The record-union., 1896-01-11

her. if / were not there to share it. Ex-
cept during office hours, and my weekly
visit to the club, we were never Sepa-
rated The fellows never wanted to see
me alone. They knew that Bridget was
my second self, and loved to sit and talk
to her in our pleasant little parlor on the
Donny brook Road. They all admired
and loved her, just as if she were their
sister as we'll as mine. / do not know
how much it is permitted a brother to
say in his praise of his sister; but at the
risk of offending against an unwritten
law, will admit with pride that Bridget
is the sweetest and prettiest woman
have ever met. With her there my fire.
side is abundantly decorated; and I
have not yet felt the temptation to de-
sire another presence.
The mention of Arcanieva, as have
said, excited her, and a description of
his person and qualifications by no
means tended to allay the excitement
We had both read War and Peace, and,
in spite of noble resolutions. had been
unable to conceal from ourselves that it
was colossally duh. Bridget being of a
finer and more charitable nature, quail
fed the condemnation by calling it cy-
clopean; she said it reminded her of the
vast steppes of Russia and its wide
half -peopled dominions. 1t followed
she thought, that a book treating of
such a nation could not accurately be
lively or sparkling. In the interest of
local color she was willing to sacrifice
her individual taste, and to describe it,
with a solemn shake of her pretty brown
head, as a great work, a profound, cy-
clopean view of life I swallowed the
cyclopean, as / would have swallowed
an elephant, if physically able to do so,
upon her persuasion, and with much
misgiving applied myself to Anna Kar-
emma" We made better way with this,
though neither of us would have
thought the book less powerful or less
entertaining if that heavy agricultural
philosopher, Levine, had been left out of
it, On the whole, we enjoyed Anna
Karenina," and were determined to
speak of it with unqualified admiration.
saying nothing whatever about Levine,
when Arcanieva came.
He came to tea one Sunday afternoon.
When he stepped into the soft lamp
light smiling upon us both, thought
~ handsome than his head, with its
shining dusky hair brushed roundly off
it and touching the broad velvet collar,
that had an appearance really Byronic.
His cleaning eyes, after a slight smile OF
greeting directed toward me, rested in
tensely upon Bridget's face-rested
thereon deliberately, complacently, but
not in the least impertinently. What
they saw must have pleased them, how
ever beautiful the Russian ladies may
be. Bridget looked like a little Dresden
statue thrilled into life in state of
fiuttering pink and white excitement,
her soft blue eyes burning lustrously
as with an inward flame. She held out
her hand and it was very pretty
hand, slim and white and deliciously
dimpled. Arcanieva smiled as he took
it. as if he wished us to understand that
he thought the habit of shaking hands
upon introduction singularly agree
able practice when the proffered hand
was that of pretty woman.
He drank several cups of tea, and
ate several thin slices of bread and but
ter and some plum cake with an evil
dent relish, talking the while in a per-
sistent murmuring stream. He spoke
well; his voice was musical and slow
with a slight lisp that was an added at
traction and his language was rather
more correct than that of the average
young Englishman who frequents the
drawing rooms and drinks tea of an
afternoon. His culture, considering his
youth, was amazing, and more amaz-
ing still were his theories. He was a
theosophist, and discoursed in an odd,
vague way about the Elemental. l had
a tremendous respect for his intellect,
but for the life of me I could never get
at his meaning when he mounted this
particular hobby I used to dream af-
terward that 1 was wandering through
space, greeted continuously with the
word elemental in letters of fire. AS well
as could make out from his soft, vague
monologue, Lermontoff and Byron were
the only men of genius who have this
quality of elemental English litera-
ture was a conventional imposition; the
French was also a sham, an unconven-
tional sham, blighted by the so-called
esprit gaulois-which he translated
'the spirit of the SEX" and I thought
the definition good; Germany nourished
herself upon thin sentimentalities and
the South had long since burned itself
out in the fire of its own gross passions.
In the puff of a cigarette he obliterated
all their claims, and Russia stood out
sharply defined, as he seemed to think,
by that inexplicable word elemental,
rising from an ocean of potentialities to
build itself an impregnable and perma-
nent dominion upon the ruins of de-
cayed literatures by the force of it's own
young blood and unemasculated senses.
OF the originality and potential
strength of Russian literature he had
not a doubt and expressed himself,
when on this theme, with an eloquence
and fuency that charmed US and car
ried US away.
.'And Ireland?'' Bridget asked him
breathlessly, with a glance of en-
chanted surprise.
ireland, my dear young lady, has its
future. 1t is perhaps farther away than
ours, which nearly touches the present.
But you will need to throw off the
chains of imitation. You are at present
neither Irish nor English, simply pro-
vincial You copy the English-may l
say it and not offend? badly, weakly.
You have less of the Elemental in you
than the savage races who breathe at
least by themselves, until they, too, are
spoiled by imitation. You are an inter
esting race. a delightful race, and the
Potential is not as yet discovered in
you
We felt unreasonabiy abashed; our
judge was so amiable. so suave. so in
expressibly superior. Yet Bridget found
voice to make a spirited protest for the
honor Of her beloved land.
l net met Arcanieva at a college
breakfast party at Lumley's rooms. He
was still holding forth upon the Ele-
mental and decayed literatures. and