THE MAGIC SILVER PEN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VI, Issue 36, 6 September 1890, Page 18

THE MAGIC SILVER PEN.

A STORY I'O R GIRLS. was a heritage almost too sacred to be looked at, this silver pen, and had descended from my great 1 —- grandmother It was given to her by a Catholic priest, who wrote the most clever sermons with it, ami it was supposed to be almost a magic pen. The one who used it, if worthy—ah ! that was the point—could write the most beautiful things, and with little thought the most eloquent pieces. However, unfortunately through circumstances of difficulty, or through being given to the wrong person, no good fortune had proceeded from it ; on the contrary, ill luck had followed those who had possessed it. The priest himself died a most melancholy death. It was reported at the time that he had turned from the religion that he belonged to and waspunished by his church in such a rigorous manner that he had no strength to contend against it. I can t go so far back as my great grandmother, but my grandmother was the best woman I ever knew. She was so generous that she gave all she had to the poor. My grandfather, w hen he died, know ing her sometimes foolish generosity, bought an annuity for her, thinking it would be safer for her. It did not make much difference, how ever, for the money was always spent for others. Sometimes she left herself with only bread and tea. I have even known her take her ring off her finger and hand it to some poor women w hose children were clamouring for bread. It was always returned w hen the time of need was past. There was a great famine in Manchester, ami poverty was everywhere. My grandmother was not an intellectual woman, though so good, and the pen was kept in a little silver l»ox. She thought it was too sacred to use, but used to show it to us children. The pen certainly did her no good, for she lived poor, ami died lamented? She lia.<l a funeral half a mile long, and that was perhaps a satisfaction to her friends. From her the few’ books she had and the silver pen descended to my aunt Hitchen, who was a most devout < ’atholic. I see her likeness now before me covered with beads and crosses. She died in middle age, ami childless, nursed by her niece Caroline, my cousin. She was a brisk, blackeyed girl, and attended to my aunt most affectionately. \V<? all thought she would inherit her fortune, which was a considerable one, but, to our surprise, when the will was read only one hundred pounds fell to Caroline, all the rest to the church (£10,000). The pen, supposed to be so lucky, had certainly done no good so far to us or anyone. And, as if she intended to mock us, aunt left the silver pen to my sistei .Julia, whom she had seen but once, saying, ‘My sister’s eldest girl, Julia, is the only one I like in the whole family, therefore I leave her the pen, hoping she will make better use of it than I have done? My sister Julia prized her present very much, saying in sweet humility she was afraid she would not use it worthily, being neither clever nor good. How ever, for the first time the pen bore fruit. The most beautiful poetry sprang from it, and my sister’s stories ami songs were printed in all the pei iodicals. Caroline, hearing of her growing fame, became most fin ions, declaring she would have the pen even if she stole it. We all thought it idle talk on her part, or would have taken care that poor Julia was protected. I left home to go to school. My mother ami sister lived in Richmond. My aunt and cousin lived near them. I had been at school a year w hen I received a letter from my sister. My hear Little Sister, Come home ami see me before I die. That fatal pen has nearly killed me. but it may not prove so unfortunate to you. Come quickly, ami let me see my bright little sister again. Your loving.11 Li \. 1 left school at once. Only a short time ago I had seen mv darling tin* picture of health and happiness. What a change now ’. Propped up with pillows, a hectic flush on her poor thin cheeks. Surely this could not be my beautiful sister, the pi ide of Richmond ! With a bitter cry I sank on my knees by her bed. ‘ < Hi, my sister, what have they done to you ?’ She put her wast<*d hand on my head, begging me not to cry but listen to her, saying in such a weak voire,

‘ You know, Annie, how bitter Caroline was with me before you left, and how she threatened to get the pen by any means ? Well, she really meant it, and seeing how fortunate I was, grew more angry than ever. One evening mother and father went to a concert, and I, having a cold, stayed at home. I was busy writing a story for a magazine. All at onee I heard voices coming up the garden walk, and I thought I could hear Caroline’s laugh, anil instinct told me what she had come for —my pen. So rapidly taking it out of the ink, and bidding my long black plait of hair in my hand. I ran the pen up the inside of it, putting another in its place. I waited, and whilst I was concealing it they were coming in in the kitchen door. I looked up expecting to see Caroline, but saw, to my horror, two hig men with crape on their faces. Trembling all ovei I rose from my chair, and trying not to look frightened, I said, * “What do you want? How dare you come into the house like this !” ‘ ( hie of them replied : “ We want the pen that belongs to Caroline. If you give it up we will go away quietly ;if 1 not we will bind you hand and foot, and search the house till we find it.” ‘Sinking into my chair, I managed to exclaim, “ Don’bind me, but go and look for it ; you will find it some where.” ‘ They both went to the door and whispered to their confederate, which was Caroline, lam sure. Apparently she consented, for taking the candle, one of them went out of the room and upstairs, whilst the other searched the room I was in. He seemed surprised to find another pen in my ink, and whistled softly to himself. ‘“Ah!” I thought, “I know that whistle. You are James Allan. ” ‘ The room being searched, and nothing found, he waited patiently for the other to return, and when he did they both went out together to hold a conference with the one outside. ‘ “Surely,” I thought, “they will go now.” ‘ But, to my horror, they both returned, and with them a woman in a long black coat, a crape mask on her face like the rest. My cousin Caroline I knew, though so well disguised. • I said bitterly, “ This is kind of you, cousin. I hope no one will ever serve you like this, and that God may forgive you as I do.” ‘ A laugh was her reply, and the leading man of the two told me to go with her to be searched. You can well imagine, dear Annie, what fear I was in.’ As she told me the perspiration poured off her brow. I begged her to put off the rest till some other time, but she whispered, ‘ There is no other- time, I am dying fast, and shall feel happier when I have told you. Well, Annie, I begged to be searched in the room I was in by the fire, the men going out, but they would not hear of it. Caroline marched me straight off to my room, which she seemed to know quite well, and made me take off every garment. She would not even let me throw a shawl around my shoulders, but seemed to take a fiendish pleasure in seeing me shiver and cough. I thought two or three times I would say, ‘ “ Here is the pen you covet so much,” but something held me back. ‘After she had searched my clothes and felt my hair over, “ Ah !” I thought, “ she has it,” but it was too well hidden, she threw my clothes to me, saying, “ I will yet have it !” She walked out of the room, and I heard them go out of the house. ‘ Half dead with cold and fright, I threw myself on my bed, and must have fainted away, for mother said when they came home I was in a raging fever, calling on them all to save me from Caroline. I was six weeks ill, and too weak after to tell them much about it, and what I did say they thought was the delirium of fever. ‘ I asked where Caroline was gone. Mother said she had run away with James Allan. One day I asked mother, “ Where is my pen?” ‘“ We have it safe, my dear,” she replied. “We found it in the plait of your hair when it was cut off.” ’ I kissed my dear sister, and asked her what she wanted me to do with the horrid thing. ‘ I don’t want it,’ I said, ‘1 have no wish to write." But she begged me to write an account of it, and how it had caused her death. ‘ After that, my little sister, you can destroy it, or return it to the convent from whence it came.’ Leaving her to sleep. I sought my mother, and told her Julia’s wish. The poor old lady said, ‘We never knew whether it was a dream or caused by the fever. Oh ! what a wicked girl Caroline must be ! Make haste and get rid of the fatal thing.’ As she spoke she handed me the little box in which the magic pen reposed. ‘ Now, mother, let me try it,’ but I being in a dreadful temper, I suppose, it would not write a stroke correctly ; one stroke and a splash, and again the same, so I put it away in disgust till a future opportunity. i watched my darling sister fading day by day, and I tried again and again to write as she wished, but it was impossible to write with that pen, for it was only the pure and good that could use it. My heart was full of hatred to Caroline, and if she had been near me I am afraid it would have gone hard with her, for though only fifteen, I was pretty strong. Well, we buried my pretty sister, and I went back to school carrying the wretched pen with me. However, I couldn't write with it. There was something wrong somewhere, and I had to write this account of my sister’s sad death with another pen. Putting the silver pen in its box, I addressed it to the

convent from which it originally came. I often wonder whether those monks and nuns will make good use of it. It is to be hoped so, for I could not, and I Hatter myself I am not a bad sort of girl after all. I met Caroline when she was poor and miserable, deserted by her husband, and I helped her ami her children much against my will. Only the thought of how Julia had forgiven her made me help her at all. Caroline was in a consumption, anil died in my arms confessing all she had done. I forgave her for Julia’s sake, who bail asked me to, and I followed her to the grave holding her children’s hands in mine. I am not much given to writing, but when Ido I have no wish for the Silver I'en.

Cherry Blossom.