 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Lamplighter by Charles Dickens If you talk of Murphy and Francis Moore, gentlemen, said the lamplighter who is in the chair, I mean to say that neither of them ever had any more to do with the stars than Tom Grig had. And what had he to do with them, asked the lamplighter who officiated as vice. Nothing at all, replied the other, just exactly nothing at all. Do you mean to say you don't believe in Murphy then, demanded the lamplighter who had opened the discussion? I mean to say I believe in Tom Grig, replied the chairman, whether I believe in Murphy or not is a matter between me and my conscience, and whether Murphy believes in himself or not is a matter between him and his conscience. Gentlemen, I drink your health. The lamplighter, who did the company dishonour, was seated in the chimney corner of a certain tavern, which has been, time out of mind, the lamplighter's house of call. He sat in the midst of a circle of lamplighters and was the cacique or chief of the tribe. If any of our readers have had the good fortune to behold a lamplighter's funeral, they will not be surprised to learn that lamplighters are a strange and primitive people, that they rigidly adhere to old ceremonies and customs which have been handed down among them from father to son since the first public lamp was lighted out of doors, that they intermarry and betroth their children in infancy, that they enter into no plots or conspiracies for whoever heard of a traitorous lamplighter, that they commit no crimes against the laws of their country, there being no instance of a murderous or burglarious lamplighter, that they are in short notwithstanding their apparently volatile and restless character, a highly moral and reflective people, having among themselves as many traditional observances as the Jews, and being as a body, if not as old as the hills, at least as old as the streets. It is an article of their creed that the first faint glimmering of true civilisation shone in the first streetlight maintained at the public expense. They trace their existence and high position in the public esteem in a direct line to the heathen mythology, and hold that the history of Prometheus himself is but a pleasant fable whereof the true hero is a lamplighter. Gentlemen, said the lamplighter in the chair, I drink your health. And perhaps, sir, said the vice, holding up his glass and rising a little way off his seat and sitting down again in token that he recognised and returned the compliment, perhaps you will add to that condescension by telling us who Tom Greg was and how he came to be connected in your mind with Francis Moore, physician. Here, here, here, cried the lamplighters generally. Tom Greg, gentlemen, said the chairman, was one of us, and it happened to him, as it don't happen often to a public character in our line, that he had what his, what you may call it, cast. His head, said the vice. No, replied the chairman. Not his head. His face, perhaps, said the vice. No. Not his face. His legs. No. Not his legs. Nor his arms, nor his hands, nor his feet, nor his chest. All of which were severally suggested. His nativity, perhaps? That's it, said the chairman, awakening from his thoughtful attitude at the suggestion. His nativity. That's what Tom had cast, gentlemen. In plaster, asked the vice. I don't rightly know how it was done, returned the chairman, but I suppose it was. And there he stopped, as if that were all he had to say, whereupon there arose a murmur among the company, which at length resolved itself into a request conveyed through the vice that he would go on, this being exactly what the chairman wanted. He mused for a little time, performed that agreeable ceremony, which is popularly termed, wetting one's whistle, and went on thus. Tom, great gentleman, was, as I have said, one of us, and I may go further and say he was an ornament to us. Such a one as only the good old times of oil and cotton could have produced. Tom's family, gentlemen, were all lamp-lighters. Not the ladies, I hope, asked the vice. They had a talent enough for it, sir, rejoined the chairman, and would have been but for the prejudices of society. Let women have their rights, sir, and the females of Tom's family would have been every one of them in office. But that emancipation hasn't come yet, and hadn't then, and consequently they confined themselves to the bosoms of their families, cooked the dinners, mended the clothes, minded the children, comforted their husbands, and attended to the housekeeping generally. It's a hard thing upon the women, gentlemen, that they are limited to such a sphere of action as this, very hard. I happen to know all about Tom, gentlemen, from the circumstance of his uncle and by his mother's side, having been my particular friend. His, that's Tom's uncle, his uncle's fate was a melancholy one, gas was the death of him. When it was first talked of, he laughed. He wasn't angry, he laughed at the credulity of human nature. They might as well talk, he says, of laying on an everlasting succession of glow-worms, and then he laughed again, partly at his joke, and partly at poor humanity. In course of time, however, the thing got ground. The experiment was made, and they lighted up Paul Maul. Tom's uncle went to see it. I've heard that he fell off his ladder 14 times that night from weakness, and that he would certainly have gone on falling till he killed himself if his last tumble hadn't been into a wheelbarrow which was going his way, and she mainly took him home. I foresee in this, says Tom's uncle faintly, and taking to his bed as he spoke. I foresee in this, he says, the breaking up of our profession. There's no more going the rounds to trim by daylight, no more dribbling down of the oil on the hats and bonnets of ladies and gentlemen when one feels in spirits any low fellow can light a gas lamp, and it's all up. In this state of mind he petitioned the government for, I want a word again, gentlemen, what do you call that which they give to people when it's been found out at last that they've never been of any use and have been paid too much for doing nothing? Compensation, suggested the vice. That's it, said the chairman. Compensation. They didn't give it him, though, and then he got very fond of his country all at once and went about saying that gas was a death blow to his native land and that it was a plot of the radicals to ruin the country and destroy the oil and cotton trade forever and that the whales would go and kill themselves privately out of sheer spite and vexation at not being caught. At last he got right down cracked, called his tobacco pipe a gas pipe, thought his tears were lamp-oil and went on with all manner of nonsense of that sort till one night he hung himself on a lamp-iron in St. Martin's Lane and there was an end of him. Tom loved him, gentlemen, but he survived it. He shed a tear over his grave, got very drunk, spoke a funeral oration that night in the watch-house and was fined five shillings for it in the morning. Some men are none the worse for this sort of thing. Tom was one of them. He went that very afternoon on a new beat, as clear in his head and as free from fever as Father Matthew himself. Tom's new beat, gentlemen, was, I can't say exactly where, for that he'd never tell, but I know it was in the quiet part of town where there were some queer old houses. I have always had it in my head that it must have been somewhere near Canberra Tower in Islington, but that's a matter of opinion. Wherever it was he went upon it with a brand-new ladder, a white hat, a brown Holland's jacket and trousers, a blue necker-chief and a sprig of full-blown double-wall flower in his buttonhole. Tom was always genteel in his appearance, and I've heard from the best judges that if he left his ladder at home that afternoon you might have took him for a lord. He was always merry, was Tom, and such a singer, that if there was any encouragement for native talent he'd have been at the opera. He was on his ladder, lighting his first lamp and singing to himself in a manner more easily to be conceived than described. When he hears the clock strike five and suddenly sees an old gentleman with a telescope in his hand, throw up a window and look at him very hard. Tom didn't know what could be passing in this old gentleman's mind. He thought it likely enough that he might be saying within himself, here's a new lamp-lighter, a good-looking young fellow, shall I stand something to drink? Thinking this possible, he keeps quite still, pretending to be very particular about the wick and looks at the old gentleman sideways, seeming to take no notice of him. Gentlemen, he was one of the strangest and most mysterious-looking files that ever Tom clapped his eyes on. He was dressed all slovenly and untidy and in a great gown of a kind of bed-furniture pattern with a cap of the same on his head and a long, old, flapped waistcoat with no braces, no strings, very few buttons in short, very hardly any of those artificial contravences that hold society together. Tom knew by these signs and by his not being shaved and by his not being overclean and by a sort of wisdom not quite awake in his face that he was a scientific old gentleman. He often told me that if he could have conceived the possibility of the whole royal society being boiled down into one man, he should have said the old gentleman's body was that body. The old gentleman claps the telescope to his eye, looks all round, sees nobody else in sight, stares at Tom again and cries out very loud, Hello! Hello, sir, says Tom from the latter, and hello again if you come to that. He is an extraordinary fulfilment, says the old gentleman, of a prediction of the planets. Is there, says Tom? I'm very glad to hear it. Young man, says the old gentleman, you don't know me. Sir, says Tom, I have not that honour, but I shall be happy to drink your health notwithstanding. I read, cries the old gentleman, without taking any notice of this politeness on Tom's part, I read what's going to happen in the stars. Tom thanked him for the information and begged to know if anything particular was going to happen in the stars in the course of a week or so. But the old gentleman, correcting him, explained that he read in the stars what was going to happen on dry land and that he was acquainted with all the celestial bodies. I hope they're all well, says Tom, everybody. Hush, cries the old gentleman. I have consulted the Book of Fate with rare and wonderful success. I am first in the great sciences of astrology and astronomy. In my house here, I have every description of apparatus for observing the course and motion of the planets. Six months ago, I derived from this source the knowledge that precisely as the clock struck five this afternoon, a stranger would present himself, the destined husband of my young and lovely niece, in reality of illustrious and high descent, but whose birth would be enveloped in uncertainty and mystery. Don't tell me yours isn't, says the old gentleman, who is in such a hurry to speak that he couldn't get the words out fast enough, for I know better. Gentleman Tom was so astonished when he heard him say this that he could hardly keep his footing on the ladder and found it necessary to hold on by the lamppost. There was a mystery about his birth. His mother had always admitted it. Tom had never known who was his father and some people had gone so far as to say that even she was in doubt. While he was in this state of amazement, the old gentleman leaves the window, bursts out of the house door, shakes the ladder, and Tom, like a right pumpkin, comes sliding down into his arms. Let me embrace you, he says, folding his arms about him and nearly lighting up his old bed furniture gown at Tom's link. You're a man of noble aspect. Everything combines to prove the accuracy of my observations. You have had mysterious promptings within you, he says. You have had whisperings of greatness, eh, he says. I think I have, says Tom. Tom was one of those who can persuade themselves to anything they like. I've often thought I wasn't a small bear I was taken for. You are right, cries the old gentleman hugging him again. Come in, my niece awaits us. Is the young lady tolerable good-looking, sir? Says Tom, hanging fire rather as he thought of her playing the piano in French and being up to all manner of accomplishments. She's beautiful, cries the old gentleman who was in such a terrible bustle that he was all in a perspiration. She has a graceful carriage, an exquisite shape, a sweet voice, a countenance beaming with animation and expression. And the eye, he says, rubbing his hands of a startled fawn. Tom's supposed that this might mean what was called, among his circle of acquaintance, a game eye. And with a view to this defect inquired whether the young lady had any cash. She has five thousand pounds, cries the old gentleman. But what of that? What of that? A word in your ear. I'm in search of the philosopher's stone. I have very nearly found it. Not quite. It turns everything to gold. That sits property. Tom naturally thought it must have a deal of property and said that when the old gentleman did get it he hoped he'd be careful to keep it in the family. Suddenly he says, of course, five thousand pounds. What's five thousand pounds to us? What's five million? He says, what's five thousand million? Money will be nothing to us. We shall never be able to spend it fast enough. We'll try what we can do, sir, says Tom. We will, says the old gentleman. Your name? Greg, says Tom. The old gentleman embraced him again, very tight. And without speaking another word, dragged him into the house in such an excited manner that it was as much as Tom could do to take his link and ladder with him and put them down in the passage. Gentlemen, if Tom hadn't been always remarkable for his love of truth I think you would still have believed him when he said that all this was like a dream. There is no better way for a man to find out whether he is really asleep or awake than calling for something to eat. If he's in a dream, gentlemen, he'll find something wanting in flavor, depend upon it. Tom explained his doubts to the old gentleman and said that if there were any cold meat in the house he would ease his mind very much to test himself at once. The old gentleman ordered up a venison pie, a small ham, and a bottle of very old Madeira. At the first mouthful of pie and the first glass of wine Tom smacks his lips and cries out, I'm awake, wide awake! And to prove that he was so gentleman he made an end of them both. When Tom had finished his meal, which he never spoke of afterwards without tears in his eyes, the old gentleman hugs him again and says, Noble stranger, let us visit my young and lovely niece. Tom, who was a little elevated with the wine replies, the noble stranger is agreeable. At which words the old gentleman took him by the hand and led him to the parlour crying as he opened the door, here is Mr. Grig, the favorite of the planets. I will not attempt a description of female beauty gentlemen for every one of us has a model of his own that suits his own taste best. In this parlour that I'm speaking of there were two young ladies and if every gentleman present will imagine two models of his own in their places and will be kind enough to polish him up to the very highest pitch of perfection he will then have a faint conception of their uncommon radiance. Besides these two young ladies there was their waiting woman that under any circumstances Tom would have looked upon as a Venus and beside her there was a tall, thin, dismal faced young gentleman, half man and half boy dressed in a childish suit of clothes very much too short in the legs and arms and looking, according to Tom's comparisons like one of the wax juveniles from a tailor's door grown up and run to seed. Now this youngster stamped his foot upon the ground and looked very fierce at Tom and Tom looked fierce at him for to tell the true gentleman Tom more than half suspected that when they entered the room he was kissing one of the young ladies and for anything Tom knew you observe which was not pleasant. Sir says Tom before we proceed any further will you have the goodness to inform me who this young salamander Tom called him for aggravation you perceive gentlemen who this young salamander may be that Mr. Griggs as the old gentleman is my little boy he was christened Galileo Isaac Newton Flemstead don't mind him he's a mere child and a very fine child too says Tom still aggravating you'll observe of his age and as good as fine I have no doubt how do you do my man with which kind and patronizing expressions Tom reached up to pat him on the head and quoted two lines about little boys from Dr. Watts Hymns which he had learnt at Sunday school it was very easy to see gentlemen by this youngsters frowning and by the waiting-maids tossing her head and turning up her nose and by the young ladies turning their backs and talking together at the other end of the room that nobody but the old gentleman took very kindly to the noble stranger indeed Tom plainly heard the waiting-woman say to her master that so far as being able to read the stars as he pretended she didn't believe he knew his letters in him or at best that he had to go further into the words in one syllable but Tom not minding this for he was in spirits after the Madeira looked with an agreeable air towards the young ladies and kissing his hand to both says to the old gentleman which is which this says the old gentleman leading out the hensimist if one of them could possibly said to be hensimer than the other this is my niece Miss Fanny Barker if you'll permit me miss Tom being a noble stranger and a favorite of the planets I will conduct myself as such with these words he kisses the young lady in a very affable way turns to the old gentleman slaps him on the back and says when's it to come off my buck the young lady colored so deep and her lip trembled so much gentlemen that Tom really thought she was going to cry but she kept her feelings down and turning to the old gentleman says dear uncle though you have the absolute disposal of by hand and fortune and though you mean well in disposing of them thus I ask you whether you don't think this is a mistake don't you think dear uncle she says that the stars must be in error is it not possible that the comet may have put him out the stars says the old gentleman couldn't make a mistake if they tried Emma he says to the other young lady yes papa says she the same day that makes your cousin Mrs. Greig will unite you to the gifted Mooney no remonstrance no tears now Mr. Greig let me conduct you to the hollowed ground that philosophical retreat where my friend and partner the gifted Mooney of whom I have just now spoken is even now pursuing those discoveries which shall enrich us with the precious metal and make us masters of the world come Mr. Greig he says with all my heart sir replies Tom and luck to the gifted Mooney say I not so much on his account as for our worthy selves with this sentiment Tom kissed his hand to the ladies again and followed him out having the gratification to perceive as he looked back that they were all hanging on by the arms and legs of Galileo Isaac Newton Flamsted to prevent him from following the noble stranger and tearing him to pieces gentlemen Tom's father-in-law that was to be took him by the hand and having lighted a little lamp led him across a paved courtyard at the back of the house into a very large dark gloomy room filled with all manner of bottles globes books telescopes crocodiles alligators and other scientific instruments of every kind in the center of this room was a stove or furnace with what Tom called a pot but which in my opinion was a crucible in full boil in one corner was a sort of ladder leading through the roof and up this ladder the old gentleman pointed as he said in a whisper the observatory Mr. Mooney is even now watching for the precise time at which we had to come into all the riches of the earth it will be necessary for he and I alone in that silent place to cast your nativity before the hour arrives but the day and minute of your birth on this piece of paper and leave the rest to me you don't mean to say says Tom doing as he was told and giving him back the paper the time to wait here long do you it's a precious dismal place hush says the old gentleman it's hallowed ground fair well stop a minute says Tom what a hurry you're all in what's in that large bottle yonder it's a child with three heads says the old gentleman and everything else in proportion why don't you throw him away says Tom what do you keep such unpleasant things here for throw him away cries the old gentleman we use him constantly in astrology he's a charm I shouldn't have thought it says Tom from his appearance must you go I say the old gentleman makes him no answer but climbs up the ladder in a greater bustle than ever Tom looked after his legs till there was nothing of him left and then sat down to wait feeling so he used to say three mason and they were heating the pokers Tom waited so long gentlemen that he began to think it must be getting on for midnight at least and felt more dismal and lonely than ever here done in all his life he tried every means of wiling away the time but it never had seemed to move so slow first he took a nearer view of the child with three heads and thought what a comfort it must have been to his parents then he looked up a long telescope which was pointed out of the window but saw nothing particular but a stopper being on at the other end then he came to a skeleton in a glass case labelled skeleton of a gentleman prepared by Mr Mooney which made him hope that Mr Mooney might not be in the habit of preparing gentlemen that way without their own consent a hundred times at least he looked into the pot where they were boiling the philosophers stone down to the proper consistency and wondered whether it was nearly done when it is things Tom I'll send out for the six penneth of spratts and turn him into goldfish for a first experiment besides which he made up his mind gentlemen to have a country house and a park and to plant a bit of it with a double row of gas lamps a mile long and go out every night with a french polished mahogany ladder and two servants in livery behind him to light him for his own pleasure at length and at last the old gentleman's legs appeared upon the steps leading for the roof and he came slowly down bringing along with him the gifted Mooney this Mooney gentleman was even more scientific in appearance than his friend and had as Tom often declared upon his word and honour the dirtiest face we can possibly know of in this imperfect state of existence gentlemen you are all aware that if a scientific man isn't absent in his mind he's of no good at all Mr Mooney was so absent that when the old gentleman said to him shake hands with Mr Grigg he put out his leg here's a mind Mr Grigg cries the old gentleman in a rapture here's philosophy here's rumination don't disturb him for this is amazing Tom had no wish to disturb him having nothing particular to say but he was so uncommonly amazing that the old gentleman got impatient and determined to give him an electric shock to bring him to for you must know Mr Grigg he charged battery ready for that purpose these means being resulted to gentlemen the gifted Mooney revived with a loud roar and he no sooner came to himself than both he and the old gentleman looked at Tom with compassion and shed tears abundantly my dear friend says the old gentleman to the gifted prepare him I say cries Tom falling back none of that you know no preparing by Mr Mooney if you please replies the old gentleman you don't understand us my friend inform him of his fate I can't the gifted mustered up his voice after many efforts and informed Tom that his nativity had been carefully cast and he would expire at exactly 35 minutes 27 seconds and 5 6 of a second past 9 o'clock a.m. on that day two months gentlemen I leave you to judge this announcement on the eve of matrimony and endless riches I think he says in a trembling voice there must be a mistake in the working of that some will you do me the favor to cast it up again there is no mistake replies the old gentleman it is confirmed by Francis Moore physician here is the prediction for tomorrow two months and he showed him the page where sure enough with these words the face of a great person maybe looked for about this time which says the old gentleman is clearly you Mr. Greek too clearly cries Tom sinking into a chair and giving one hand to the old gentleman and one to the gifted the orb of day has set on Thomas Greek forever at this affecting remark the gifted shed tears again and the other two mingle their tears with his in a kind if I may use the expression of Mooney and Coe's entire but the old gentleman recovered first observed that this was only a reason for hastening the marriage in order that Tom's distinguished race might be transmitted to posterity and requested the gifted to console Mr. Grig during his temporary absence he withdrew to settle the preliminaries with his niece immediately and now gentlemen a very extraordinary and remarkable occurrence took place for as Tom sat in a melancholy way in one chair and the gifted sat in a melancholy way in another a couple of doors were thrown violently open the two young ladies rushed in and one knelt down in a loving attitude Tom's feet and the other at the gifted so far perhaps as Tom was concerned as he used to say you will say there's nothing strange in this but you will be of a different opinion when you understand that Tom's young lady was kneeling to the gifted and the gifted's young lady was kneeling to Tom hello stop a minute cries Tom here's a mistake I need condoling by sympathising woman under my afflicting circumstances but we're out in the figure change partners Mooney monster cries Tom's young lady clinging to the gifted this says Tom is that your manners I abjure thee cries Tom's young lady I've renounced thee I will never be thine thou she says to the gifted art the object of my first and all engrossing passion wrapped in thy sublime visions thou hast not perceived my love but driven to despair I now shake off the woman and avow it oh cruel cruel man with which reproach she laid her head upon the gifted's breast and put her arms about him in the tenderest manner possible gentlemen and I says the other young lady in a sort of ecstasy that made Tom start I hereby abjure my chosen husband too hear me goblin this was to the gifted hear me I hold thee in the deepest detestation the maddening interview of this one night has filled my soul with love but not for thee it is for thee for thee young man she cries to Tom as Monk Lewis finally observes Thomas Thomas I am thine Thomas Thomas thou art mine thine forever with which words she became very tender likewise Tom and the gifted gentlemen as you may believe looked at each other in a very awkward manner and with thoughts not at all complimentary to the two young ladies as to the gifted I have heard Tom say often that he was certain he was in a fit and had it inwardly speak to me oh speak to me Christ Tom's young lady to the gifted I don't want to speak to anybody he says finding his voice at last and trying to push her away I think I had better go I I'm I'm frightened he says looking about as if he had lost something not one look of love she cries hear me while I declare I don't know how to look a look of love he says all in a maze don't declare anything I don't want to hear anybody that's right cries the old gentleman who it seems had been listening that's right don't hear her she'll marry you tomorrow my friend whether she likes it or not and she shall marry Mr. Grig gentlemen these words were no sooner out of his mouth than Galileo Isaac Newton Flamsted who it seems had been listening to darts in and spinning round and round like a young giant's top cries letter letter I'm fierce I'm furious I give her leave I'll never marry anybody after this never it isn't safe she is the falsest of the false he cries tearing his hair and gnashing his teeth and die a bachelor the little boy the gifted gravely albeit of tender years has spoken wisdom I have been led to the contemplation of womankind and will not adventure on the troubled waters of matrimony what says the old gentleman not marry my daughter won't you Mooney not if I make her won't you won't you no says Mooney I won't and if anybody asks me anymore I'll run away and never come back again Mr. Grig says the old gentleman the stars must be obeyed you have not changed your mind because of a little girlish folly Mr. Grig Tom gentlemen had had his eyes about him and was pretty sure that all this was a device and trick of the waiting-maid to put him off his inclination he'd seen her hiding and skipping about the two doors and had observed that a very little whispering from her pacified the salamander directly so thinks Tom this is a plot but it won't fit hey Mr. Grig says the old gentleman why sir says Tom pointing to the crucible if the soup's nearly ready another hour beholds the consummation of our labours return the old gentleman very good says Tom with a mournful air it's only for two months but I may as well be the richest man in the world even for that time I'm not particular I'll take a sir I'll take her the old gentleman was in a rapture to find Tom still in the same mind and drawing the young lady towards him little by little was joining their hands by main force when all of a sudden gentlemen the crucible blows up with a great crash everybody screams the room is filled with smoke and Tom not knowing what may happen next throws himself into a fancy attitude and says come on if you're a man without addressing himself to anybody in particular the labours of 15 years as the old gentleman clasping his hands and looking down upon the gifted who was saving the pieces are destroyed in an instant and I am told gentlemen by the same philosopher's stone would have been discovered a hundred times at least to speak within bounds if it wasn't for the one unfortunate circumstance that the apparatus always blows up when it's on the very point of succeeding Tom turns pale when he hears the old gentleman expressing himself in this unpleasant effect and stammers out that if it's quite agreeable to all parties he'd like to know exactly what has happened and what change has really taken place in the prospects of that company we have failed for the present Mr. Grigg and wiping his forehead and I regret it more because I have in fact invested by nieces 15,000 pounds in this glorious speculation but don't be cast down he says anxiously in another 15 years Mr. Grigg oh Christ Tom that's in the young lady's handful were the stars very positive about this union sir they were says the old gentleman I'm sorry to hear it Tom makes answer for it's no go sir no what Christ the old gentleman go sir says Tom fiercely I forbid the bands and with these words which were the very words he used he sat himself down in a chair and laying his head upon the table thought with a secret grief of what was to come to pass on that day two months Tom always said gentlemen that that waiting made was the artful minx he had ever seen and he left it in writing in this country when he went to colonize abroad that he was certain in his own mind that she and the salamander had blown up the philosopher's stone on purpose and to cut him out of his property I believe Tom was in the right gentlemen but whether or no she comes forward at this point and says may I speak sir and the old gentleman answering yes you may she goes on to say that the stars are no doubt quite right in every respect but Tom is not the man and she says don't you remember sir that when struck five this afternoon you gave master Galileo a wrap on the head with your telescope and told him to get out of the way yes I do said the old gentleman then says the waiting made I say he's the man and the prophecy is fulfilled the old gentleman staggers at this as if somebody had hit him a blow on the chest and cries he why he's a boy upon that gentleman the salamander cries out that he'll be 21 next lady day and complains that his father has always been so busy with the son round which the earth revolves that he has never taken any notice of the son that revolves around him and that he hasn't had a new suit of clothes since he was 14 and that he wasn't even taken out of nanking frocks and trousers till he was quite unpleasant in him and touches on a good many more family matters to the same purpose to make short of a long story gentlemen they all talk together and cry together and the old gentleman that as to the noble family his own grandfather would have been lord mayor if he hadn't died at dinner the year before and they show him by all kinds of arguments that if the cousins are married the prediction comes true in every way at last the old gentleman being quite convinced gives in and joins their hands and leaves his daughter to marry anybody she likes and they were all well pleased and the gifted was as well as any of them in the middle of this little family party gentlemen sits Tom all the while as miserable as you like but when everything else is arranged the old gentleman's daughter says that their strange conduct was a little device of the waiting maids to discuss the lovers he had chosen for him and will he forgive her and if he will perhaps he might even find her a husband and when she says that she looks uncommon hard at Tom then the waiting maids says that oh dear she couldn't bear Mr. Grigg should think she wanted him to marry her and that she had even gone so far as to refuse the lamplighter who was now a literary character having set up as a bill sticker and that she hoped Mr. Grigg would not suppose she was on her last legs by any means for the baker was very strong in his attentions at the moment and as to the butcher he was frantic and I don't know how much more she might have said gentlemen for as you know this kind of young women are rare ones to talk if the old gentleman hadn't cut in suddenly and asked Tom if he'd have her with ten pounds to recompense him for the loss of time and disappointment and as a kind of bribe to keep the story secret it don't matter much sir says Tom I ain't long for this world eight weeks of marriage especially with this young woman reconcile me to my fate I think he says I could go off easy after that with which he embraces her with a very dismal face and groans in a way that might move a heart of stone even of a philosopher's stone E. Gad says the old gentleman that reminds me this bustle put it out of my head there was a figure wrong he'll live to a green old age 87 at least how much sir cries Tom 87 says the old gentleman without another word Tom flings himself on the old gentleman's neck throws up his hat cuts a caper defies the waiting maid and refers her to the butcher you won't marry her says the old gentleman angrily and live after it says Tom at sooner marry a mermaid with a small tooth comb and looking glass then take the consequences says the other with those words I beg your kind attention here gentlemen for it's worth your notice the old gentleman wetted his forefinger in some of the liquor from the crucible that was spilt on the floor and drew a small triangle on Tom's forehead the room swam before his eyes and he found himself in the watch house found himself where cried the vice on behalf of the company generally in the watch house said the chairman it was late at night and he found himself in the very watch house from which he had been let out that morning did he go home asked the vice the watch house people rather objected to that said the chairman so he stopped there that night and went before the magistrate in the morning why you're here again are you says the magistrate adding insults to injury will trouble you for five shillings more if you can conveniently spare the money Tom told him he had been enchanted but it was of no use he told the contractors the same but they wouldn't believe him it was very hard upon him gentlemen as he often said for was it likely he'd go and invent such a tale they shook their heads and told him he'd say anything but his prayers as indeed he would there's no doubt about that it was the only imputation on his moral character that ever I heard of end of the lamplighter for more information or to volunteer please visit the last sixty minutes by Susan nine ten as if in dramatic appreciation of the situation and then slowly it gave the final stroke eleven the governor swung his chair halfway round and looked the timepiece full in the face already the seconds had begun ticking off the last hour of his official life on the stroke of twelve another man would be governor of the state he sat there watching the movement of the minute hand the sound of voices some jovial some argumentative was born to him through the open transom people were beginning to gather in the corridors and he could hear the usual disputes about tickets of admission to the inaugural his secretary came in just then with some letters could you see whitefield now he's waiting out here for you the old man looked up wearily oh put him off charlie tell him you can talk to him about whatever it is he wants to know the secretary had his hand on the knob when the governor added and charlie keep everybody out if you cannot i've got a few private matters to go over the younger man nodded and opened the door he half closed it behind him and then turned to say except frances you'll want to see him if he comes in won't you he frowned and moved impatiently as he answered curtly oh yes frances of course it never occurred to any of them that he could close the door on frances he drummed nervously on his desk and suddenly reached down and opening one of the drawers tossed back a few things and drew out a newspaper he unfolded this and spread it out on the desk running across the page was the big black line real governors of some western states and just below the first of the series and played up as the most glaring example of nominal and real in governorship was a sketch of harvey frances he sat there looking at it knowing full well that it would not contribute to his peace of mind it did not make full spirit to be told at the end of things that he had as a matter of fact never been anybody at all and the bitterest part of it was that looking back on it now getting it from the viewpoint of one stepping from it he could see just how true was the statement harvey frances has been the real governor of the state john marison his mouthpiece and figurehead he walked to the window and looked out over the january landscape it may have been the snowy hills as well as the thoughts weighing him down that carried him back across the years to one snowy afternoon when he stood up in a little red school house and delivered an aeration on the responsibilities of statesmanship he smiled as the title came back to him and yet what had become of the spirit of that 17 year old boy he had mended all then he could remember the thrill with which he stood there that afternoon long before and poured out his sentiments regarding the sacredness of public trust what was it had kept him when his chance came from working out in his life the things he had so fervently poured into his schoolboy oration someone was tapping at the door it was an easy confident tap and there was a good deal of reflex action in the governors come in indulging in a little meditation the governor frowned at the way frances said it and the latter went on easily from a row with dormant everybody is holding him up for tickets and he poor young fool looks as though he wanted to jump in the river takes things tremendously to heart dormant does he lighted a cigar smiling quietly over that youthful quality of dormants well he went on leaning back in his chair and looking about the room I thought I'd look in on you for a minute you see I'll not have the entree to the governor's office by afternoon he laughed the easy good humor laugh of one too sophisticated to spend emotion uselessly it was he who fell into meditation then and the governor sat looking at him a paragraph from the newspaper came back to him Harvey Francis is the most dangerous type of boss politician his is not the crude and vulgar method that asks a man what his vote is worth he deals gently and tenderly with consciences he knows how to get a man without fatally injuring that man's self-respect the governor's unexperience pour out the summary when elected to office as state senator he wished old-fashioned ideas of serving his constituents and doing his duty but the very first week Francis had asked one of those little favors of him and wishing to show his appreciation of support given him in his election he had granted it then various courtesies were shown him he was let in on a deal and almost before he realized it it seemed definitely understood that he was a Francis man Francis roused himself in murmur fools amateurs laymen ventured the governor laymen in all his crowd and yet the governor could not resist in another hour the same fool will be governor of the state the fool seems to have won Francis rose impatiently for the moment it won't be lasting in any profession fools and amateurs may win single victories they can't keep it up they don't know how oh no he insisted cheerfully laymen will never be re-elected fact is I'm counting on this contract business we've saved up for him getting in good work he was moving toward the door well he concluded with a curious little laugh see upstairs the governor looked at the clock it pointed now to 25 minutes past 11 the last hour was going fast in a very short time he must join the party in the Andrew room of the house but Wearingas had come over him he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes he was close upon 70 and today looked even older than his years it was not a vicious phase but it was not a strong one people who wanted to say nice things of the governor called him pleasant or genial or kindly even the men in the appointed offices did not venture to say he had much force he felt it today as he never had before he had left no mark he had done nothing stood for nothing never once had his personality made itself felt he had signed the documents Harvey Francis had always suggested the term was that man's own the course to be pursued and the suggestions had ever dictated the policy that would throw the most of influence or money to that splendidly organized machine that Francis controlled with an effort he shook himself free from his cheerless retrospect there was a thing or two he wanted to get from his desk and his time was growing very short he found what he wanted and then just as he was about to close the drawer he fell on a large yellow envelope he closed the drawer but only to reopen it take out the envelope and remove the documents it contained and then one by one he spread them out before him on the desk he sat there looking down at them wondering whether a man had ever stepped into office with as many pitfalls laid for him during the last month he had been busy about the old state house setting traps for the new governor the machine was especially jubilant over those contracts the governor now had spread out before him the convict labor question was being fought out in the state just then organized labor demanding its repeal country taxpayers insisting that it be maintained under the system country had become self-supporting November the contracts had come up for renewal but on the request of Harvey Francis the matter had been put off from time to time and still remained open just the week before Francis had put it to the governor something like this don't sign those contracts we can give some reason for holding them off save them up for layman then we can see that the question is agitated and whatever he does about it is going to prove a bad thing for him if he doesn't sign he's in bed with the country fellows the men who elected him don't you see at the end of his administration the penitentiary under you self-sustaining will have cost them up pretty penny we've got him right square the clock was closed to 20 minutes of 12 and he concluded that he would go out and join some of his friends he could hear in the other room would never do for him to go upstairs with a long serious face he had had his day and now layman was to have his and if the new governor did better than the old one then so much the better for the state as for the contracts layman surely must understand that there was a good deal of rough sailing political waters but it was not easy to leave the room walk into the window he again stood there looking out across the snow and once more he went back now at the end of things to that day in the little red school house which stood out as the beginning he was called back from that dreaming by the sight of three men coming up the hill faintly in anticipation of the things Francis and the rest of them would say about the new governors arriving on foot layman had requested that the inaugural parade be done away with but one would suppose he would at least dignify the occasion by arriving in a carriage Francis would see that the opposing papers handled it as a grandstand play to the country constituents and then forgetful of Francis and of the approaching ceremony the old man stood there by the window watching the young man who was coming up to take his place how firmly the new governor walked with what confidence he looked ahead at the state house the governor not considering the inconsistency therein felt a thrill of real pride and bought the states possessing a man like that standing though he did for the things pitted against him down in his heart John Morrison had all along cherished a strong admiration for that young man who was district attorney of the state's metropolis had aroused the whole country by his fearlessness and unquestionable sincerity many a day he had sat in that same office reading what the young district attorney was doing in the city close by the fight he was making almost single-handed against corruption how he was striking in the high places fast and hard as in the low the opposition threats and time after time there had been that same secret thrill that thought of there being a man like that and when the people of the state convinced that here was one man who would serve them began urging the district attorney for chief executive Governor Morrison linked with the opposing forces doing all he could to bring about layman's defeat never lost that secret feeling for the young man who unbacked by any organization struck blow after blow at the machine that had so long dominated the state winning in the end that almost incomprehensible victory the new governor had passed from sight and a moment later his voice came to the ear of the lonely man in the executive office some friends had stopped him just outside the governor's door with a laughing here's helping you'll do as much for us in the new office as you did in the old and the new governor replied buoyantly oh but I'm going to do a great deal more the man within the office smiled a little wistfully and with a sigh sat down before his desk the clock now pointed to 13 minutes of 12 they would be asking for him upstairs there were some scraps of paper on his desk and he threw them into the basket murmuring I can at least give him a clean desk he pushed his chair back sharply a clean desk the phrase open to deeper meanings why not clean it up in earnest why not give him a square deal a real chance why not sign the contracts again he looked at the clock not yet 10 minutes of 12 for 10 minutes more he was governor of the state 10 minutes of real governorship might it not make up a little both to his own soul and to the world for the years he had weakly served as another man's puppet the consciousness that he could do it that it was not when the power of any man to stop him was intoxicating why not break the chains now at the last and just before the end taste the joy of freedom he took up his pen and reached for the ink well with trembling excited fingers he unfolded the contracts he dipped his pen into the ink he even brought it down on the paper and then the tension broke he sank back in his chair a frightened broken old man oh no he whispered no not now it's his head went lower and lower until it lasted rested on the desk too late when he raised his head and grew more steady it was only to see the soundness of his conclusion yet not the right now in the final hour to buy for himself a little of glory it would only be a form of self indulgence they would call it and perhaps rightly hush money to his conscience they would say he went back on them only when he was through with them oh no there would be no more strength in it than in the average death bed repentance he would at least step out with consistency he folded the contracts and put them back into the envelope the minute hand now pointed to seven minutes to twelve someone was tapping at the door and the secretary appeared to say they were waiting for him upstairs he replied that he would be there in a minute hoping that his voice did not sound as strange to the other man as it had to himself slowly he walked to the door leading into the corridor this then was indeed the end this the final stepping down from office after years of what they called public service he was leaving it all now with a sense of defeat and humiliation a lump was in the old man's throat he was a little bit of a blur but you frank layman he whispered passionately turning as if for comfort to the other man it will be different with you they will not get you not you it lifted him then a great wave this passionate exultation that here was one man whom corruption could not claim Here was one human soul not to be had for a price. There flitted before him again a picture of that seventeen-year-old boy in the little red schoolhouse. And close upon it came the picture of this other young man against whom all powers of corruption had been turned in vain. With the one it had been the emotional luxury of a sentiment. A thing from life's actualities apart. With the other it was a force that dominated all things else, a force over which circumstances and design could not prevail. I know all about it, he was saying. I know about it all. I know how easy it is to fall. I know how fine it is to stand. His sense of disappointment in his own empty, besmirched career was almost submerged then as he projected himself on into the career of this other man, who within the hour would come there in his stead. How glorious was his opportunity, how limitless his possibilities, and how great to his own soul the satisfaction the years would bring of having done his best. It had all changed now that passionate longing to vindicate himself, add one thing honorable and fine to his own record. Had all together left him. And with the new mood came new insight and what had been an impulse centered to a purpose. It pointed to three minutes to twelve as he walked over to his desk, unfolded the contracts, and one by one affixed his signature. In a dim way he was conscious of how the interpretation of his first motive would be put upon it, how they would call him traitor and coward. But that mattered little. The very fact that the man for whom he was doing it would never see it as it was brought him no pain. And when he had carefully blotted the papers and fixed the seal and put them away, there was in his heart the clean, sweet joy of a child, because he had been able to do this for a man in whom he believed. The band was playing the opening strains as he closed the door behind him and started upstairs. End of The Last Sixty Minutes by Susan Glassbell. This recording is in the public domain. The Loves of Alonzo Fitzclarence and Rosanna Ethelton by Mark Twain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Letton. The Loves of Alonzo Fitzclarence and Rosanna Ethelton by Mark Twain. It was well along in the forenoon of a bitter winter's day. The town of Eastport in the state of Maine lay buried under a deep snow that was newly fallen. The customary bustle in the streets was wanting. One could look long distances down them and see nothing but a dead white emptiness with silence to match. Of course I do not mean that you could see the silence. No, you could only hear it. The sidewalks were merely long deep ditches with steep snow walls on either side. Here and there you might hear the faint, far scrape of a wooden shovel. And if you were quick enough you might catch a glimpse of a distant black figure stooping and disappearing in one of those ditches and reappearing the next moment with a motion which you would know meant the heaving out of a shovel full of snow. But you needed to be quick, for that black figure would not linger, but would soon drop that shovel and scud for the house, thrashing itself with its arms to warm them. Yes, it was too venomously cold for snow shovelers or anybody else to stay out long. Presently the sky darkened. Then the wind rose and began to blow in fitful vigorous gusts which sent clouds of powdery snow aloft and straight ahead and everywhere. Under the impulse of one of these gusts great white drifts banked themselves like graves across the streets. A moment later another gust shifted them around the other way, driving a fine spray of snow from their sharp crests as the gale drives the spume flakes from wave crests at sea. A third gust swept that place as clean as your hand if it saw fit. This was fooling, this was play, but each and all of the gusts dumped some snow into the sidewalk ditches. For that was business. Alonzo Fitzclarence was sitting in his snug and elegant little parlor, in a lovely blue silk dressing gown with cuffs and facings of crimson satin, elaborately quilted. The remains of his breakfast were before him, and the dainty and costly little table surface added a harmonious charm to the grace, beauty, and richness of the fixed appointments of the room. A cheery fire was blazing on the hearth. A furious gust of wind shook the windows, and a great wave of snow washed against them with a drenching sound, so to speak. The handsome young bachelor murmured, That means no going out today. Well, I am content. But what to do for company? Mother is well enough. Not Susan is well enough. But these, like the poor, I have with me always. On so grim a day as this one needs a new interest. A fresh element to whet the dull edge of captivity. That was neatly said, but it doesn't mean anything. One doesn't want the edge of captivity sharpened up, you know, but just the reverse. He glanced at his pretty French mantle-clock. That clock's wrong again. That clock hardly ever knows what time it is, and when it does know it lies about it, which amounts to the same thing. Alfred! There was no answer. Alfred! Good servant! But as uncertain as the clock. Alonso touched an electric bell-button in the wall. He waited a moment, then touched it again. Waited a few moments more and said, Battery out of order, no doubt. But now that I have started, I will find out what time it is. He stepped to a speaking-tube in the wall, blew its whistle and called, Mother, and repeated it twice. Well, that's no use. Mother's battery is out of order, too. Can't raise anybody downstairs, that is plain. He sat down at a rosewood desk, leaned his chin on the left-hand edge of it, and spoke as if to the floor. Aunt Susan! A low, pleasant voice answered, Is that you, Alonso? Yes, I'm too lazy and comfortable to go downstairs. I am in extremity, and I can't seem to scare up any help. Dear me, what is the matter? Matter enough, I can tell you. Oh, don't keep me in suspense, dear. What is it? I want to know what time it is. You abominable boy! What a turn you did give me! Is that all? All, on my honor, calm yourself. Tell me the time and receive my blessing. Just five minutes after nine. No charge. Keep your blessing. Thanks. It wouldn't have impoverished me, auntie, nor so enriched you that you could live without other means. He got up murmuring, just five minutes after nine, and faced his clock. Ah, said he, you are doing better than usual. You're only thirty-four minutes wrong. Let me see, let me see. Thirty-three and twenty-one are fifty-four. Four times fifty-four are two hundred and thirty-six. One off leaves two hundred and thirty-five. That's right. He turned the hands of his clock forward till he marked twenty-five minutes to one, and said, Now see if you can't keep right for a while, else I'll raffle you. He sat down at the desk again and said, Aunt Susan, yes, dear, had breakfast. Yes, indeed, an hour ago. Busy? No, except sewing. Why? Got any company? No, but I expect some at half-past nine. I wish I did. I'm lonesome. I want to talk to somebody. Very well. Talk to me. But this is very private. Don't be afraid. Talk right along. There's nobody here but me. I hardly know whether to venture or not, but... But what? Oh, don't stop there. You know you can trust me, Alonso. You know you can. I feel it, Aunt. But this is very serious. It affects me deeply. Me and all the family, even the whole community. Oh, Alonso, tell me, I will never breathe a word of it. What is it? Aunt, if I might dare... Oh, please, go on. I love you and feel for you. Tell me all. Confide in me. What is it? The weather! Plague take the weather. I don't see how you can have the heart to serve me so long. There, there, Aunt, dear, I'm sorry. I am on my honor. I won't do it again. Do you forgive me? Yes, since you seem so sincere about it, though I know I oughtn't to. You will fool me again as soon as I have forgotten this time. No, I won't. Honor bright. But such weather! Oh, such weather! You've got to keep your spirits up artificially. It is snowy and blowy and gusty and bitter cold. How is the weather with you? Warm and rainy and melancholy. The mourners go about the streets with their umbrellas running streams from the end of every whale-bone. There's an elevated double pavement of umbrellas stretching down the sides of the streets as far as I can see. I've got a fire for cheerfulness, and the window's open to keep cool. But it is vain. It is useless. Nothing comes in but the balmy breath of December, with its burden of mocking odours from the flowers that possess the realm outside, and rejoice in their lawless profusion whilst the spirit of man is low, and flaunt their gaudy splendors in his face, while his soul is clothed in sackcloth and ashes and his heart breaketh. Alonzo opened his lips to say, You ought to print that and get it framed. But checked himself, for he heard his aunt speaking to someone else. He went and stood at the window and looked out upon the wintry prospect. The storm was driving the snow before it more furiously than ever. Window shutters were slamming and banging. A forlorn dog with bowed head and tail withdrawn from service was pressing his quaking body against a windward wall for shelter and protection. A young girl was plowing knee-deep through the drifts, with her face turned from the blast, and the cape of her waterproof blowing straight rearward over her head. Alonzo shuddered and said with a sigh, Better the slop and the salty rain, and even the insolent flowers than this! He turned from the window, moved a step, and stopped in a listening attitude. The faint, sweet notes of a familiar song caught his ear. He remained there with his head unconsciously bent forward, drinking in the melody, stirring neither hand nor foot, hardly breathing. There was a blemish in the execution of the song, but to Alonzo it seemed an added charm instead of a defect. The blemish consisted of a marked flatting of the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh notes of the refrain, or chorus of the piece. When the music ended, Alonzo drew a deep breath and said, Ah! I have never heard in the sweet by-and-by song like that before. He stepped quickly to the desk, listened a moment, and said in a guarded, confidential voice, Auntie, who is this divine singer? She is the company I was expecting. Stays with me a month or two. I will introduce you. Miss, for goodness' sake, wait a moment, Aunt Susan. You never stop to think what you are about. He flew to his bed-chamber, and returned in a moment perceptibly changed in his outward appearance, and remarking snappishly, Hang it! She would have introduced me to this angel in that sky-blue dressing-gown with red-hot lapels women never think when they get a-going. He hastened and stood by the desk, and said eagerly, Now, Auntie, I am ready, and fell to smiling and bowing, with all the persuasiveness and elegance that were in him. Very well. Miss Rosanna Ethelton, let me introduce you to my favorite nephew, Mr. Alonzo Fitzclarence. There, you are both good people, and I like you, so I am going to trust you together while I attend to a few household affairs. Sit down, Rosanna. Sit down, Alonzo. Goodbye. I shan't be gone long. Alonzo had been bowing and smiling all the while, and motioning imaginary young ladies to sit down in imaginary chairs, but now he took a seat himself, mentally saying, Ah, this is luck! Let the winds blow now, and the snow drive, and the heavens frown! Little I care! While these young people chat themselves into an acquaintance-ship, let us take the liberty of inspecting the sweeter and fairer of the two. She sat alone at her graceful ease in a richly furnished apartment, which was manifestly the private parlor of a refined and sensible lady, if signs and symbols may go for anything. For instance, by a low, comfortable chair stood a dainty, top-heavy workstand, whose summit was a fancifully embroidered, shallow basket, with very-colored crules and other strings and odds and ends protruding from under the gaping lid, and hanging down in negligent profusion. On the floor lay bright shreds of turkey-red, Prussian blue and kindred fabrics, bits of ribbon, a spool or two, a pair of scissors, and a roll or so of tinted, soken stuffs. On a luxurious sofa, upholstered with some sort of soft Indian goods, wrought in black and gold threads, interwebbed with other threads, not so pronounced in color, lay a great square of coarse white stuff, upon whose surface a rich bouquet of flowers was growing under the deft cultivation of the crochet needle. The household cat was asleep on this work of art. In a bay window stood an easel with an unfinished picture on it, and a palette and brushes on a chair beside it. There were books everywhere, Robertson's sermons, Tennyson, Moody and Sanky, Hawthorne, Rab and his friends, cookbooks, prayer books, pattern books, and books about all kinds of odious and exasperating pottery, of course. There was a piano, with a deck load of music, and more on a tender. There was a great plenty of pictures on the walls, on the shelves of the mantelpiece, and around generally. Where coins of vintage offered were statuettes, and quaint and pretty gim-cracks, and rare and costly specimens of particularly devilish china. The bay window gave upon a garden that was ablaze with foreign and domestic flowers and flowering shrubs. But the sweet young girl was the daintiest thing these premises, within or without, could offer for contemplation. Delicately chiseled features of Grecian cast. Her complexion, the pure snow of a japonica that is receiving a faint reflected enrichment from some scarlet neighbor of the garden. Great, soft blue eyes, fringed with long, curving lashes. An expression made up of the trustfulness of a child and the gentleness of a fawn. A beautiful head crowned with its own prodigal gold. A lithe and rounded figure whose every attitude and movement was instinct with native grace. Her dress and adornment were marked by that exquisite harmony that can come only of a fine natural taste perfected by culture. Her gown was of a simple magenta tulle, cut by us, traversed by three rows of light blue flounces, with the salvage edges turned up with ashes of roses chenille, overdress of dark bay charlatan, with scarlet satin lamborchins, corn-coloured pollinets, en zagne, looped with mother of pearl buttons and silver cord, and hauled aft and made fast by buff velvet lashings, basque of lavender reps picked out with villainsins, low neck, short sleeves, maroon velvet necktie edged with delicate pink silk, inside handkerchief of some simple three-ply ingrained fabric of a soft saffron tint, coral bracelets and locket chain, coiffure of forget-me-nuts and lilies of the valley, masked around a noble cala. This was all, yet even in this subdued attire she was divinely beautiful. Then what must she have been when adorned for the festival or the ball? All this time she had been busily chatting with Alonzo, unconscious of our inspection. The minutes still sped and still she talked. But by and by she happened to look up and saw the clock. A crimson blush sent its rich flood through her cheeks and she exclaimed, There! Goodbye, Mr. Fitzclarence! I must go now! She sprang from her chair with such haste that she hardly heard the young man's answering good-bye. She stood radiant, graceful, beautiful and gazed, wandering upon the accusing clock. Presently her pouting lips parted and she said, Five minutes after eleven, nearly two hours. And it did not seem twenty minutes. Oh, dear, what will he think of me? At the self-same moment Alonzo was staring at his clock, and presently he said, Twenty-five minutes to three, nearly two hours. And I did not believe it was two minutes. Is it possible that this clock is humbugging again? Miss Ethelton! Just one moment, please. Are you there yet? Yes, but be quick. I am going right away. Would you be so kind as to tell me what time it is? The girl blushed again, murmured to herself, It is right down cruel of him to ask me, and then spoke up and answered with admirably counterfeited unconcern. Five minutes after eleven. Oh, thank you. You have to go now, have you? I am sorry. No reply. Miss Ethelton! Well? You are there yet, ain't you? Yes, but please hurry. What did you want to say? Well, I—nothing in particular. It's very lonesome here. It's asking a great deal, I know. But would you mind talking with me again, by and by? That is, if it will not trouble you too much. I don't know, but I'll think about it. I'll try. Ah, thanks, Miss Ethelton. Ah, me, she's gone. And here are the black clouds and the whirling snow and the raging winds come again. But she said good-bye. She didn't say good morning. She said good-bye. The clock was right, after all, what a lightning winged two hours it was. He sat down, and gazed dreamily into his fire for a while. Then heaved a sigh and said, How wonderful it is! Two little hours ago I was a free man, and now my heart's in San Francisco. About that time Rosanna Ethelton, propped in the window-seat of her bed-chamber, book in hand, was gazing vacantly out over the rainy seas that washed the golden gate, and whispering to herself, How different he is from poor Burley, with his empty head and his single little antique talent of mimicry. Two. Four weeks later Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley was entertaining a gay luncheon company in a sumptuous drawing-room on Telegraph Hill, with some capital imitations of the voices and gestures of certain popular actors and San Franciscan literary people and Bonanza grandees. He was elegantly upholstered and was a handsome fellow, barring a trifling cast in his eye. He seemed very jovial, but nevertheless he kept his eye on the door with an expectant and uneasy watchfulness. By and by a knobby lackey appeared and delivered a message to the mistress who nodded her head understandingly. That seemed to settle the thing for Mr. Burley. His vivacity decreased little by little, and a dejected look began to creep into one of his eyes, and a sinister one into the other. The rest of the company departed in due time, leaving him with the mistress, to whom he said, There is no longer any question about it. She avoids me. She continually excuses herself. If I could see her, if I could speak to her only a moment, but this suspense. Perhaps her seeming avoidance is mere accident, Mr. Burley. Go to the small drawing-room upstairs and amuse yourself a moment. I will dispatch a household order that is on my mind, and then I will go to her room. Without doubt she will be persuaded to see you. Mr. Burley went upstairs, intending to go to the small drawing-room. But as he was passing Aunt Susan's private parlor, the door of which stood slightly a jar, he heard a joyous laugh which he recognized. So, without knock or announcement, he stepped confidently in. But before he could make his presence known, he heard words that harrowed up his soul, and chilled his young blood. He heard a voice say, Darling, it is come! Then he heard Rosanna Ethelton, whose back was toward him, say, So has yours, dearest. He saw her bowed form bend lower. He heard her kiss something, not merely once, but again and again. His soul raged within him. The heartbreaking conversation went on. Rosanna, I knew you must be beautiful, but this is dazzling, this is blinding, this is intoxicating. Alonzo, it is such happiness to hear you say it. I know it is not true, but I am so grateful to have you think it is, nevertheless. I knew you must have a noble face, but the grace and the majesty of the reality beggar the poor creation of my fancy. Burley heard that rattling shower of kisses again. Thank you, my Rosanna. The photograph flatters me, but you must not allow yourself to think of that. Sweetheart, yes Alonzo, I am so happy, Rosanna. Oh Alonzo, none that have gone before me knew what love was. None that come after me will ever know what happiness is. I float in a gorgeous cloud land, a boundless firmament of enchanted and bewildering ecstasy. Oh, my Rosanna, you are mine, are you not? Holy, oh, holy yours, Alonzo, now and forever. All the day long, and all through my nightly dreams, one song sings itself, and its sweet burden is Alonzo Fitzclarance, Alonzo Fitzclarance, Eastport, State of Maine. Curse him. I've got his address anyway, roared Burley inwardly, and rushed from the place. Just behind the unconscious Alonzo stood his mother, a picture of astonishment. She was so muffled from head to heel in furs that nothing of herself was visible but her eyes and nose. She was a good allegory of winter, for she was powdered all over with snow. Behind the unconscious Rosanna stood Aunt Susan, another picture of astonishment. She was a good allegory of summer, for she was likely clad and was vigorously cooling the perspiration on her face with a fan. Both of these women had tears of joy in their eyes. So ho! exclaimed Mrs. Fitzclarance. This explains why nobody has been able to drag you out of your room for six weeks, Alonzo. So ho! exclaimed Aunt Susan. This explains why you've been a hermit for the past six weeks, Rosanna. The young couple were on their feet in an instant, abashed and standing like detected dealers in stolen goods, awaiting Judge Lynch's doom. Bless you, my son. I am happy in your happiness. Come to your mother's arms, Alonzo. Bless you, Rosanna, for my dear nephew's sake, come to my arms. Then there was a mingling of hearts and of tears of rejoicing on Telegraph Hill and in Eastport Square. Servants were called by the elders in both places until one was given the order, Pile this fire high with hickory wood and bring me a roasting hot lemonade. Unto the other was given the order, Put out this fire and bring me two palm leaf fans and a pitcher of ice water. Then the young people were dismissed and the elders sat down to talk the sweet surprise over and make the wedding plans. Some minutes before this Mr. Burley rushed from the mansion on Telegraph Hill without meeting or taking formal leave of anybody. He hissed through his teeth an unconscious invitation of a popular favorite in melodrama. Him shall she never wed. I have sworn it. Air great nature shall have doffed her winter's ermine to don the emerald gods of spring. She shall be mine. 3 Two weeks later, every few hours during some three or four days, a very prim and devout looking episcopal clergyman with a cast in his eye had visited Alonzo. According to his card he was the reverend, Melton, Hargrave of Cincinnati. He said he had retired from the ministry on account of his health. If he had said on account of ill health he would probably have aired to judge by his wholesome looks and firm build. He was the inventor of an improvement in telephones and hoped to make his bread by selling the privilege of using it. At present, he continued, a man may go and tap a telegraph wire which is conveying a song or a concert from one state to another, and he can attach his private telephone and steal a hearing of that music as it passes along. My invention will stop all that. Well, answered Alonzo, if the owner of the music could not miss what was stolen why should he care? He shouldn't care, said the reverend. Well, said Alonzo inquiringly, suppose, replied the reverend, suppose that instead of music that was passing along and being stolen, the burden of the wire was loving endearments of the most private and sacred nature. Alonzo shuddered from head to heel. Sir, it is a priceless invention, said he. I must have it at any cost. But the invention was delayed somewhere on the road from Cincinnati, most unaccountably. The impatient Alonzo could hardly wait. The thought of Rosanna's sweet words being shared with him by some rybal thief was galling to him. The reverend came frequently and lamented the delay and told of measures he had taken to hurry things up. This was some little comfort to Alonzo. One forenoon the reverend ascended the stairs and knocked to Alonzo's door. There was no response. He entered, glanced eagerly around, closed the door softly, then ran to the telephone. The exquisitely soft and remote strains of the sweet by-and-by came floating through the instrument. The singer was flatting, as usual, the five notes that follow the first two in the chorus. When the reverend interrupted her with this word, in a voice which was an exact imitation of Alonzo's with just the faintest flavour of impatience added, sweetheart. Yes, Alonzo. Please don't sing that any more this week. Try something modern. The agile step that goes with a happy heart was heard on the stairs, and the reverend, smiling diabolically, sought sudden refuge behind the heavy folds of the velvet window-curtains. Alonzo entered and flew to the telephone, said he, Rosanna, dear, shall we sing something together? Something modern? asked she with sarcastic bitterness. Yes, if you prefer. Sing it yourself, if you like. This snappishness amazed and wounded the young man. He said, Rosanna, that was not like you. I suppose it becomes me, as much as your very polite speech became you, Mr. Fitzclarence. Mr. Fitzclarence, Rosanna, there was nothing impolite about my speech. Oh, indeed, of course, then I misunderstood you, and I most humbly beg your pardon. Ha, ha, ha! No doubt you said, don't sing it any more today. Sing what any more today? The song you mentioned, of course. How very obtuse we are, all of a sudden. I never mentioned any song. Oh, you didn't? No, I didn't. I am compelled to remark that you did. And I am obliged to reiterate that I didn't. A second rudeness. That is sufficient, sir. I will never forgive you. All is over between us. Then came a muffled sound of crying. Alonzo hastened to say, Oh, Rosanna, unsay those words. There is some dreadful mystery here. Some hideous mistake. I am utterly earnest and sincere when I say I never said anything about any song. I would not hurt you for the whole world. Rosanna, dear, speak to me, won't you? There was a pause. Then Alonzo heard the girl's sobbing, retreating, and knew she had gone from the telephone. He rose with a heavy sigh, and hastened from the room saying to himself, I will ransack the charity missions in the haunts of the poor for my mother. She will persuade her that I never meant to wound her. A minute later the Reverend was crouching over the telephone like a cat that knoweth the ways of the prey. He had not very many minutes to wait. A soft, repentant voice, tremulous with tears, said, Alonzo, dear, I have been wrong. You could not have said so cruel a thing. It must have been someone who imitated your voice in malice or in jest. The Reverend coldly answered in Alonzo's tones, You have said it was all over between us, so let it be. I spurn your preferred repentance and despise it. Then he departed, radiant with fiendish triumph, to return no more with his imaginary telephonic invention forever. Four hours afterward Alonzo arrived with his mother from her favorite haunts of poverty and vice. They summoned the San Francisco household, but there was no reply. They waited and continued to wait upon the voiceless telephone. At length, when it was sunset in San Francisco, and three hours and a half after dark in Eastport, an answer to the oft-repeated cry of Rosanna, but alas it was Aunt Susan's voice that spake. She said, I have been out all day, just got in. I will go and find her. The watchers waited two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes. Then came these fatal words in a frightened tone. She is gone, and her baggage with her, to visit another friend, she told the servants. But I found this note on the table in her room. Listen, I am gone. Seek not to trace me out. My heart is broken. You will never see me more. Tell him I shall always think of him when I sing my sweet by and by, but never of the unkind words he said about it. That is her note. Alonzo, Alonzo, what does it mean? What has happened? But Alonzo sat white and cold as the dead. His mother threw back the velvet curtains and opened a window. The cold air refreshed the sufferer, and he told his aunt his dismal story. Meantime his mother was inspecting a card which had disclosed itself upon the floor when she cast the curtains back. It read, Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley, San Francisco. The miscreant! shouted Alonzo, and rushed forth to seek the false reverend and destroy him. For the card explained everything. Since, in the course of the lover's mutual confessions, they had told each other all about all the sweethearts they had ever had, and thrown no end of mud at their failings and foibles, for lovers always do that. It has a fascination that ranks next after billing and cooing. Four. During the next two months many things happened. It had early transpired that Rosanna, poor suffering orphan, had neither returned to her grandmother in Portland, Oregon, nor sent any word to her save a duplicate of the woeful note she had left in the mansion on Telegraph Hill. Whosoever was sheltering her, if she was still alive, had been persuaded not to betray her whereabouts without doubt, for all efforts to find trace of her had failed. Did Alonzo give her up? Not he. He said to himself, She will sing that sweet song when she is sad. I shall find her. So he took his carpet sack, and a portable telephone, and shook the snow of his native city from his arctics, and went forth into the world. He wandered far and wide in many states. Time and again strangers were astonished to see a wasted, pale, and woe-worn man laboriously climb a Telegraph pole in wintry and lonely places, perch sadly there an hour with his ear at a little box, then come sighing down, and wander whirly away. Sometimes they shot at him, as peasants do at Aeronauts, thinking him mad and dangerous. Thus his clothes were much shredded by bullets, and his person grievously lacerated. But he bore it all patiently. In the beginning of his pilgrimage he used to say, Ah, if I could but hear the sweet by-and-by. But toward the end of it he used to shed tears of anguish and say, Ah, if I could but hear something else. Thus a month and three weeks drifted by, and at last some humane people seized him and confined him in a private madhouse in New York. He made no moan, for his strength was all gone, and with it all heart and all hope. The superintendent and pity gave up his own comfortable parlor in bed-chamber to him, and nursed him with affectionate devotion. At the end of a week the patient was able to leave his bed for the first time. He was lying comfortably pillowed on a sofa, listening to the plaintive miseryre of the bleak march winds, and the muffled sound of tramping feet in the street below, for it was about six in the evening, and New York was going home from work. He had a bright fire, and he added cheer of a couple of student lamps, so it was warm and snug within, though bleak and raw without. It was light and bright within, though outside it was as dark and dreary as if the world had been lit with Hartford gas. Alonzo smiled feebly to think how his loving vagaries had made him a maniac in the eyes of the world. And was proceeding to pursue his line of thought further, when a faint, sweet strain, the very ghost of sound, so remote and attenuated it seemed, struck upon his ear. His pulses stood still. He listened with parted lips and baited breath. The song flowed on. He waited, listening, rising slowly and unconsciously from his recumbent position. At last he exclaimed, It is she! It is she! Oh, the divine hated notes! He dragged himself eagerly to the corner whence the sounds proceeded, tore aside a curtain, and discovered a telephone. He bent over, and as the last note died away, he burst forthwith the exclamation, Oh, thank heaven! Found at last! Speak to me, Rosanna dearest! The cruel mystery has been unraveled. It was the villain Burley who mimicked my voice and wounded you with insolent speech. There was a breathless pause, awaiting age to Alonzo. Then a faint sound came, framing itself into language. Oh, say those precious words again, Alonzo. They are the truth, the veritable truth, my Rosanna, and you shall have the proof, ample and abundant proof. Oh, Alonzo, stay by me. Leave me not for a moment. Let me feel that you are near me. Tell me we shall never be parted more. Oh, this happy hour! This blessed hour! This memorable hour! We will make record of it, my Rosanna, every year, as this dear hour chimes from the clock. We will celebrate it with thanksgivings all the years of our life. We will, we will, Alonzo. Four minutes after six in the evening, my Rosanna, shall henceforth, twenty-three minutes after twelve afternoon, shall, why, Rosanna darling, where are you? In Hallelulu, Sandwich Islands. And where are you? Stay by me. Do not leave me for a moment. I cannot bear it. Are you at home? No, dear. I am in New York. A patient in the doctor's hands. An agonizing shriek came buzzing to Alonzo's ear, like the sharp buzzing of a hurton at. It lost power in traveling five thousand miles. Alonzo hastened to say, Calm yourself, my child. It is nothing. Already I am getting well under the sweet healing of your presence. Rosanna. Yes, Alonzo. Oh, how you terrified me. Say on. Name the happy day, Rosanna. There was a little pause. Then a diffident small voice replied. I blush. But it is with pleasure. It is with happiness. Would, would you like to have it soon? This very night, Rosanna. Oh, let us risk no more delays. Let it be now. This very night. This very moment. Oh, you impatient creature. I have nobody here but my good old uncle, a missionary for a generation, and now retired from service. Nobody but him and his wife. I would so dearly like it if your mother and your aunt Susan—our mother and our aunt Susan, my Rosanna. Yes, our mother and our aunt Susan. I am content toward it so if it pleases you. I would so like to have them present. So would I. Suppose you telegraph aunt Susan. How long would it take her to come? The steamer leaves San Francisco day after tomorrow. The passage is eight days. She would be here the 31st of March. Then name the first of April, do Rosanna, dear. Mercy, it would make us April fools, Alonzo. So we be the happiest ones that that day's suit looks down upon in the whole broad expanse of the globe. Why need we care? Call it the first of April, dear. Then the first of April it shall be, with all my heart. Oh, happiness, name the hour too, Rosanna. I like the morning. It is so blithe. Will eight in the morning do, Alonzo? The loveliest hour in the day, since it will make you mine. There was a feeble but frantic sound for some little time, as if wool-upped disembodied spirits were exchanging kisses. Then Rosanna said, Excuse me just a moment, dear. I have an appointment and am called to meet it. The young girl sought a large parlor and took her place at a window which looked out upon a beautiful scene. To the left one could view the charming new U'ana valley, fringed with its ruddy flush of tropical flowers, and its plumed and graceful cocoa-palms, its rising foothills clothed in the shining green of lemon, citron, and orange groves, its storied precipice beyond, where the first Kamehameha drove his defeated foes over to their destruction, a spot that had forgotten its grim history, no doubt, for now it was smiling, as almost always at noonday under the glowing arches of a succession of rainbows. In front of the window one could see the quaint town, and here and there a picturesque group of dusky natives enjoying the blistering weather, and far to the right lay the restless ocean, tossing its white mane in the sunshine. Rosanna stood there in her filmy white rain-ment, fanning her flushed and heated face waiting, a Kanaka boy, clothed in a damaged blue necktie, and part of a silk hat thrust his head in at the door and announced, Frisco Howley! Show him in, said the girl, straightening herself up and assuming a meaning dignity. Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley entered, clad from head to heel in dazzling snow, that is to say in the lightest and whitest of Irish linen. He moved eagerly forward, but the girl made a gesture and gave him a look which checked him suddenly. She said coldly, I am here as I promised. I believe your assertions. I yielded to your importune lies, and said I would name the day. I named the first of April, eight in the morning. Now go! Oh, my dearest, if the gratitude of a lifetime! Not a word, spare me all sight of you, all communication with you until that hour. No, no supplications, I will have it so. When he was gone, she sank exhausted in a chair, for the long siege of trouble she had undergone had wasted her strength. Presently, she said, what a narrow escape! If the hour appointed had been an hour earlier! Oh, horror! What an escape I have made! And to think I had come to imagine! I was loving this beguiling, this truthless, this treacherous monster! Oh, he shall repent his villainy! Let us now draw this history to a close, for little more needs to be told. On the second of the ensuing April the Honolulu Advertiser contained this notice, married in this city by telephone yesterday morning at eight o'clock by Reverend Nathan Hayes, assisted by Reverend Nathaniel Davis of New York, Mr. Alonzo Fitzclarence of Eastport, Maine, U.S., and Ms. Rosanna Ethelton of Portland, Oregon, U.S. Mrs. Susan Howland of San Francisco, a friend of the bride, was present, she being the guest of the Reverend Mr. Hayes and wife, uncle and aunt of the bride. Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley of San Francisco was also present, but did not remain till the conclusion of the marriage service. Captain Hawthorne's beautiful yacht, tastefully decorated, was in waiting, and the happy bride and her friends immediately departed on a bridal trip to Lahaina and Halakalea. The New York papers of the same date contained this notice. Married in this city yesterday by telephone at half past two in the morning, by Reverend Nathaniel Davis, assisted by Reverend Nathan Hayes of Honolulu, Mr. Alonzo Fitzclarence of Eastport, Maine, and Ms. Rosanna Ethelton of Portland, Oregon, the parents and several friends of the bridegroom were present, and enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast and much festivity until nearly sunrise and then departed on a bridal trip to the aquarium, the bridegroom's state of health not admitting of a more extended journey. Toward the close of that memorable day, Mr. and Mrs. Alonzo Fitzclarence were buried in sweet converse, concerning the pleasures of their several bridal tours, when suddenly the young wife exclaimed, Oh, Lonnie, I forgot. I did what I said I would. Did you, dear? Indeed I did. I made him the April fool, and I told him so, too. It was a charming surprise. There he stood, sweltering in a black dress suit with the mercury leaking out of the top of the thermometer, waiting to be married. You should have seen the look he gave when I whispered it in his ear. His wickedness cost me many a heartache and many a tear, but the score was all squared up then. So the vengeful feeling went right out of my heart, and I begged him to stay, and said I forgave him everything. But he wouldn't. He said he would live to be avenged. Said he would make our lives a curse to us. But he can't. Can he, dear? Never in this world, my Rosanna. Aunt Susan, the Argonian grandmother, and the young couple and their Eastport parents, are all happy at this writing, and likely to remain so. Aunt Susan brought the bride from the islands, accompanied her across our continent, and had the happiness of witnessing the rapturous meeting between an adoring husband and wife, who had never seen each other until that moment. A word about the wretched burly, whose wicked machinations came so near wrecking the hearts and lies of our poor young friends, will be sufficient. In a murderous attempt to seize a crippled and helpless artisan who he fancied had done him some small offence, he fell into a cauldron of boiling oil, and expired before he could be extinguished. End of the Loves of Alonzo Fitzclarance in Rosanne Aethelton Recording by John Letton, Van Nijs