I.

THAT was all the argument he ever condescended to advance in support of his objections to any proposition whatever. That was his only and invariable reply to any suggestion which he was averse to follow. Hint to him to try any new scheme of life; endeavor to make him acknowledge any fact, subscribe to any theory, do, be, or suffer anything, in short, outside of his actual and present inclinations or prejudices-"He couldn't see it." And all the whys and wherefores possible would not teaze a further explanation out of him.

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" said I to him one day, "you George," ought to get married. Here you are, a bachelor, slipping into the thirties, with a snug fortune, and not a relative living nearer or dearer than your second cousin, the widow, with too large a family of her own to cherish you. Four capital reasons for matrimony, my boy."

"Can't see it in the least, Charles," grumbled George.

Further discussion was useless, or rather impossible.

About three months after this, I made up my long uncertain mind to go to Europe and the rest. I also made up my mind to ask George Telford to go with me. I knew he needed stirring up. He was getting so mentally or psychologically blind that he couldn't see anything reasonable to speak of. I found him lunching, moodily, in a corner at Delmonico's.

"George," said I, "I've resolved positively at last to go the whole European and Oriental thing."

"Sorry to lose you, Charlie; take a sandwich? When do you sail?''

"In three weeks. By the by, my dear fellow, what a grand thing it would be if you'd come along! We'd have a glorious time! We wouldn't do the ordinary, used-up 'great routes' of travel, but wander about like real Bohemians, only better provided with the 'coin of the realm.' We'd stray into charming outof-the-way spots, and have genuine adventures, and all that." And I went on for about ten minutes, gushingly, in this strain. When at last I stopped to breathe, George, who had listened in an abstracted, nonchalant manner,

put the last bit of sandwich in his mouth, and mumbled

"Can't see it, at all, my young friend." Whenever George called me his "young friend," he meant to be ironical (I being just eight months his junior), and I knew there was no further attempt to be made upon him. So I sailed alone, and actually arrived safely, in spite of steam, storm, and the other persons and things that frequently prevent such happy consummations.

George was not much of a correspondent. He couldn't see it to any great extent. But I now and then got a short note from him-generally a growl.

At length, after nine months' residence in Paris, the very morning I was about to leave it, en route for the land of sphinxes, fleas, turbans, dogs, pyramids, and other wonders of nature and art, I received a letter from Telford, containing the following characteristic passage:

"What is the reason that my friends seem to take a constant delight in proposing things to me that I can't see? First, you propose to me to marry, which I cannot and never shall see, on any terms. Then you propose that I go to Europe with you, which was equally invisible to me. Then, only a month ago, Tom Crayle proposes to me to join the Athenæum Club, which I don't in the least see; and to cap the climax, here was Caltrup just now, asking me to go to a family gathering or something, Christmas week, at his father's-the old homestead, he called it-somewhere away up in Connecticut. He might have known I could not for the life of me see that. But he didn't! No! He even went off, saying, 'Oh, think of it, old fellow; you've got a week yet; there 'll be nobody but the old folks and the girls!' 'Nobody but the old folks and the girls,' forsooth. What else is there anywhere in the largest assembly, I should like to know, but old folks and girls? Except the boys, perhaps. But they'll be wherever the girls are, that 's sure. And I know what Christmas family gatherings are. Three times as much dinner as you want, with healths to persons you don't take the least interest in. Then all sorts of

stupid childish games, and romps, and kissing bouncing, blowsy, struggling chits, under difficulties and mistletoe (or holly). A week? I don't see it, even to the most microscopic extent, and I shall write Caltrup a 'No, thank'ee,' to-morrow."

I clapped this epistle in my pocket, to laugh over more leisurely on the road, and in another hour was rattling over the rails to Marseilles.

II.

As several persons, some of them my personal acquaintance even, have written books of travel in the East and elsewhere, it is rather superfluous for me to describe my goings and undergoings in the flowery land. (I will say, however, that the only remarkably gorgeous flowers I found there were "flowers of oratory.") And although a few of these several persons had, more or less, the same reason to be silent that I have, if they had only thought of it, I shall not abuse the precedent, and also discourse of journeyings and sojournings, but proceed, modestly and at once, to my story proper.

After nearly a year-no, it was just eight months-spent chiefly in getting a good coat of bronze on every visible part of my person, I returned to Paris to bleach.

Soon after getting into my old quarters, the very next day, in fact, I strolled into the Hotel du Louvre, to look for American physiognomies.

It is a well known fact, and not particularly extraordinary, perhaps, that the mere meeting with a fellow-countryman abroad, after a longish absence without news, even though you never saw nor heard of him before, gives you a special thrill of pleasure, and that you almost immediately become on terms of free and intimate intercourse, in which there is a peculiar zesta spice, so to speak, found under few if any other circumstances. But another fact, which, though not so universal, is true in very many instances, and decidedly more curious, is the almost invariable and instantaneous recognition of one American by another, no matter under what sun they may meet. What it is that thus stamps the "real live Yankee" among all the sons of men in the old world I cannot tell : no one can, I guess. It is the je ne sais quoi of the French; the "cut of the jib' as we slang it. And, if the courteous reader permit (pshaw ! how can the C. R. help it?), I will relate, briefly, an instance of this peculiar clairvoy

ance, that had happened to me only a year or so before, when I was straggling through the south of France.

It was at Nismes, a picturesque little town by the way, with Roman ruins and things. We were standing by the window of our room in the hotel (a French fellow traveller and myself) that overlooked the square whereon Pradier has executed a fountain (for a description of which see books of travel before mentioned). It was before breakfast-time. Presently I saw two persons approach Pradier's sculpturings, and gaze thereon. One had a huge red beard that began just under his lower eyelids, and thence spread itself wildly all over him, pretty much. The other carried a moustache to which that of King Victor Emanuel is a small affair to look at.

"Maxime," said I, "do you see those two Americans down there?"

"I only see two men," replied de V.; "one looks like a German, and the other an Austrian grenadier. Where are your American friends?"

"Those very two. But I never saw either of them before in my life."

"Bah! Then how in the name of Cagliostro do you know, or even suspect them to be fellowcountrymen of yours?"

"I don't suspect; I feel sure," cried I. "But I couldn't for my life explain why."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Maxime, "have you"But I stopped his quizzing with "Well, then, I'll bet you a half dozen of St. Peray, they are Yankees, and I'll go down now and prove it, by bringing them up to help drink the wine."

"Done," and "Done!" And down I went, walked over to the matutinal admirers of Pradier, and said: "I am not mistaken in believing you to be Americans ?" A smile broke out all over their faces, or the visible parts thereof, and they assured me, with much shaking of hands, that they were nothing else. One was a Pennsylvanian, the other a Jerseyman, and both had been cultivating beard, beer, and Teuton things generally for a couple of years. "How could I have guessed their Vaterland ?" I told them, as I had Maxime, that I didn't know how, but felt it by some hypnotic or other sympathy, I supposed. Then I pointed to Maxime in a state of mind at the window; then we went over, up-and in the course of that day six bottles of sparkling St. Peray were consumed with the honors at our table.

So I walked into the Hotel du Louvre to speer for home faces. Not forty paces had I taken before I came upon a gentleman, the sight of whom, there and then, caused a sensa

tion akin to that you feel when an urchin drops a surreptitious fire-cracker just before you, which instantly goes off. It was, corporeally, George Telford !

We rushed at each other-the first shock being over. "My dear fellow." "Delighted." "Lucky chance," etc. etc. "But George," said I, "you couldn't see it in the least." And I produced his letter, which I had carried about me all through the plagues of Egypt and adjacent lands.

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Ah-yes-the fact is-oh, hang it! never mind that now! I'll explain it all to you tomorrow. Come and dine with-with me tomorrow, my boy?"

"Why not to-day, old fellow? I am most curious to know by what mental, moral, or physical earthquake you could have been tossed over here. You couldn't see it at all, you know, eh?"

"Certainly that is, I have a particular engagement to-day," stammered George, looking as if he had gone into the wrong room by mistake, and just come out of it hastily.

"No impertinence, I hope ?" said I, jocosely. "With a lady?"

"N-yes, with a lady. I might as well tell you at once, and stand the fire; it is with-my -wife!"

The shock of an entire pack of surreptitious fire-crackers, exploding simultaneously under my nose, conveys but a feeble idea of my state at this stupendous announcement. "Yourwife!" I was overcome beyond the possibility of a quiz. I could not even remind him of his savage refusal to see matrimony on any terms, a year and a half before. But after dropping into a chair, and drawing my breath hard for a few moments, I recovered sufficiently to open upon him.

"And so it has come to this," cried I, "after all these years of obstinate blindness! You, who sullenly refused to see the pleasure of accompanying your next friend to Europe-you, who indignantly scouted marriage as a visible object in life-you, who ungallantly scorned to lend the charm of your society to the fair sisters of Caltrup even for the festive Christmastime-you" I stopped; for, by a slight contraction in a certain perpendicular wrinkle between Telford's brows, I feared he was going to be vexed.

But in another moment the wrinkle relaxed; he smiled pleasantly, and "That will do for the present, Charlie," said he. "I confess I am just a little sensitive yet, on that subject. Come, let me present you to Mrs. Telford, and

"Ah! That makes it bad-I would say difficult."

"Not at all, my dear fellow. Come round an hour before dinner-time; my wife will be at her toilet, and I'll unbosom myself to you before she makes her appearance."

"Then you don't assist at your wife's toilet?" said I, a little maliciously.

"Go along with you! Be on hand at five sharp; I must run now. Au revoir."

And I walked up and down the Boulevards, from the Madeline to the Café de Paris, six times, lost in reverie, as the romancers have it. Then finding myself at the seventh turn, I resolved to have patience and a glass of absynthe.

III.

HERE would be a grand chance for a digression. But I have long since discovered that readers don't admire digressions. As my friend George would say-would have said, I meanthey can't see them. For that matter, neither can I, very much.

At five minutes before five I was in Telford's salon. He had a very handsome suite of rooms, and was evidently doing the bridal tour in grand style. After a glass of sherry, he began :

"You know that letter I wrote you," said he-"the one you 'drew upon me' yesterday? Well, I wrote it about five P. M., and went to post it and to dinner, leaving word to have the fire in my library built up to a fearful height against my return. It was a bitter cold day. I could not help stopping now and then, however, to glance at the gorgeous array of the store windows, expectant of Christmas. And through them I occasionally saw faces, children's faces, glowing with pleasure. And all the people I met had a jocund briskness about them, saying plainly, as if they had spoken'Aha, I'm going to buy such a pretty thing for

Mary, or Willie, or some other household name. The constant recurrence of this soured me, somehow. It seemed to strike me for the first time that I had no Mary nor Willie, nor anybody to give pretty things to at Christmas time. I never could see it before. But now it appeared to me, in spite of myself, as if it must be a cheerful thing to do. I ate very little dinner, and all the way home I felt uncommonly cold. When I entered my library, the fire was out. The stupid Celt had literally smothered it with a mountain of coal. I tell you these little details, to show you the gradations by which I reached the climax. Instead of calling him, I resolved to make it burn myself-I wanted something to do. But after working for an hour or more, with short intervals of hope, and much distribution of coalblack over my person and articles of furniture generally, I succeeded in establishing the fact that I could not make it burn in the least.

"Then I rang for the Celt. The Celt had gone out to make an evening call. I wrapped myself up in shawls and tried to read. As I turned a page, a note fell from the book. It was Caltrup's note, giving me notice of his intention to entice me up to the old homestead. I read it again. Then pshaw'd! and snatched up the book; but could not read. Finally, I went to bed in a rage and a shiver, wishing Christmas was out of the calendar, Caltrup, etc. a myth, and the Celt in Purgatory.

"In spite of all, however, I fell asleep. But my slumber was soon filled with visions like the visions of one of Charles Dickens' Christmas tales, with the pages all shuffled together promiscuously, and ever and anon a more distinct picture floated through them, of a merry Christmas fireside with an outlook of leafless trees drooping with snow, and long white vistas of field and hedgerow, seen through frost-crusted panes; and in the midst of the smiling circle, Caltrup seemed to be introducing me, in spite of my entreaties, to a bevy of damsels who made merry with my embarrassment. And then all faded away, and I fell into a real sleep, to be awakened by a vigorous shake, and a voice, crying, 'Up, up! you sluggard; I've come to breakfast with you before we start for the homestead.'

"Now, would you believe it, Charlie, although I felt sure that I shouldn't see it, yet, the last evening's fidgets, and the dreams, and all that, had so exhausted my energy, that I actually allowed Caltrup to humbug me-I mean-ahem! to persuade me to go up to the homestead with him that afternoon.

"The last five miles of the journey was a brisk drive over a smooth snow-track, to the merry music of sleigh-bells, with splendid vistas of rugged hills, gleaming white rivulets, and sheltered valleys, with a spire shooting up now and then from among the gaunt skeletons of giant trees, heavy with ice-gems. We approached the homestead up a long winding ascent, and found it nestled in a semicircular notch high up between two far rolling hills whose background of dark firs, rimmed with snow, brought the old gray stone house with its quaint gables boldly out in the landscape.

"The entire family met us at the door. I shall not enter into a special description of each member, but confine myself to those who had a direct influence upon my-my change of life. There was Clara Caltrup, a Juno-like maiden of eighteen, given to romantic literature and a serious flirtation with a youthful cousin Harry, of whom more anon. Then there was Fannie, a year older, with a radiant face, mirthful blue eye, and a great tendency to teaze people. Finally, there was the cousin Harry (a second cousin, by the way), a gushing young man of just one-and-twenty, the consciousness of possessing which dignified age was very apparent in his demeanor. Harry was immensely smitten with Miss Clara, and jealous as a concentrated extract of Othello.

"On Christmas eve we had a game of romps. There was some other name for it, but I've forgotten what it was. However, there was a slight seasoning of kisses among the forfeits, and when, with considerable trepidation, I ventured to salute the queenly Clara, I first became aware, by the glow'ring eye of Sir Harry, of his suffering from the green-eyed monster.

"When I retired that night, I could not help confessing to myself that Christmas gatherings were not, at least this particular one was not, so absolutely disagreeable to look at after all. And then, suddenly, a diabolical idea struck me. A perfectly inexplicable idea, considering my life and opinions. This was to excite the jealousy of the gushing Harry, even unto seething. To do the romantic for Miss Clara, and make Harry a blighted being. Mind you, I had no serious intentions. I wasn't in the least captivated by the damsel. But I couldn't see

the manful bearer of one-and-twenty years, and I wanted to wilt him. Besides, I was only going to stay there a week. I should only make a few mild demonstrations, enough to stir the lover's gall, and then leave him to triumph again. I thought it would be fun. So I began after breakfast next morning. I got Caltrup to corner Harry in the library while I read Tennyson's 'Maud' to Miss Clara, and rhapsodized over the tender passages in a melodramatic whisper. Miss Clara, however, did not do me justice; she gave me but half an ear. I became piqued, and laid myself out still more resolutely to fascinate her; but my success was, to say the least, only partial, when the sleigh drove to the door, and my fair audience hurried away to cloak and fur for a drive with Harry. As she went out, I caught Miss Fannie looking at me with the most mischievous smile I ever saw.

"The next day I returned to the chargewith the same success. Harry had evidently a long start of me, and the only result of my efforts seemed to be the intense mirth they afforded the espiegle Miss Fannie. I strove manfully in the character of Romeo for four days; but Juliet was still obdurate, Harry still comparatively calm.

"The fourth night, as I was completing my night toilet, it occurred to me that I had read somewhere of an infallible receipt for compelling the preference (to call it by a mild term) of a haughty maiden. This was to feign utter indifference, courteous scorn for her, and to get up a fearful passion for another maiden right under the haughty one's nose, if I may so express myself. It only needed to have maiden number two handy to insure success. Maiden number one would be alarmed, would relent, would humble herself, and so forth. Yes! I should have a double triumph. And the maiden number two was most fortunately on the spot; I would do the constantly agreeable to sparkling Miss Fannie.

"I commenced this deep-laid scheme the first thing in the morning. Of course I altered my entire style to suit the style of my present object. Miss Fannie was witty, satirical, foud of a joke, full of animal spirits. I joked with her, laughed with her, sleighed her, teazed her, with signal success. 'I pity yon,' said she, the second day of my new plot, as we were watching the snowflakes piling fleecily up against the window-panes; 'if I didn't, I should not see you, as you say, on any terms. It is only my intense sympathy with your sufferings that makes me forbearing, for I am not Clara's

pis-aller, sir, I'd have you know.' Her little mouth was most provokingly puckered.

"Well, somehow, I began to think less savagely of my revenge on the haughty Clara. Fannie was a remarkably sensible girl, with all her levity. She and I agreed in many things that I never found a woman to agree with before, and Clara did not show the slightest tendency toward relenting or luring me back from the rival goddess I had set up in her despite; Harry, too, no longer bored me with his Olympian frown. In fact, I got so used to sleighing Fannie, playing backgammon with Fannie, exchanging repartee with Fannie, making fun of the lovers with Fannie, eating philopœnæ with Fannie, that I stayed a fortnight at the Homestead instead of a week, and when I had returned to my den in the city, I really caught myself feeling stupid, and wishing I knew just what they were all doing up at the Homestead.

"Then a singular fancy took possession of me for Caltrup's society. I always liked him, but never sought him very assiduously; now I haunted his studio-absolutely haunted it. I couldn't tell why exactly, for I knew we talked chiefly about everything and everybody except persons and things at the Homestead. I never introduced that subject; but when sometimes Caltrup would say: 'I got a letter from Clara or Fannie this morning; they ask after you, and Fannie wants to know if you can see anything reasonable yet,' I felt a great desire to ask Caltrup to let me read the letter; but I never did. I assure you, Charlie, I couldn't have analyzed my feelings then, to save my life. I knew nothing about them, or why it was that I seemed to be losing my old fashion of refusing to see certain things considered rationally visible by other people; but so it