Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-03-29

Uncle Ambrose Is SO gOOQ TO me. OUT nave
reproached him lately with neglecting my
education. which seems a hard thing now when
/ am getting older. and. as / venture to think.
worthier to-be his pupil. remember the pains
he used to take with me and the time he used
to waste upon my exercises and compositions
and resumes before / was in my teens, and now
when want his help he is generally too much
occupied to give 1t. or if he consents to spend
AN hour in my morning room hearing me read
Dante or Virgil can see that his mind is no
longer in the work. He used to give me such
delightful explanations and illustrations over
every page, SO that to read a page of the
Eneid or the Divine Comedy with him was as
good as a lecture upon classic or medieval his
tory. He used to throw himself into the work
with all his heart, talking of that old Floren-
tine world as if he had lived in it and been in
innate with all the people; hinging himself
into vexed questions of politics or social life as
If the argument were a thing of today, as if
Dante had but just left the city. as if Savonaroa
were still teaching and preaching and then he
used to take such interest in any little compo-
sition Of mine and would laugh SO pleasantly
at my ungrammatical construction, my bread
and-butter missishness. Now, when his life
ought to be utterly happy. having won the wife
of his heart, there is cloud upon his spirits
He seems to have lost the old zest for the books
he once loved.
Can it be that in his heart of hearts he
knows my mother does not really love him
that she gave herself TO him in the hone of
making his life happy, of giving him some re-
ward for years of quiet devotion on his part?
Can it be that he knows, as well as | know.
that her heart is buried in her first husbands
grave?
This is the only solution I can imagine for
that shadow of trouble which hangs over his
life. which makes all common pleasures a
WEAKNESS to him; which makes him tire of
everything and turn restlessly from one friv-
oious amusement to another, as if in search of
distractions rather than of happiness
L asked him the other day WHY he had been
so eager to set up an establishment in London
and to plunge into the gay world
Il had two motives, Daisy" he said with his
grave, explanatory air. just like the Uncle Am
thought it only right that in your dawn of
womanhood you should taste all the pleasures
which are supposed to be delightful to your
age and sex. L did not want you to look back
IN the time to come and say to yourself, My
step-father cheated me out of the privileges of
my position in life-he kept me mewed up in
country house when L ought to have been en-
joying all the pleasures that society can offer
to rich mans daughter and heiress. Had he
been my own father he would have been more
considerable did not want you to say that,
Daisy, perhaps. when l was dust"
do you think l could ever have been so I'M
just or so ungrateful?'
1T would have been only human to have re-
GREETED pleasures you had never known" he
answered. MY secondary motive was purely sell
fish. never lived till 1 made your mother my
wife. WANTED to drink deep of the cup of life.
wanted all the pleasures and gladness that life
could give me. even Its most frivolous pleas
ures. L wanted to see what the great world
was like, to hear my wife admired as a queen
among women. wanted to share the amuse-
ments which might interest her, to feel that
our welded life was one joyous holiday"
He broke off with sigh. The word JOY
sounded pure mockery from those pale lips.
Uncle Ambrose, L like you ever so much
better as a scholar and recluse than rs a man
of fashion" l cried. in my impetuous way
OF course 1t was just one of those things 1
ought not to have said, and l began to
apologize.
Il know how everybody admires you, and
how anxious people are to see you,' l said Il
hear them talking about you at parties. asking
if You are really the Ambrose Arden who wrote
Flesh or Spirit and hear them praising your
noble head and your placid expression and
quiet, contemplative manner You are distin-
guished from the herd in whatever society you
may appear-but still, but still l like my
Uncle Ambrose of the Buckinghamshire lanes
better than the gentleman with whom mother
and | tread the mill-round of London parties
You are right, Daisy, Fashion is not my
meter. But l wanted to see what the gay
world was like, and whether there was any
thing in the atmosphere of London drawing
rooms that could make a man forget that
bundle of doubts. regrets and disappointments
which we call self. / find no Lethe in Mayfair
me from square to street. and from street to
square,"
He rose with troubled sigh and began to
pace the room.
You to Talk of disappointments" cried
reproachfully. what a bad compliment to
MOTHER
Daisy. you know well as do that to me
your mother is simply the most adorable of
women. and yet am disappointed, and yet
am disheartened. for thought this butterfly
life of ours would please her and / don't be-
lieve it does"
''You should have left her in the home she
loves, l answered. ''She was as happy there
as she ever could be anywhere, after the sor-
row that clouded her life forever. You cannot
expect such cloud as that to pass away alto
gether. You cannot expect her ever to be just
the same as other women in whose lives there
has been no tragedy. You ought never to
have brought her to live in London. Don't
You know that to her and to me this great gay
London, with all its wealth and brightness and
headlong hunt after pleasure. means only the
city III which my father was murdered? We
can never forget that one fact. To us London
must always be the most hateful place in the
world"
L was carried away by my feelings. and said
good deal more than meant to say.