THE ROMANCE OF ENOCH ARDEN.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 18, Issue 44, 31 May 1907, Page 7

THE ROMANCE OF ENOCH ARDEN.

BY WARREN HUGHES. This is a .story which the magic of a pool's Irain has made so real to us that it has passed into a type. If over we hear of a man. long absent and supposed to be dead (more especially it he is a sailor) coming back to find his wife married to some oik 1 else, we cry at once "Another Enoch Arden.’’ In a little fishing village there lived. more than a hundred years ago, three children: Annie Idee, "the prettiest little damsel in th« port;’’ Phillip Bay, the only son of the well-to-do miller ; and Enoch Arden, the poor orphan of a fisherman. As children they played together, and each claimed Annie as their "little wife,” and when Enoch with his superior strength insisted that she should be his entirely, ( Philip would cry with impotent rage, and Annie would make peace, by promising to be wife to each in turn. As she grew up this childish affection deepened to a real love, which Enoch openly declared, though Philip "lovnl in silence.” Annie, because f,, '‘ ll "’ heart turned to Enoch, fhowed, as maidens will, greater kindness to Philip, hut none of them were greatly deceived. Enoch set his whole heart to earn enough money to ma'e it possible for him to offer marriage to Annie, and by the time he was twunly-one he was (he owner of a good fishing-boat, and had fnrnkbed a little home. AT THE FISHING VILLAGE. 'Jh? climmx came one fine autumn day when fciiey set out to gather nuts. Philip had been delayed, and when he cam# to join them ha know by "the still and sacred fire,” that burned iu Enoch's grey eyes that all hope for him'was gone, so ho slipped away unpereeived into the recesses of Hi* wood. So Enosh and Annie were married, ami for seven years all was happiness and prosperity with them. A girl and a hoy were ho:'n, and Enoch was filled with the desire to - give them a better education than he had had, straining every nerve to make more money, till a L last lie and his white horse carrying his tish were known and respected for miles aronml.

lint then aroso evil limes. Enoch fell from a mast and broke his leg. Annie had a third child that proved delicate and required much care, ami their little store rapidly diminished. '1 h n Knock as he lay slowly recovering seeing another carrying oh his trade, lost, heart, and began to fear that he should see his wife and children reduced to beggary—so slight is the barrier between comfort and want where the whole family depends on one man's health for their daily bread—and he prayed, "Save them from this, whatever come to me." Almost, immediately there came an olTer to him to ship as boatswain on board a China-bound vessel, and he accepted it at once as the answer to his prayer. ENOCH SAILS AWAY, HUH planning and contriving what was best for Annie and the children, lv sold his beloved boat and bought stores with which to set up a little general store for Annie that she might he able to support them while lie was away. Then kc broke the news to his wife and she, for the first time, ‘‘found against his will,” and begged him with tears not to go, "sure that all evil *yould come of it” but he, linn in his resolution to sacrifice himself for them, insisted and had his way. So he worked on to the last, putting .up shelves and cupboards to turn their little front sitting room into a shop, and bravely bade,her good-bye, comforting her in her sorrow and making light of her fears.

So Annie was left with her little shop and her three children, but she was turn business woman and could not. make it. pay. Little by little the profits dwindled away until they, could barely buy enough to oat. At last the sickly little baby faded dway and died. Then Philip who had abstained from seeing Annie kept, away no more and came to her with an oiler, delicately put as a favour to himself, that ho should put Hie children to school, and, "if you will, when Enoch comes again ho shall repay me—if you will.” Poor Ajtnio, all broken down with failure was unable to refuse this offer, and so the boy. and girl were sent, to schaol at Philip's expense. Years passed away and Annie grow still more depressed and lonely as she Waited for the nows that never came. They hoard the ship had been lost on its homeward way, and still she waited for nows (hat Enoch had boon saved. Philip, though ho kept away from her, "fearing the idle gossip of the porf/' often sent her little gifts on different excuses, and did much to make life easier for her. while he lavished every kindness on the children till they to whom their real Salhor had become only a vague remembrance called him "Father Philip,” and loved him dearly. •• Matters went on thus for several years until one autumn they went milting, all four together, and there in the self-same wood where Enoch 'and Annie had plighted their troth so long before, Philip spoke out the words that had been so long in his heart, Tew years passed without a sign from Enoch, (he ship had been wrecked, it w n s not possible ho still could he living ; meanwhile he (Philip) could not bear to sec her wasting heu life In loneliness and poverty while he had plenty. Would she not marry him and let him care for her, ami be a father to her children who already loved him Ending with the; words so calculated to touch her woman's heart, telling ns they did of years of constant unselfish love; "And f have loved you longer than rou know."

THE FRIKXI) VN NEED. But Annie would not. She (hanked him for all his goodness ; but she loved Enoch—she could never again love like that. Philip said that he was willing to » H > less loved than Enoch, and she. seeing him so determined, was frightened and begged for ¥ yoftr-jiud n year in which to make

up her mind and to wait a last chance of news of Enoch./ Philip sadly said: "Annie, as I have waited all my, life, I may well wait a little ger.'-'-The year passed rapidly, and still she could not make up her mind to marry him in the absence of definite nows of the death bf Enoch, so she put him off from time to time with all sorts of excuses till another half year had slipped away. Philip grew thin and pale under the strain, and gossip arose in the little village, for those who could not understand her scruples did not hesitate to invent all sorts of reasons for the delayed marriage. Even her own children joined in hogging her to marry their kind friend till in desperation she thought of seeking for a sign of Enochs death in the old way of suddenly putting one’s finger on a place in the Bible. She did so, and read: "Under the palm tree,”- which told her nothing. Then she .slept and dreamt she saw her husband sitting under a palm tree with the sun shining above him, and this she took to mean that he was dead and in Heaven, and she suddenly consented to marry Philip. For a year, however, she felt unhappy and unsettled, as though someone wrfs always beside her, and qho feared to be loft alone, but then a child was born to her, and the foreboding passed—" The now mother came about her heart. Then the good Philip was her all-in-all.”-Meanwhile what had happened to Enoch ? His first voyage had been successful, though they had encountered some bad weather, yet he arrived safely in China, did some trading on his own account, and set out on his return. Then they met with calms and delays, and at last with violent storms till the vessel was wrecked, and Enoch and two others cast upon a desert island, were the only ones saved. The youngest ’ of these, a more lad had been injured, ami lingered on, paralysed for five years. So long as he lived the two others could not think of trying to leave the island, but when ho died they began to make plans. Then the other sailor, working in the sun to make a boat, got sunstroke and also died, leaving poor Enoch quite alone and helpless. For years ho wafted, looking for a sail which never came, and all the time "He could not see the kindly human face, nor hear a kindly voice” and with all the brilliant tropical sunshine and scenery around him, his thoughts ever turned (after his loved ones) to "the gentle shower, the smell of dying loaves. And the low moan of the loaden-col.ourcd seas.” Once he thought he hoard the merry pealing of his parish .bolls, and shuddered without knowing why.

THE WANDERER’S RETURN. So, waiting in loneliness, his hair grew white, his face browned, his shoulders bout, and his tongue forgot his speech, till a ship came in sight at last, and happily sent ashoro for water. The kindly sailors took him on board, fed and clothed him, and by degrees, as the power came back to his tongue, he was able to toll them his tale. They wore not bound for his port, and there were many delays, but eventually they landed him at the little fishing village that had been ever in his dreams, having, with characteristic generosity, first got up a subscription for him among themselves. So, after many years, poor, prematurely old, bont and brown, Enoch Arden found himself within reach of his home. Home ? Was there a home for him after all this time ? Unrecognised by any ho disclosed himself to none till this question should be settled. Ho climbed the sloping street, the little cottage stood dark and lone, with a bill of sale hanging damply in the drizzle—this told him much. ‘‘Dead, or dead to me,” ho thought, and sought the village inn, where he soon learned the details of the little drama from the garrulous landlady. Only one temptation assailed him; he would fain look once more on his wife, and know if she were really happy, he would see into what his children had grown. So after dark ho climbed the hill towards the mill, and, creeping through the garden, looked in at the happy family group. Outside, the rain, the mist the sad, and worn-out wanderer; insidewarmth, light,'love, youthful gaiety baby prattle, a happy prosperous man, and a smiling comely woman. LEAVING THEM TO THEIR HAPPINESS. With one thought—only to get away from the sight of their happiness without uttering the cry that would shatter it all in a moment— Enoch staggered away to the waste beyond, and there, falling on the ground, ho prayed for strength, "Not to tell her, never to lot her know.” But he did not find it necessary to leave the place; secure in his altered appearance he stayed there quietly, doing odd jobs for his livelihood. When a year had passed since his return ho glacfly recognised that death was coming to release him. Then he called the landlady, and, made her swear on the Bible not to divulge the secret till he was dead, he disclosed to her who ho was bidding her tell them when he was gone how ho died loving and blessing them And in the night he died. So ends this tale of the perfect and unselfish love of “a strong, heroic soul,” but. in this poor prose lies only its skeleton—those who would know it in all its beauty must read it in Tennyson’s own wdrds.— "Smith’s Weekly.” „