LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6197, 27 March 1888, Page 1

LITERATURE.

» A MORTAL ANTIPATHY. ] [By Olivee Wendell Holjibs.] ( __— ] Author of " the Autocrat of the Breakfast 1 Table/ &c, &c. ' Chaiteb IV. — Continued. | These two antipathies having been dis- { posed of, a new suggestion was started, j and was talked over with a curious sort of ; half belief, very much as ghost stories are ] told in a circle of moderately instructed ( and inquiring persons. This waß that Maurice was endowed with the unenviable ( gift of the evil eye. He was infrequent , communication with Italy, as his letters \ showed, and had recently been residing in , that country, as was learned from Paolo. < Noweverybody knows that the evil eye is not rarely met with in Italy. Everybody who has { everreadMr Story's "Bobadi Roma" knows ( what a terrible power it is which the owner { of the evil eye exercises. It can blight i j and destroy whatever it falls upon. ( No person's life or limb is safe if the „ jettatvra, the withering glance of the i deadly organ, falls upon him. It must be [ observed that this malign effect may x follow a look from the holießt personages,— y that is, if we may assume that a monk is 1 such as a matter of course. Certainly we „ have a right to take it for granted that j the late Pope, Pius Ninth, was an j j eminently holy man, and yet he had the j name Of dispensing the mystic and dreaded , jettatwa as well as hisblesßing. If Maurice j j Kirkwoodcarriedthat destructive influence, > j bo that his clear blue eyes were more to be j j feared than the fascinations of the dead- \ j liest serpent, it could easily be understood • j why he kept his look away from all around j E him whom he feared he might harm. j t No sensible .person in Arrowhead Village ; c really believed in the evil eye, but it j i served the purpose of a temporary hypo- J • thesiß, as do many suppositions which we T take as a nucleus for oar observations with- j j ( out putting any real confidence in them. : £ It was just suited to the romantic notions of ; E the more flighty persons in the village, who j 0 hadmeddled more or less with Spiritualism, ' E and were ready for any new fancy, if it r were only wild enough. s The riddle o£ the young stranger's pecu- T liarity did not seem likely to find any j very Bpeedy solution. Every new sugges- i £ tion furnished talk for the gossips of the • T village and the babble of the < many ; tongues in the two educational institu- ' tions. Naturally, the discussion was ] c liveliest among the young ladies. Here is an extract from & letter of one of these young ladies, who, having received at her . birth the ever-pleasing name of Mary, saw j _ fit to have herself called Mollie in the , catalogue and in her letters. The old postmaster of the town.to which her letter ' was directed took it up to stamp, and read = on the envelope the direction to "Mibs -, Lulu Pinrow." He brought the stamp down with a vicious emphasis, coming very near blotting out the nursery name, in- ; stead of cancelling the, postage Etamp. j « " Lulu ! "he exclaimed. " I should like : * to know if that great strapping girl isn't ! . out of her cradle yet! I suppose Miss Louisa will think that belongs to her, but I saw her christened and I heard the name j * the minister gave her, and it wasn't ,' * 'Lulu,* or any such baby nonsense." And ! * bo saying, he gave it a fling to the box ■ * marked P, as if it burned his fingers. Why * a grown-up young woman allowed herself I to be cheapened in the way so many of , c them do by the use of names which become : a them as well as the frock of a ten-year-old 1? schoolgirl would become a graduate of the \ * Corinna Institute, the old postmaster could , * not guess. He was a queer old man. * The letter thus scornfully treated runs over with a young girl's written lo- j quacity:— c " Oh, Lulu, there is such a sensation as yon never saw or heard of 'in all your born days/ as mamma used to say. He j \ has been at the village for some time, but ' E lately we have had— oh, the weirdest £ stories about him! 'The Mysterious f Stranger ' is the name some give him, but ] we girls call him the ' Sachem/ because he ] paddles about in an Indian canoe. If I ' ] should tell you all the things that are said 1 about 'him I should use up all my paper.: \ ten times over. He has never made a visit ] to the Institute, and none of the girls have j j ever spoken to him, but the people at the | \ village say he is very, very handsome. We ' ] are dying to get a look at him, of course — \ though there is a horrid story about him — \ that he has the evil eye — did you ever hear about the evil eye P If a person who is born with it lookß at you, you die, or some- . thing happens— awful — isn't it ? "The rector says he never goes to church, but then you know a good many of the people that pass the summer at the 1 village never do — they think their religion ] must have vacations— that's what I've : 1 heard they Bay— vacations, just like other ■ < hard work — it ought not to be hard work, \ ] I'm sure, but I suppose they feel j so about it* Should you feel afraid < to . have him look at you P Some ] of the girls say they wouldn't have him 1 for the whole world, but I shouldn't mind it — especially if I had on my eye-glasses. : Do you suppose if there is anything in the ■ ■ evil eye it would go through glass? I ■ don't believe it. Do you think blue eye- : glasses would be better than common ; ones ? Don't laugh at me — they tell such I ; weird stories ! The Terror — Lurida Yin- j ■ cent, you know — makes fun of all they say I about it, but then Bhe ' knows everything j and doesn't believe anything/ the girls ; Ba y — Well, I should be awfully scared, I i know, if anybody that had the evil eye ' should look at me — but — oh — I don't know —but if it was a young man — and if he was very— very good-looking — I think— perhaps I would run the risk — but don't tell anybody I said any such horrid thing — and burn this letter right up— there's a dear good girl." It is to be hoped that no reader will doubt the genuineness of this letter. There are not quite so many "awfuls" and "awfullys" as one expects to find in young ladies' letters, but there are two " weirds," which may be considered a fair allowance, j How it happened that "jolly" did not ; show itself can hardly be accounted for ; j no doubt it turns up two or three times at least in the postscript. Here is an extract from another letter. This was from one of the students of Stoughton University to a friend whoso name as it was written on the envelope was Mr Frank May field. The old postmaster who found fault with Miss '* Lulu's " designation would probably have quarrelled with this address, if it had come under his eye. " Frank " is a very pretty, pleasantBoundisg name, and it is not strange that many persons use it in common conversation ! ali their days when speaking of a friend. ' Were they really christened by that name, ! any of theaa numerous Franks ? Perhaps they were, and if bo there is nothing to . be said. But if not, was the baptismal name Francis or Franklin ? The mind ia apt to fasten in a very perverse and unpleasant way upon this question, which too often there iB no possible way of settling. One might hope, if he outlived the bearer of the appellation, to get at the fact ; but : since even gravestones have learned to use the names belonging to childhood and infancy in their solemn record, the genera- i tion -which docks its Christian names in such an un-Chriatian way will bequeath whole churchyards full of riddles to posterity. How it will puzzle and distress the historians and antiquarians of a coming generation to settle what was the real name of Dan and Bert and " Billy," which last i js legible on a white marble slab, raised in ' memory of a grown person, in a certain, burial-ground iii .a town in Esßex County, Jlassachusetts I

But in the meantime we are forgetting the letter directed to Mr Frank Mayfield. "Dear Frank, — Hooray! Hurrah! Rah! I have made the acquaintance of * The Mysterious Stranger ! ' It happened by a queer sort of accident, which came pretty near relieving you of the duty of replying to this letter. I was out in my little boat, which carries a eail too big tor her, as I know and ought to have remembered. One of those fitful flaws of wind to which the lake is so liable struck the sail suddenly, and over went my boat. My feet got tangled in the sheet somehow, and I could not get free. ■ I had hard work to keep my head above water, and I struggled desperately to escape from my toils ; for if the boat were to go down I should be dragged down with her. I thought of a good many things in the course of some four or five minutes, I can tell you, and X got a lesson about time better than anything If ant and all the reet of them have to say of it. After I had been there about an ordinary lifetime, I saw a white canoe making toward me, and I knew that our shy young gentleman was coming to j help me, and that we should become acquainted without an introduction. So it was, sure enough. He saw what the trouble was, managed to disentangle my j feet without drowning me in the process or upsetting his little flimsy craft, and, as I was somewhat tired with my struggle, took me in tow and carried me to the landing where he kept his canoe. I can't say that there is anything odd about his manners or ! his way of talk. I judge him to be a native of one of our Northern States — , perhaps a New Englander. He has lived | abroad during some parts of his life. He I is not an artist, as it was at one time I thought lie might be. He is a goodi looking fellow, well developed, manly | in appearance, with nothing to excite | special remark unless it be a certain look [ of anxiety or apprehension which comes ; over him from time to time. You remem- [ ber our old friend, Squire 8., whose companion was killed by lightning when he was standing close to him. You know the look He had whenever anything like a thundercloud came up in the eky. Well, I should say there was a look like that came over thiß Maurice Kirkwood's face every now and then. I noticed that he looked round once or twice as if to see whether some object or other was in sight. There was a little rustling in the grass as if of footsteps, and this look came over his features. A rabbit ran by us, and I watched to see if he showed any sign of that antipathy we have heard bo. much of, but he seemed to be pleased watching the creature. "If you ask me what my opinion i 3 about this Maurice Kirkwood, I think he is eccentric in his habit of life, but not what they call a 'crank' exactly. He talked well enough about such matters as we spoke of — the lake, the scenery in general, the climate. I asked him *o come over and take a look at the college. He didn't promise, but I should not be surprised if X should get him over there some day. I asked him why he didn't go to the Panaophian meetings. He didn't give any reason, but he shook his head in i a very peculiar way, as much as to say that it was impossible. "On the whole, I think it is nothing more than the same feeling of dread of human society, or dislike for it, which under the name of religion used to drive men into caves and deserts. What a pity that Protestantism does not make special provision for all the freaks of individual character ! If we had a little more faith and a few more cavernß, or convenient places for making them, we should have hermits in these holes as thick as woodchncks or prairie dogs. I should like to know if you never had the feeling, • Oh, that the desert wero my dwelling-place I' I know what your answer will be, of course. You will say, * Certainly, 11 With one fair spirit for my minister ;" ' ; but I mean alone — all alone. Don't you ' ever feel as if you should like to have been a pillar-saint in the days when faith was as strong as lye (spelt with a y), instead of being as weak as dish-water? (Jerry is looking over my shoulder, and says this pun is too bad to send, and a disgrace to the University — but never mind.) I often ■' feel as if I should like to roost on a pillar a , hundred feet high — yes, and have it soaped i from top to bottom. Wouldn't it be fun ! to look down at the bores and the duns ? Let us get up a pillar roosters' association. (Jerry, still looking over, says there is an absurd contradiction in the idea.) " What a matter-of-fact idiot Jerry is ! " "How do you like looking over Mr Inspector-General ? " #** . * * The reader will not get much information out of this lively young fellow's j letter, but he may get a little. It is some- : thing to know that the mysterious resident ■ of Arrowhead Village did not look nor talk like a crazy person ; that he was of agreeable aspect and • address, helpful when occasion offered, and had nothing about him, so far as yet appeared, to prevent his being an acceptable member of society. Of course the people in the village could never be contented without learning every- ; thing there wa3 to be learned about their visitor. All the city papers were examined for advertisements. If a cashier had absconded, if a broker had disappeared, if a railroad President was missing, some of the old stories -would wake tip and get a fresh, currency, until some new circum- ! stance gave rise to a new hypothesis. Unconscious of all these inquiries and fictions, I Maurice Kirkwood lived on in his inoffenj sive and unexplained solitude, and seemed I likely to remain an unsolved enigma. The J " Sachem " of the boating girls became the " Sphinx " of the village ramblers, and it was agreed on all hands that Egypt did not hold any hieroglyphics harder to make out than the meaning of this young man's odd way of living. (To be continued.)