THE PHILOSOPHERS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1851, 17 August 1893, Page 40

THE PHILOSOPHERS.

Men at some time are matters of their fate.

In the select sealu3ion of her own set Miss Eleanor Manners was considered a very pretty person. Sbe certainly had a gaily winning eye, a round and rosy cheek, a soft, red lip, and that type of figure upon which fashionable dresses sit to a nicety. She had quite a bright wit beside, was well off, had a position of high standing, and the air of a young princess who knows herself a prize. Add to this that she had two lovers, and one can see that she was a young woman to be envied.

But it was because of these two lovers— the brightest jewels in her crown— that Miss Eleanor was troubled. For though in matters pertaining to the style of her gowns, the hour of her rising in the morning, the fashion of her hats, and the additions to. her visiting list, she was positive enough, in the matter of deciding which of the two sovgir,ante should win herfcand she was continually wavering. Mi3s Eleanor had grown up for 24 years without knowing bow deep the pangs of iudeoision may be. She had experienced the unpleasantnesses that sometimes are unkind enough to beset the path of beauty, She had known the heart'bnrniogathat rise when

one comes face to face with the exact duplicate of one's next imported costume. She had gone down into the depths of despair ob receiving her dentist's bill. She had realised how disagreeable it is to try to listen to a conversation on your left and talk. to the man on your' right, and then not succeed in either. She had tasted the bitterness of discovering that the person who said buttermilk was good for freckles had absolutely no foundation for the statement. But the sorrow's crown of sorrow of not being able to make up her own mind had never touched her till now. - If, there had been more love on Mis 3 Eleanor's part there would have been less indecision. Unfortunately she was not largely dowered with the capacity for loving. She was a peaceful person of a philosophic tendency, who took the days tranquilly, and never lay awake at night unless a loose shutter banged in the wind or she was afflicted with toothache. On her 24th birthday she came to the conclusion that the had better marry. One ought to marry some time ; everybody did. Twenty-four was a good age at which to conform to the popular custom, which, though it has been said to domesticate the Recording AngeJ, has yet many follower?. And Miss Eleanor turned her grave, sedate eyes upon the two suitors, and considered the advantages of a matrimonial alliance with either one of them. Philip Barry was the best-looking. Ho was also of a good family, and a gentleman of leisnre and wealth. He was a rather solemn man, a trifle too grave to be amusing, and both punctual and phlegmatic. Ut liked readiDg poetry aloud, which one must regard as a vice to be discouraged, and he had a great many relations. The latter was his mosc serious defect. , An ideal husband should be the last survivor of his life. It one married Philip Barry one would have to endure not only him, but also a pair of parents and one grandparent, to say nothing of uncles and aunts. The quality of mercy would be strained ; one coud only trust that it would not break. Henderson Trevor, on the other hand, had no relations, and was an extremely lively, gay, and witty man. He was not quite so well off as Barry, though, and his social standing was not so good. Miss Eleanor had at times thought that her social standing was good enough for two, but there was rather too much responsibility in that thought. Fancy what a labour ie would be to establish Henderson Trevor as a member of her set — a great deal more trouble than inducing Philip Barry to refrain from reading "Prometheus Unbound "aloud. " I could break him of that in a week," she reflected, " whereas it .would take fully a season to make The Set smile upon' Mr Trevor." ' v So the choice fell on Barry, and Trevor accepted his fate with manly fortitude. The engagement went along very smoothly at first. The solemn man had moments of vivacity, and was now and then almost witty. Then the parents began, as it were, to creep out of their barrows and sun themselves in the eyes of their future daughterin law. Miss Eleanor liked them less on closer acquaintance, not as individuals — in this way they were delightful — bat as relatives of her prospective husband. And he — well, it was harder 'to break him of reading "Prometheus Unbound" than one would have imagined. ' And finally, when he did consent to leave' it alone, he substituted Brownicig. Miss Eleanor, sitting in the softened light of the silver lamp, listened for a space. Then, extending a languid hand, she said: ' • " Philip, dear, just c!ose that book and go back to ' Prometheus, 1 please." " You prefer ' Prometheus "I" he inquired. " Yes ; next to no reading I like ' Prometheus ' be3t. Bound or unbound, he's better than ' Sordelld.' ■ Chain him to his rock again, and let loose.all the spirits of fire and water and earth and air, and whatever others there are." Towards the end of the engagement there were moments when Mies Eleanor had qnalms. It was humilia'icg to think 1 that Miss Eleanor Mantera -could' have made a mistake. She had never before -done so— never, after hosrs of indecision, failed to be satisfied with- her choice of a hat or gown. Bat hats and gowns did not have relatives, or unbridled ' determinations to read poetry aloud every evening. Once you got them they never changed, except to fade or grow old-fashioned. Philip Barry was doing neither of these bearable things.* He was beginning to dwell on the happiness of seeirg his parents every day for the rest of his life and reading poetry aloud on and on through the interminable advancing years j and these were unbearable thing.*.

"Why do people have to have mothers ' and fathers, and why did the poets ever survive their infancy 7" mused Eleanor, sadly. "If I was goipg to marry over again I would choose a man who had grown up from the dragon's tc,eth and had never been tar gut to rea^."

But it was' too late now. People in Miss Eleanor's set never changed their minds^ Henderson Trevor said, the reason was tliat they didn't have any to change. Mi--s Eleanor had a g -eat re-pect for her set, and would never go against its tenets. Besides, a broken engagement made such a bother, talk and explanations, and a trousseau on your hands that never would wear out, and ob, wcl', one must abide by one's mistakes, aud this was undoubtedly a mistake.'

Nobody knew that Miss Eleanor had arrived at this pensive conclusion. She kept her thoughts to herself. Henderson Trevor had not an idea that his rival had been weighed in the balance and found wanting. Henderson was a philosopher, and did not wear the willow garland. He saw his 'oye and her fiancee continually; and by ccn'ast with that serious man's phlegmatic gravity, bis amiable vivacity, his airy lightness, was as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. And then, alas! he had no parents. He might, as far as progenitors were concerned, have been/born of the sea foam, Hko Venus. And as for reading, he openly admitted that 'he never looked at anything but the daily papers. Was not that much more sensible than reading-poems which desprlbed all sorts of impossible th}ngs that never could have happened 9 "Miss Eleanor began, to agree with Josh BilliDge, tbat it was better not to know such a lot of things than to know such a lot of things that were not so, y , . And bo we let out happiness slip by na an,*

wittingly 1 The trousseau was Interesting, however. Whea Miß3 Eleanor held the lovely skirts up against her waist and looked at their raffled edges lying along the carpet she felt that after all there was a little balm left In Gilead. The wedding day arrived. There were six bridesmaids, and Houderson Trevor was the best man. For days beforehand presents of the most gorgeous description had been pouring in. Miss Eleanor, a few evenings before, had counted' three chocolate pots in silver find two in royal Worcester.

" We had better give some of these to my relations," Mr Barry remarhe 1, and it was thus that these dreadful people would keep oropping up in conversation. Ha would never let you forget them. Why, even on showing him a superb etching of an old Dutchwoman — a perfect gem— his sole comment had been— " Do33n't it look very much like my grandmother ? "

Three days before tbe wedding an urgent batch of aunts and uncles who lived somewhere out in the West had claimed a visit from their adored naphew. Tha dutiful creature, who always did exactly what was right, had hied away there, telling his betrothed that he would only b3 back the day of the wedding, and the next time he saw her would be as ahe approache 1 the alrar in all the glory of bridal white. " And you will wear my mother's diamond coronet and Aunt Louise's old Flemish point," he murmured. " And carry a copy of ' Promethaus Unbound' in my hand instead of a prayer book," said the bride gloomily. The wedding was set for 4, and long before tha<; hour the house wa3 arranged for the great reception to follow the ceremony. The bride's trunks were packed and her travelling costume laid out. She herself, radiant in her mist-like veilings of white, stood in front of the glass, fastening, on her mother-in-law's diamond coronet." Numerous female relatives of the groom's hovered about. Everywhere you went you ran into them and stumbled over them. There seemed to have been a miraculous draught of Barrys. Miss Eleanor began indeed to realise that henceforth her habitation would be among the tents of Kedar. At a few minutes before i the bride s carriage drew up at the church door. Miss Eleanor alighted and swept into the porch, shut off from the aisles by green leather doora. Here the ushers and the bridesmaids were already waiting and two servant gklsjn white caps and aprons were arranging the bridesmaids' trains and settling the long ribbons that floated from the backs of their bats. One of .the ushers, peeping through the crack between the green leather doors, pronounced the church crowded. There were lights lit about the altar, making a yellow haze where the bridal party were to stand. The flowers were superb. Through the vast interior crept a gentle rustle of crushed, rich fabrics, and a murmur of softly-modulated voices, as the well-dressed, pretty women turned in their seats and whispered with each other. Someone had pulled thei white ribbon away, and a change took place iri the harmonies issuing from the organ, which of a sudden gave forth stormy and uncertain growls, as if in uneasy indeoision. Miss Eleanor took her place, with the two bridesmaids kneeling at her feet, their mouths full of pins. She was as calm as ever, but dejeoted. When the doors would be flung back she would see that solemn man with his hat in his hand waiting for her. She Bighed into her bouquet. For she realised the feelings of the lady in Congreve's play, who remarked, "Nothing but his being my husband could have made me like him 1635." Just at this moment the door leading into the side aisle wae violently pushed open, and the best man entered. ,He looked slightly disturbed, and held a yellow paper orushed in his hand.

11 1 have news for you, Miss Manners," he said, drawing her away, from the bridal party and speaking in a low voice— "very provoking news. I've just had a telegram. Philip's train has been delayed by a washout, and he can'fc possibly be here to-day." Miss Eleanor depressed the corners of her lips. " Good 'gracious 1 " she 'murmured, " how ghastly 1 and how inconsiderate of Philip I " "What shall we do? The church is packed. The bishop is here, and four clergymen."

" It's dreadfully annoying," observed the bride, nervously fingering Aunt Louise's old Flemish point, " and while we're all at sixes and sevens here, I suppose Philip is sitting on the washout reading ' Prometheus Unbound."'

•' What shall I say ? I can go back and tell the bishop that the wedding is postponed—that the bridegroom has met with a washout."

41 That will be horrible I Fancy sending all these clergymen away without giving them a thing to eat I And all the fliwers will be faded by to-morrow. What shall we do?"

" Nothing, but postpone it. We can't have a wedding without a bridegroom ; that's an established fact."

" And my trunks packed,- and the presents bo beautifully arranged ; and then to disappoint all these people I " " Well, of course, if you've no objection, her a Jam. If you'd rather marry me than disappoint the bishop and the people, I am more than happy 'to be able to oblige yon." 11 Ob, Mr Trevor, you are always so kind 1 " An expression of relief relaxed the bride's features. "But I hardly like to accept such a favour." The best man smiled deprecatingly : "Pray don't mention it. To be able to oblige you is a privilege, to be of service to you a pleasure. And really it does seem a pity not to have a wedding when everything has been so nicely arranged.!' " Are you sure that you are quite willing —that you are not sacrificing yourself to save the occasion?" queried the bride, smoothing the rumpled telegram in her white-gloved band. "Not in the least. Have I not always been your slave 1 Of course lam entirely at yonr commands, but my advioe Is that you had better marry me. These people have been invited here to see a wedding. True consideration for your guests should VtpmjA you to have a wedding, even though it Isn't \h» one they came to pee,"

" Eleanor," cried one of the bridesmaids, who had been reconnoitring the interior of the church through the crack of the door, "they've been pliying the 'Lohengrin March ' for the last 10 minutes, and the people are beginning to stare at each other, wondering why we don't come." "Very well," murmured the bride; "that'B the best thing to do, I think. Hurry up, or we'll get there before you do. Come, papa, your arm. Marie, pull my flounce out there, and don't let my train turn over. Begin on your left foot, girls, and two pewß between each couple ; don't forget. Now— go 1 " The doors were flung back, the " Lohengrin March " pealed forth for the sixth time, and the bridal procession moved up the aisle.

The bride and groom had returned from the altar and got into their carriage, when a Cgare in an ulster and a Derby hat hurried across the street, gained the steps, and, pausing,' looked into the carriage window. It wa3 Philip Birry. " I thought that was you," said the phlegmatic maa. "Didn't you get my despatch 1 " " Well, Philip," said the bride, with an air of somewhat idigoant surprise, "I thought you were washed out somewhere in the West?"

11 So I was, and this morning early I sent a telegram. After I had sent it, Borne men that were on the same train got horses and rode to the next; station and hired an engine. I came in with them."

" The telegram must have been delayed. We only got it half an hour ago." •That is not improbable. I believe I did hear them saj ing something about the wires being down this morning, It was a terrible storm."

" You're too late for the wedding," said the bride, positively. " It's all over." " How did you have a wedding without me ? I thought I was an essential part of the performance." " Well, it was a narrow squeak, but we just managed it." " But where do I come In 1"

" You don't come in at all ; that's jnst it. You said you were not going to be here in time, and rather than disappoint the people I married Me Trevor. When a bishop and four clergymen come a long distance to marry people there really ought to be somebody there for them to marry." " That was very obliging of Mr Trevor," said the late arrival, looking at the bridegroom with admiration tinged with mild curiosity. "We couldn't let the flowers and the reception and four clergymen and a bishop go to waste," said that gentleman modestly. " Oh, Mr Trevor has shown himself a hero. If it had not been for him there would have been no wedding." " That, from my point of view, might have had its advantages," said Philip Barry with pensive gentleness. " It is rather hard on you," admitted the bridegroom, " but when it comes to choosing whether one will disappoint a bishop, four clergymen, and 600 or 700 ladies, or one single man, the choice generally falls on the individual."

" But tbe people," said Barry ; " weren't they surprised ? " " Oh, I dare say they were," said Mrs Trevor, "but they didn't do anything to show ft. Nobody forbade the marriage, or anything of that sort. It went off beautifully."

" Those who knew must have been a little astonished," said Barry. "Now I, for example, was supposed to know all about it, and I was really s good deal astonished when I saw you sitting here in this cab." "The people are coming out of church. Hadn't we better drive on ? " asked the bridegroom. " Won't you drive up with us 1 " said the bride politely. " No ; I think I'll walk on. You're very kind, though." " But you'll come to the reception, won't you?" "No, I think not. You see, the people who hadn't been to the church would think I was the bridegroom, and ib would be such a bother explaining that I was not. Goodbye." — Gebalbine Bonneb, in June Lippiricott's.