti« not a flower of high degree,
With royal claim, or poet's name:
It was not borne across the sea
From gardens of ancestral famo;
Perhaps a soul of little heed
Would call my flower a wayside weed.
It grows where paths are brown with dust,
And hurried feet are rough to meet;
But still it thrives in happy trust,
As though life’s homely ways were sweet.
A westher-glasu, serene and wise,’
It measures time for sunny skiec.
Along the rustic, weedy walk,
Its scarlet bloom finds generous room
To trail the low, procumbent stalk.
And miss ambition’s surer doom:
While curious children in their play
Stoop to inquire the time of day.
’Tis fine in garden grand to live;
A« beauty’s heir to feel the care
A tender hand is wont to give,
And with rich perfumes fill the air.
‘1 were sweet to be a thing of beauty,
And to be sweet life’s only duty.
Put it is good to be a flower
Os humble ways and unmarked days;
To trim rough borders like a bower.
Though few may care to pluck or praise.
Good to be hardy, brave and bright,
If but to blossom out of sight.
Oh childhood's favorite, long beloved,
Still spring and flower like virtue’s power
In a strong soul that dwells unmoved:
Still ope in sunshine, shut i u shower,
In dignified humility
Content where heaven has planted thee.
Youth's Companion.
FAINT HEART.
John Everett had known Elinor ever
since he could remember; they had
gone to school together; he had spelled
above her and had refused to take the
first place; lie had envied the more
daring boys who had walked home
with her through the green lanes, be
neath embowering elms, as if it were
the most commonplace thing to do in
the world, while he, with his heart in
his mouth, tried to find courage for the
effort, and found himself left behind
for his pains.
Later, when they fust, began to go
out into the world together, what tor
tures he endured when she danced with
some handsome stranger; if she rode
with his braver companions; if Carl
Hughes took her off in his wherry down
the silver length of the river and lost
his way among the creeks of the silent
marshes, only returning home when
the evening was far spent, and the
stars trembled in the heavens, and un
wittingly brushing past poor .John,
waiting on the wharf in the shadow of
some warehouse to see the 1 " landed
safe!
Life began early to seem like a
pleasant difficulty to him. He was al
ways wondering what she wa3 doing;
how she passed the long days while lie
was busy in the counting-room; what
were her every-day thoughts, her
dreams, and did he hold any share
therein? Sunday, too, soon became
the first of holidays, for then he was
sure to see her. His father's square,
old-fashioned pew almost f;iced the
congregation, and not a breath or a
blush, the flutter of an eyelid or the
ghost of a dimple, was lost upo" the
young man.
In the meantime, it is probable that
Llinor was not blind. Glances arc
easily interpreted ; actions speak louder
than words. There is little doubt,
when Carl Hughes or any of the others
stepped out of a concert or lecture
room and offered an arm to her at the
door, but she understood that John had
been waiting and wavering and longing
for the favorable moment in which to
anticipate' this attention, which mo
ment would have arrived, sooner or
later, but that Carl, intent on his pur
rose, and unhesitating in its perform
snee, had pushed to her side, and hail
gained the day before John had even
thought of losing it.
But by insensible degrees one out
grows this sort of faint-heartedness,
and pushes out before Carl Hughes and
the indulgent crowd, and wins the
prize for the nonce, but delays to take
the next, decided step in the right path.
And so it was with John. One day lie
heard that Elinor had given away her
heart to Mr. ] lenormandy, now oil his
travels. However much pain this an
nouncement gave John, his faint
heartedness—which, perhaps, was only
an exaggerated appreciation of the ole
jert of desire—oceanic a something
i perfluous, since, if ho had already
lost her, why should he fear ? It is at
this stage that one cease 3 to doubt and
begins to suffer. So, now that he had
nothing to lose, he went In and out of
her presence with a fatal fascination,
as bold as a lion.
CHARLOTTE, MECKLENBURG CO., N. C., NOVEMBER 25, 1882.
He asked her hand in the dense
without a qualm ; he took her out to
supper or down to dinner, as the case
might be ; he strolled with her on the
moonlighted terrace ; he played melo
dies of his own composition upon the
flute ; he even ventured to take her in
his own wherry down the dazzling
reach of the river; and though he
failed to entangle himself among the
ribbons of the marshes, yet the wherry
[ sprang a leak, and while he pulled
home against the tide—as it seemed to
him he had always been doing—Elinor
bailed the boat with her slipper, which
lie begged when they were safe ashore,
as it was of no further use.
“ I should like to keep it myself,”
she said, “as a memento of the day in
which we made shipwreck together ;
but you may have it,”
One day he happened to say some
thi g about the time when Mr.
Denormandy should return and take
I her away.
Elinor knit her brows.
“ Why should Mr. Denormandy take
me away?” she asked.
“ He has the right of possession, has
he not?” demanded John.
“ I don’t understand; he has no
right of any sort in me.”
" But I thought—”
“That I was going to marry him?
Don'! believe what you hear again.
The truth is he never asked me, though
my friends declare that he wished it,
and I myself had some reason to ex
pect: but faint heart—”
“ Never won fair lady. And you!”
“ I was relieved when he left for
Europe. It is so hard to say ‘No’ that
one is in danger of saying ‘Ves’ from
compassion. Love is so sweet that it
is difficult to refuse it; and then one
lias a haunting fear of some time need
ing it.”
“ And a willful waste makes a wil
ful want. What a pity Mr. Denor
rnandy had not known your compas
sionate temperament and taken some
advantage of it!”
“Do you think so?”
“No; I shouldn’t want a goddess to
marry me from compassion.”
Hut this did not mend matters. Now
that there was everything to gain or
lose—now that the affair was assuming
a critical aspect, since the responsibility
of the crisis ancl the event were his—
the native timidity of his character
stepped in to hinder him. Not that he
abandoned his position at once; it had
become too much a matter of habit for
him to meet her at home and abroad on
terms of intimacy, and the habit was
too precious to be easily broken. Only
inch by inch, and almost without his
own consent, he retreated from the
ground which he had honestly won.
He invited her for no more lonely
pleasurings on the river ; if they went
together, it was with a crowd of
friends. On one such excursion they
became detached from the others by
some accident, and were left like
shells forgotten upon the sands ; for,
walking around the bend of the beach
where a bluff hid them from sight,
with the wind blowing the other way,
they never saw nor heard their com
panions embark for borne, too busy
with their own affairs to remark the
absence of John and Elinor, who only
understood the situation when they
turned back to where the boat had
been moored and found the tents struck
and the beach lonely and deserted, ex
cept for some barefooted children
gathering driftwood, and a flock of
saud-birds daring the waves.
The afternoon was just melting into
the tender atmosphere of early twi
light, when all tilings wear an unreal
aspect, and half-guessed stars sift
themselves throngh the gloom, and the
radiance from the nether half of the
sphere—from the morning world—
seemed running over into this along
the brim of the horizon. Ear away a
sail pricked itself out against the
heavens a moment and was gone ; a
fishing craft was dropping down over
the bar, and a pleasure-boat, bubbling
over with song and laughter, pushed
its way toward home. John shouted
to them and waved his hat, but the
wind blew his voice down his throat,
and the gay party of revelers fled on
wings of mirth.
“What shall we do? How shall we
reach home?” asked Elinor.
“ The gods help those who help them
selves,” said he. "We will ask these
gypsy children if there is not a boat to
be found. There is no shelter on this
lonely beach.”
But neither the children nor their
seniors—a party of half-gypsy folk who
had encamped on <he sands to carry off
the beach plums, and as a sort of eco
nomical method of spending the sum
mer at the seashore, with plenty of fire
wood at first cost and birds tame as
chickens—had anything but • leaky
skiff to offer, but who, with the ready
hospitality of the dwellers in tents, in
vited them to share the shelter of their
canvas roof; but as the oars of the
skiff were broken, and Elinor’s slipper
was not at hand, it seemed of little use.
Thus at their wits’ ends they paced
the sands, upon which the waves en
croached more and more, making
green hollows in the moonlight when
they broke, and fringing the lone line
of coast with spray like tangles of
pearls. John heaped up a cushion of
beach grass, and they sat in the pale
light of a moon that was slowly dip
ping behind the dunes, watching the
great untamed monster shake its mane
I at their very feet, and listening to its
j endless da capos, and they wondered if
j the silver bridge which the moonbeams
! threw across the water would bear
them home, and repeated love lines
from the poets.
The moon fell lower, and left,
the world to starlight ; the wind blew
freshly off the sea. Elinor shivered.
“Shall we accept the gypsies' invita
: tion, or walk to town V”
' “ How far is it, John ?”
She called him “John.” It seemed
. a new name as spoken by her.
' “It is eight miles. Elinor, over
| marshy places and rough ways.”
"Let us try it.”
They set out; but before they had
gone half a miie on the beach her
[ strength failed her, and she ex
t claimed:
I “lam so tired ! If one could onlv
fly !”
At that moment he felt an almost
irresistible impulse to seize the hand
resting on his arm and cover it with
kisses; to fold her in his arms then
and there, and whisper, “If you are
tired, darling, rest here, for love is rest
and blessedness supreme; and I love
you.” But the old haunting distrust
recurred ; what if she should answer,
“ Not here; your love is not large
enough forme, not blessedness enough.”
And while he hesitated and doubted
and half believed, a boat shot along
the shore and buried its keel in the
sand.
They sailed up the wide river and
watched the lighthouse send its flame
far out on the waters, and met the
wraith-like forms of ships at the
wharves, silent as ghosts, the town
lights like jaek-o'-lanterns, and the
tide settling round the piers; and when
they reached home and lie left Elinor
at her father’s door, the clocks were
striking midnight, and a startled robin
in the elm tree overhead was trilling a
sleepy note.
But fortune was not to be severe
with John for one neglect of oppor
tunity and meant to offer him greater
inducements and more tempting
chances. Elinor’s father awoke one
morning and found himself bankrupt.
Somewhat later John went to pur
chase a pair of new gloves, in which
to worthily pay his respects to his love,
when who should step forth behind
the counter to wait upon him but Eli
nor herself!
“You, Elinor! Thinking of angels
you hear the rustle of their wings.”
“ The wheel of fortune has made a
revolution, you see,” was the reply,
“ and here I am. Not crushed by it,
though.” ,
“ That is well. For ‘ man is man
and master of his fate.’ ”
“I don't think it means women,
though,” said she, “ What can I do
for you? I am at your service.
Gloves?”
“ Yes. Are you goin to Mr. .Swell’s
to-morrow night?”
“Am 1 going 0 The Swells have for
gotten my existence. I have gone
under, so far as they are concerned.”
“ Indeed! 1 was looking forward to
meeting you there.”
. “ And you meet me here instead,”
she sadly responded.
“ But if you are not to be there, I
shall not care to go.”
“Thank you; but I should be sorry
to deprive you of a pleasure.”
" Should you?” You asked me just
now what you could do for me? Shail
I tell you ?” leaning over the counter.
“Yes, you may tell me.”
His eyes held hers, intense with
meaning; his lips trembled with the
burden of his heart; all his desire was
leaping up and shaping itself into ten
der words. What was It that stayed
them, caused them to falter into cotn
monplaces? What power locked the
eager lips upon the lialf-uttered secret?
Why did the intense eyes lose their
sweet significance?
“ You may stretch this pair of
gloves, please." recovering himself.
“ Confound my folly !” he thought,
walking away. “Why didn’t Isay it?
She looked almost as if she expected
something. I gave her the right to
But did she care to listen? To be
sure, the place was unfortunate; but
people have made and heard proposals
in ballrooms, in crowds, before this,
at street corners and at book-stalls.
There wa3 Captain Wildes; he pro
posed to Mary on board the cars, and.
not understanding him, she cried,
‘ What ?’ So he had to scream it all
over again, and the train stopped at a
station before he finished. He must
have been a plucky fellow ! They say
that women do half of the courting,
but bless me if I’ve had any help in
this affair. And at this rate it’s like
a snail’s journey; I take one step for
ward and slip back two. The deuce !
I wonder how they get on ! It must
be tiresome to stand behind a counter
all day, with the Guilford pride on her
shoulders, and the home troubles tug
ging at her heart. If I had only asked
her before the breaking of this bubble!
But now it would seem like taking ad
, vantage of her circumstonces; and if
I X ’mild not endure that she should con
| sent to marry me from pity, how much
| less from prudence! Yet, if she cares
! tor me—hut how am I to know? She
is not likely to tell me without being
asked, and why should 1 ask her unless
I am certain ?"
And thus, while he let the occasion
slip by, while he dawdled and per
plexed himself, the firm in which he
was junior partner required his pres
ence in Europe to establish a branch
house. He went to bid Elinor good
bye—perhaps to say something more
earnest. He could not tell; he could
not count upon himself nor his moods,
lie found her in a narrow, dark street
of the city, where the sunshine was
only a morning visitor of the most
ceremonious kind; in rooms whose
sbahbiness smote him to the heart. She
sat before a flickering flame and em
broidered in linen; he understood that
by this means she was eking out her
insufficient wages. But otherwise she
was the same being whom he had
known in luxury. The blush had not
deserted her fair cheek, the dimple still
hid there; the eyes were as radiant with
light and spirit, the expression as en
chanting, the voice as liquid and full
of soft, lingering tones ar.d bewitching
accents, as in the brightest days of her
prosperity.
They talked about his journey, the
sights he was to see, the sounds he was
to hear; and she sighed and said: “ I
wonder if I shall ever go to Europe J”
with that wild hope which most of us
long to realize. They were sitting to
gether upon atete-a-tete, a relic of past
magnificence. He had been looking at
her embroidery. When he gave it back
their hands touched and lingered al
most lovingly. The words were on his
lips: “Will you go to Europe with me?”
“ Will you,” he faltered, “ will you—
you will—forget me, I suppose, as
soon as lam gone. Out of sight, out
of mind.”
“ If you wish me to forget you, I will
try to,” she laughed.
“And if I do not wish it?”
“Ah, I cannot promise; you are to
be absent a whole year.”
If she could not promise to remem
ber him a year, was it likely that she
would promise to love him a lifetime?
So lie went to Europe and tried to
forget himself in thedetails of husiness;
to satisfy himself with the public
galleries and gardens, with art and
nature in holiday attire. lie visited
the “ Mer de Glace,” and dwelt in the
shadow of the “ Matterhorn," and
heard the mountain echoes vibrating
upon the inspired air. But to whom
could he confide all his line thoughts?
Who could respond to his moods with
such perfect sympathy as Elinor?
Half the charm of travel was lost
without her.
At Lake Como he fell in with an
elderlygentlerr.au, solitary like himself.
“ Ah, said he, “ this traveling
alone is like staying at home."
“ Why did you not bring your wife,
sir?" venture) John.
“ Because I was a fool once. And I
have no wife. Twenty-live years ago
I was in love, but I was at the same
time too great a dunce to tell her so.
My young man. if you ever chance to
fall in love, lose no time in letting the
lady know of it. Don’t defer speak
ing.”
“Andif she—”
“No matter what she answers.
You will have done your duty; you
will have nothing with which to re
proach yourself."
John left Lake Como at once. He
traveled night and day to London and
embarked for home. He went to the
shabby by-street where he had left
Elinor; but the bird had flown. Mr.
Guilford, with that happy faculty some
men have for always coming to the
surface in good condition, had specu
lated himself into another fortuna dur-
f. C. SMITH. PflbMir,
ing John's absence, and was only to be
found on Queen street, in the mansion
of his forefathers.
A servant ushered John into a cheer
ful morning-room, looking out into a
garden full of sunshine and flowers,
and went to find Miss Elinor, while he
looked at Elinor’s portrait in crayon,
read the name of Granville Denor
mandy in the comer, and wondered if
he did it before going away, and why
he had not seen it before.
Just then voices that had all along
been faintly audible drew nearer, so
that he could hear the words as well
as the tones. He turned his head and
looked out into the garden where, in
the neighborhood of a hundred-leaved
rose tree, Elinor had paused, leaning
on the arm of a tall young man.
“ I thought at that time.” the tall
young man was saying, and they stood
so near the window that John could
not fail to hear—was obliged to listen
—“I believed at that time that you
had a fancy for young Everett—John,
wasn’t it ? By the way, I met him
abroad, and decided that you must
have refused him, he was so dis
traught.”
Elinor stirred and a shower of petals
stirred with her. t
“I may as well be frank with yon,”
she said ; “it makes no difference now.
I did. I was in love with him, Gran
ville ; I believed that he loved me. I
should have married him if he had
asked me. But that was a year ago,
and when one deserts you, what can
you do better than forget him?”
“Nothing, darling! I could not ad
vise anything that would please me
more! Poor fellow! And l am his
heir! Well, perhaps I shouldn’t have
been here myself but for a lucky
chance. I loved you, Elinor, when I
left you. One evening I was drifting
in a gondola beneath the marble ruins
of Venice, when two youths, idly pleas
uring like myself, piissed so near that
I distinctly heard one say: ‘Faint
heart never won fair lady, Denis.’ I
took it for an omen, and determined
not to lose you through a faint heart,
dearest; 1 left Venice that night.”
“You were right. Ah. Margaret, a
gentleman waiting to see me? AYe
will be in presently.”
John had listened like one in a
trance in spite of himself; then he
moved slowly into the hall, took his
hat, and went away, repeating:
“A faint heart never won a fair
lady; and she would have married me
if I had asked her! And Granville
Denormandy is my heir!”
“ Margaret, Margaret!” called Eli
nor, “ you said there was a gentleman
here to see me. What have you done
with him?”
“ I showed him in here, 'pon my
honor, miss,” cried the astonished maid:
“ I left him a-looking at your pieter as
if he could eat it. He can’t hev got
into the dining-room ter the silver, can
he?"
“ I—think not,” said Elinor, picking
up a handkerchief and reading the
name of John Everett, Jr., on the cor
ner; “ I think -not. Never mind.
Maggie; if he wants to see me he'll
come again."
But lie never came again. And to
day Elinor wears among her charms a
tiny slipper of gold, embroidered w ith
pearls, which every one knows to be a
memento of the days when she and
John Everett made shipwreck together.
A Testamentary Curiosity.
In 1877, a man who died in Berlin,
leaving behind him a fortune of 34,000
marks, surprised all who knew him by
devising that 32.0(A) marks should go
to the authoritiesof his native place, and
that the remainder should be divided
between nine relatives and afnend with
whom he had quarreled, the share of any
one of the legatees becoming forfeited
if he followed the testator to th«
grave, llis relatives religiously obeyed
the tlead man's decree, but th«" es
tranged friend, remembering old times,
could not refrain from going quiet’v
to the churchyard and paying his but
respects to the deceased. By-and-bye
a codicil came to light directing that
if any one of the ten legatees under the
will should disobey the injunction re
garding the last ceremony he was to
receive the bulk of the money left to
the testator's town, and, thanks to the
shrewd device, the man who though!
more of his old friendship than his old
friend’s money found himself comfor
tably provided for for the rest of his
life.— Chambers’ Journal.
A French chemist has discovered
that the flavor of cheese is determine)!
by the germs in the atmosphere. The
germs must lx- in a state of rapid de-«
composition when Litnburger is manu
factured.