Then the discourse slid off to woman's rights; For Lothian held a newspaper which told Of some convention, the report of which Might raise a smile. One of the lady speakers, It seems, would give her s.e.x the privilege Of taking the initiative in wooing, If so disposed!

"Indeed, why not?" cried Linda.

"Indeed, you almost take my breath away With your Why not, Miss Percival! Why not?"

"Yes, I repeat,--if so disposed, why not?

For why should woman any more than man Play the dissembler, with so much at stake?

I know the ready taunt that here will rise: 'Already none too backward are our girls In husband-seeking.' Seeking in what way?

Seeking by stratagem and management,-- Not by frank, honest means! What food for mirth 'Twould give to shallow men to see a woman Court the relation, intertwined with all Of purest happiness that she may crave,-- The ties of wife and mother! O, what pointing, Sneering, and joking! And yet why should care Thoughtful and pure and wisely provident, That Nature's sacred prompting shall not fail, Be one thing for a man, and quite another For her, the woman? Why this flimsy mask?

This playing of a part, put on to suit, Not the heart's need, but Fashion custom-bound?

Feigning we must be sought, and never seek?

Now, through these social hindrances and bars, The bold, perhaps the intriguing, carry off Prizes the true and modest ought to win.

And so we hear it coa.r.s.ely said of husbands, 'Better a poor one far, than none at all!'

A thought ign.o.ble, and which no true woman Should harbor for a moment. Give her freedom, Freedom to seek, and she'll not harbor it!

Because if woman, equally with man, Were privileged thus, she would discriminate Much more than now, and fewer sordid unions Would be the sure result. For what if man Were chained to singleness until some woman Might seek his hand in marriage, would he be Likely as now to make a wise election?

Would he not say, 'Time flies; my chances lessen And I must plainly take what I can get?'

True, there are mercenary men enough, Seeking rich dowries; they'd find fewer dupes, Were women free as men to seek and choose, Banish the senseless inequality, And you make marriage less a vulgar game In which one tries to circ.u.mvent the other.

Oh! all this morbid ribaldry of _men_, And all this pa.s.sive imbecility, And superst.i.tious inactivity, Dissimulation and improvidence, False shame and lazy prejudice of _women_, Where the great miracle of s.e.x concerns us, And Candor should be innocently wise, And Knowledge should be reverently free,-- Is against nature,[9]--helps to hide the way Out of the social horrors that confound us, And launches thousands into paths impure, Shutting them out from holy parentage."

"I hold," said Charles, "the question is not one Of reasoning, but of simple sentiment.

As it would shock me, should a woman speak In virile baritone, so would I shudder To hear a grave proposal marriageward In alto or soprano."

"'Twould depend!

Depend on love," said Linda; "love potential, Or present."--"Nay, 'twould frighten love!" cried Charles,-- "Kill it outright."--"Then would it not be love!

What! would you love a woman less because She durst avow her love, before the cue Had been imparted by your lordly lips?

Rare love would that be truly which could freeze Because the truth came candid from her heart, And in advance of the proprieties!"

"But may the woman I could love," cried Charles, "Forbear at least the rash experiment!"

"I doubt," said Linda, "if you know your heart; For hearts look to the substance, not the form.

Why should not woman seek her happiness With brow as unabashed as man may wear In seeking his? Ah! lack of candor here Works more regrets, for woman and for man, Than we can reckon. Let but woman feel That in the social scheme she's not a cipher, The remedy, be sure, is not far off."

"To me it seems," said Lothian, "that you war Against our natural instincts: have they not Settled the point, even as the world has done?"

Said Linda: "Instincts differ; they may be Results of shallow prejudice or custom.

The Turk will tell you that polygamy Is instinct; and the savage who stalks on In dirty painted grandeur, while his squaw Carries the burdens, might reply that instinct Regulates that. So instinct proves too much.

Queens and great heiresses are privileged To intimate their matrimonial choice,-- Simply because superiority In power or riches gives an apt excuse: Let a plurality of women have The wealth and power, and you might see reversed What now you call an instinct. When a higher Civilization shall make woman less Dependent for protection and support On man's caprice or pleasure, there may be A higher sort of woman; one who shall Feel that her lot is more in her own hands, And she, like man, a free controlling force, Not a mere pensioner on paternal bounty Until some sultan throws the handkerchief."

A cry of triumph from the fisherman, Exuberant at having caught a ba.s.s, Here ended the discussion, leaving Linda With the last word. Charles went to chat with Rachel; And Linda, summoned by vociferations From the excited, the transported captor, Descended to inspect the amazing fish.

"A beauty, is it not, Miss Percival?

A rare one, too, for this part of the coast!

'Twill be a study how to have it cooked.

Now sit here, in the shadow of this rock.

Your father's name was Albert Percival?

So I supposed. I've often heard my wife Speak of him as of one she knew was wronged Most foully in his wrestle with the law.

Have you not met with Harriet Percival?"

"Once only, and our interview was brief.

Is she not married?"--"No, nor like to be, Although her fortune is a pretty one, Even for these times,--two millions, I believe; All which her mother may inherit soon; For Harriet is an invalid, but h.o.a.rds Her income quite as thriftily as if She looked for progeny and length of days.

The mother, as you may not be aware, Has married an aspiring gentleman Who means to build a palace on the Hudson, And Harriet's money hence is greatly needed."

The mist now cleared, and the sun shone in power, So that the heat soon drove them to the woods.

The senior took his capture home for dinner; Rachel strolled, picking berries by the brook; And, under lofty pines, sat Charles and Linda, And talked discursively, till Linda's thoughts, Inclining now to memory, now to hope, Vibrating from the future to the past, Took, in a silent mood, this rhythmic form.

UNDER THE PINES.

O pine-trees! bid the busy breeze be still That through your tops roars like the constant surge: Such was the sound I heard in happy days Under the pines.

In happy days, when those I loved were by; In happy days, when love was daily food; And jocund childhood, finding it, found joy Under the pines.

Again I hear the west-wind in your tops; Again I scent the odor you exhale; But sound and odor now provoke but tears Under the pines.

O pine-trees! shall a different joy be mine, One day when I shall seek your fragrant shade?

Whisper it faintly, breezes, to my heart Under the pines.

"Truly, Miss Percival, you puzzle me,"

Said Charles, upon her silent revery Breaking abruptly in: "ay, you could fire And wound the villain bearing off the child, And you can brave the radical extreme On this great woman question of the day,-- Yet do you seem a very woman still, And not at all like any man I know,-- Not even like an undeveloped man!

And I'm not greatly exercised by fear, Leaning here by your side thus lazily."

"Don't mock me now," said Linda; "I'm not armed; Be generous, therefore, in your raillery."

"Not armed? Then will I venture to propose That when the tide is low this afternoon We try the beach on horseback. Will you venture?"

The joy that sparkled in her eyes said "Yes"

Before her tongue could duplicate a.s.sent.

Said Charles, "I'll bring the horses round at six."

"I will be ready, Mr. Lothian."

There was no breach of punctuality: Though sighs, from deeper founts than tears, were heaved, When she drew forth the summer riding-habit Worn last when in the saddle with her father.

"Here are the horses at the door!" cried Rachel; "A bay horse and a black; the bay is yours."

When they were mounted, Lothian remarked: "Little Good Harbor Beach shall be our point; So called because an Indian once p.r.o.nounced The harbor 'little good,' meaning 'quite bad'; A broad and open beach, from which you see Running out southerly the ocean side Of Eastern Point; its lofty landward end Gray with huge cliffs. There shall you mark 'Ba.s.s Rock,'

Rare outlook when a storm-wind from the east Hurls the Atlantic up the craggy heights."

The air was genial, and a rapid trot Soon brought them to the beach. The ebb had left A level stretch of sand, wide, smooth, and hard, With not a hoof-mark on the glistening plain.

The horses tossed their heads with snorting pride, Feeling the ocean breeze, as curved and fell Up the long line the creeping fringe of foam, Then backward slid in undulating gla.s.s, While all the west in Tyrian splendor flamed.

"But this is life!" cried Linda, as she put Her horse to all his speed, and shook her whip.

They skimmed the sand, they chased the flying wave, They walked their horses slow along the beach: And, as the light fell on a far-off sail, And made it a white glory to the eye, Said Linda: "See! it fades into the gray, And now 'tis dim, and now is seen no more!

Yet would a little height reveal it still.

So fade from memory scenes which higher points Of vision shall reveal: the beautiful, The good, shall never die; and so to-day Shall be a lasting, everlasting joy!"

"Would I might see more of such days!" said he, "In the obscure before me! Fate forbids.

My time of idlesse terminates to-night.

To-morrow to the city we return.

Thither I go, to open, in October, A private school; and I must find a house And make my preparations."

On they rode, After these words, in silence for a mile Upon their homeward way. Then Lothian: "And what will your address be, in the city?"

"I do not know, nor care," said Linda, switching Her horse's ear, to start a quicker trot.

Another mile of silence! "Look!" cried he; "The lighthouse light salutes us!"--"Yes, I see."

"Why do you go so fast?"--"I'll slacken speed If you desire it. There!" They breathed their horses; Then Lothian: "Indeed, I hope that we Shall meet again."--"Why not? The world is wide, But I have known a letter in a bottle, Flung over in mid-ocean, to be found And reach its owner. Doubtless, we may meet."

"I'm glad to find you confident of that."

Silence again! And so they rode along Till they saw Rachel coming from the house To greet them. Charles helped Linda to dismount, Held out his hand, and said, "Good by, Miss Linda."

"Good by!" she cheerily answered; "bid your father Good by for me. And so you go indeed To-morrow?"--"Yes, we may not meet again."

"Well; pleasant journey!"--"Thank you. Good by, Rachel."

He rode away, leading her panting horse; And, when the trees concealed him, Linda rushed Up stairs, and locked the door, and wept awhile.