"Oh Friendship! flower of fairest hue,
To earthly hands so seldom given;
Thy bloom shall other climes renew,
Thy native soil is Heaven."
"Now Rosa, I am going to show you something that will make you laugh if you will come with me," said Walter to Rosalind one day as he sauntered from school, and met her just ready for a walk. She accompanied him to a shop window where was displayed a comical looking picture, representing fun and mischief, with the inscription, "Mother is gone away."
A merry looking little sprite, with a curly head and dimpled hands, had found the way to her mother's choice drawer containing her costly laces, jewelled fan, and various delicate fabrics, and seated on the floor with a kitten in her lap was creating wild havoc among them, while at a little distance a broken vase with scattered flowers, and an overturned inkstand deliberately pouring its contents over books and embroidery, attested the child's innate love of freedom.
Rosalind looked at it but was far more attracted by another picture, in which the clasped hands and upraised face awakened a sympathetic thrill of emotion.
Concealing his disappointment at the little notice she took of his favorite picture as well as he could, Walter observed to a school-fellow standing by,
"Wouldn't you like to be an artist and dwell iu such a world of beauty?"
"No, not I. I would rather be a spectator of the beauty after it is created, than work so hard to create it. Only think what a task it must be to get every tint and shade just right, and you know an unnatural painting is a most ugly thing to look at."
"That's true. One ought to have a natural gift for it like Michael Angelo when he saw a divine form imprisoned in a block of marble. As for the labor, an artist must enjoy it, thus being able to create from the resources of his own mind, and never can suffer for want of any thing to kill thought."
"Then I suppose you will be an artist," replied his companion.
"Oh no, I am going to be a lawyer."
"You a lawyer! impossible! I would as soon be a thief as a lawyer."
"Why? in a theoretical sense it seems to me one could do so much in that line for promoting the welfare of the world, when law and government form the basis of society."
"For promoting the misery of the world I should say, in a practical sense. They'll lie as fast as they can speak, and make black white if they can advance their client's cause, and make a penny by it," retorted his companion as he walked along.
"Don't you think that is a funny picture," said Walter to Rosalind, trying a second time to get her interested in it. "You used to be so fond of paintings I thought you'd enjoy that, and there's just enough variety to suit you."
"It is a very pretty picture," said she, as she turned away.
The artist who had quietly observed them from the inside and heard their conversation, now stepped to the door and invited them in to look at his picture gallery. She could not be persuaded, much to his regret, hers being a face he wished to study. The conversation, rambling as it was, had interested him on all sides, particularly between the two lads, for the investigating spirit it displayed in both of them beyond their years.
Walter accepted the invitation, while Rosalind walked moodily homeward, reproaching herself for the discourtesy she had shown.
A slight shade of impatience flitted across Walter's brow as he met her that night, which she observed. It increased the dissatisfaction already felt, and at an early hour she retired to her chamber.
"Oh dear," said he to his mother after she had left, "I wonder if Rosalind is never going to be herself again. I cannot get her interested in any thing, and she was once so enthusiastic. I was in one of the finest picture galleries to day I ever saw, but could not persuade her to go in or scarcely look at a painting which I thought particularly pretty, and one that would have pleased her so much once. Mother, why could'nt she have been more like you?"
"Have patience with her my son; it is something new for you to be lacking in that. I never heard you complain so much before."
"I never saw her so disrespectful before. It troubles her, as I saw by her looks when she went out to-night. We should have had such a nice time if she had gone in. The proprietor of the gallery took great pains to explain all the pictures, many of which he brought from Europe. He hasn't been here long, and has just completed the arrangement of his rooms. He invited me to call often, whenever I wished, and I shall be pretty certain to avail myself of the invitation. Mother, are you willing I should invite him here?"
"Certainly, I would like to become acquainted with all your friends."
"You will like him I know. You know there is something about some people that seems to elevate us by coming in contact with them That is the way James Morgan says I influence him, which I never was vain enough to believe. He came along to day when we were standing at the window, and was quite huffy because I said I was going to be a lawyer. I don't see why it isn't just as respectable to be a lawyer as a minister. They are both professions, and both followed to obtain a living as a general thing."
"Poor boy, his father has been swindled out of so much by unprincipled lawyers that he probably thinks they are all alike. Mr. Kingley had the money to bribe with, and they managed to get Mr. Morgan's place away from him by as unfair means as ever were devised. Mrs. Morgan had some property when she was married which was swallowed up with the rest, a fact she never could forget."
"Why mother, how could they be bribed when they were under oath to tell the truth?"
Mrs. Claremont smiled sadly at the check his enthusiasm had received upon his favorite theme, and his unconsciousness of the intrigue and wickedness carried on in its name.
"There are sometimes doubtful points which an unscrupulous man may, with a little cunning, bring to the advantage of his own side without directly violating that moral principle which he barters away for money."
"When I am a man and get to be a lawyer, as I mean to be, I shall look after some of these rogues, and I don't believe they would dare to face me with their money bought arguments which I would demolish in the name of that justice law was framed to secure," replied he with great warmth which drew another smile from his mother at his youthful ardor.
"I suppose Rosalind will not care to have that young artist invited here," resumed he after a pause.
"Why? I do not think she can have any objection."
"No, I suppose not, only she must be embarrassed to see him after treating him so unceremoniously. She looked at him, and walked straight by without answering a word. I guess he was puzzled enough by the way he watched her, but he almost smiled. She put on such an air of defiance as if she thought it was impudent for him to ask her to come in. They say artists must study human nature to be successful, and I shouldn't wonder if it would please him right well to have an opportunity to get hold of such a singular character. She is real good, and he'll find it out.
"What is his name?"
"Ernest Livingston, and it is a name I like too."
Not many days elapsed before Walter invited him to spend the evening at his mother's house. Rosalind as he feared, gave him a cold reception. She took very little part in the conversation, and even left the parlor before the departure of their guest. She looked upon him very much as an intruder, and anticipated frequent repetitions of his visits from the intimacy she saw springing up between him and Walter. So far as they were concerned she was glad of it, not being naturally a selfish person, but grief is always selfish, and she did not wish to have their own private circle broken in upon by strangers.
They had made no new acquaintances since her father's death and she coveted seclusion. However, she always acted entirely independent of him, and he never urged her into conversation. Aside from treating her with true gentlemanly courtesy as he did every one, he took little notice of her. A very friendly feeling sprung up between him and Mrs. Claremont, the latter offering him the hospitality of her house whenever it would be agreeable to him, which was quite often. She could not have selected a more desirable companion for her son, and his being several years his senior she considered also a great advantage. Though only a boy, Walter's quick perceptions and moral intuitions imparted the maturity of manhood, so that his most intimate associates were always older than himself. He soon became reconciled to Rosalind's coldness towards his friend when he found he was not annoyed by it. She pursued her eccentric way unmolested by any one, and apparently without interfering with the happiness of any. So she thought at least, and tried to quiet her conscience.
One pleasant afternoon, Walter persuaded her to take a walk with them in the woods. She was quite cheerful when they started and Ernest tried for the first time to draw her into conversation. She chatted pleasantly for a while, until he and Walter glided away in pursuit of a squirrel which was nimbly scaling the wall. When they met her again a singular transformation had taken place. She scarcely spoke, and watching her opportunity preceded them homeward. The chill she left behind so clouded their spirits that they too walked home in silence.