Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1893-01-31

Deem IdtnIul 70 mo-Suoy suu my uesss
Ellen, always.
"Psrhaps ! tire you with this chat, " hs
said.
"Oh, mol" replied L ~ should be O
poor American II did not love to hear
Of Mother England everywhere and al
ways"
'I almost fear to talk about home
our old home, mean-to my dear child.
She might grow . little homesick, you
know, and how could she understand, sc
young and q woman. too, that duty
makes exile needfuli OF course I do moi
mean to suggest that we deem our new
home In the Promised Land an exile"
And here he again gave the same anx'
ious look had before observed, ~ II he
dreaded had the power TO dissolve IN
unsubstantial illusion.
81 wish I had thought" he continued,
'.to show You. when you were at tea, q
picture Of Clitheroe Hall have. II ID
my daughter Ellen's work. She has Q
genius for art. really genius. We have
been living In . cottage near there,
where she could zee the hall from hel
window-dear old placei and she haa
made o capital drawing Of It."
"You had left itf asked. He had
paused, commanded by his melancholy
recollections.
"Oh, yesi Did I not tell you abou,
my lossesi I was rich man and pros
porous once. I kept open house, SIR, In
my wife's lifetime. She was great
beauty. Ny dear Ellen Is like her, but
she has no beauty-a good girl and
daughter. though. like all young people
she has juvenile wish to govern-bui
no beauty. Perhaps she will grow hand
some when we grow rich again."
"Few women are 80 attractive as Mis-
Clitheroe," I said boldly enough.
II have tried TO be good father tc
her, sir. She should have had diamondi
and pearls. and everything that young
ladies want, II ! had succeeded. Bu'
you ought to have seen Clitheroe Hall
sir, In its best days. Such oaks as hat
In my park! One Of those oaks Is no
ticed in Evelyn's Silva. One day, Q
great many years ago, I found young
man sitting under that oak writing
verses. was hospitable to him, and
gave him luncheon, which he ate with {
very good appetite. II he was poet.
did not ask his name; but not three
months after I received volume ol
poems, with q sonnet among them
really very well done-very well done
indeed-inscribed to the Clitheroe oak
The volume, sir, was by Mr.. Words
worth, quite one Of our best poets In hi
way, the founder Of q new school,"
"a very pleasant incidentr
eyes, indeed. The poet was forth
nate, was he noti But II you are FOND
Of pictures, I should have liked to show
you my Vandykes. We had the famous
Clitheroe Beauty. an earl's daughter
maid of honor to Queen Henrietta Maria,
She chose plain Hugh Clitheroe before
all the nobleinen OF the court-we Clith'
eroes have always been fortunate In that
way. I said plain Hugh, but he was a,
handsome q cavalier as ever wore rapier
He might have been an earl himself, but
he took the part Of liberty and was
killed on the Parliament side at Edge
moor. I had his portrait, too, q Van
dyke, and one Of the best pictures he
ever painted, as believe Is agreed by
connoisseurs. You should have seen the
white horse, sir, In that picture-full oi
gentleness and spirit, and worthy the
handsome cavalier just ready to mount
him."
As the old gentleman talked Of hi,
heroic ancestor, name not unknown to
history, he revived little and saw an
evanescent look of his daughters vigor
In his eye. It faded instantly. He
sighed and went on.
81 should almost have liked to live In
those days. II Is easier to die for holy
cause than to find ones way along
through life. I have found 1t pretty
hard. sir-pretty hard-and hope my
day OF peace Is nearly come"
How could I shatter his delusion and
thunder in his ear that this hope was q
lie?
II had q happy time Of It," he con.
tinued, "till after my Ellen's birth. and
ought to be thankful for that. ! had
my dear wife and hosts Of friends-so
thought them. To be sure I spent too
much money, and sometimes had rather
too gay an evening over the claret at my
old oak dining table. But that was
harmless pleasure, sir. Twas always q
kind landlord. never could turn out a
tenant nor arrest poacher. lsuppose
was too kind. I might better have
saved some Of the money gave to my
people In beef and beer on holidays. But
II made them happy. I like to see every.
body happy. That was my chief pleas.
ure. The people were very poor in Eng
land then, ir-not that they are not poor
now and used to be very glad when a
good old English holiday or birthday
gave me chance to give them u little
festival"
I could imagine him the gentle, genial
host. Fate should have left him there In
the old hall, dispensing frank hospitality
all his sunny days and bland seasons
through, lunching young poets, aud
showing his vandykes with proper pride
to strangers. His story carried truth on
It's face. In fact, the man was all the
while an illustration Of his own tale.
Every tone and phrase convicted him OF
his own character.
"It sometimes makes me little mel.
sncholy," he continued, "to speak Of
those happy days. Not that regret the
result have at last attainedl All, mol
But the process was . hard one. Ihave
suffered, sir, suffered greatly on my way
to the peace and confidence ! have at'
tanned"
.You have attained theser / said.
eyes; thank God and this Latter-day
revelation of his truth! used to think
rather carelessly Of religion In those
times. I suppose It Is only the contact
with sin and sorrow that teaches man
10 look from the tranitory to the eter'
nal. Shade makes light precious, a. an
artist would say. was brougheup, you
know, sir, In the Church Of England, but
when I began to think its Journalism
vearied me. could not understand
what seemed to me then the compiler
machinery OF it. theology. ] Thought
sir. a no doubt many people Of the
poetic temperament and little experience
think, that God deals with men withou,
70 betweens; that he acts directly on the
character by the facts Of nature aud the
thoughts In every soul.
"It was not until I grew old and
IL sh.k togau N fpel tha need