After another pause she said with a faint smile, "Do you remember when I fell asleep in your parlor? It was the good and rich food. It was so long since I had had food like that!"

I took her hand and held it, conscience-stricken, but now she hardly seemed to perceive my touch. "And the smoking?" she whispered. "Do you remember how you laughed? I saw it. But I had heard that smoking soothed--that one was no longer tired and hungry--with a cigar."

In little whispers of this sort, separated by long rests and pauses, the night pa.s.sed. Once she asked if her aunt was asleep, and when I answered in the affirmative she said, "Help her to return home--to America: the drama will pay for it. I ought never to have brought her away."

I promised, and she resumed her bright-eyed silence.

I think she did not speak again. Toward morning the change came, and soon after sunrise, with her old aunt kneeling by her side, she pa.s.sed away.

All was arranged as she had wished. Her ma.n.u.scripts, covered with violets, formed her pillow. No one followed her to the grave save her aunt and myself; I thought she would prefer it so. Her name was not "Crief," after all, but "Moncrief;" I saw it written out by Aunt Martha for the coffin-plate, as follows: "Aaronna Moncrief, aged forty-three years, two months, and eight days."

I never knew more of her history than is written here. If there was more that I might have learned, it remained unlearned, for I did not ask.

And the drama? I keep it here in this locked case. I could have had it published at my own expense; but I think that now she knows its faults herself, perhaps, and would not like it.

I keep it; and, once in a while, I read it over--not as a _memento mori_ exactly, but rather as a memento of my own good fortune, for which I should continually give thanks. The want of one grain made all her work void, and that one grain was given to me. She, with the greater power, failed--I, with the less, succeeded. But no praise is due to me for that. When I die "Armor" is to be destroyed unread: not even Isabel is to see it. For women will misunderstand each other; and, dear and precious to me as my sweet wife is, I could not bear that she or any one should cast so much as a thought of scorn upon the memory of the writer, upon my poor dead, "unavailable," unaccepted "Miss Grief."

LOVE IN OLD CLOATHES.

By H. C. Bunner.

(_Century Magazine, September,_ 1883.)

Newe York, y^e 1^st Aprile, 1883.

Y^e worste of my ailment is this, y^t it groweth not Less with much nursinge, but is like to those fevres w^ch y^e leeches Starve, 'tis saide, for that y^e more Bloode there be in y^e Sicke man's Bodie, y^e more foode is there for y^e Distemper to feede upon.--And it is moste fittinge y^t I come backe to y^s my Journall (wherein I have not writt a Lyne these manye months) on y^e 1^st of Aprile, beinge in some Sort myne owne foole and y^e foole of Love, and a poore b.u.t.t on whome his hearte hath play'd a Sorry tricke.--

For it is surelie a strange happenninge, that I, who am ofte accompted a man of y^e Worlde, (as y^e Phrase goes,) sholde be soe Overtaken & caste downe lyke a Schoole-boy or a countrie b.u.mpkin, by a meere Mayde, & sholde set to Groaninge and Sighinge, &, for that She will not have me Sighe to Her, to Groaninge and Sighinge on paper, w^ch is y^e greter Foolishnesse in Me, y^t some one maye reade it Here-after, who hath taken his dose of y^e same Physicke, and made no Wrye faces over it; in w^ch case I double I shall be much laugh'd at.--Yet soe much am I a foole, and soe enamour'd of my Foolishnesse, y^t I have a sorte of Shamefull Joye in tellinge, even to my Journall, y^t I am mightie deepe in Love withe y^e yonge Daughter of Mistresse Ffrench, and all maye knowe what an Angell is y^e Daughter, since I have chose M^rs. Ffrench for my Mother in Lawe.--(Though she will have none of my choosinge.)--And I likewise take comforte in y^e Fancie, y^t this poore Sheete, wh^on I write, may be made of y^e Raggs of some lucklesse Lover, and maye y^e more readilie drinke up my complaininge Inke.--

This muche I have learnt y^t Fraunce distilles not, nor y^e Indies growe not, y^e Remedie for my Aile.--For when I 1^st became sensible of y^e folly of my Suite, I tooke to drynkinge & smoakinge, thinkinge to cure my minde, but all I got was a head ache, for fellow to my Hearte ache.--A sorrie Payre!--I then made Shifte, for a while, withe a Bicycle, but breakinge of Bones mendes no breakinge of Heartes, and 60 myles a Daye bringes me no nearer to a Weddinge.--This beinge Lowe Sondaye, (w^ch my Hearte telleth me better than y^e Allmanack,) I will goe to Churche; wh. I maye chaunce to see her.--Laste weeke, her Eastre bonnett vastlie pleas'd me, beinge most cunninglie devys'd in y^e mode of oure Grandmothers, and verie lyke to a coales Scuttle, of white satine.--

2^nd Aprile.

I trust I make no more moane, than is just for a man in my case, but there is small comforte in lookinge at y^e backe of a white Satine bonnett for two Houres, and I maye saye as much.--Neither any cheere in Her goinge out of y^e Churche, & Walkinge downe y^e Avenue, with a Puppe by y^e name of Williamson.

4^th Aprile.

Because a man have a Hatt with a Brimme to it like y^e p.o.o.pe-Decke of a Steam-Shippe, and breeches lyke y^e Case of an umbrella, and have loste money on Hindoo, he is not therefore in y^e beste Societie.--I made this observation, at y^e Clubbe, laste nighte, in y^e hearinge of W^mson, who made a mightie Pretence, to reade y^e Sp^t of y^e Tymes.--I doubte it was scurvie of me, but it did me muche goode.

7^th Aprile.

Y^e manner of my meetinge with Her and fallinge in Love with Her (for y^e two were of one date) is thus--I was made acquainte withe Her on a Wednesdaie, at y^e House of Mistresse Varick, ('twas a Reception,) but did not hear Her Name, nor She myne, by reason of y^e noise, and of M^rsse Varick having but lately a newe sett of Teethe, of wh. she had not yet gott, as it were, y^e just Pitche and accordance.--I sayde to Her that y^e Weather was warm for that season of y^e yeare.--She made answer She thought I was right, for M^r Williamson had saide y^e same thinge to Her not a minute past--I tolde Her She muste not holde it originall or an Invention of W^mson, for ye Speache had beene manie yeares in my Familie.--Answer was made, She wolde be muche bounden to me if I wolde maintaine y^e Rightes of my Familie, and lett all others from usinge of my propertie, when perceivinge Her to be of a livelie Witt, I went about to ingage her in converse, if onlie so I mighte looke into Her Eyes, wh. were of a coloure suche as I have never seene before, more like to a Pansie, or some such flower, than anything else I can compair with them.--Shortlie we grew most friendlie, so that She did aske me if I colde keepe a Secrett.--I answering I colde, She saide She was anhungred, having Shopp'd all y^e forenoone since Breakfast.--She pray'd me to gett Her some Foode.--What, I ask'd.--She answer'd merrilie, a Beafe-steake.--I tolde Her y^t that _Confection_ was not on y^e Side-Boarde; but I presentlie brought Her such as there was, & She beinge behinde a Screane, I stoode in y^e waie, so y^t none mighte see Her, & She did eate and drynke as followeth, to witt--

iij cupps of Bouillon (w^ch is a Tea, or Tisane, of Beafe, made verie hott & thinne) iv Alberte biscuit ij eclairs i creame-cake

together with divers small cates & comfeits wh^of I know not y^e names.

So y^t I was grievously afeard for Her Digestion, leste it be over-tax'd. Saide this to Her, however addinge it was my Conceite, y^t by some Processe, lyke Alchemie, wh^by y^e baser metals are trans.m.u.ted into golde, so y^e grosse mortall foode was on Her lippes chang'd to y^e fabled Nectar & Ambrosia of y^e G.o.ds.--She tolde me 'twas a sillie Speache, yet seam'd not ill-pleas'd withall.--She hath a verie prettie Fashion, or Tricke, of smilinge, when She hath made an end of speakinge, and layinge Her finger upon Her nether Lippe, like as She wolde bid it be stille.--After some more Talke, wh^in She show'd that Her Witt was more deepe, and Her minde more seriouslie inclin'd, than I had Thoughte from our first Jestinge, She beinge call'd to go thence, I did see Her mother, whose face I knewe, & was made sensible, y^t I had given my Hearte to y^e daughter of a House wh. with myne owne had longe been at grievous Feud, for y^e folly of oure Auncestres.--Havinge come to wh. heavie momente in my Tale, I have no Patience to write more to-nighte.

22^nd Aprile.

I was mynded to write no more in y^s journall, for verie Shame's sake, y^t I shoude so complayne, lyke a Childe, whose toie is taken f^m him, b.u.t.t (mayhapp for it is nowe y^e fulle Moone, & a moste greavous period for them y^t are Love-strucke) I am fayne, lyke y^e Drunkarde who maye not abstayne f^m his cupp, to set me anewe to recordinge of My Dolorous mishapp.--When I sawe Her agayn, She beinge aware of my name, & of y^e division betwixt oure Houses, wolde have none of me, b.u.t.t I wolde nott be putt Off, & made bolde to question Her, why She sholde showe me suche exceed^g Coldness.--She answer'd, 'twas wel knowne what Wronge my Grandefather had done Her G.father.--I saide, She confounded me with My G.father--we were nott y^e same Persone, he beinge muche my Elder, & besydes Deade.--She w^d have it, 'twas no matter for jestinge.--I tolde Her, I wolde be resolv'd, what grete Wronge y^is was.--Y^s more for to make Speache th^n for mine owne advertisem^t, for I knewe wel y^e whole Knaverie, wh. She rehears'd, Howe my G.father had cheated Her G.father of Landes upp y^e River, with more, howe my G.father had impounded y^e Cattle of Hern.--I made answer, 'twas foolishnesse, in my mynde, for y^e iii^d Generation to so quarrell over a Pa.r.s.el of rascallie Landes, y^t had long ago beene solde for Taxes, y^t as to y^e Cowes, I wolde make them goode, & th^r Produce & Offspringe, if it tooke y^e whole Wash^tn Markett.--She however tolde me y^t y^e Ffrenche familie had y^e where w^al to buye what they lack'd in b.u.t.ter, Beafe & Milke, and likewise in _Veale_, wh. laste I tooke much to Hearte, wh. She seeinge, became more gracious &, on my pleadinge, accorded y^t I sholde have y^e Privilege to speake with Her when we next met.--b.u.t.t neyther then, nor at anie other Tyme th^after wolde She suffer me to visitt Her. So I was harde putt to it to compa.s.s waies of gettinge to see Her at such Houses as She mighte be att, for Routs or Feasts, or y^e lyke.--

But though I sawe Her manie tymes, oure converse was ever of y^ts Complex^n, & y^e accursed G.father satt downe, & rose upp with us.--Yet colde I see by Her aspecte, y^t I had in some sorte Her favoure, & y^t I mislyk'd Her not so gretelie as She w^d have me thinke.--So y^t one daie, ('twas in Januarie, & verie colde,) I, beinge moste distrackt, saide to Her, I had tho't 'twolde pleasure Her more, to be friends w. a man, who had a knave for a G.father, y^n with One who had no G.father att alle, lyke W^mson (y^e Puppe).--She made answer, I was exceedinge fresshe, or some such matter. She cloath'd her thoughte in phrase more befittinge a Gentlewoman.--Att this I colde no longer contayne myself, but tolde Her roundlie, I lov'd Her, & 'twas my Love made me soe unmannerlie.--And w. y^ts speache I att y^e leaste made an End of my Uncertaintie, for She bade me speake w. Her no more.--I wolde be determin'd, whether I was Naught to Her.--She made Answer She colde not justlie say I was Naught, seeing y^t wh^ever She mighte bee, I was One too manie.--I saide, 'twas some Comforte, I had even a Place in Her thoughtes, were it onlie in Her disfavour.--She saide, my Solace was indeede grete, if it kept pace with y^e measure of Her Disfavour, for, in plain Terms, She hated me, & on Her intreatinge of me to goe, I went.--Y^is happ'd att y^e house of M^rss Varicke, wh. I 1^st met Her, who (M^rss Varicke) was for staying me, y^t I might eate some Ic'd Cream, b.u.t.t of a Truth I was chill'd to my Taste allreadie.--Albeit I afterwards tooke to walkinge of y^e Streets till near Midnight.--'Twas as I saide before in Januarie & exceedinge colde.

20^th Maie.

How wearie is y^is dulle procession of y^e Yeare! For it irketh my Soule y^t eache Monthe shoude come so aptlie after y^e Month afore, & Nature looke so Smug, as She had done some grete thinge.--Surelie if she make no Change, she hath work'd no Miracle, for we knowe wel, what we maye look for.--Y^e Vine under my Window hath broughte forth Purple Blossoms, as itt hath eache Springe these xii Yeares.--I wolde have had them Redd, or Blue, or I knowe not what Coloure, for I am sicke of likinge of Purple a Dozen Springes in Order.--And wh. moste galls me is y^is, I knowe howe y^is sadd Rounde will goe on, & Maie give Place to June, & she to July, & onlie my Hearte blossom not nor my Love growe no greener.

2^nd June.

I and my Foolishnesse, we laye Awake last night till y^e Sunrise gun, wh. was Shott att 4-1/2 o'ck, & wh. beinge hearde in y^t stillnesse fm.

an Incredible Distance, seem'd lyke as 'twere a Full Stopp, or Period putt to y^is Wakinge-Dreminge, wh^at I did turne a newe Leafe in my Counsells, and after much Meditation, have commenc't a newe Chapter, wh. I hope maye leade to a better Conclusion, than them y^t came afore.--For I am nowe resolv'd, & havinge begunn wil carry to an Ende, y^t if I maie not over-come my Pa.s.sion, I maye at y^e least over-com y^e Melanchollie, & Spleene, borne y^of, & beinge a Lover, be none y^e lesse a Man.--To wh. Ende I have come to y^is Resolution, to departe fm. y^e Towne, & to goe to y^e Countrie-House of my Frend, Will Winthrop, who has often intreated me, & has instantlie urg'd, y^t I sholde make him a Visitt.--And I take much Shame to myselfe, y^t I have not given him y^is Satisfaction since he was married, wh. is nowe ii Yeares.--A goode Fellowe, & I minde me a grete Burden to his Frends when he was in Love, in wh. Plight I mockt him, who am nowe, I much feare me, mockt myselfe.

3^rd June.

Pack'd my cloathes, beinge Sundaye. Y^e better y^e Daie, y^e better y^e Deede.

4^th June.

Goe downe to Babylon to-daye.

5^th June.

Att Babylon, att y^e Cottage of Will Winthrop, wh. is no Cottage, but a grete House, Red, w. Verandahs, & builded in y^e Fash^n of Her Maiestie Q. Anne.--Found a mightie Housefull of People.--Will, his Wife, a verie proper fayre Ladie, who gave me moste gracious Reception, M^rss Smithe, y^e ii Gresham girles (knowne as y^e t.i.tteringe Twins), Bob White, Virginia Kinge & her Moth^r, Clarence Winthrop, & y^e whole Alexander Family.--A grete Gatheringe for so earlie in y^e Summer.--In y^e afternoone play'd Lawne-Tenniss.--Had for Partner one of y^e Twinns, ag^st Clarence Winthrop & y^e other Twinn, wh. by beinge Confus'd, I loste iii games.--Was voted a Duffer.--Clarence Winthrop moste unmannerlie merrie.--He call'd me y^e Sad-Ey'd Romeo, & lykewise cut down y^e Hammocke wh^in I laye, allso tied up my Cloathes wh. we were att Bath.--He sayde, he Chaw'd them, a moste barbarous worde for a moste barbarous Use.--Wh. we were Boyes, & he did y^is thinge, I was wont to trounce him Soundlie, but nowe had to contente Myselfe w.

beatinge of him iii games of Billyardes in y^e Evg., & w. daringe of him to putt on y^e Gloves w. me, for Funne, wh. he mighte not doe, for I coude knocke him colde.

10^th June.

Beinge gon to my Roome somewhatt earlie, for I found myselfe of a peevish humour, Clarence came to me, and pray^d a few minutes'

Speache.--Sayde 'twas Love made him so Rude & Boysterous he was privilie betroth'd to his Cozen, Angelica Robertes, she whose Father lives at Islipp, & colde not containe Himselfe for Joye.--I sayinge, there was a Breache in y^e Familie, he made Answer, 'twas true, her Father & His, beinge Cozens, did hate each other moste heartilie, b.u.t.t for him he cared not for that, & for Angelica, She gave not a Continentall.--But, sayde I, Your Consideration matters mightie Little, synce y^e Governours will not heare to it.--He answered 'twas for that he came to me, I must be his allie, for reason of our olde Friend^sp.

With that I had no Hearte to heare more, he made so Light of suche a Division as parted me & my Happinesse, but tolde him I was his Frend, wolde serve him when he had Neede of me, & presentlie seeing my Humour, he made excuse to goe, & left me to write downe this, sicke in Mynde, and thinkinge ever of y^e Woman who wil not oute of my Thoughtes for any change of Place, neither of employe.--For indeede I doe love Her moste heartilie, so y^t my Wordes can not saye it, nor will y^is Booke containe it.--So I wil even goe to Sleepe, y^t in my Dreames perchaunce my Fancie maye do my Hearte better Service.