LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6185, 13 March 1888, Page 1

LITERATURE.

A MORTAL ANTIPATHY.

[Br Oltvbk WbnubiiL Holmes.]

Author of " The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table/ &c, &c.

Chapter I. There are few pleasanter places in the Northern States for asummerresidence than that known from the first period of its settlement by the name of Arrowhead Village. The Indians had found it out, as the relics they left behind them abundantly testified. The commonest of these were' those chipped stones which are the medals of barbarism, and from whiph. the place took its name — th^ heads of arrows, of various sizes, material and patterns 5 some small enough for killuL? fish and little birds, some large enough. iy>r such game as the 1 moose and the bear, 4 to say nothing of the hostile Indian and-tfhe white settler ; some of flint, now and thon one of white quartz, and others of variously coloured jasper. The Indians must .have lived here for many generations, and it must have been a kind of factory village of the stone age— whioh lasted tip to near the present time, if we may judge from the fact that many of these relics are m6t< with close to the surface of the ground.

No wonder they fecund this a pleasant residence, for it is to-A'ay one oE the most attractive of all Bummei 1 resorts ; so inviting, indeed, that those who know it do not like to say too much About it, lest the swarms of tourists shoold\ make it unendurable to those who love ifrl'or itself, and not aa a centre of fashionable* display and extra-mural cockneyism. There ia the lake, in the fik^fc placeCedar Lake— about five miles £ong, and from half a mile to a mile and a h&.U wide, stretching from north to south. Near the northern extremity are the buildings of Sfconghton University, a flourishing yVung college with an ambitious name, bufrvell equipped and promising, the grounds »of which reach the water. At the southerV end of the lake are the edifices of the Corinna Institute, a favourite school for young ladies, where large numbers of the daughters of America are fitted, so far as education can do it, for all stations in life, from camping out with a husband at the mines in Nevada to acting the part of chief lady of the land in the White House at Washington.

Midway between the two extremities, on the eastern shore of the lake, is a valley between two hills, which comes down to the very edge of the lake, leaving only room enough for a road between their baße and the water. This valley, half a mile in length, has been long settled, and here for a century or more has stood the old Anchor Tavern. A famous place it was so long as its sign swung at, the Bide of the road ; famous for its landlord, portly, paternal, whose welcome to a guest that looked worthy of the attention was like that of a parent to a returning prodigal, and whose parting 1 words were almost as good as a marriage benediction ; famouß for its landlady, ample in person, motherly, seeing to the whole household with her own eyes, mistress of all culinary secrets that Northern kitchens are most proud of; famous also for its ancient servant, as city people would call her — help, as she was called in the tavern and would have called herself— 4he unchanging, seemingly immortal Miranda, who cared for the guests "as " 4f~ she- were their nursing mother, and pressed the specially favourite delicacies on their attention as a connoisseur calls the wandering eyes of an amateur to the beauties of a picture. Who that has ever been at the old Anchor Tavern forgets Miranda's, " A little of this fricassee ?— it is ver-y nice ; " or " Some of these -cakes ? You will find them ver-y good." Nor would it be just to memory to forget; that other notable and noted member of , the household, — the unsleeping, unresting, omnipresent Pushee, ready for everybody and everything, everywhere within the limits of the establishment at all hours of the day and night. He fed, nobody could say accurately when or where. There were rumours of a "bunk," in which he lay down with his clothes on, but he seemed to be always wide awake, and at the service of as many guests at once as if there had been half a dozen of him. So much for old reminiscences. The landlord of the Anchor Tavern had taken down his sign. He had had the house thoroughly renovated and furnished it anew, and kept it open in summer fora few boarders. It happened more than once that the summer boarders were so much pleased with the place that they stayed on through the autumn, and some of them through the winter. The attractions of the village were really remarkable. Boating in summer, and skating in winter ; ice-boats, too, which the wild ducks could hardly keep up with; fishing, for which the lake was renowned ; varied and beautiful walks through the valley and up the hill-sides ; houses sheltered from the north and north-easterly winds, and refreshed in the hot summer days by the breeze which came over the water, — all this made the frame for a pleasing picture of rest and happiness. But there was a great deal more than this. There was a fine library in the little village, presented and richly endowed by a wealthy native of the place. There was a small permanent population of a superior character to that of an everyday country town; there was a pretty little Episcopal chorea, with a good hearted rector, broad enough for the Bishop of the diocese to be a little afraid of, ana hospitable to all outsiders, of whom in*the summer season, thero were always some who wanted a place of worsjiip to keep their religion from dying out during the heathen months, while the shepherds of the flocks to which they belonged were away from their empty folds. What most helped to keep the place alive all through the year was the frequent coming together of the members of a certain literary association. Some time before the tavern took down its Bign the landlord had builb a hall, where many a ball had been held, to which the young folkßof all the country round had resorted. It was still sometimes used for similar occasions, but it was especially notable aa being the place of meeting of the famous Paneophian Society. This association, the name of which might be invidiously interpreted aa signifying that its members knew everything, had no such pretensions, but, as its Constitution said very plainly and modestly, , held itself open to accept knowledge on any and all subjects from such as had knowledge to impart. Its President -was the rector of the little chapel, a man whoj in spite of the Thirty- Nine Articles, could stand fire from the widest-mouthed heretical blunderbuss without flinching 01 losing his temper. The hall of the old Anchor Tavern was a convenient place oi meeting for the students and instructor; of the University and the Institute. Sometimes in boat-loads, sometimes in carriage' loads, sometimes in processions of ekatera they came to the meetings in Pansophiat Hall, as it was now commonly called. m These meetings had grown to be occa^ eions of great interest. It was customary to have papers written by members of th< Society, for the moat part, but now ant then by friends of the members, some times by the students of the College oi the Institute, and in rarer instances bj anonymous personages, whose papers having been looked over and discussed b;; the Committee appointed for that purpose were thought worth listening to. Tin variety, of topics considered was ver;

and the Institute had their favourite subjects, the young gentlemen a different set of topics, and the occasional outside contributors their own ; bo that one who happened to be admitted to a meeting never knew whether he was going to hear an account of recent arctic discoveries, or an essay on the freedom of the will, or a psychological experience, or a story, or even a poem.

Of late there bad been a tendency to cUbcues the questions relating to the true status and the legitimate social functions of woman. The most conflicting views were held on the subject. Many of the young ladies and some of the University students wera strong in defence of all the " woman's rights " doctrines. Some of these young people were extreme in their views. They had read about Semiramis and Boadicea and Queen Elizabeth, until they were ready, if they could get the . chance, to vote for a woman as President of the United States or as General of the United States Army. They were even disposed to assert the physical equality of woman to man, on the strength of the rather questionable history of the Amazons and especially of the story, believed to be : authentic, of the female body-guard of the King of Dahomey — females frightful enough to need no other weapon than their looks to scare off an army of Cossacks. Mies Lurida Vincent, gold medallist of her year at the Oorinna Institute, wa3 the leader of these advocates of virile womanhood. It was rather singular that she should have elected to be the apostle of this extreme doctrine, for she was herself far better equipped with brain than muscles. In fact she was a large-headed, large-eyed, j long eye-lashed, slender-necked, slightly developed young woman; looking almost like a child at an age when many of the girls had reached their full stature and proportions. In her studies she was so far in advance o£ her different classes that there ■was always a wide gap between her and j the second scholar. So fatal to all rivalry j had she proved herself that she passed | j under the school name of "The Terror." ' She learned so easily that she tinder- valued her own extraordinary gifts, and felt the \ deepest admiration for those of her friends I endowed with faculties of an entirely j . different and almost opposite nature. j .After sitting at her desk until her head ' **as hot and her feet were' like ice, she wo. old go and look at the blooming young girli exercising in the gymnasium of the school, and feel as if she would give all i her knowledge, all her mathematics and strang« tongues and history, all those accomplishments that made her the encyclopaedia of j3 very class she belonged to, if she could go through the series of difficult I and graceful exercises in which she Baw her schoolmates delighting. One among them, especially, was the ! object of her admiration, as she was of all ' who knew her exceptional powers in the line for which navurehad specially orga- ; nised her. AH the physical perfections i which Miss Lurida vhad missed had been united in Misß EutVymia Tower, whose school name was " The k Wonder." Though of full womanly stature, there were several taller girls of her age. While all her contours and all her movements betrayed a fine ' muscular development, theve was no lack of proportion, and her finely-shaped hands and feet showed that her organisation was one of those carefully finished masterpieces o£ ; , nature which sculptors are always in search ' of, and find it hard to detect among the imperfect products of the living laboratory. - ■■..-.: > This girl of eighteen was morevfamous than she cared to be for her performances in the gymnasium. She commonly contented herself with the same exercises that her companions were accustomed to. Ouly her dumbbells, with which she exercised ■ easily and gracefully, were too heavy for ; most of the girls to do more with than lif t\ ■ them from the floor. She was fond of daring ' feats on the trapeze, and had to be checked . in her indulgence in them. The professor of gymnastics at the University came over to the Institute now and then, and it was a source of great excitement to watch some of the athletic exercises in which the young lady showed her remarkable muscular strength and skill in managing herself in I the accomplishment of feats which looked I impossible at first sight. How often The Terror had thought to herself that she 1 would gladly give up all her knowledge of Gi.eek and the differential and integral calculus if she could only perform the least of those feats which were mere play to The Wonder! Miss Euthymia was not behind the rest in her attainments in classical or mathematical knowledge, and she was one of the very best students in the outdoor branches, — botany, mineralogy, sketching from nature,—- to be found among, the scholars of the Institute. (To be continued.)