Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-01-18
IALL RIGHTS RESERGEDl
Continued
CHAPTER v.
CHAPTER V.
pArsY's piAsY SEVEN YEARS AFTER.


Cyril saws he thinks could write a novel. /
have read so many stories, SO much poetry and
am such fanciful imaginative creature he
tells me- hope that isn't another way OF say
ing that am silly and affected One never
quite knows what university man means.
Undergraduates seem to have language OF
their own. made up of satire and contempt for
other people. Cyril il such curious young
man. he always seems to mean a great deal
more than he says. A. any rate he has said
ever many times this summer that ought
to be able to write novel. How l wish |
could How delightful it must be to invent
people that seem alive, to live in their lives
and in their adventures to move all over the
world in beautiful day dream. not dim and
confused and blurred and bl0tted with absurd
tiles as night dreams are, but clear and vivid
with the light that never was on land or sea.
/ only wish Cyril we're right; but alas, he
e. wrong. have tried ever so many times. l
have begun story after story, and have torn up
my manuscript after the second or third chap
ter. Ny heroine seemed so foolish and so fee
Bile, there no life in her. She was like
those dear dolls loved so. that never would sit
up. not even against the wall. She was every
bit as limp. Ny hero was better. but I'm
rather afraid he was too much like Rochester
In Jane Eyre" where he wasn't the very
image OF Guy Livingston. What men those
were. Guy was nicer-he would have shown
of best at a dinner party or a ball. Mr.. Roches-
ter comes nearer ones heart. How l could
have loved him after he went blind. Happy
Jaue-to be SO miserable. nearly starved to
death. and then 10 have her own true love
after aIL
Nc. I'm afraid / shall never write a novel
There Is something wanting. Invention ! sup
pose. But am very fond of writing. so have
made up my mind to write my own life. NV
adventures would hardy fill a chapter-notif I
began at nv cradle. / never went to a hard
and cruel school like Jane Eyre. never knew
what 1t was to be hungry. except after a long
walk, and then II was only pleasant hunger.
with the snOwledga that O'Clock tea and hot
buns and thin bread and butter were waiting
for nae at home. No, have no vic,ssItJdcs to
write about; but l can write about those love-
my impressions OF people and scenery. and
books and ANNALS
How big a volume could fill upon one sub
ject alone If | were TO write hour mother and
al heT goodness to me, and the happy wears !
havf spent with her Tor nv chief COMPANION
IL seems only yesterday th1t a child and
she used to play with m 1T W sorts OF games
Just a. IT she were another httl, girl. / fancied
she was enjoying herself Just a, much as / Was
She would play = visiting. and dinners even
than which cannot IilIE irC anything more
WeaT;SoTae 10 a grOwn-GP person. 10 pretend
20 ea5 grand dinner OF little painted wooden
sh ;. with curious puce-cOlored joints and
poultry. and pink and green tarts anu buildings
6 MEG on 70 th"n. and to make conversation
and 20 pretend 70 think everything NICE and 10
ask tCr 4 second help of a wooden leg of NUT
ton. How dreadf-iv bored she must have
been: but she endure q II all IKE d MARTYR.
w used 70 play csttledCre and -hutt.ecock
d. iJt I,.tuis lawn for hOHFs AT sire &c b. She
could rUn faster than tlil year or two ago.
size s1y now that those battledOre contests
Kept Aey Young. Ever one saws how young
aui gIriisD she IOoks more like my elder sister
than ;Iy mother. indeed strangers generally
taSe ner 10 be nav sister.
How pretty she pretty is too insignificant
word. Sic u beaaril al. | knOw no one with
such lovely CO.ap lexOn-clear and pale with
q rosy Hush that lights up her face suddenly
when she i animated. her large hazel ewes
are tie lOyentst / ever saw. They have so
much lgnt IN them and her smiles are like
warm summer sunshine.
EnI must begin the story of nv life in those
day when l was just Old enough to under
stand all that was going on around about me,
aud 70 be sorry when those loved were sOrry
and that will bring me only too soon to the
saddest part OF all my life. the time when my
father was taken from Us.
Let me try and recall him wildly in this book
while am still able to remember him exactly
as he was. so tina, when am old and memory
grows dim may md hIs image here as one
finds a rose III a book. dry and dead. but with
Its beauty and color aud velvet texture still re-
naming.
What a splendid-looking man he was: not
Ike Guy Livingston nor like Edward Fairfax
Rochester. There nothing dark or rugged
or repulslve about nv dear father and in
deed. although ones heart always goes out to
swGrthy repuistvs nan in the pages of a
novel, don't know whether one would take
quite so kindly 10 Brian de Bots Gilbert or
even 20 Rochester in real life. lIy father was
Ike David, Of pleasant countenance, ruddy
and fslr to see. 1 can bring his face and figure
before me like vision when shut nv ewes IN
the sunshine and fancy him walking across the
lawn 10 meet me, with the blue OF the river be-
hind him, as 1 used to see him so often in the
happy days before l went to Harley street.
lie was tall and broad shouldered, upright,
with an easy walk. He took long steps as he
came across the grass swinging his oak stick
the stick he used in his long tramps to Henley
or Reading. or across the fields and woods TO
some Out-ot-the-way village. He was almost
always out of doors in summer-alone. or with
mother, oftenest with mother-walking, driv-
Ing, rowing, playing tennis.
DE was not too Old for tennis. Yes. there is
the b.lght, frank face, and the smiling blue
syes-honest English ewes. His portrait in
the library, and his photographs NAV help to
Keep EIs features clearly in my memory. out it
seems TO me as If | never could have forgotten
him event. there had been no portrait Of aim in
e&lsieiice. II Is hardly question of memory.
his face lives IN my heart and mind.
He was fond OF me. One OF nv earliest
recollectiOns is OF lying at the end of the
punt among a heap OF soft cushions while
my father walked up and down with the long.
heavy punt pole. and moved the great clumsy
boat over the bright blue water sometimes
turning into quiet backwater. where he would
moor his boat. aud SIT and smoke his pipe in
the sunshine, and talk to me in a slow, dreamy
way between the pulls of tobacco or let me
talk to hIEl- Oh, how used to chatter in nv
Ettle sAri.I voice. and what questions used 10
asA hlIa, question after question, and bow puz-
Fled hC used 10 look sometimes at nv everlast-
ing why and my everlasting what" Why
did tbe sun shine, or why did the river MAKE
the boat move or what were the flowers made
OF Dearest father. how patient he was with
NE. lie used 10 laugh of my questions. He
psver explained things, or taught me the
names OF ihe flowers like Uncle Ambrose. Our
Efe together Was a perpetual holiday. He
taught me how 10 fish FOR dace and minnows
out OF the stern OF the boat, and was very
happy with him. II all seems AGe a dream OF
happiness now as look back upon IT, but as
distinct as the most vivid dream from which
one has only Just awakened.
Sometimes these happy mornings were Sun
day mornings when mother was at church. IL
Sunday happened TO be a very warm day father
would begin TO yawn az breakfast time and
would say be did not feel inclined for church
and would so on the water with DAISY. and
then used TO clap my hands and rush off TO
bonnet and baF,ra ,untbar had