The Portland daily press., 1876-12-11
From Blackwood's Magazine.I
The Friend of the Hero.
CHAPTER 1.-THE BRUTAL LIFE.

thAE LEN LILLE ohI AL l<C lie
''What would the world be without pas
sion?" asked Thomas.
ga better place." said Orlando, sand
healthier, as it would be without cham
pagne."'
lively.
Romance is to passion as the morning So
da-water to the champagne of evening. We
should be better without either"
J'Thank heaven 1 don't take the trough
view of the world" said Thomas, holly.
"The brutal life for me-" said Orlando,
rolling over on the inn lawn. 81 have had
enough culture for this year and enough of
society. Now / shall eat when am hungry,
and always have room for my elbows, dance
when feel light.hearted and always have
space for my legs, burn my white ties, free
my neck from the collar, and, above all,
breathe air."
Here he filled his capacious lungs and
stretched his long limbs, which were covered
with spotless white flannel.
Thomas looked at his friend with an ex-
preston of disappointment and perplexity.
"Let us be brutal for a change" continued
Orlando, with an air of moral earnestuess !;
''or vegetable and drink in sun and air. Wait
er, a pot of ale."
When he had refreshed himself with a
draught, he sprang to his feet and said, Sand
now let's be off"
81 hope you won't think l am annoyed"
said Thomas, anxiously, ''but think
should like to walk to-day, and Join you this
evening, if you don't mind sculling the boat
down alone and taking my bag"
ST shan't expect to see you," said his
friend, shaking his head with much solemni-
ty. "In an hour you will be settled under a
hedge with one of the ten volumes of "A Pla-
old Eviotanoo 0r STho1uhfc nj uhnr bon
Grandmother or 'Gayer Moments of an Up
per footing Curate,' or Gentle Dreams for
Gentle Souls, or--but enough. You see the
effect of forcing such food upon me. am
suffering from reaction. l am welded to
the brutal life." Then he laughed aloud,
shook his friend playfully by the shoulders,
and betook himself to the boat.
Thomas watched his friend as he rowed
away, with an expression halfadmiring, half
pathetic. 1t seemed very sad to him that so
glorious creature should be so hard of heart,
strong, bright and cold as diamond. And
yet he could not find fault with one who
swung so grandly forward, filling his broad
chest and Strengthening his shapely arms, and
then with scarce an effort of strong back and
thighs sent the boat flying along the water.
Orlando shouted a farewell, and Thomas
sighed and smiled, went indoors and paid the
bill, and so started on his journey.
1t was still early morning, and the dew was
on the grass; the sky was not pitiless blue,
but tender and made softer by little feecy
clouds; and above the low green hills in the
distance hayward shower was sweeping.
An April day had come to freshen the close
of thirsty June. The heart of the young
wayfarer grew light and his lips began TO bab-
BILE Of little joys. Surely before the close of
such day something wonderful must hap
pen. The fitful air was full of vague prom
ises; each scent, as it grew fainter with the
growth Of day, limited memory too sweet
for regret. Thomas stepped out gay as a
troubadour. The hours seemed endless be-
fore him, each moment new joy, and surely
somewhere great surprise to crown the day.
He thought with pity Of Orlando, for whom
no wonderful thing was reserved. He was
full of whimsical thoughts, laughing and
blushing now and then at his own absurdity.
He pulled off his hat to the honeysuckle in
the loose-growjng hedge, and stepped aside
from the path of beetly, magnificent in
green; he stopped to whisper to the sweet
brier rose, and to hear the sage counsel of a
pragmatical finch. He fingered by the cot
tage porch, if haply some little damsel might
He watched light cart come jogging towards
him, and wondered who was IN it; till lazy
Sally was jolted by in the sunlight, and he
began to wonder if she had lover. When
his thoughts were yet busy with Sally, and
he was humming some words of a girl, who
was no lady nor beautiful, and who knew
she ought not to walk with a gentleman !;
while he was musing on diaries and daisies
and cool pastures and three-legged stools, and
fancying Corydon with ribbons at his knees,
and Bob Hulker in corduroy; and when the
day was still young-he heard the quick feet
of ponies behind him, and before he had time
TO imagine lovely driver, she had passed,
Only vision of soft, fair hair, a face half Gu
rious, half shy, but very sweet in shadow
and yet the young man thought that some
thing remarkable had happened. He stood
still and stared with the murmured song
hushed on his lips. Away went the ponies,
sleek, round and sure of foot, happy in the
thought of corn and in the light hand of their
lady. Thomas pushed through gap in the
hedge, and ran up the slopings field, whence
the hay had just been carted. From the high
ground he looked far down the road till the
little carriage was but speck in the distance.
Then he sighed and solemnly shook his head,
and then he looked across the country with a
new sense of its loneliness. Fields of ripen-
ing corn stretched away from his feet to the
banks of the delaying river. The wheat was
scarcely stirred, and the hazy air was MUIR
murous with the hum of insects. Beyond
the river lay meadows where the cows were
Ao1hy ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS WulSu idL away lOcG
slowly and softly into grassy hills. The sky
was tender as the memory of an old love-
story-eyerywhere was rest; and the impress
sionable Thomas staring upward with wide
eyes, gave himself up to dreams, and, dream
ing, slept.
When Thomas woke the sun was high, and
the charm of morning had passed away. He
stretched himself, rubbed his eyes and wrinkled
bis eyebrows plaintively. Then he started
down the road, and was absurdly disap-
pointed because he could not see the pony
carriage. There was nothing but hot and
dusty miles laid out before him, plain and
monotonous as the path of everyday duty.
He gave great sigh and braced himself for
the work. As he plodded on he began to
think himself very unfortunate young man.
Nothing ever came up to his expectations.
How different the day would have been if
those pampered ponies had taken fright and
he had flung himself at their heads. So his
Imagination busted itself with that which
might have been. He fancied beauty in dis
tress and herosm flying to the rescue. 1t
did not occur to him that he might have been
run over; but he was sure that he would not
have minded slight injury. Suppose, for
instance, that he had sprained his wrist and
that she had bound it with her own handker-
chief Suppose-but after all life was poor
affair; and romance was of the dark ages |;
things never happened exactly right, and the
day had grown oppressively hot.
For uneasy thoughts there is no cure like
walking. Abuse of the age sank gradually
into a mechanical accompaniment of the
footsteps and finally vanished before a grow
ing consciousness of hunger.
When Thomas entered the low porch of
the village inn he was tired and hungry, but
the burden of the day was gone. He found
Orlando lying on another lawn and breathing
the evening as he had breathed the morning
ARA little browner and little stronger, but
otherwise unchanged. He had ordered a
stupendous dinner and had tried the beer.
"A good day?" asked Thomas throwing
himself on the ground by his friend.
"Great," said the other, sand you?'
"Yes," said Thomas, doubtfully; good
enough"
''By-the-by 6shed a woman"
ga what?"
81 pulled woman out of the water.''
"You have saved a woman from drown
ing!'
Thomas felt sinking. He had left Orlan-
do for day, and on that day Orlando had
had an adventure.
san old woman?" he muttered.
81 should guess about twenty"
s'Dark ?" Thomas thought he should not
mind so much If she were dark.
GEair fall and-D