The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1897-11-14

while she turned out the contents Oh
funny old work basket. II was filed with
ouaipt pieces of faded bro
cade. and scraps of yellow
lace from forgotten dresses. was
then %; my mother was As, and as beaud-
full as she had ever been. As she sorted
out the rags, she came upon one remnant
of a very handsome old furniture tapes
try.
THAT will do for this place, I think"
she said, pointing to gap in her silk en-
broidery, into which she was working Sc
lected pieces from different designs, and
combining them cleverly into new col
or-harmony. 1T just fills up that corner.
What do you say to it. Walter?"
Yes" 1 answered, carelessly. ITS
very pretty pattern. remember I always
did admire it immensely"
NV mother smiled. Admire itr she
cried. "Why, Walter, you silly! You can't
ever have seen it. You were ten months
old when the west wing was burnt. And
the rest Of these curtains were burnt with
the bed room"
reflected moment. '"Ten months old"
/ answered. MY dear mother, impossi-
BILE! I remember that pattern as well as
If it were yesterday. And the ffre-why,
dear me, the fire is one of my clearest
childish memories. You must be mistaken.
I can recollect the engine coming over
from Wade, and the men in their brass
helmets, and the red glare of the flames
on the garden wall, as distinctly as any
thing that ever happened to me-
You've heard of it, my dear boy" my
mother said firmly; 80 you fancy you
recollect it,
Fancy" / cried taken aback. Not
bit of it. remember it. Why, those cur
tains had crimson flowers like this one on
their edges, with big birds of paradise,
or something of the sort. on palm
branches in the center"
you've seen them elsewhere my moth
er said confidently. After all, the pattern
was at one time quite fashionable" And
she matched her shades of silk with it,"
mo, no." I answered, with that natural
indignation one always feels at being
doubted, even in trife. There was an
old mahogany four-poster in the room,
with pineapple tops to the lower posts;
and these curtains hung down from a
canopy overhead-a round-edged canopy,
with carved wooden roses
MY dear boy" said my mother, "you
must have seen a picture Of il. can't be
mistaken as to the date of the fire You
were ten months Old at the time, and 1 had
only just weaned you A mother doesn't
forget important things like that, espe-
cially when they happen to her first baby"
And there was a Cupid at the foot" l
m will win arA n
torch, carved in high relief. in very old ma
hogany."
Ny mother glanced aside, and called the
head gardener with a movement of her
eyes. He came up.
Yes. my lady?"
Watson how old was Mr.. Walter when
the west wing was burned DOWN."
Mr.. Walter came of age October last
year, my lady So he must have been just
about ten months old at the time of the
fire; for it was the first July after 1 came
to Sir Archibald"
Mr.. Walter was baby in arms when
you Gamer"
Yes, my lady; a month old. And the
fire was in July. We were just on the
strawberries. The date of the rebuilding
is up on the new wing you know, Mr..
Waiter
So it was, knew we'll In flash it all
came home to me. I remembered the room
as it was before the fire as distinctly as 1
remembered my rooms in Christ church. L
couldn't have known at the time the bed
was mahogany, or the creatures that
sprawled on the curtains We're birds of
Paradise; but l knew they were now, Just
as ! knew the carved figure at the foot
was a winged Cupid. The picture had re-
manned with me, as vivid as any picture |
ever saw in my life; it was stamped upon
my brain; and l had read into it the re-
re Of lot I II
the whole room, now that the tapestry
gave me hint on which to hang it; could
recall the engravings that hanked the
grate-mezzotints after Sir Joshua, 1
should take them to be nowadays; could
recall the satin coverings of the chairs
and sofas (Second Empire taste, with the
paper on the walls, the carpet on the floor,
the Persian tiles by the fireplace. 1 de-
scribed them all to my mother. Don't
talk of it, Walter she cried, looking over
at me half-suspiciously. 1T seems quite
uncanny If you really do remember it all,
you must have been too terribly precocious
baby. And if you don't remember it, why
IN sure / can't say who on earth can
have told you all about it,"
l saw my strange memory gave her
shudder of vague fear; and as I always
respected my mothers little supersttions-
she was a Devonshire woman-I said no
more about the matter at the time for fear
OF worrying her.
But like the parrot in the story, 1 thought
the more. 1t was quite clear to me now
that l could distinctly recollect the APP
pearance Of a room which was burnt to
the ground when l was ten months old
If l could recollect that 1 could recollect
other things. Memory is a faculty that
lies dormant for a while but can generally
be revived by some material association
Psychology had interested me from my
Oxford training-though my father dislik-
ed it, l began 70 try definitely how much
1 could recall of my earliest days, starting
from the burnt wing as a reconstructive
basis
Bit by bit. the whole series came strange
ly back to me. The room, once clearly re-
constructed in my mind, led up to the peo-
pie who We're most of all associated with
it. Dimly at first through the mist of
years but more wildly afterwards as
bent my mind to it, there occurred to me
the faces of a nurse and a nurse-maid. who
used to take me for walks down the paths
IN the park, when the plantations were
young, before the new larches had been
Put in by the side of Hurtwood Hanger.
one point after another l recovered piece
meal New people and new facts seemed
10 suggest yet further scenes and episodes.
grew absorbed in the pursuit. My father.
with has military prejudices, declared /