WHY.
By Jennie K. Griffith.
You saw her dead in her rosewood case,
That was frosted with silver and lined with lace,
A pillow of satin, with tassels of silk,
And silken fringes whiter than milk,
Folds of linen like snowy drift
Over the bosom no breath might lift,
White hands crossed, and pomp and show,
Hiding the heart that was broken below.
Had I but known that the little hands
Held fateful dower of gold and lands,
I could have worshipped and walked aside,
Content in loving, my love to hide—
For their palms had touched me, and evermore
Life would have brimmed with the ectasy o’er,
As the Nile's love-valleys, caressed from sleep,
With tropical terrors the memory keep.
As star answers star in the twilight of earth,
So a love in her bosom like my love had birth.
I kneel to recall it, the love of that girl
For the gift was an ominous, sad sea-pearl;
All of the wealth of her womanly soul,
O! her tenderness all, of her life the whole;
For how could they give her to such as I?
For my darling is dead, and that is why.
ENIGMAS.
By Miss L. M. Alcott.
I bought my roll that day of the quiet woman who kept the bake-shop near my poor lodging. I liked her ways; she always folded my purchase in a tidy paper, received my three cents with a little bow and a softly spoken "Thank you," which dignified the paltry transaction and cost my pride no pang. At the corner I paused to decide where I should dine. A simple process, one would fancy, for the bread composed my meal. But, not being a Franklin, I objected to consuming the roll in public, and had two free dining-rooms to choose from—the Park in fine weather, a certain reading-room in stormy. A drop of rain decided me, and I strolled leisurely away to the latter refuge, for hunger had not yet reached its unendurable stage.
The room was deserted by all occupants but the librarian and one old gentleman, consulting a file of foreign newspapers. I slipped into an alcove. devoured my dinner behind a book, and then fell to brooding moodily over the desperate state of my finances and prospects: the first consisting of a single dollar, the last a slow starvation or manual labor, if I could bring myself to it. An abrupt exclamation from the old gentleman roused me, for it had a hopeful sound.
"Page, who copied this? I’d like to secure such a penman."
"Don’t know, I'm sure, sir," responded Page. "Among so many clerks it's impossible to tell. I'll inquire if you like."
"No; couldn’t have him, if you did. But if you happen to hear of any good copyist who, for a moderate sum, would do a job for me, let me know, Page."
"I will, sir."
The old gentleman put down the list of newly-arrived books which he had been examining, and drew on his gloves. As he approached my alcove a sudden impulse prompted me to step out and address him.
"Pardon me, sir, but necessarily overbearing your request, I venture to offer myself for trial."
"Have you any references or recommendations to offer, eh?" asked the old gentleman, pausing.
I had an excellent one which I had vainly offered to many persons for the last month. He read the very flattering letter from a well-known scholar whom I had served as secretary for a year, and seemed inclined to try me.
"Hum—quite correct—very satisfactory. Give me a sample of you writing; here's pen and paper."
I obeyed, and laying a sheet of paper upon the open book I had been reading, dashed off my signature in several different styles.
"Very good; the plainest suits me best. What's this? So you understand Italian, do you?"
"Yes, sir; perfectly, I believe."
The old gentleman meditated, and while doing so scanned my face with a pair of keen eyes, in which I could discover nothing but curiosity. I gratified it by saying, briefly:
"Mine is the old story, sir. I am a gentleman's son, poor, proud and friendless now, in want of employment, and ready to do anything for my daily bread."
"Anything, young man?" asked the old gentleman, almost startling me with the energy of his emphasis on his first word.
"Anything but crime, sir. I am in a strait where one does not hesitate long between almost any humiliation and absolute want."
I spoke as forcibly as he had done; it seemed to please him, for the stony immobility of his face relaxed, and a curious expression of satisfaction crept over it.
"Come to me to-morrow at ten. There is my address."
And, thrusting a card into my hand, the old gentleman walked away.
Precisely at ten o’clock on the morrow I presented myself at Mr. North's door, and was speedily set at work in his very comfortable office. The whole affair was rather peculiar, but I liked it the better for that, and the more eccentric the old lawyer appeared, the more I desired to remain with him, though copying deeds was not exciting. He seemed to take a fancy to me, engaged me for a week, kept me busy till Saturday evening, and then astonished me by informing me for what secret service I was next intended.
As the clock struck five Mr. North wiped his pen, wheeled about in his chair, and sat waiting till I finished my last page.
Mr. Clyde, I have a proposition to make," he began, as I looked up. "It will surprise you, but I have no explanation to give, and you can easily refuse. I have not intended keeping you from the first, but desired to test your capabilities before offering you a better situation. A certain person wishes an amanuensis; I think you eminently fitted for the post. You wish independence, agreeable duties and the surroundings of a gentleman. This place will give you all of these, for the salary is liberal, the labor light, the society excellent. One condition, however, is annexed to your acceptance. If you will pledge me your word to keep that condition a secret, whether you accept it or not, I will mention it."
"I do, sir."
"For reasons, the justice and importance of which you would acknowledge if I were at liberty to divulge them, I desire a reliable report of what passes in this person's house. I think you are fitted for that post also. A week ago you told me you were ready to do anything for your bread which was not a crime; this is none. Do you accept the place and the condition"
"I am to play the spy, am I, sir?"
"Exactly, to any extent that your interest, ingenuity and courage prompt you. It is necessary that I should have a daily witness of the events that occur in that family for the next month at least, perhaps longer. I know the task I offer you is both a mysterious and somewhat difficult one, but if you will rely upon the word of an old man who has little more to expect of life, I assure you that no wrong is mediated, and that you will never have cause to regret your compliance. Let me add that at the end of your service, be it short or long, you will receive five hundred dollars, and be subjected to no questions, no detention, no danger or suspicion of any kind."
"But, sir, am I to work utterly in the dark?"
"Utterly."
"Am I never to know what mysterious purpose I am forwarding?"
"Never."
"Can I, ought I to pledge myself to such blind obedience?"
"I believe you can and ought; it is for you to decide whether you will."
Not a feature of the old man's face had varied from its usual colorless immobility; his keen eye searched me while he spoke, and when he paused
