"STAB." TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7904, 6 January 1904, Page 4

"STAB." TALES.

♦ - MRS FITZJOHN'S ENEMY. f _____________ (By ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER.) [All Rights Reserved.] It is strange that some people should be born to the lot- of martyrdom, but so it appears to be. Certain persons — through • no fault of their own — aro placed in an en- j vironment entirely repugnant to all the natural qualities with which they are en- j d'owed, and so life becomes to them ona j prolonged torture. Such is my own case. Endued with an ' innate refinement, which is an inherent ' part of my very being, I have always lived J among persons of dull perceptions, and ! common, not to say coarse, tastes ; thus I all that they said or did jarred upon me to I •such an extent- that my existence became! one long and dreary martyrdom. • It was so with my own relations : it is so. with the man I married. ' Neither they nor he have ever had amy idea of how they have daily tortured my whole nervous , system by the crudeness of their thoughts and th c vulgarity of their conversation. I am like a musical person always condemned to listen to instruments that are out of tune, or like a true artist ever compelled to look upon low caricatures or common prints. No one except myself has any no- j tion of what my sufferings have been. ; Sometimes I am inolined to curse that refinement of nature and delicacy of perception which ser me apart, from my fellows to such a marked degree; and then again I repent me, and feel that it is better to be as I am — however miserable — than to be as the people among whom I dwell. | Common, alas ! as my surroundings have • ever been, I have nevertheless endeavoured so to touch, them with the light of my own superior refinement as to transform them to a certain extent into something which appears — even if in reality it is not — high- • er and better than themselves. For in- ! stance, my madden name was Smith ; but ' I invariably ,spolt and pronounced ' it Smythe, so as in some slight degree to mitigate its inherent commonplaceness. In ' the same way, I insisted on my husband's changing his surname before I married him from Johnson to Fitzjohn, which really means the same thing, and yet it sounds so much more gentlemanlike and poetical. Also, I took to calling him James instead of Jacob (although he was baptized Jacob), since these likewise are but variations of the same name in different languages. And I have a particular objection to Scriptural names, as they always seem to me to savour of Nonconformity; and to my mind there is something verj*- inelegant in* Nonconformity, and something very -aristocratic about 'the Church of England. I have, tried to explain this, to James, but he can- _ not understand it at all; it is in matters such as this that the difference between my refinement and his vulgarity is shown. 1 And this is the reason why I always say that' poor dear grandpapa was a clergyman, althou_h James in his common way invariably tries to dispute it ; so I generally manage to bring it in when he is not listening. I am perfectly aware that poor dear grandpapa did not agree with all the doctrines of the English Church, nor was he quite, quite one of 'themselves — as our dear vicar is, for instance. But this is my idea of keeping the Fifth Commandment ; and besides there is a Latin proverb which says one should! never speak anything but good of the dead. I find, too, that to call chapel church, and dinner lunch, does so add to the finish and refinement of life, and yet costs nothing* And it is in little things such as this that roal good breeding is shown. Yet James would blurt out to all the world, in his rough, uncultured way (if I were not at home to stop him), that we both attended a Dissenting chapel in our youth, and that we still dine in the middle of the Jay. How can one comport oneself in a truly ladylike manner when one has a husband like that always dragging one down to his own level? At least I should rather say trying to drag one down, for nothing will ever induce me to share James's plebeian and underbred habit of invariably speaking the truth. My parents both died when I was quite a young infant, and poor dear grandpapa brought me up. I cannot remember either papa or mamma ; but I feel sure I inherited my good breeding and intense refinement from mamma, whose father was a professional man* in ono of the most aristocratic suburbs of London. It is from mamma's family, too, that I inherit my long nose and small hands and feet— all sure signs of noble birth; poor dear grandpapa's nose turned up, and he took tens in ready-made boots ! My life with grandpapa was one long torture owing to my superiority to all my surroundings. Both he and grandmamma grated upon me at every turn, they had such hopelessly plebeian ideas and habits. Then I met James, who fell in love with me and asked me to marry ;him. His uncle was a member of poor dear grandpapa's church ; and it was when James (he was vulgarly called Jacob in those days) was staying with his relatives, that^ie met me, and became attached to me. There was then a season ,of terrible indecision on my part. On the one hand there could be no doubt that there was no prestige about poor James, and that marriage, with him would mean the death-blow of all my dreamk of onco more regaining my position in the class to which by birth (through dear mamma) I rightly belonged; but, on the other hand, grandpapa, in his coarse way, had* always made it clear to me that his stipend .would end with. his life, an' that his smail savings would be sunk in t, annuity for grandmamma, so that th-*---would be no provision at all for me after hi death, and I should then be compelled cither to starve or to get my own living. Now, to my mind, there is something very degrading in the idea of a woman's making money by working for it ; the mere thought of such a thing shocks all my innate culture; so I decided that, of the two evils, it would be the lesser one to marry a well-to-do tenant farmer, than to wound my delicate and sensitive nature by earning my own bread. Of course in those days I dreamed— ah, how vainly t—that continual contact- with a thorough gentlewoman such as myself would tend to elevaite poor James's mind and to refine lis character*; instead 1 of which he had merely laughed at my innumerable little elegancies, and has remained the same uneducated boor thjpt he was when I first married* him. It is now some 'years since grandpapa df;ed, and grandmamma did not lo_ig survive 'him, so that I have severed all ties with that disgusting littlo manufacturing * —_ 1 < RESULTS WILL TELL. Suppose you try Chamberlain's Cough Remedy the next time you have a oough or cold. If you are not pleased with the results after using two-thirds of a bottle, according to directions, yon may return what is left, and your money will be refunded. J_ 1 ■•■■'•

town where I was born and bred. I haive also entirely separated myself from my only surviving relative, E'benez-er Smith, myfir-st cousin on papa's side. He married a woman still more common than himseli, and they have settled in Manohester. I have reason to know that he believes me to be no more^ and I trust this belief wilcontinue, aa I could not endure to have vulgar relations* following me down here, when I have succeeded in making a certain position for myself by attending the weekly sewing-party at the Vicarage, and by- subscribing — in company with half a do__nother ladies* — to a box of improving literature from Mudie's. I also make a point of always wearing black silk of an evening, with one white camellia in my hair, and I have had dear mamma's fine collection of cairngorms reset in the latest fashion. How true it is that on© can always tell a real lady by her dress ! And now for the incident which formed the one bright spot — the one oasis,, so to speak — in the otherwise commonplace and uninteresting desert of my -married life. I was sitting alone at my fancy- work one afternoon, as I always make a point of doing, whatever household duties may be done or left undone. I think there is something so essentially refined in doing fancy work after lunch; it gives visitors the impression of such perfect gentlehood. I remember on that particular afternoon I was engaged in spreading maidenhair ferns out on a piece of white linen, and then sprinkling the intervening spaces with ink spotted from an old tooth-brush. It was a most artistic effort, and ; is before me as I write, in the shape of a sliding banner-screen with a border pf light gr_en fringe. Well, I was absorbed) in my work, ha/v---ing always been distinguished by great taste in the arranging of ferns and flowers, when suddenly our parlourmaid (I always call her a parlourmaid, although she is tne only servant we keep ; but Jaones, I regret to say, coarsely refers to her as "the slavey") took me by surprise by flinging open the drawing-room door and announcing' Lord Courtprobate ! Anyone could have knocked me down with a feather. For although my antecedent- were all so very superior, I had, strange to say, never yet exchanged words with a person of title. But his lordship put me at my ease at onoe, with that courtly graeiousness which is ever distinctive of the upper classes when they are conversing with their equals. "I must beg you, madam, to pardon this intrusion," he began, " and to permit me to explain my reasons for inflicting upon you a call from one who has not yet had the pleasure of being introduced to you." "Granted," I at once replied; "pray, your lordship, be seated." " Not Vhile you stand," he returned, with the most beautiful bow I have ever witnessed. " I believe I have the honour of addressing Mrs Fitzjohn," be continued, after we had each taken a -seat; which was, however, not a rapid process, as I was so flabbergasted at this unexpected event that I sat too much on the edge of my -.hay:, so that it overbalanced, and I should have fallen had not his lordship promptly flown to my rescue, supporting me "with the utmost grace while he restored my chair to its rightful position. " That is my name," I replied ; " wife of Mr James" Fitzjohn, of Oakleigh Farm." Lord Courtprobate bowed even more exquisitely than before. "80 I have been led to believe, madam j hence my presence here uninvited." By this time I had so far recovered myself to be able to take in the details of my noble guest's appearance. He was middle-aged — in the case of a less exalted personage one would almost have said elderly — with the most dignified and gentlemanlike carriage and manners that I have ever come across. He seemed a very personification of Burkes " Peerage and Landed Gentry," and all the ideas which the mere titles of those distinguished volumes suggest to one's imagination. " But before we begin our little chat," I interrupted, "will not your lordship- take 1 something. Say a glass of sherry-wine and a biscuit." "Alas! 'that I ara compelled to decline your most kind hospitality. But gout, my dear madam, gout is an enemy that has to be humoured." , I thought it so nice and friendly of Lord Courtprobate thus to take me into his confidence with regard to his (evidently hereditary) delicacy. It showed that He instinctively recognised that I was the sort of woman ■with whom he was aocustomed to make friends. Yet James never perceives that I belong to a class higher- than his own I I suppose that on the principle of "set a thief to catch a thief," it requires a real gentleman to recognise a real lady when he meets her. "I grieve," I said, "to learn that your lordship is. a sufferer from so distressing a complaint as gout. But members of old families, as I know by experience, are liable to these hereditary diseases. It is the price we haye to pay for blue 'blood. In my case, however, it is not gout but bilious headaches that are the curse of our family.: I have heard* that my poor dear mamma was a perfect martyr to them." Hia lordship smiled most agreeably. "In my case, madam, I fear it is old port rather than old blood that has done, the mischief. But to return to the reason for my intrusion npon your privacy ; I heard that your maiden name was Smith." " Pardon, my name before -my marriage | wae Smythe." M Indeed. I was told that you were ai granddaughter of the late Elnathan Smith, pastor of the Congregational Chapel at Mudfo-d." j I was extremely annoyed. Who had dared j thus to rake up my past history, and re- j tail it to this delightful and aristocratic old gentleman? It was too bad! How sadly prone evil-minded persons are to bear false witness against their neighbours; or if not actually false, nevertheless that which ' would have been much better omitted ! . " My poor, dear grandpapa was a clergy- 1

I nan." I said, somewhat stiffly. But in the inids-t of any mortification I was filled with thankfulness that James was not present; there is no knowing what ho might have said. " Indeed. Then I fear I have made a mistake, for which you must blame my informant rather than myeelf. I was told that ■ the late Elnathan Smith had only two de- ' scendants now living — a grandson, Ebenezer, residing in Manchester, and yourself." "I am afraid I cannot give you any information regarding such persons," I said ; " for I make it a rtile not to mix myself up with Dissenters and people of that kind; they always grate upon my somewhat fastidio__ taste." " Then I can only renew my apologies for troubling you at all," replied his lordship, rising from his seat, "and assure you that I did so under a misapprehension." " Trouble is a pleasure in this case," said I, with the utmost suavity ; " pray do not mention it ; but make yourself at home, I beg of you, and let us continue our most agreeable little chat. It is quite a treat for me to meet with anyone who moves. in high circles, as I am literally buried alive here. With the exception of our dear vicar's family, and the curate and his wife, there is no society worth mentioning." And then Lord Courtprobate sat down again, and we had a most charming conversation about the giddy throng among which* he moved when in Loftdon. He had been, it appeared, a lawyer in his younger days, so we got on capitally together as soon as he found out that my maternal grandpapa had also been a professional man. It was the shortest afternoon I ever spent. Alas! what a martyrdom for a woman fitted for sue-- society as that of Lord Courtprobate, to be compelled to pass her days in the uncongenial society of an uneducated person like James! " I was born near the manufacturing town of Mudford," his lordship happened to mention in the course of conversation. "Do you know it at all, Mrs Fitzjohn?" " I once visited it in my maiden days," I guardedly replied. He evidently belonged to the gentry of the surrounding neighbourhood, and I would not for worlds have let him know that I had ever had any connection with Mudford Chapel. "Then you may have come across Mr Smith, the minister of the chapel there - some years ago," his lordship went on, to my surprise. I had no idea that persons of his quality knew anything about Nonconformity. "I remember hearing his name," I replied, ev-en more guardedly than before. "He was a wonderful preacher — a 'most wonderful preacher ; and I think the kindest hearted, most generous man I ever met or hope to meet!" . "Indeed," I replied, somewhat coldly; since, for my part-, I had never quite forgiven grandpapa for sinking his savings in grandmamma's annuity, and so compelling me to couple my lot with the plebeian one of James. Nevertheless, I could not but feel that it was highly condescending of my visitor to refer to him in this way. " Yes," Lord Courtprobate continued, "he ' was a most generous man 5 and certainly gave far more out of his comparative penury than do most men out of their overflowing abundance. No one ever appealed to him for help in vain. And I hear that he took his youngest eon's orphan child and brought her up as his own, sparing no pains or money on her education, although he had to deny himself to do this ; while her mother's father — a well-to-do person, a chiro- * podist by profession — declined to have anything to do with the girl, or to contribute in any way towards her maintenance." How thankful I was that I had so carefully concealed my identity ! What would my distinguished visitor have, thought of me if he had known that I was the unfortunate orphan who had thus been, basely •-maligned to him? Again I offered up a silent though heartfelt thank-giving -that James was not present. But all that I said aloud was : "It is most- generous of your lordship to speak in eucu kind terms ci an individual so humble as the Reverend Smith of Mudford. As for me, I pride myself upon holding no communication with Dissenters. Perhaps your lordship is not aware that my husband is vicar's churchwardon in this parish ; and_l consider that public men and their wives Cannot be too careful in avoiding everything which might lay them open to mi-construction." Lord Cowrtprobate's eye obviously twinkled, and I perceived that with difficulty he restrained a laugh • though I confess I could not see that I bad said anything specially witty or clever. But I was evidently a more brilliant conversationalist than I had supposed; and again I sighed to think how my conversational powers wero wasted upon James; who always maintains that lam destitute of any sense of humour. It evidently requires a cultured gentleman, such as Lord Courtprobate, to appreciate my special sort of humour, which is of a far higher and more subtle type tham that which serves to amuse poor James and his friends. After some more delightful conversation —which I flatter myself was as congenial to my guest, as it was to me— Lord Courtprobate departed, leaving me even more dissatisfied with my lot than I had been before I had the pleasure of making his charming acquaintance. Having seen for myself how admirably I was fitted to shine in "the highest circles, I found it harder than ever to put up with the coarse garrulities of James. TV> my surpirse, I never saw my dear friend Lord Courtprobate again. Considering what an impression I had evidently made upon him,. I should have naturally expected him to renew the acquaintance. But he did not; which proves that his bodily health mu.-yt have been too delicate to admit of his indulging in those social pleasures for which his intellectual nature craved. About two years after our memorable interview, my noblo friend died, and, to my great disappointment,* his survivors omitted to send me a funeral card, thus leaving