THE STONE MASON.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 27, 3 November 1893, Page 23

THE STONE MASON.

(From tbt Spanish of Febxan Caballkbo.) "Oh ! believe me, there is a charm in life, and the world is beautiful in spite o£ nil the Jeremiahs past, present, and to come, ' snid the Marquesa de Alora in all the joyousness of youth, to her old friend the Conde de Viana. '• It is fall of delights as the heavens of stain, fall of joy as the sea of pearlb ; bat the pear la most be sought for and to »c« the stars we muet raise our eyes, and with them our hearts, to the pure and high space in which they dwell. If yon chut your•elf up gloomily in an obscure cave, how can you either find pea* Is or ■cc tbe atari ? ' " Yon ling like a nightingale," said the Conde, wi h a sad and increialoos smile. "I speak like a grateful daughter of God," answered the Marques*. " A man like you a misanthrope I It cannot be 1 It is a contradiction, an anomaly, as yon say of governments when they condemn bad doctrine and yet allow the Press to spread it— washing their bands like Pilate." 11 Where is that charm, where those earthly delights, lovely visionary?" said tbe Conde. "Are they found in short-lived love, in disloyal friendship ? Or perhaps in wealth which does Dot satisfy, or in honours which give no honour 1 Or in the world, that horrible chaos, or solitude, that arid desert ? Can we find tbem in the heait which is our scourge, or tbe feeliogs which are our enemies ? or even in the soul which, like every other exile, is ceaselessly sighing for its fatherland ? Tne world, my friend, believe me, is a desolate and sad land of exile." " You are too hard on th« world ; you malign it. Man is proverbially ungrateful. You forget the beautiful and fragrant flowers, the tree?, the rivers, the fields that yield their harvest. Were the flowers deprived of their beauty and Bmell, the trees of their foliage, the rivers dried up at their sources, and the earth do longer yielded her fruits, then indeed the world would be what your distorted imagination pictures, and you have well merited this by ingratitude that monster of tbe heart." " Being young you bask in the early hcurs of the day, those fresh pure hours of the morning : the sky above you is rosy. But let us reason. At my age " " The heart is always joung."' interrupted the Marquesa with vivacity. "Old age can also bask in the beauiiful rosy hours of the sunset." " But enumerate these pleasure* and fascination?, for you must have some gift of second sight to see them by. Cholera? Civil war? Or ihe spirit of rebellion inherent io uabelief, which eats the world away like a horrible cancer? Or it e iffapring, immorality which flourishes on all sides 1 Or that cold and vulgar scepticism in which tbe material triumphs ? Or do you find them iv tbe tears shed by faith and charity, which hep 3 alone can wipe away ? " " Good heavens I how sad and cisconsola eie all you say I You must let me prove to you that if evil abounds, good also abounds on God's earth. I shall feel recompensed if t succeed, and Ido not propose to convince you by theory but by facts ; not by reasons which anyone can dispute, but by proofs, for there is njthmg more conviucing than facts." "Enjoy your illusion as spring does its fljwers." " All seasous have their flowers, and I will lay you a wager t j make you the witness of complete and stabe bappiaess." " Complete t 8 able 1 Whatgoldea dream is this ? Happiness, 1 ' pursued the Conde, "or what the world counts as such, is rarely lasting ; it is like the calm of tbe sea, like tbe brief song of the nightingale, incomplete and imperfect, as man in whom two powers are fat strife; and so it must be, since mm for bis sins took possession of this world, nn exiled from Paradise. Were it otherwise, it would be an anomaly. You yourself, dear friend, are you not perhaps a proof of this very truth? Fate has showered gifts on you, fortune all its favours, life smiles on you, yet in spite of all this, your bappieess is not complete, since you are deprived of the magnificent prerogatives, tbe dear delights of maternity." A light cloud passed over tbe frank bright eyes of the Marquesa but a smile again rested on her lips, as she eaid — "In my case it is but a joy the less, and the absence of that one joy will not make me forget tbe many I possess. II wever, to gain my wager, I do not propose to show you an instance of perfect bappinew in our rank of life, wbere it is certainly far !<-a -i common tbaa witn the poorer class, whatever socialists may say to the contrary. In our perfumed sphere, our ideas are only enlarged, or our feelings elevated, or our sensations multiplied at the expense of that passive happiness, wbicb, though negative if you will, i°, and ought to be, the pitnmony of fallen bangs coniemued to a oior.al life of toil. Bat happiness exists, sweet, tranquil, and mild, adorned by virtue* that have survived from Paradise, and purify tbe air about them. Wbere virue is, there is a pure conscience and content. Where the sun shine*, flowers thrive, and their fragrance scents the air. To-morrow I shall expect you at twelve o'clock, when I will take you to my washerwoman's cottage. Long ago she was maid tj my mother.

There I sha.l gain the day, for there may be seen true and complete happiness in all its simplicity and purity ; a gentle river, not overflowing its banks ; there you shall pay me by pounds of sweetmeat*, which I shall at once irder and share among her lovely children." The followi) g day the Oonde de Viam, faithful to his engagement, appe ired at the hour nam^d and fonnd the Marquesa with her mantilla ready to set oat. They took many tarns and windings alo r g the narrow streets of Seville— where to this day the fanciful construction of the Moors holds its own against modern symmetry — And at last nrrived at U»e picturesque barrier of San Eouman. The Miiqaesa entered one of thene poor cottages, the door* of which were thrown wide open. The mistress of the house gave an exclamation on seeing her. "Hush I' gaid the M^rquesa, pntting her finger to her fresh youag lips. " I want to surpiise Maria, and as I know that her patio is only separated from your cottage by a few rosemary bushel, I Cimf this way ihtt 1 might get near without her seeing." Baying this, the Marquesa and Coode crossed the patio. Maria's cottage formed an angle round the garden, and at the entrance a tall jessamine grew, putting forth handfuls of blossoms to rigbt and left, while numbers of little birds perched on the slender stems balMridden by the delicate pale flowers, whose life is so short they have not time to blnsb. In the green arbour formed by this Moorish jessamine, the Marqaeea and her old friend hid themselves, able to see without beiDg seen. Marii», robust worna r , a picture of vigorous health, was seated on a low stool at her door, in the blaze of that fouthern bod, called by the peasants the Andausian fire. At her feet in swaddling clothes lay the baby, an enormous orange held in its fat hands ; time after time the orauge rolled away, and with many struggles at the bright fruit was grasped again only to be lost next minute, tbe blooming mother, a modern Sispie, looking on in laughing enjoyment of tbe never-ending task. " Come now Aniquilla," said the woman to a little girl of about four years old* ■■ it U mid-day, the father will be home. Come that I may comb out your tangled hair and wash this little face, the little rose of April, that you have made as dirty as a mud pie." Whilst tbe mother combed the child's hair and tied it up behind, she taught heisome prayers, after tbe pioas babit of the peasants that accustoms the little lips to say prayers even before tbe child can know their meaning. " Our Father, wbo art in Heaven," said tbe good woman, and the child after her adding by way of appendix, ' Ob, mothet, how you pull my hair 1" The mother went on with the prayer quite unmoved, '• Hallowrd be Tby Name." " Tby Name," repeated the child. " Oh, mother, how you rub my nose I" and by the time " Amen " came, tbe child was combed aad washed and give a jump of much glee. ' Mother ! Mother !" cried a boy of six, running borne from school " I know A ! tbe A 1 the A !" '• Well done, Alonso,'' said the mother. "I" is little enough, but it is more than I do, wbu know how ii sounds but not what it looks like." The fres-h voice of a girl of about right, coming home from the dame school, drew nearer and nearer, Bingmg m the monotonous way in which children are taught to Ping the catechism. " Mother I mother 1" cried she, on coming in, " luok at the little shirt that I made and the little stitches of this hem 1" u That pleases me, child, that pleases m 3m 3 ; the needle well taught makes a thrifty woman." Toe young girl tcok the baby, handling him, although herself so small, with the care and dt-x eiity which make it seem that God h»a infused into the female sex the art of sootbiug little babies who on comiog into the world do nothing but cry. " Baby, baby, where is God ?" Tbe baby lilted up his fore-fiager. Al ago, who was a little pedantic that day, as be had leirot the "A," burst out laughing. " What are you laughing at, little dolt?" asked his sister. '• Because Pachorro says God is in this roof 1" " Pachorro says He i» in Heaven ; but even if he had meant the roof, it is well, for God is every wt» re." " No, He is not," said Alopso. "Little Jew," exclaimed his sister, ''where is it that God is cot ?" (7b be concluded )