VIRGINIA 
 VAUGHAN 
 
 RICHARD 
 
 # 
 
 "^H^ 
 
Gopyri^htN°___./2:^_7'_ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 A ROMANCE IN VERSE 
 
 BY 
 
 MARGARET A. RICHARD 
 
 ''How doth the book begin, go on and end? 
 ''It Hath a plan, no plot: life hath none." 
 
 — Bailey 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 Vte ^octant $ress 
 
 1907 
 
Copyright 1906 by Margaret A. Richard 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 LIBRAaY of CONGRESS 
 Two CoDles Received 
 FEB 19 190? 
 
 ^Uotyrlght Enbv ^' 
 
 CUSS A XXc, No, 
 
 -yg^s^r 
 
 •I 
 
 :& 
 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston 
 
To My Mother 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 
 Friendship 
 
 BOOK TWO 
 
 Love ...... . , 43 
 
 BOOK THREE 
 
 Marriage ....... 79 
 
 BOOK FOUR 
 
 Death II7 
 
FRIENDSHIP 
 
 " Great souls by instinct to each other turn, 
 Demand alliance, and in friendship burn." 
 
 — Addison. 
 
BOOK I 
 
 It was a pleasant room in which to wait, 
 As Leon Grey, while waiting there, perceived ; 
 A restful room, in blue and gold and white, 
 With muslin curtains moving noiselessly 
 As breezes from the near by fields stole in. 
 And frolicked in their folds ; a tasteful room, 
 With not too little nor too much therein, 
 And not an object breathing forth discord. 
 Of which a critic might complain : "Too rich 
 Is this for its companion ornaments 
 Thus put to shame:" or, "Rather heavy this, 
 And out of true proportion to the things 
 Surrounding." 
 
 Woman's eye and heart and hand 
 Had all been there, as any might discern : 
 An eye to truly see, a heart to feel, 
 A hand to do, combining to make up 
 A place not beautiful alone, but full 
 Of sweet suggestion, as though something said 
 To him who entered : " A most blessed calm 
 Abides within these walls, though men toil on. 
 And storms beat still, out in the world. " 
 
 The walls 
 Were hung with pictures, such as one endowed 
 As artist or as poet would select, 
 Since they appealed to souls attuned (as souls 
 Of poets are) to all true harmony ; 
 To souls awake (as is the artist's soul) 
 To all that's beautiful. 
 
8 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 A few there are 
 God sets apart from ordinary men, 
 And makes them poet-artists, who create 
 Work some call pictures, and some, poems ; while 
 Still others, who love both through knowing both, 
 Declare them picture-poems, as they are. 
 The shallow half believe they understand, 
 And cry: "How lovely!" "Oh, sublime — sub- 
 lime!" 
 Then pass to something wholly lacking worth, 
 Again to cry: "Oh, lovely!" "Oh, sublime!" 
 He with the poet-soul may speak no praise. 
 Though something deep within him sees that 
 
 which 
 No eye can read, save his whose inmost self 
 Responds to that which made the canvas breathe ; 
 A something more than form and color, aye. 
 And more than light and shadow, though,in truth, 
 'Twere nothing without these. He feels himself 
 Has found expression thus through other hands. 
 Nor deems it strange another seemed to know 
 His thought, and did the thing he might have done 
 Had he that other's genius and true skill. 
 For painters, aye, and poets, be they true, 
 Interpret, in some measure, man to man 
 As they do God to man. And if we read 
 Some sentiment so comprehensively 
 That it seems but to echo our own thought. 
 We're poets, too, though we nor paint nor rhyme. 
 
 It was the pictures, more than all, that made 
 The young man willing to await that mom 
 The advent of his hostess. 
 
 "Take your time. 
 My lady, " soft said he, "nor deem you are 
 A stranger to the guest who waits, sometimes, 
 
FRIENDSHIP 9 
 
 Among the things you love, and finds in them 
 The thing you are. " 
 
 Then softly Leon mused : 
 "If beauty felt within makes beautiful 
 The self without, Virginia Vaughn, meseems. 
 Beyond the usual type of womanhood 
 Is beautiful. And I, who ofttimes build 
 Backgrounds upon my canvas for fair women, 
 Now build a woman, in my dreams, to fit 
 A fair background. The mistress of this place, 
 Who understands so well, apparently. 
 The best arrangement of her furniture 
 And bric-a-brac, knows too, I dare assume. 
 The setting that becomes herself the best. 
 Blue eyes look bluer still when they reflect 
 The color of these walls ; and golden hair, 
 Or hair of auburn tint, would well contrast 
 With the blue velvet of this restful couch. 
 I guess, therefore, her dreamful eyes are blue ; 
 Her hair agleam with gold. And she — ah, well, 
 A poet such as she could but be tall, 
 And graceful as the rhythm of her smooth verse. " 
 
 The while he mused, he moved about the room, 
 
 Examining the pictures on the wall. 
 
 Then pausing, thus the man soliloquized : 
 
 ' ' Ah, Leon Grey, let not yourself be proud 
 
 Because a poet true thought fit to place 
 
 Within her sight, a canvas covered o'er 
 
 With hues that once lay on your palette ! She, 
 
 Perhaps, came by it not because she would. 
 
 But that another chose it should be hers ; 
 
 Oft other things than greatness men find thrust 
 
 Upon them ; even poets would refrain. 
 
 Through kindness, from refusing well-meant gifts, 
 
 Howe'er ill-chosen. " 
 
10 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Through the open door 
 The young man saw a wheel-chair in the hall, 
 And said within himself : "A sufferer dwells 
 Within these walls, which adds another grace 
 Unto mine unknown lady. Women, I 
 Have oft observed, who tend afflicted ones. 
 Learn how to modulate the voice to tones 
 More soft and sweet, and they grow sweeter faced 
 Through sympathy with pain. Oft helplessness 
 In those they love, awakes the mother-heart 
 In virgins, e'en, and makes them tender-wise 
 As mothers." 
 
 On the stairway in the hall 
 He heard a step. 'Twas not the tread of one 
 Soft shod or light upon her feet, and he 
 Was thus aroused from his deep reverie. 
 Was, then, the poet such an Amazon 
 His vision of her need take flight, like bird 
 Affrighted, at the sound of her foot-step? 
 
 "En wuz I easy den, meh honey?" 
 
 'Twas 
 A negro woman spoke, in voice as soft 
 As is the dove's low cooing; such a voice 
 As ladies well might imitate who grace 
 Fine parlors with soft manners ; and disgrace 
 Them with harsh voices. 
 
 Kindly one replied : 
 "You're always gentle, Leah. You may now 
 Go back upstairs, and sweep and dust the rooms; 
 I shall not need you for a little while. " 
 
 Then framed within the doorway, Grey beheld 
 
 One whom he scarce knew if to designate 
 
 As child or woman, though no child such eyes 
 
FRIENDSHIP 11 
 
 Could have, that seemed to say : "I deeply see, 
 And long have seen thus deeply. " Leon thought 
 Of that Madonna Sichel painted, which 
 Has eyes as deep and sweet as were Virginia's ; 
 Such speaking eyes, in which one seems to read : 
 ' ' I look forth bravely from a soul that feels 
 More deeply and more sadly than most souls, 
 Yet must bear more ; a soul foredoomed to grief. 
 Yet blessed with an abiding peace and poise 
 That keeps me calm." 
 
 The artist ne'er had seen 
 A woman gowned as was Miss Vaughn that day ; 
 She wore a garment of material 
 Both light and soft, that seemed to Leon like 
 The dresses children wear. It was, in truth, 
 An empire gown, with alterations such 
 As made it more childlike, while not a whit 
 Less womanly. About her slender form. 
 Close up beneath the arms, a sash was brought, 
 And, from a bow at her left side, its ends 
 Reached down until the silken fringe on them 
 Was even with the edge of her long skirt. 
 Her hair was merely parted, and in waves. 
 Blue-black, hung unconfined quite to her knees. 
 So might a dainty child look who had donned 
 A long dress to play lady, and forgot 
 That ladies' tresses are not worn unbound. 
 However long and soft. 
 
 The young man bowed. 
 And asked as he advanced toward her: "Miss 
 Vaughn?" 
 
 "Aye, Sir, Virginia Vaughn, " she made reply. 
 And, with a smile, extended her white hand 
 As frankly as she were, indeed, the child 
 She so resembled. 
 
12 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Leon, leading her 
 To the most restful chair within the room, 
 Remembered how he dreamed, awhile before, 
 It was, perhaps, ofttimes the resting place 
 For one whose auburn hair had golden gleams ; j 
 Whose form was tall and strong and straight. 
 
 "And straight?" 
 It was not so ; for, as Virginia turned 
 To seat herself, her visitor saw why 
 She chose to dress unlike her sisterhood ; 
 Why such deep sadness brooded in her eyes; 
 He saw, and grieved, alas ! to see, that she 
 Who loved so well true beauty in all things, 
 Was moulded in a form unbeautiful. 
 Upon her shoulders, young and delicate, 
 A burden he beheld; one that, he knew, 
 Lay heavily, and might not be removed, 
 Though she should live long years beyond the time 
 Allotted man. Was it, then, to conceal 
 This throbbing thing (a burden on her heart 
 As well as on her back) God graciously 
 Dropped over it a veil so glorious ? 
 
 Her hand, so small and white, in his lay cold, 
 Although the day was warm, when Leon led 
 Her to her chair. He felt within himself 
 A wish to close enfold it, with its mate, 
 In his warm palms, until the blood in them 
 Ran warm with youthful life, as his blood ran. 
 For he remembered when he once, while still 
 A little lad, to his fond mother came. 
 Complaining of the cold: "Jack Frost bites 
 
 hard — 
 So hard it hurts !" And she, with loving grace, 
 Knelt on the rug before the fire, and hid 
 
FRIENDSHIP 13 
 
 His fingers in her hands the while she laughed : 
 "Ten little red birds in a downy nest — 
 Now blow, oh, South Wind, softly blow on them, 
 And make them warm!" Then she blew her 
 
 sweet breath 
 (A warm, warm zephyr from the balmy south). 
 Upon his hands, till they felt chill no more 
 Than fledglings do beneath their mother's wings. 
 "Now fly, " she cried, "my pretty red, red birds, 
 From your warm, downy nest ! Fly far, be glad, 
 But come again, when cold or weary, back 
 To shelter." 
 
 Leon's hands, had he played now 
 That childish game, had been a nest for birds 
 White as white flowers, fragile as birds unfledged 
 Still in the home nest. Had Virginia known 
 This fancy of his mind, she would, perhaps. 
 Have asked : ' ' Do men, then, have such thoughts 
 
 as we. 
 Glad children and sad poets (poets are 
 Child- hearted save in gladness) put to use 
 In play and rhyme?" But knowing not, she said, 
 Her full eyes fixed on his : "I fear you have 
 Grown tired, sir; 'tis wearisome to wait." 
 
 "Not here, " and he encircled with a glance 
 The pictured walls. "To wait in such a room 
 Affords one pleasure, though he wait, as I, 
 To greet a poet whose melodious songs 
 Have touched his soul." 
 
 Virginia bowed her thanks, 
 And Leon Grey continued, smilingly: 
 "Yet you are, doubtless, used to compliments, 
 And hear your poems praised as frequently 
 As most of us must hear the weather blamed. " 
 
14 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 "I've not heard spoken praise enough," she 
 
 smiled, 
 "To call it common." 
 
 "Your community, 
 One therefore would surmise, must be composed 
 Of beings dumb? — so partially, at least. " 
 
 "Not dumb concerning much, " she made reply, 
 "Though so concerning books; they needs must 
 
 be 
 Who know them not. And why should I com- 
 plain 
 Because my friends peruse not what I write? 
 That my imperfect pen makes no appeal 
 To those who know me best, scarce signifies 
 My friends as friends are failures. We must learn. 
 Who write for publication, to expect 
 Appreciation more from those afar, 
 To whom ourselves are strangers, rather than 
 From nearer, dearer ones we fain would please. " 
 She spoke half lightly, and a smile played round 
 Her coral lips, but did not brighten once 
 Her dark, grave eyes. (Eyes are more true than 
 
 lips 
 In this, at least : they cannot smile when they 
 Would speak for saddened hearts.) And in a 
 
 flash. 
 The man divined her poet-soul felt need 
 Of true companionship, though with light words 
 She tried to veil the truth. 
 
 ' ' Ofttimes our friends 
 Seem not to realize, " he answered her, 
 "That we who dedicate our lives to art. 
 Put, verily, ourselves into our work ; 
 And if our art is little known to tliem. 
 Ourselves are, too, and they love rather that 
 
FRIENDSHIP 15 
 
 We seem to be, than that we really are. " 
 
 "You, too, no doubt, have had experience," 
 She smiled. "And yet, methinks, your work 
 
 appeals 
 More strongly than does mine, to men ; for scores 
 Admire both form and color, to whom words 
 Are lifeless things. Why, even children, still 
 Untaught, look on a picture with glad eyes, 
 Exclaiming : ' Pretty ! ' And adults can scarce 
 Be blinded to the beauty children see — 
 Though but in part." 
 
 "Aye, but in part, as all 
 Perceive, who look for form and color only ! 
 Who sees but these, sees scarcely more than one 
 Who reads a verse, nor truly comprehends 
 The sentiment ; to such, words are but words. 
 'Tis true most people love to look on pictures. 
 Yet many read your book, which finds its way 
 To homes both far and near, where one beholds 
 My picture. That, howe'er, is not the point : 
 I grant an artist's friends more apt to be 
 Acquainted with his work, than poets' friends, 
 With theirs. But think. Miss Vaughn: it takes 
 
 less time 
 To look upon a picture on a wall. 
 Than read a volume through, from back to back. " 
 
 "Yet you," she interposed, "who hitherto 
 Have rendered that which shall more readily 
 With recognition meet, now condescend 
 To hide, between the covers of a book, 
 Creations of your brush. " 
 
 ' ' We none create, 
 In one sense of the word, " protested he. 
 
16 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 " It is the part of true art to construe 
 The Lord's creations. " 
 
 "You speak truly, Sir, " 
 And she bowed gravely. ' ' We forget, sometimes, 
 We're human, and but follow after God 
 Both in conception and achievement- He 
 With power so God-like thrills our higher selves 
 In highest moments. Could we always walk 
 Upon that noble height we sometimes reach, 
 How near divine were we!" 
 
 "And yet," he mused, 
 ' ' Unto what depths the noblest sometimes sink ! 
 And they who climb the highest, feel it most 
 That they must evermore descend, and walk 
 More oft along the lowly, shadowed vale 
 Than on the gleaming height. " 
 
 "Let us be glad," 
 Virginia, clasping her fair hands, implored, 
 "Not only that we do, though seldom times, 
 Attain the heights, but that 'tis given us 
 To look up to them from the lowly vale 
 Wherein we walk. But we meet not today 
 To speak of high plateaus and lowly plains : 
 It surely does me honor that one whom 
 My father praised, while I was yet a child, 
 As artist likely to attain the heights, 
 Should now consent to illustrate a book 
 From my poor pen. My father, if he knows, 
 (And think you not departed spirits are 
 Oft mindful of us here?) is glad with me. " 
 
 The words touched Leon as no words of praise 
 Had touched him hitherto, e'en while he felt 
 Unworthy of them. 
 
 ' ' Also, I am pleased 
 Your publishers made this request of me ; 
 
FRIENDSHIP 17 
 
 For, in its first edition, I have read 
 
 Your poem, more than once, and am not bhnd 
 
 To pictures therein Hmned by your true pen ; 
 
 Word-pictures whose companion piece 
 
 One could dehght to paint, with his best brush. " 
 
 "Grave pictures, some of them, I fear," she sighed ; 
 "I'd none to whom I might submit my work. 
 And ask: 'Is this too sad a thing for truth?' " 
 
 Her guest arose, and through the window looked 
 Upon a summer landscape, calm and still, 
 Divining that Virginia Vaughn, so small 
 To look upon, yet large to feel and love. 
 Knew lack of love, and so was sorrowful 
 With sorrow endless as seems life on earth 
 To those who love it not. But Leon Grey 
 IvOved life, for it had been most kind to him, 
 Save for a brief, sad while in early youth. 
 And he had reason to rejoice that Hope, 
 By being shattered, proved deliverance 
 From after misery. We should be glad. 
 We who are prone to magnify sad truths : 
 There are glad "might-have-beens" in every life, 
 And much we lose, we live to count well lost. 
 
 Strong men, it has for ages been agreed, 
 
 Are tenderest of heart, and Leon none 
 
 Would name a weakling. In his soul awoke 
 
 Compassion for Virginia, not alone 
 
 Because she was a woman, but one bom 
 
 To suflfer, though in her the child still lived. 
 
 He wished child-likeness and child-gladness might 
 
 Walk hand in hand together, joyous twins 
 
 Forever on life's path. He was not free, 
 
 Alas ! to speak the sympathy he felt, 
 
18 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 And so he lightly said, to hide from her 
 What filled his heart : ' ' How fair a scene you may 
 Look daily on, Miss Vaughn ! No city walls 
 Shut from your view the ever changing sky, 
 And those far hills and nearer fields it smiles 
 Or frowns upon, according to its mood. " 
 
 Virginia rose, and, going to his side, 
 
 Also looked out upon the smiling scene. 
 
 Had he outstretched his arm, she might have stood 
 
 Beneath it, her dark head not touching quite 
 
 His outheld hand. "I love the sky," she said, 
 
 ' ' And, could I always have my will as now. 
 
 Would never live again within the town. 
 
 Where structures high, and oft unbeautiful, 
 
 Would stand between me and the canopy 
 
 God stretched o'erhead. I've room for breathing 
 
 here. 
 For freedom, and for — growth. " 
 
 Upon tiptoe. 
 For one brief moment, she arose, her arms 
 Upraised, as though to signify she thus 
 Would rise to larger stature, by and by. 
 So might a little child, with hands upheld 
 As far above his head as he could reach, 
 Make boast: "I shall be tall as that some day!" 
 But Leon knew 'twas spirit-growth she meant. 
 And that her soul toward higher things must needs 
 Aspire, although her mortal self were slain 
 Through her soul's aspiration. Then she spoke, 
 Her feet descending to a level plane — 
 As did her thought — once more, of how the crops 
 Were suffering for rain, and would respond 
 Most gladly to a shower ; how the fruit 
 Was more abundant than it was the year • 
 Preceding, for which truly she gave thanks. 
 
FRIENDSHIP 19 
 
 "And you," asked Leon, "are a farmer, too, 
 As well as poet?" 
 
 ' ' In true love of all 
 Pertaining to the soil, I am, indeed. 
 And could but be, for such my neighbors are, 
 Who thus earn that which keeps together here 
 The body and the spirit for awhile. 
 It is the life I like the best of all, 
 So free, — so independent of mankind. 
 Yet, plainly, so dependent upon God. 
 For men say not unto the farmer, 'Go' 
 Or 'Come,' at their sweet will. If he his day 
 Of toil begin more early than most do, 
 'Tis not because one drives him forth, 
 But that successive seasons, each in turn. 
 Declare what tasks await for him to do. 
 Thus speaking for the One whose voice they are. 
 And he must labor as the seasons bid ; 
 Must plough and plant, and plough again, and 
 
 reap 
 And gamer in, according to the will 
 Of Him who wisely rules the elements 
 Of all the worlds, if he would bring his fields 
 To glad fruition. " 
 
 "Therefore," Leon said, 
 "The farmer better reads the changing face 
 Of nature than most do. He sees revealed 
 Through her thin veil (not thin, howe'er, to those 
 Of poorer sight) some truths concerning her 
 That we see not. And well for him 'tis so : 
 For none beside, unless it be, forsooth, 
 The sailor on the sea, so needs to read 
 Her prophecies aright. To some, a cloud 
 Is but a cloud ; a pretty thing to look 
 Upon the while it slowly floats o'erhead. 
 With varying form ; now like a graceful swan, 
 
20 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Snow-white; and now, an iceburg on the sea; 
 And now, an angel reaching down and down, 
 As though — they look no more! E'en changeful 
 
 clouds 
 Hold not for long, men's roving, restless eyes. 
 But to the farmer, whose parched lands contain 
 Unnumbered multitudes of thirsty roots, 
 A cloud may be a promise, from on high, 
 Of bread to feed himself and family. 
 And he discerns it while 'tis still afar, 
 A tiny, floating speck one city bred 
 Would scarcely see ; nor fears to prophesy. 
 From the direction whence it comes, as well 
 As other signs found true, if rain will fall 
 Ere noon or night, or if the cloud will pass. 
 And bear the blessing far, to regions strange. " 
 
 Virginia's eyes grew bright as she exclaimed : 
 ' ' You know and love the country even as I ! 
 And yet, before you came, I was afraid 
 You'd find our quiet life monotonous. " 
 
 "My father was a farmer, " he replied, 
 
 "And I was bom and bred a country lad. " 
 
 " Things are reversed with us, " the lady mused ; 
 
 "I was a little city child, and now 
 
 Dwell far from scenes of active life ; while you, 
 
 A boy bred in the country, spend the years 
 
 Of manhood 'mid the busy haunts of men. 
 
 How strange the changes that into most lives 
 
 Come thus with time ! And yet, it seems, they 
 
 come 
 In ways so natural, we sometimes feel 
 Life had been stranger still had they not come. " 
 
 "True, life is strange," her visitor replied, 
 
FRIENDSHIP 21 
 
 ' ' But strange not altogether, we concede 
 Who find it sweet. " 
 
 "Aye, sometimes sweet, but sad 
 More oft than sweet," Virginia said. Then 
 
 smiled, 
 Her hands outstretched impulsively, her mood 
 Quickly transformed. ' ' Regarding changes, who — 
 Long years ago — imagined I today 
 Would own those near-by fields, and would collect 
 From them, each autumn-tide, sufficient rent 
 To — buy my dresses with!" 
 
 The young man laughed : 
 " 'Tis not a princely fortune, certainly! 
 Not much more than your childhood's wealth: 
 
 for then. 
 Your dresses came unbought, for aught you knew, 
 And pleased you no less well because 'twas so. " 
 
 The girl, grown grave again, told presently 
 Of those despairing days, eight years before, 
 When she awoke at last from the first shock 
 Her mother's death had caused, to realize 
 She was alone, with never kith nor kin 
 In all the world, of whom she might expect 
 The temporary aid of bed or board. 
 
 "And all the heart within me turned, " she said, 
 "With longing toward the open, kindly skies 
 That would, with silent sympathy, look down. 
 Nor ask how I endured life thus bereaved. 
 Nor if my loneliness were hard to bear, 
 As mortals sometimes do. And so a friend — 
 The best I had (he was my teacher once) — 
 Found this fair spot, which since has been my 
 
 home. 
 And is the more beloved because 'twas he 
 
22 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Made the selection." 
 
 Leon drew her chair 
 Before the open window, bidding her 
 To seat herself, and so reserve her strength 
 For tasks that would engage the two ere long. 
 "For I, " he warned, and as he spoke, his eyes. 
 As if to contradict the words he said, 
 With laughter twinkled, "tolerate in those 
 Whose tasks are one with mine, no idleness 
 Nor dallying, though they would rest or dream. " 
 
 "But oftentimes, " she claimed, the while she sank 
 Among the cushions of the chair he brought, 
 "The weary one finds rest — from weariness 
 Of mind, at least — in work ; and he who knows 
 Rest both of mind and heart, will not remain 
 Long weary bodily. And dreamers, who 
 But toil because they must, do not, I hold, 
 Yield of necessity their dreams ; for men 
 May dream while the)^ are working, and make 
 
 sweet 
 Their daily task that else had not been so. 
 Then, please, " and she held out her hands, palms 
 
 up. 
 To her companion, smilingly, as though 
 With earnestness and strong glad faith she prayed 
 Some precious boon, "withhold not work from 
 
 me!" 
 
 "Believe me, " Leon laughed, "a few days hence 
 
 Those lips, that now so eagerly implore 
 
 For work, will cry, 'Enough!' Those pleading 
 
 hands. 
 Today for tasks so ready, will not scorn 
 To fold themselves in restful idleness. " 
 
FRIENDSHIP 23 
 
 "Do artists, then," she queried, as though half 
 
 BeHeving what he said, ' ' demand so much 
 
 Of those whose books they illustrate? You see, " 
 
 She did not pause for a response, but thus 
 
 Went on in explanation of her need 
 
 Of knowledge on that score, "naught heretofore 
 
 That I have done, has won embellishment 
 
 Of artists' brush or pen, and I, therefore. 
 
 Know not the part expected now of me." 
 
 "Myself must plead, " so Leon made reply, 
 "To ignorance, too, if we regard alone 
 Experience like to this: For ne'er before 
 Have I received commission thus to paint, 
 From nature, scenes described in any book 
 Of prose or verse. It seems to me, perhaps 
 The author's part would merely be to point 
 Out such and such a place, as having led 
 To such and such a sentiment expressed 
 Within the book. So might the painter's mood. 
 Adaptive to his art, with truth respond 
 Unto the poet's mood, enabling him 
 To paint a picture with such atmosphere 
 As would suggest the thought she had expressed. " 
 
 "Ah, that were easy done! More easy done," 
 Virginia smiled, "than that those ask who bring 
 A poet's book, fresh from the press, to him. 
 To read therefrom aloud, and make request: 
 'Now what inspired this thought?' or, 'How came 
 
 you 
 By such conception as this theme reveals?' 
 Ignoring that the poet often builds 
 His sweetest songs of sorrows he has known, 
 And may not take such poems thus apart 
 Without deep probing, till it bleeds anew, 
 
24 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Some unhealed wound; and songs that most 
 
 appeal 
 To hearts of men, are songs thus bom of pain 
 In sorrow's night. But scenes his pen describes, 
 Though felt within the soul, as beauty is, 
 And can but be by those who truly see, 
 Are not a very part of self, and he 
 May point thereto, nor fear to thus betray 
 The joy or grief deep buried in his breast. " 
 
 "At least, " and Leon smiled, "may one not ask, 
 And not offend, a poet how she came 
 To choose a certain story as the cord 
 Whereon to string her gleaming pearls of thought ? 
 For, peradventure, many stories told 
 In verse have little plot, and scarce are more 
 Than threads, that serve to hold upon themselves 
 Rare gems of truth. But, serving end so good, 
 They should be never overlooked by those 
 Who treasure pearls. I truly treasure them, 
 Yet now make no inquiry where you found 
 This one ; nor why that one has lustre quite 
 Beyond its mates ; nor why yon noble one 
 Thrills all my heart, yet bids me not forget 
 Pearls ne'er would be if wounds, alas ! were not. 
 But I would ask, whence came the cord on which, 
 With taste and care exquisite, you arranged 
 The peerless gems found in your latest book?" 
 
 "Ah, thereby hangs a little story, " she 
 Made ready answer, "whose unfoldment will 
 Disclose me as a bard who borrowed theme 
 To set to music ! Ere we have achieved 
 Or fame or money, some, believing they 
 Were bom to wield great pens, submit to us 
 Examples of their work. One who had read 
 
FRIENDSHIP 25 
 
 My printed thoughts since first I launched them 
 
 forth 
 Upon the world, enclosed to me a verse 
 Her hand had penned, requesting me to say 
 If it were meritorious, or not. 
 
 'Twas short, and crudely were the thoughts ex- 
 pressed, 
 As though the mind in which they were conceived 
 Had mastered not the rules of prosody, 
 Or scorned to use them. 
 
 'Word and form,' to her 
 I frankly wrote, 'are far inferior 
 To thought and spirit ; yet a homely phrase 
 May spoil a pretty thought ; an ugly form. 
 Conceal a lovely spirit. You might well, 
 1 think, reclothe so worthy a brain-child 
 In worthier garb.' 
 
 Returning then the lines, 
 I failed to note that one fine thought they held 
 Had deeply taken root within my mind 
 To grow and bloom, until a fragrance, sweet 
 As dew- wet roses are, thrilled all my soul 
 With new delight. Then, as within myself 
 I felt the wish to share this gift with men, 
 The memory came that 'twas not mine, alas! 
 To spread abroad. I kept the theme two years 
 Imprisoned, though it struggled more and more 
 For light and freedom. Then the idea came 
 To make inquiry of that one whose thought 
 Was thus suggestive, if it had been used, 
 Or yet would be ; if not, then might not I 
 Enlarge upon and use it as I would? 
 
 "She wrote at once, a long kind letter; she '^^ ] 
 Had never used, and never would , she said, 
 The verses sent to me for criticism; 
 
26 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 She now was wife and mother, and since God 
 Enriched her thus, she had nor wish nor time 
 To poetize. 
 
 'The while I write,' she said, 
 T hold a perfect poem to my breast — 
 My babe beloved — the beating of whose heart 
 Makes truer rhythm and purer melody 
 Than words were ever set to. Could you see 
 My darling now, in her white, lace trimmed dress. 
 I think you would concede I clothe my child 
 More tastefully than ever I clothed thoughts 
 In dreamful, idle days. And you, I hope, 
 Would take it not amiss (so sweet she is !) 
 That she is called Virginia, after you.' " 
 
 As she concluded, through the house was borne 
 The silver tinkle of the dinner bell. 
 The girl arose, and to the dining room 
 Invited the young man. Here they were met 
 By an old lady, whom she introduced 
 As her grand-aunt. 
 
 " 'Tis Mister Grey, Aunt Jane," 
 She said in louder tones than she had used 
 When speaking to her guest. "I told you. Aunt, 
 That he was coming." 
 
 "Eh? Who's coming, dear?" 
 Miss Jane bowed hurriedly, as if surprised 
 To see the young man there, then fixed her eyes 
 Upon the door, expectantly. 
 
 "No one." 
 Virginia laid a hand upon her aunt's. 
 Thus to attract attention to herself. 
 "I told you 'tis the artist — Mister Grey — 
 Come from the city. " 
 
 "Ah, 'tis pity, Sir, 
 You lost your way far from the city !" 
 
FRIENDSHIP 27 
 
 "No, 
 Oh, no, dear aunt! Be seated. Mister Grey; 
 She will, no doubt, remember presently 
 You were to come today. "' 
 
 The three then sat 
 About the table, Leah standing by 
 To wait upon them, and to keep away. 
 With waving brush of pea-fowl plumes, the flies 
 That sought the table. Freely flowed converse 
 Between the two young people, while each turned. 
 Now and anon, to make some kind remark 
 To the good dame, from pleasant intercourse 
 With others kept imprisoned by the veil 
 Of silence that enshrouded her always. 
 And she, delighted with the deference paid 
 By the young man, warmed to him more and more. 
 Once, turning toward her niece, she made remark : 
 "You see, my dear, I'm not so very deaf; 
 I hear quite clearly anyone who speaks 
 In but an ordinary tone, if he 
 But speak distinctly, as does Mister Grey. 
 Some scream at me, as if they think me deaf, 
 When I am but a little hard to hear. " 
 
 Though only with an efi"ort he refrained 
 From smiling, since so very well he knew 
 'Twas far from ordinary tone in which 
 He had addressed the lady, her grand-niece 
 But gravely bowed her head, nor seemed to see 
 Cause for amusement. Came the time, ere he 
 Departed, Leon also failed to mark 
 The humor of like incidents, so oft 
 They were repeated. Rather he observed 
 Aunt Jane's affliction with sad pathos tinged 
 Her own life and Virginia's, barring both 
 From pleasure they had otherwise enjoyed 
 
28 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Together, and thereby condeming each 
 To surer loneliness. 
 
 When they arose 
 To leave the dining room, the young man stood 
 Beside the door, his hand upon the knob. 
 Until the ladies should have passed without. 
 As passed Miss Jane, he said some pleasant word, 
 And offered, with a gesture, to assist 
 Her to step down from the low sill that led 
 Onto the porch. But she, nor hearing him 
 Nor seeing, neither made response, nor gave 
 Her hand into the one thus offered her. 
 Virginia, hearing, seeing, as she walked 
 Behind her aunt, looked up and brightly smiled 
 As with amusement, yet with gratitude. 
 Her glance expressing thanks for the young man's 
 Attention to Miss Jane. 
 
 ' ' Will you ? " he asked, 
 And offered his assistance now to her, 
 Half laughing. 
 
 But Virginia shook her head, 
 Still brightly smiling : "We — my aunt and I — - 
 Are not accustomed to the aid of knights, 
 And bravely walk alone. " 
 
 Unaided she 
 Stepped from the door-sill, yet more languidly 
 Than one, no doubt, less delicate had done. 
 
 "But we," said Leon, as he slowly walked 
 Beside her through the hall, "should never here 
 Refuse or scorn the things that we are used 
 To do without : It is not so we are 
 Enlightened ; and not so we broaden life 
 For self or brother." 
 
 ' ' But, " she made defense 
 
FRIENDSHIP 29 
 
 Of her position, speaking for the sake 
 Of argument, and not because she felt 
 The truth of her assertion, ' ' 'tis no part, 
 I think, of wisdom to partake of things 
 We may, in future, not be nourished on ; 
 For we may hunger for them, having learned 
 To like their taste, and so grow discontent 
 With ordinary fare we daily have. " 
 
 ' ' But hunger, " Leon said, "and discontent — 
 A sort of hunger, too — must both be felt 
 Ere we begin to strive for better things 
 Than we have known." 
 
 The trio reached the room 
 Ere this was said, and when they had sat down. 
 Miss Jane her knitting needles and her ball 
 Of wool drew forth, and went at once to work 
 As if she had not time for idleness. 
 Though in the presence of a stranger guest 
 Whose character — so plainly was revealed, 
 In look and word and deed, his genuine worth — 
 She read aright. 
 
 ' ' Excuse me, Mister Grey, " 
 She said, and stiffly bowed, "that I resume 
 My homely task. One can accomplish much 
 By making use of moments such as these 
 In light work for the fingers; work that is 
 Not so absorbing but it leaves one free 
 To listen or converse. " 
 
 "Believe me, now, " 
 He hastened to reply, ' ' I like it so ; 
 It makes me feel you treat me as you would 
 A friend long known. " 
 
 She smiled, yet with a look 
 Of vague uncertainty upon her face, 
 As though she doubted if she understood, 
 
30 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 But would not willingly betray the truth. 
 Still smiling, to the task she had assumed 
 She gave attention, and the gentleman, 
 Now turning toward Virginia, made remark : 
 "You have, I see, a picture that I made 
 Some years ago, before my student days 
 Were of the past." 
 
 "Ah, yes, I've had it long! 
 Yet I remember well the star-lit night 
 My father brought that painting homxC, to hang 
 Above the mantel in his study, he 
 Thus saying: 'Men will hear from him whose 
 
 hand 
 Hath painted this.' I was then but a child. 
 But I have not forgotten how his eyes 
 Were sparkling in the lamplight as he praised 
 His new-found gem ; or how his thin face glowed 
 As he turned smilingly to me, and said : 
 ' 'Tis yours, Virginia, when I'm gone from you.' 
 
 So much a child I was, that never thought 
 Of separation from my father dear 
 Had yet disturbed me, and I now inquired : 
 Where are you going? Are you going right 
 At once — today?' 
 
 He laughed away miy fears 
 With, 'not today, and not tomorrow, let 
 Us trust, sweetheart.' 
 
 'Because,' I said, 'if you 
 Must go somewhere, I want to go with you. 
 And you must take me, father. Won't you 
 
 please?' 
 And then he clasped me closly in his arms, 
 And sighed: 'I wish I might, dear little child.' 
 Next night my father died of hemorrhage, 
 And since — for he was very dear to me — 
 
FRIENDSHIP 31 
 
 I treasure what he loved. " 
 
 Virginia spoke 
 As of another, not as one who would 
 Her own heart-wound lay bare, beseeching him 
 To pity. Suffering and pain had been 
 So truly interwoven, as it were. 
 Into the fabric of her life, they were 
 Part of her being, and unconsciously 
 Found utterance. 
 
 "Your mother — had you lost 
 Her previously?" 
 
 The poet turned on him 
 A look more sad than that with which she had 
 Just spoken of her father's death, and said, 
 It seemed with some evasion: "She still lived. " 
 
 She then arose and begged to be excused, 
 That she might go away to rest awhile. 
 "Aunt Jane," she said, "is too industrious 
 To lay, thus early in the afternoon. 
 Her work aside, and you may sit with her, 
 Or else yourself retire for rest, as you 
 Find pref'rable. " 
 
 The young man rose, and stood 
 Beside his chair till she had passed without. 
 But first she paused beside her busy aunt, 
 And laid a hand caressing on her arm 
 As she bent down so say she was fatigued, 
 And would retire apart from them awhile 
 For needed rest. While to the words Miss Jane 
 Made fit reply, she to the loving touch 
 Was coldly unresponsive. And so passed 
 Virginia out, a smile upon her lips, — 
 A smile belied by her large, wistful eyes. 
 
 Three hours thereafter they were met again, 
 
32 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Each having read or rested for a time 
 
 In soUtude. It was the sunset hour, 
 
 And from the western porch, where now they sat, 
 
 They watched the peerless panoramic view 
 
 Presented by the glowing evening sky. 
 
 Beyond the cotton field in the foreground, 
 
 A strip of woods stood guard, now bathed in gold 
 
 From the warm glow of the descending sun. 
 
 This had presented to the eye a straight. 
 
 Unbroken sky-line, but that high above 
 
 The trees composing it stood three tall pines, 
 
 lyong dead, yet stately and majestic still. 
 
 Through the top branches of the tallest one, 
 
 There presently looked down fair Venus, then 
 
 The star of evening. 
 
 "Oh," Virginia cried, 
 Who first discovered it, " 'I see a star,' 
 (As sang our poet, the true-souled Timrod) 
 'Betwixt the trees!' " 
 
 And later, when she saw 
 Another star stand high above the tree. 
 She mused: "I read, in some stray magazine, 
 A poem once, that told of how one watched 
 Each night, with loving, longing eyes, a star 
 Pure- white, and prayed to claim it for his own. 
 He upward climbed, and upward still, but failed 
 Forever to attain his heart's desire. 
 At last one night while he, with pallid lips, 
 Prayed earnestly to be resigned that it 
 Might shine above him still, it downward fell 
 From heaven — down and down — close to his feet. 
 But fallen stars have not the lustre bright 
 Of stars that shine o'erhead, and his heart broke 
 Because his star fell, though for love of him. " 
 
 "A pretty thought, and one embodying 
 
FRIENDSHIP 33 
 
 A truth, " said Grey, "men oft see proved in life. '" 
 
 "All poetry, I think, " the poet said, 
 "Should be the true embodiment of truth; 
 Or, that indeed, which might become the truth 
 By high endeavor. So would poets teach 
 Their fellowmen, arousing" oft their souls 
 To aspiration. " 
 
 "That," he answered, "is 
 A high conception of the poet's part ; 
 For if he point the way to even one. 
 Or bid another upward lift his eyes 
 To lovelier things in life, he has done well. 
 But think, Miss Vaughn, what longing there must 
 
 be 
 In hearts of those 'mute' Miltons — so through 
 
 stress 
 Of circumstance — who feel vv^ithin themselves 
 Thoughts high and holy as have yet been penned. 
 Yet may not seek expression, being bound 
 To sterner tasks ! Think you the thoughts of such 
 Flow musical, although we know them not?" 
 
 "Perhaps we know them," she said, simply, 
 
 ' ' though 
 We fail to recognize their source. 'Think love'* 
 A poet and philosopher has said, 
 'Although you speak it not.' And she declares 
 Our love will sometimes bless e'en those whose lives 
 Touch not our own, and bear, from kindred souls, 
 A blessing back to us. And so I say : 
 'Think poetry, although you write it not;' 
 Then let each 'mute, inglorious Milton' dream 
 His dreams, and let his thoughts flow rythmical 
 The while he trudges to or from the work 
 *Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
 
34 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 'Tis his, in field or mill or mart, to do 
 
 For daily bread. None with authority 
 
 May designate as vain the untold thought ; 
 
 For mind with mind communes, and, as none lives 
 
 Unto himself, so it may be, none thinks. 
 
 To me, it does not seem coincidence 
 
 That authors far apart to the same truths 
 
 Give utterance; or, that two artists paint 
 
 Two pictures, each expressing that expressed 
 
 By his contemporary ; or that songs 
 
 Are similar in treatment and in theme. 
 
 Though set to music by composers strange 
 
 Each to the other. And be the thought conceived 
 
 In mind of one who may expression give, 
 
 Or mind of one who may not, does not make 
 
 Grave difference, for thoughts have wings, and 
 
 once 
 Full-fledged they fly, we know not whither; 'far, 
 Ofttimes, to other minds, that give them voice, 
 And send them forth, with pow'r to speak or sing, 
 Into the world. " 
 
 The days of Leon's stay 
 At lovely Laureldale passed busily 
 And happily. Outdoors and in he worked, 
 Now sketching hastily some woodland scene, 
 With wish to get it on the canvas ere 
 The lights and shadows changed ; and now indoors 
 With care retouching it most leisurely, 
 With that large patience those acquire who wed 
 Themselves to art, for better or for worse, 
 Till life be done. 
 
 Virginia led the way 
 To her loved haunts, with whose descriptions he 
 Already was familiar, since they all 
 
FRIENDSHIP 35 
 
 Were back-grounds for word- pictures in her book. 
 Pushed in her wheel-chair by the colored nurse, 
 She rode beside her guest down quiet lanes, 
 'Neath waving, arching trees whose branches met 
 And touched o'erhead, as reaching out to give 
 Love greetings to each other, or to drop 
 On men below a benediction sweet: 
 Or now she led the way across the green 
 And sunny pasture, where the browsing sheep 
 A moment paused in their repast, to watch 
 The little group go by; where gentle kine, 
 Too, followed them with full and dewy eyes, 
 As tender as are eyes that souls look through : 
 Again, into the shadowed forest went 
 The trio, pausing not nor wearying 
 Till Leon's brush had reproduced the scenes 
 Thus visited. 
 
 The faithful Leah, while 
 The artist worked, some distance from the two 
 Remained, yet near enough to hear when called 
 But softly. Oft she slumbered, but more oft 
 Her thick lips moved in prayer, half audibly, 
 For Leah was religious, and thus bore 
 The names of her "white folks" to God in prayer 
 "I done quit prayin' fo' de niggers," once 
 She said, disdainfully. "Dey's so no 'count. 
 En we des was'e our bref when we use win' 
 Ter pray fo' dem what doan pray fo' deysel's. " 
 
 Virginia wrote while Leon sketched ; or read ; 
 Or crocheted on a scarlet shawl, the thread 
 Of which fell o'er the back of her left hand, 
 A streamlet flowing toward her ivory hook, 
 Thus yielding freely its unmeasured length 
 With generosity those rivers know 
 That feed the sea. nor withhold self for fear 
 
36 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Their source may fail. To Leon, as he worked 
 Apart from her a Httle space one mom, 
 It seemed that thread was endless, and the hands 
 Unwearying that wrought it into shape. 
 When he had done his sketch, he moved and stood 
 Beside her chair a moment, then stooped down, 
 And caught the ball, which was of that red stream 
 The source, in his two palms, and held it thus, 
 So that no longer it would yield its length. 
 
 "How can you bend your eyes to this, " he asked, 
 ' ' While leaves are softly rustling overhead. 
 And sun-flecked shadows fall about your chair ; 
 While, through the openings 'twixt the boughs 
 
 above, 
 A sky deep-blue — so deeply blue it seems 
 'Twas doubly dyed for us this day — looks down 
 Alluringly? I know not how you can. " 
 
 "We sometimes see in spirit," she replied, 
 
 "And so I have been seeing while I worked. 
 
 Thus was I lost to my surroundings; though," 
 
 She paused, and with a wave of her deft hand 
 
 Included all the scene she looked upon, 
 
 "This is as fair as worlds we see in dreams. 
 
 But look ! — I was not merely using yam 
 
 The while I worked: I fashioned shells, which, if 
 
 Not perfect imitations of those made 
 
 By nature, are yet like enough for one 
 
 With mind imaginative, who sees them 
 
 Not as they thus were made, but as they'd look 
 
 Picked up from some bright, breezy ocean shore. 
 
 My needle hurried less to make my shawl 
 
 Grow larger, than to add unto my wealth 
 
 Another and another pretty shell. 
 
 I walked upon the sands beside the sea ; 
 
FRIENDSHIP 37 
 
 I heard the murmurs of the restless waves ; 
 I felt the sunshine drop upon my head 
 Soft kisses. Seven stitches 'neath that stitch, 
 The seventh fastened loosely, thus, that means 
 A shell complete in my crochet ; but it 
 Means more : It means I stooped just there, 
 And found a treasure on my fair dream shore. 
 And so I told you wrong when I declared, 
 Just now, I fashioned shells: I gathered them. 
 Blue-tinged and rosy hued. " 
 
 ' ' A dreamful mood ! ' ' 
 The young man laughed. "Do ladies, I would 
 
 ask. 
 Whose hearts are not attuned to poesy, 
 Thus idealize their tasks?" 
 
 Her cheeks flushed red, 
 As though she had been caught at something she 
 Had better left undone. 
 
 ' ' 'Tis foolish, — yes. " 
 She murmured, "and — " 
 
 But Leon interposed : 
 ' ' Nay, nay, I said not so — I meant not so ! 
 I hold them rich who sometimes lose themselves 
 In blest imagined worlds, though they may own 
 Nor gold nor lands. And I believe the men 
 Who come most near to drinking of the fount 
 Of youth perpetual, are those who hold 
 Within themselves the power to slip apart, 
 Ofttimes, to worlds of dreams, where they forget 
 The trials they do daily bear, and feel 
 Their hearts again beat high and burden-free. " 
 
 "I tell not oft such fancies to my friends, " 
 The girl acknowledged. "But I felt that you. 
 Who are a dreamer, too, would understand. " 
 
38 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 ' ' And if I am, " he smiled and turned to put 
 
 His paints and brushes carefully in place, 
 
 "I may not dream the morning all away — 
 
 Though it were more than pleasant so to do — 
 
 While work awaits. 'Tis only when we've earned 
 
 Or rest or recreation, these give joy, 
 
 And not till eventide shall I have time 
 
 For dreaming dreams today. There still is much 
 
 To be achieved before I leave for home, 
 
 And ere the Sabbath dawns I must depart. " 
 
 ' ' So soon ? ' ' The artist saw a shadow pass 
 Athwart the girl's expressive face, then flee 
 Before the smile that followed ere her eyes 
 Were turned to his. 
 
 "Aye, even so!" he said. 
 ' ' I hope I shall be missed at Laureldale. " 
 
 "You know," she answered, "who have dwelt 
 
 awhile 
 Beneath our roof, as one of us, that one 
 Could hardly linger in our home for just 
 A little space, and leaving, leave no void. 
 And you must surely know your stay with us 
 Has been a pleasure above that bestowed 
 By ordinary guests : your mission here 
 Had made it so for me, who so love art. 
 Had not yourself been found congenial." 
 
 The day he bade goodbye, as souvenir 
 Of his sojourn beneath her roof, he gave 
 Virginia Vaughn a water-color sketch. 
 It reproduced a scene they two looked on 
 One misty mom, and duly had admired. 
 Through a gray mist, the clouds looked faintly 
 pink, 
 
FRIENDSHIP 39 
 
 A bride's blush softened by her flowing veil ; 
 
 And though the features of the landscape were 
 
 Not clearly to be seen, so true the sketch 
 
 To nature, one had wondered not to see 
 
 The mist arise, and slowly roll away. 
 
 It spoke a promise ; none who looked on it 
 
 But heard a voice breathe softly, sweetly, "Hope." 
 
 Virginia gravely said 'twas similar 
 To Corot's "Morning." Then spoke smilingly 
 Thus to the donor: "Men of future times 
 May claim one honors Corot, saying that. " 
 
 He shook his head, and mused : "A Master, he !" 
 
 "There may be artists with us now," she smiled, 
 "Whom men of future times will recognize 
 As masters. Why not you?" 
 
 "Alas!" he cried, 
 "That men know not, while still they live and 
 
 work. 
 If they be small or great. " 
 
 "No, not 'alas,' " 
 His listener demurred, and gravely smiled. 
 ' ' A man who knew himself for one whose name 
 And work would live hereafter, might strive more 
 For glory of his fame, than for the good 
 Of men, and so fall short (now say 'alas!') 
 Of the high stature that he might have reached 
 Had he with less ambition wrought for self; 
 With more, for men and God. " 
 
 At eventide 
 She stood alone upon the vine-clad porch. 
 Her guest had gone ; Miss Jane dozed in her chair. 
 Her knitting on her knee. The girl bent down, 
 
40 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 She scarce knew why, and pressed her pallid cheek 
 
 Against a rose that budded since he came. 
 
 And then she loosed the flower lovingly, 
 
 And left it on its stem to shed abroad 
 
 Its beauty and its fragrance yet awhile. 
 
 "Oh, heart within," she whispered, and looked 
 
 out 
 Upon a scene he lately viewed with her, 
 "IJfe's loneliness is hard ! We stand, sometimes, 
 So far apart from those of kindred minds, — 
 vSo far apart from those we know so near 
 Ourselves in spirit, that soul touches soul. " 
 
LOVE 
 
 "And love, life's fine centre, includes heart and 
 mind." — Owen Meredith. 
 
BOOK II 
 
 'Tis said the woman-poet for a world 
 
 Of men writes not, but for some certain man 
 
 Who makes her world. Though we concede not 
 
 this 
 Who hold there is no sex in art, and that 
 The woman's motives and achievements may 
 Be high as are her brother's, yet we know 
 She cannot be so much a poet that 
 The woman dies in her. And 'tis the way 
 Of women, of whatever attitude 
 Of mind they be, to lift their eyes to men 
 More tall than they, or whom they think more tall ; 
 And they resist nor need, nor tendency, 
 To lean on strength more certain than their own, 
 So weak they are at best. 
 
 As passed the days 
 Of summertide, Virginia to her work 
 With quickened ardor bent, for she had found 
 A new incentive. One who loved the best 
 In poetry, had come in touch with her ; 
 And coming, had awakened in her soul 
 Chords slumb'ring hitherto ; her life and work 
 Would, therefore, evermore vibrate to tones 
 More resonant and sweet. He touched her not 
 As breezes do the daisy on its stem. 
 To sway it lightly, softly, to and fro. 
 And then pass on to leave it motionless 
 As 'twas before ; but as the sunrays touch 
 
 43 
 
44 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 The rose, to linger there until 'tis warmed — 
 Clear to the inmost heart — into a hue 
 More deep and rich. 
 
 Virginia had been warmed 
 To her heart's core. Although she knew it not, 
 She sang more blithely since she hearked to one 
 Of optimistic mind. He, strong and glad, 
 Knew not the smile upon his face brought smiles 
 To other faces ; or, that his heart's joy 
 Ofttimes awakened joy in other hearts. 
 It is not here vouchsafed to men to know 
 The good or evil they may do on earth 
 By simply being what they are ; what they 
 Dare sometimes to assert God made, though they 
 Have let themselves be shaped anew by one 
 Antagonistic to the true and good. 
 
 Virginia wrote half smiling, oftentimes. 
 As pleasant memories stirred within her breast. 
 For much they two had talked of came to her. 
 And through the current of her thoughts some 
 
 thought 
 That Leon had expressed ran crystal clear. 
 To flow a separate stream till merged in hers. 
 'Twas inspiration to the poet, who 
 Had worked so much alone through former years, 
 To know one 'waited, with true interest, 
 The things she wrote. And she- — so well herself 
 Had come, in so short while, to know the man. 
 Could well divine what sentiments of hers 
 Would harmonize with his ideas, and which 
 He sea reel v^would accept as true of life 
 As life had been revealed to him. For life 
 Had been revealed to them in different lights. 
 From different points of view : to him in hues 
 Oft roseate ; to her in sombre shades : 
 
LOVE 45 
 
 To him from heights where Gladness dwells; to 
 her 
 
 From lowly vales where Sorrow darkly broods. 
 
 Yet she had never sung in hopeless strain ; 
 
 Her most pathetic verse, penned during days 
 
 More dark than death, had breathed not of de- 
 spair. 
 
 'Twas autumn-tide: three months had come and 
 
 gone 
 Since Leon bade goodbye to Laureldale; 
 Months that had seen the roses of glad June 
 Die on their stems; the fields of cotton change 
 From green to fleecy white ; the orchard yield 
 Its ripened fruit; and now the scuppemong, 
 Of which one daintily might weave a crown 
 Full worthy of October's queenly brow, 
 Hung richly from the vines of field and wood. 
 
 Though these had changed, the heart of Leon Grey 
 
 No variation knew. He had enjoyed 
 
 A correspondence with the poet since 
 
 They parted; had despatched her flowers and 
 
 books, 
 Such as he felt she would appreciate. 
 And now he wrote: "Methinks I am homesick 
 For Laureldale ; I fain would watch again 
 The sunset from that dear old western porch. 
 Those distant trees, that daily the last rays 
 So lovingly seemed ling'ring to caress. 
 Are, peradventure, turned to scarlet now; 
 They would have blushed long, long ago, had they 
 Becoming shame, so boldly the sunbeams 
 Made love to them. But if becoming shame 
 They lacked, their blushes, I dare say, become 
 
46 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Them none the less. I would behold them, 
 
 bathed 
 In golden afterglow of some near day, 
 And side by side with you. Then — may I come ? " 
 
 "Yes, come," Virginia wrote him in reply. 
 And thus continued : "If your brush could paint 
 A scene like that we looked on yesterday, 
 Your fame would be assured. The western sky. 
 All rose and purple, formed a background such 
 As Turner would have liked to look upon. 
 Perhaps to paint, so radiant it was. 
 It has been claimed this gifted one heheld 
 More color in a landscape than most do. 
 For God reveals his world to different men 
 In different hues. A man stood by one day 
 The while the painter painted rapidly, 
 And asked of him : 'But why such brilliancy 
 Of colors, Sir? I see in nature, 'sooth, 
 None bright as these. ' The artist did not pause 
 In his great task, but, moving still his brush 
 With swift and certain strokes, as though he knew 
 No thought or fear of failure in the end, 
 Inquired: 'But don't you wish you could, my 
 friend?' 
 
 ' ' Like him who looked on Turner's canvas then, 
 It is not always given me to view 
 Sweet nature in a dress of radiance, 
 Nor do I wish she would reveal herself 
 Too brightly clothed to me. More quiet tones 
 Are restfuller: one thinks not of a scene 
 By Turner when he hears the Psalmist sing : 
 'He maketh me lie down in pastures green; 
 He leadeth me beside the waters still. ' 
 
LOVE 47 
 
 "Aunt Jane begs me to say a welcome waits 
 You here, and that the doors of Laureldale 
 Stand open wide. We shall be truly glad 
 To give you greeting, and we trust the sun 
 Will rise and set not often ere it dawns 
 Upon the day of your arrival. " 
 
 So 
 Again the artist and the poet met. 
 'Twas in the gloaming of a glorious day 
 In late October, he arrived. To him, 
 In the dim light of waning afternoon, 
 So pleasantly familiar seemed the place, 
 It had been easy to persuade himself 
 He had departed hence but yesterday. 
 Upon the broad piazza, 'waiting him, 
 Virginia and Miss Jane stood side by side. 
 As with glad steps he hurried through the gate 
 And down the violet-bordered walk, to speak 
 With them. A lamp suspended in the hall 
 Seemed far from disobedient to the voice 
 That one time gave command: "Hide not thy 
 
 light. " 
 Its rays streamed through the open door, and 
 
 bathed 
 The floor with gold, then ran adown the steps 
 As if to meet and greet the coming guest. 
 Whose upturned, smiling face they soft caressed. 
 
 Virginia, in the shadow, could but see 
 How eager his expression was that night. 
 Like one who long had been away from home, 
 And was rejoiced to finally return. 
 Then she advanced, and gave her hand to him, 
 Such words of welcome speaking as her heart 
 Sincerely felt. He answered graciously, 
 With that true courtesy that seemed innate, 
 
48 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 A part of self, nor manner but assumed 
 To suit the season or the circumstance. 
 
 Not always are they most polite, I note, 
 Who study books of etiquette that teach 
 Just how and when and where 'tis best to sit; 
 And how and when and wherefore we should rise ; 
 And when shake hands, and when bend low and 
 
 bow. 
 True courtesy is not mechanical, 
 A something moved by hidden springs and wheels : 
 Its source is in the heart, and only he, 
 Whatever books to the contrary say, 
 Is truly courteous whose manners are 
 The outcome and expression of a wish 
 To do to men, the lofty and the low, 
 As he would have mankind do unto him. 
 
 On what swift-flying wings glad days are borne ! 
 
 We scarcely realize the joys they bring 
 
 Ere they, like our most fleeting dreams, are gone. 
 
 While yet we plead in whispers, brokenly: 
 
 "Abide! Abide!" on noiseless pinions they 
 
 Are soaring toward the Past that once was Now, 
 
 Forever farther from our yearning sight. 
 
 Thus swiftly they were soaring toward the Past 
 
 For Leon and Virginia. He would bid 
 
 Farewell upon the morrow to his friends 
 
 At Laureldale, and homeward turn his face. 
 
 Without it rained, a heavy mist of gray 
 
 Enfolding earth, as far as eye could see; 
 
 Within, the trio sat in that blue room 
 
 Where Leon first beheld Virginia Vaughn. 
 
 A blazing fire upon the hearth, the first 
 
 There had been need of yet, burned merrily, 
 
 And o'er the party cast a rosy light. 
 
LOVE 49 
 
 The poetess reclined in her wheel-chair, 
 
 Almost enveloped in the glorious hair 
 
 That seemed at once, her mantle, and her crown. 
 
 It lay about her slender, fragile form 
 
 In shining waves, save where, sometimes, a curl 
 
 O'erran the edge of her wheel-chair, and reached 
 
 Down toward the floor. She was more silent than 
 
 Her custom was, so thought the friend who sat 
 
 Beside her, and who talked of many things 
 
 To he]r and to Miss Jane. The latter's hands 
 
 Were busy with the task of knitting socks, 
 
 To which she held herself as faithfully 
 
 As though on her devolved the mighty care 
 
 Of clothing the cold feet of a cold world. 
 
 A silence fell upon the three at length. 
 
 And then was heard alone the silver click 
 
 Of knitting needles flashing in the light. 
 
 And the soft raindrops on the shingled roof. 
 
 Miss Jane, half sighing, presently arose. 
 And left the two together. Leon turned. 
 Then, to the girl, and smilingly remarked: 
 "A penny. Miss Virginia, for your thoughts. " 
 
 "We may not always tell our thoughts, " she said. 
 More gravely than she knew, "e'en when we would. 
 We sometimes think so vaguely that our thoughts 
 Have changeful, shadowy forms, and scarce reveal 
 Themselves with clearness to ourselves. As well 
 Aspire to robe pale spirits, such as haunt 
 Our dreams sometimes, as seek, in fitting words. 
 To clothe some fair, elusive thought that fails 
 To perfectly reveal itself to us." 
 
 The artist drew his chair more near to her, 
 And earnestly replied : "I too, have found 
 
50 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 It sometimes difficult to speak the word 
 I fain would speak. For long I've wished to tell 
 You certain truths concerning my past life ; 
 Of things that touched me in my early youth, 
 But now are quite as if they had not been. 
 Save that I think it best to keep some things 
 Forever buried in forgetfulness, 
 I would have spoken long ago." 
 
 "Speak not," 
 She said, and laid a hand upon his sleeve, 
 As if to stay his voice, ' ' of anything 
 It pains you to remember. " 
 
 "But," he smiled. 
 And she was reassured, "I only wish 
 To introduce to you the foolish lad 
 I one time was. " 
 
 ' ' More foolish then than now ? ' ' 
 She asked, with that gay lightness she assumed 
 Sometimes, and which he felt was but a froth 
 That bubbled to the surface, hiding thus 
 The color in the cup. 
 
 ' ' More foolish — yes, " 
 He answered her, ' ' because more young, and so 
 To influences of the foolish more 
 Susceptible ; and things occasioned then 
 Or pain or pleasure that now move me not 
 To either joy or sorrow. We outgrow 
 Our very selves, it seems, and sometimes look 
 Into the past at that we were, with eyes 
 Oped wide with wonder : so we view the clothes 
 Our mothers tell us we were wont to wear 
 In days long dead, and question wonderingly : 
 'And was I ever just this very size?' " 
 
 "Yet things that we outgrow, " Virginia mused, 
 ' ' Have their respective uses in our lives. 
 
LOVE 51 
 
 'Tis only through experience we learn, 
 
 And upward climb through tribulations sore 
 
 To true success. The failure once bemoaned 
 
 May make today's achievement worthier; 
 
 The sorrows over which our hearts have bled 
 
 Teach us at last how patiently to bear 
 
 Our present ills ; and songs we long have tried 
 
 To teach our lips to sing, may finally 
 
 Soar upward to the skies, spontaneous 
 
 As we, in roseate day-dreams, have dreamed." 
 
 "I grieve not," Leon made response, "for things 
 
 Outgrown and laid aside. It makes, perhaps, 
 
 A pretty rhyme to sing the day is sad 
 
 On which a girl must lay aside her doll. 
 
 Or when a boy sails last his cherished kite. 
 
 But 'tis not true ; each period in life 
 
 Holds compensation for such joys as we 
 
 Must leave behind us, and we onward glide 
 
 With steps so gradual, we scarcely know 
 
 When we let fall the things we have held dear. 
 
 And reach out for those newer ones that shall 
 
 Become as dear. As well grieve that we once 
 
 Shook baby rattles in our rosy hands, 
 
 And shake them now no more, as mourn that we 
 
 Have laid aside the toys we once so loved. " 
 
 Virginia acquiesced: "When I was yet 
 A little child, and other children planned 
 What they would have and do when they were 
 
 grown 
 To womanhood, I held my dear-loved doll 
 Against my breast, with jealous heart none guess- 
 ed, 
 And whispered : 'Ladies no not play with dolls ; 
 I'm sorry I have got to grow and grow 
 
52 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Till I'm a lady. ' But it was no grief, 
 I found, to put them down when I had grown 
 Beyond such childishness, and was prepared 
 To pass to other things, and loftier. " 
 
 "When I," said Leon, "had outgrown my kites 
 And marbles, and my school-books, and the games 
 Of early youth, I turned me to my art. 
 To poetry, and then — to dreams of love. 
 We scarcely leave the ways of childhood ere 
 We lose ourselves — is it not so ? — in strange 
 Sweet labyrinthine paths of youthful love. " 
 
 He paused, and she replied thus softly : ' ' Since 
 Such love, with all the pleasure and sweet pain 
 'Tis said to bear with it, has ever been 
 Withheld from me, as one might well surmise, 
 I may not with authority discourse 
 Upon the tender passion." 
 
 Her dark eyes, 
 However, sparkled brightly while she spoke, 
 And her cheeks, usually so pale, were flushed 
 As rosily as womens' are who love, 
 And know themselves beloved. 
 
 "In my first youth," 
 Continued Leon, "I met one so fair 
 Of face and form, it seemed in all the world 
 None could be fairer. Outward beauty, then 
 I thought, expressed a true soul-loveliness, 
 And all my being bowed before the queen 
 My love crowned her. She scorned not lowly me, 
 But with a thousand gracious ways and wiles 
 She led me on to love her more and more, 
 Till she became my dream, my hope, my star. 
 My all in all. She was my promised bride. 
 And we had planned to wed when my poor brush 
 
LOVE 53 
 
 Should earn sufficient income for our needs. 
 
 Another came who needed not to win 
 
 His way in life ; a man one scarce would name 
 
 Unworthy, yet inferior to her 
 
 In birth and intellect. He loved the girl, 
 
 And they were married, she first writing me 
 
 She loved me still, but feared my art a staff 
 
 Too fragile for the two of us to lean 
 
 Dependently upon. She knew, she said. 
 
 She never could be quite content to wear 
 
 The common clothes that wives of poor men must, 
 
 Or to economize in every way. 
 
 Contriving meanly, so it seemed to her, 
 
 To merely live. Their marriage brought to them 
 
 Less happiness than sorrow, and he died 
 
 Some several years ago, bequeathing her 
 
 Such wealth she need not wear the 'common 
 
 clothes' 
 She so despised in those departed days. 
 She is today more fair than she was then, 
 A vision rosy as Aurora is, 
 Whom, meeting, most men turn to look upon 
 A second time. " 
 
 ' ' You see her sometimes, then ? ' ' 
 Virginia faltered. 
 
 * ' Often, " he replied. 
 "We meet sometimes at social gatherings, 
 And she seems not averse— as many are — 
 To sitting for a portrait. She, perhaps, 
 Sees plainly I have ever sadly failed 
 To do her justice, as a painter must. 
 And so would have me try and try again. 
 
 "When first I knew her false, it seemed my faith 
 In woman's love and truth could scarce survive, 
 Although I knew the falsity of one 
 
54 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Proves not all false. Within me deep I felt 
 
 Are some as beautiful of soul as she 
 
 Of face and form ; and after all, I loved 
 
 Not her, but that I only thought she was ; 
 
 And so I did not sorrow overlong, 
 
 Nor lose glad faith. Instead, I dreamed on still 
 
 Of love that dies not ; love that bravely bears 
 
 Much more than poverty. Somewhere, I felt, 
 
 A heart responsive to mine own beat true, 
 
 Which life would lead me to some day, and bid 
 
 Me, therefore, evermore be glad. For her — 
 
 This dear companion of my dreams — I worked 
 
 As truly as if she already were 
 
 Beside me ; she, unlike that other one 
 
 I had adored, or had believed I loved, 
 
 Would care less for the money I might earn 
 
 Than for my art itself; and yet her soul 
 
 Would be awake to best things wealth can buy, 
 
 And so I sought it for her sake. As large 
 
 And calm as was the faith of him who sang : 
 
 'Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, can keep 
 
 My own away from me, '* was my heart's faith. 
 
 I did not doubt that I, come weal or woe. 
 
 Would some day find my soul's affinity ; 
 
 And calmly, gladly, I awaited her, 
 
 As we await the coming of the mom. 
 
 And know we look not for the light in vain. 
 
 I knew her soul, and loved her, though her face 
 
 Was not revealed to me. Virginia, dear ! — 
 
 Do you not know 'tis you I long have loved? 
 
 'Tis you I've waited for through the best years 
 
 Of my manhood?" 
 
 She only bowed her head. 
 But he read that upon her face that said 
 She more than knew : she loved, e'en as he loved, 
 *John Burroughs. 
 
LOVE 55 
 
 With love that would live on, unwearying 
 
 Of its long task, through gladness or through grief, 
 
 Through life or death, eternally. 
 
 "You know?" 
 He whispered, as if he would have her lips 
 Afhrm what her expressive face had told. 
 "I know," and her sweet eyes met his, then 
 
 drooped 
 Beneath the wondrous radiance they saw there, 
 As droop the timid petals of fair flowers. 
 Accustomed to deep shadows, when the sun 
 Too brightly shines upon them. 
 
 "Ah, I knew 
 You could but know I love you, knowing you ! 
 But it is scarce believable, dear one. 
 That you love me. Then look into my eyes, 
 My own, and say: T love you.' " 
 
 She obeyed 
 Him but in part ; for, though her eyes were drawn 
 By some sweet, subtle power that she had 
 Nor strength nor inclination to resist 
 To look into his own, her lips spoke not 
 The words that trembled on them, and which he 
 Bent low to hear. For but a little space. 
 That seemed a long, long while, the two looked 
 
 thus 
 Into each other's eyes, as though each sought 
 To read the depths within the other's soul. 
 And then, with perfect trust, Virginia put 
 Her arms about his neck, and drew him down 
 Until his lips pressed hers in their first kiss. 
 
 In softened tones, while still the autumn rain 
 Fell gently down, and while upon the world 
 Grave Twilight dropped her mantle silently, 
 The two talked on of things that should be brought 
 
56 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 To pass — God willing — through their lives made 
 
 one. 
 And then, with faltering voice sometimes, and tears 
 Upon her cheeks ofttimes, Virginia told 
 To Leon all the story of her past. 
 
 "I was more sad than most of children are," 
 She said, "and I had reason so to be. 
 Indeed, my childhood had been wholly sad 
 Had not my father been the man he was, — 
 With heart that knew well both the father's part 
 And mother's." 
 
 "I have noticed," Leon said, 
 "You speak more often of your father than 
 Your mother." 
 
 "Mother loved me not," she sighed, 
 "To half the depth my tender father did. 
 She was a great admirer of true grace 
 Of form and movement, and forgave me not 
 For being thus deformed. She would have liked 
 To dress me in the pretty clothes she loved, 
 Just such as she wore so becomingly ; 
 But when she saw it made conspicuous 
 The fault she fain would hide, she seemed to feel 
 No other bond between herself and me. 
 Perhaps she had learned bitterness of heart 
 Before I came, for she and father were 
 Not closely bound by ties congenial. 
 And she had not a spark of sympathy 
 For his high hopes and grand ideals of life. 
 He was a thinker, loving quietness ; 
 She loved the gayest of society : 
 He had no time for vain frivolities; 
 She counted time- as but of little worth — 
 Scarce more than sands that through the old 
 hour glass 
 
LOVE 57 
 
 Slow trickle down, and never better spent 
 
 Than in gay company of idle folk. 
 
 And so it came to pass he had his friends, 
 
 She, hers, and entertained them separately 
 
 And differently : his few the student saw 
 
 Upstairs in his small study; while the gay, 
 
 Light butterfly received and entertained 
 
 Her many in the larger rooms below ; 
 
 And each bemoaned the other's want of taste, 
 
 Though silently. If mother deigned to read 
 
 A new book father wrote, she was more apt 
 
 To hope 'twould yield a noble royalty. 
 
 Than to remark on beauties it disclosed 
 
 Of thought and theme. And her indifference 
 
 To all that was as dear as life to him. 
 
 He could but see, and in his heart desired, 
 
 I do not doubt, companionship more close 
 
 Than could exist between himself and her. 
 
 While matters stood this wise between the two, 
 
 I came into their little world, to loose 
 
 Still more the cord that bound them each to each, 
 
 Or else to draw them closer, as wee babes 
 
 Are wont to do. Had I been beautiful 
 
 As mother wished, and light and gay of heart, 
 
 I might have satisfied her soul's desire. 
 
 And so have won that love my childhood craved. 
 
 "But I, alas! displeased her not alone 
 By my deformity : while still I slept, 
 AUiny embryo that might, or might 
 Not, waken to glad life, she chose for me 
 My father ; yet when I awoke, and took 
 Unto myself his likeness more than hers. 
 She loved me less because I was his child. 
 Resembling him in all save only form. 
 And when I had grown older, and my ways 
 
58 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 And eyes were dreamful, she despised me that 
 My father's dreams were dreamed again in me, 
 As if I were to blame because he dreamed, 
 Or that I, coming after (having naught 
 More childlike to employ me) dreamed also. 
 
 "The while she entertained her friends below, 
 
 I sat in father's study, at his feet, 
 
 Or curled up in a big arm-chair, from which 
 
 I watched his pen glide swiftly o'er the page, 
 
 A slender, sombre thread of blackest ink 
 
 Behind it trailing: one as dark, I thought. 
 
 As any strand I might pluck playfully 
 
 From my own raven locks, and place by it. 
 
 And I remembered spiders, too, drop threads 
 
 As long as those my father's pen let fall. 
 
 But not so dark, and always spangled o'er 
 
 With silver on a sunny, dewy mom. 
 
 When he turned one time from his work, and took 
 
 Me on his knee, I freely told to him 
 
 This childish fancy. Catching me up close 
 
 Against his breast, he kissed me, saying: 'Sweet, 
 
 You are a poet!' 
 
 " 'What's a poet, please?" 
 I made inquiry. Whereupon he laughed. 
 And kissed me once again ere he replied : 
 'A poet, child? A poet — let me see — 
 Is the interpreter — the teacher, too — 
 Of all that is most true and beautiful. ' 
 
 ' ' If poets can be made (there' re those who say 
 They cannot be) then father's kiss made one — 
 Though but a rather lowly one — of me. 
 From that glad day when first I heard the word 
 From his dear lips, I wished to be the thing 
 He proudly christened me, in glad surprise, 
 
LOVE 59 
 
 And with that kind, aflfectionate caress. 
 
 So young I was, I could not understand 
 
 The definition he recited thus 
 
 In answer to my query ; and he took 
 
 A vohime from the shelf, and read aloud 
 
 Some childish verses I could comprehend. 
 
 Though very simple, they were not devoid 
 
 Of beauty, and the rhyming was so true, 
 
 The rhythm so smooth, involuntarily 
 
 I caught and held my breath while listening, 
 
 As lovers of good music do who hear 
 
 Some lovely strain played by a master hand. 
 
 My father could have made a homely verse 
 
 vSeem beauliful, so rarely well he read, 
 
 vSo full of melody was his deep voice. 
 
 Just as a skilled musician may evoke 
 
 Sweet chords from keys, grown old with use and 
 
 time, 
 Another touches but to make discord. 
 But he preferred to have me even then 
 Hear poems which within themselves were good. 
 Before he put the book of verses down. 
 He told me what a rhyme was, bidding me 
 To search all up and down the page for rhymes 
 To such and such a word. And he a game 
 Invented that we afterward oft played — 
 The game of rhymes,'he called it. He would name 
 Within himself a certain word, that I 
 Must guess by words he would speak out aloud 
 That rhymed with it. And when I guessed aright, 
 He would reward me by reciting some 
 Gay couplet he spontaneously composed. 
 Such as would please a simple little child. 
 And thus I learned to build up rhyme on rhyme. 
 As other children build up block on block; 
 And as their houses widely differ, though 
 
60 VIRGINIA VAUGHN • , 
 
 Constructed of the same material, 1 
 
 So I used variously the various rhymes ] 
 
 That were my toys. 
 
 "The earliest verse I wrote 
 That seemed to father good, he proudly showed 
 To mother, in my presence, saying: 'Wife, 
 We have a little poet. ' 
 
 She but read 
 Indifferently the childish lines, then laid 
 The paper on the table, answering: 
 T thought that she would be unusual; 
 She always was so strange a child — quite strange 
 Enough, me thinks, to poetize.' 
 
 "When she 
 Had left the room, I went, with burning cheeks, 
 To father's side, and, leaning on his breast, 
 Sobbed out: T'mnot her poet; I'll not be!' 
 He caught me up in his strong, tender arms, 
 And whispered huskily (a tear dropped down, 
 The while he spoke, to mingle with the tears 
 Upon my cheek) : 'You're father's poet, Sweet; 
 But God's still more than father's.' 
 
 Thus he strove 
 To comfort me, as he was wont to do 
 When I was troubled. And he shared no less 
 My pleasures than my sorrows ; naught he deemed 
 Too childish or too trivial to receive 
 His loving, prompt attention. If my doll 
 Were ill, he felt her pulse, and gave advice 
 As to the treatment that would make her well ; 
 When she was dressed in something newly made, 
 He complimented what she wore, but said 
 The seamstress was to be more praised than she, 
 For 'tis much easier to wear dresses well 
 Th^n make them so. 
 
LOVE 61 
 
 "And when I questioned him 
 Concerning Hves of little things we see 
 About us daily, he took time to tell 
 Such strange, attractive truths regarding them, 
 I came to look on nothing God had made 
 As common or unclean, and early learned 
 That smallest things are large with interest. 
 The brown earth-worm, that burrows in the soil, 
 Has use, he told me, and fulfills the end 
 For which 'twas made, although unconsciously. 
 And he, in illustration of this fact, 
 Related a true story of a man — 
 A gardener — who ploughed and planted once 
 A plot of ground that had lain fallow long. 
 But when the embryo within the seed 
 Had waked from sleep, it scarce had time to start 
 Its rootlets downward toward the damp of earth; 
 Its cotyledons upward toward the light, 
 Before the fragile plantlet was cut down, 
 To wither in the sun that called it forth. 
 The man, upon investigation, found 
 The soil inhabited by multitudes 
 Of tiny worms, by which the dainty shoots, 
 Just come to life, were greedily devoured. 
 Their numbers, he perceived, must be reduced, 
 Or hardest labor yield small recompense ; 
 And he, to bring about the end desired. 
 Scorned not to use as lowly, homely things 
 As those he meant to make grim war upon. 
 From near and from afar he had toads brought 
 And loosened in his garden, till, I ween. 
 So many ne'er were seen before, or since. 
 Within four walls. As greedily as worms 
 Had fed upon the tender, pale green plants. 
 The hungry toads now fed upon the worms, 
 Which thus were so perceptibly reduced, 
 
62 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 That when again the gardener ploughed his 
 
 ground, 
 Few of the squirming creatures were upturned 
 From dark to hght. And yet his garden was 
 Once more a failure : he had gone too much 
 To the extreme, and where before his plants 
 Had perished upon starting forth in life, 
 Because so many mouths would fain be fed, 
 The struggling roots now rotted in the ground, 
 Through lack of aeration of the soil. 
 And so those slender, ugly worms men tread. 
 Sometimes with careless scorn, beneath their feet, 
 Are proved most useful engineers that build 
 Wee tunnels underground ; such as, in fact, 
 Are necessary to the life of plants. 
 
 "One truth suggests another, usually. 
 
 As thought leads on to thought : my father told 
 
 How, oftentimes, one of these burrows makes 
 
 An unimpeded pathway for a root. 
 
 In search of nourishment, to wander down. 
 
 It seems roots are endowed with some instinct, 
 
 Some unnamed quality or faculty 
 
 That is akin to man's intelligence ; 
 
 For, pushing through the soil persistently, 
 
 One turns aside from pebbles in the way, 
 
 And goes around them without touching them ; 
 
 Again, if there be opening in the earth 
 
 Not far from one, through which it will not need 
 
 To force a path, 'twill change its course, and go 
 
 Directly toward the little crevice, whose 
 
 Vicinity it learns of by a sense 
 
 We yet know not. But I — ", Virginia paused, 
 
 Her cheeks flushed rosily, "forget myself; 
 
 I did not mean to talk on ceaselessly. " 
 
LOVE 63 
 
 But Leon fain would hear all she could tell, 
 And begged she would continue ; he would know, 
 He said, those who had made her what she was 
 Because of being part of her past life — 
 That past so dear to him because 'twas hers, 
 Yet closed to him unless she should unlock, 
 With golden keys she held, its doors to him. 
 
 Virginia pressed a hand upon her eyes, 
 
 Or if to shut the present from her mind. 
 
 Or hide a rising tear, the man knew not. 
 
 Then she took up the thread where it was dropped 
 
 A moment previous, continuing 
 
 The story of her life. Her voice was low. 
 
 Vibrating sweetly to the thought expressed 
 
 In glowing words, and to the sad or glad 
 
 Emotion of her heart. 
 
 " 'Twas in the Spring 
 When father told that story true to me, 
 And when soon afterward my eyes beheld 
 The first toad seen that year, I greeted it 
 With all that joy we feel when we behold 
 The first sweet summer rose. 
 
 'Oh, come! Oh, come!' 
 I called, and clapped my hands, dehghtedly. 
 My mother, in surprise, looked out on me. 
 For seldom had she seen her sad, still child 
 Enthusiastic. 
 
 'What is it?' she asked. 
 
 'A toad !' I cried. 
 
 'You fooliish child,' she said; 
 'Who wants to see an ugly, dirty toad !' 
 
 But father, seeming glad as I, came down 
 To greet the little creature, which he named 
 
64 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 'The gardener's brownie.' 
 
 • 'Tis not ugly, child— 
 Not altogether,' he averred. 'For see! — ' 
 He caught and held it in his naked hand, 
 As if in his great, noble nature was 
 No loathing for that wierdly cold, rough skin 
 With which his soft hands came in closest touch, 
 'Search long, search far, and in wide nature's 
 
 realm 
 You will not find a thing more beautiful 
 Than these two golden eyes we look into.' 
 
 He put the reptile down as tenderly 
 As only they would who have tender hearts. 
 And said, still kneeling: 'Look for loveliness 
 In lowliest things and places ; you'll not fail 
 To find it, precious child.' " 
 
 Virginia paused, 
 And then again she pressed her eye-lids down, 
 To shut from view the things surrounding her, 
 And to be lost once more in paths she trod 
 In far-off, childhood days. 
 
 "I was home-taught, " 
 She went on presently. ' ' When I was still 
 A little child, they placed me in a school. 
 But I was ill so often, and so oft 
 The children made remarks which wounded me. 
 That father had a dear old gentleman 
 To give instruction to me in the house. 
 He once was a professor, long before. 
 In the old college that my father loved 
 As his dear Alma Mater; and the two 
 Had memories that bound them close in ties 
 Of warm accord. My teacher might have been — 
 So many frosts had fallen upon him — 
 My father's father, and when he had won 
 
tOVE 65 
 
 My chilhish love, he asked that I would be 
 
 His dear grand-daughter, naming him, with both 
 
 My heart and lips, 'Grandfather.' This I found 
 
 Not difficult to do, for truly he 
 
 Seemed of most near relationship to us, 
 
 So like a father to my father dear. 
 
 And like a dear grand-sire to me, to whom. 
 
 Through my timidity, most persons seemed 
 
 As strangers. Thus, " Virginia turned and smiled 
 
 On Leon, "when hereafter you may hear 
 
 Me speak of him I call Grandfather, do 
 
 Not think of him as an ancestor whose 
 
 Blood flows in me. Yet had he been, in truth. 
 
 My father's father, worthy of the son 
 
 Who honored his proud name, I think I had 
 
 Not loved him more. Thus loving him, I made. 
 
 Perhaps, more progress with my studies than 
 
 I otherwise had done ; his praise was sweet, 
 
 Almost, as father's, and ofttimes I pored 
 
 Long o'er my books, not but that they were loved. 
 
 But that so truly I rejoiced to hear 
 
 His proud 'well done.' 
 
 'In teaching this dear child,' 
 My father said, and on my shoulder laid 
 A hand, as lightly as a snow-flake falls 
 Upon the world, 'put stress upon such things 
 As will make life seem beautiful to her, 
 Though it be sometimes shadowed; teach that 
 
 good 
 Is in all things, to finally prevail, 
 Though sadly mixed with evil ; teach her, too, 
 Love lives where often 'tis not manifest, 
 And underlies much we misunderstand 
 In those we meet, or pass, or walk beside, 
 On life's highway.' 
 
66 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 "When he entreated thus: 
 'Make life seem beautiful to her, though it 
 Be sometimes shadowed,' father thought, me- 
 
 thinks, 
 The burden upon which his hand then lay 
 Would cast a shadow deep enough, ofttimes. 
 To dim life's path for me. And when he said : 
 'Love underlies much we misunderstand 
 In those we walk beside,' perhaps he hoped 
 I might believe my mother loved me, though 
 She was unkind. But I could not believe, 
 Or then or afterward, so strange a thing ; 
 She never gave me reason to believe 
 She cared for me. Though I was twenty when 
 She passed away, I cannot now recall 
 One kiss or kind caress vouchsafed to me, 
 Though I have seen her catch up in her arms 
 Some pretty, rosy child, on whose glad face 
 She rained down kisses generously. Had she 
 Been chary of caresses, as some are. 
 Who yet would die for those to whom they owe 
 Allegiance of love, it had not been 
 So hard to bear ; and I might now believe 
 That 'neath her calm and cold exterior 
 An undercurrent of affection may 
 Have run. Some few are crowned with mother- 
 hood, 
 Who have within their hearts no strings that 
 
 move 
 Responsive to the touch of baby-hands; 
 No chords that vibrate to the needs and joys 
 Of babyhood. 'Twere full as well, I hold. 
 To be named motherless, as be compelled 
 To call one like this, 'mother.' " 
 
 Leon bent. 
 And touched his lips with reverence to her brow, 
 
LOVE 67 
 
 And whispered: "Sweet, when you come home 
 
 to me, 
 You need no longer lack for mother-love 
 Or mother care. My mother will be yours, 
 Not for the sake alone of her one son, 
 But for your own sweet sake as well ; none could 
 Know you, and not love you, save one whose heart 
 Was dead to love and loving. Tell me more, 
 Mine own — nay, tell me all — of your past life. " 
 
 "Yet more?" she asked, and smiled. "So long 
 
 these things 
 I now rake o'er, have lain in ashes, I 
 Knew not that with so light a breath I might 
 Stir sparks to life. But memories die not, 
 Though we may call them dead, and bury them 
 Beneath the ashes of the silent past. 
 It seems they only sleep, and, ere we know. 
 At but a word, a breath, the softest sigh, 
 They wake once more, and move us as we thought 
 They would not evermore. As I have talked 
 Of days departed, things forgotten long 
 Have come to mind, each one preceding one, 
 And following another: memories. 
 Like troubles, come not singly, but in files, 
 And are, alas ! sometimes as pitiless 
 As living sorrow. 
 
 ' ' I remember that 
 A lovely little girl, with golden hair 
 And bright blue eyes, was once, for many weeks, 
 A visitor to us. Her cheeks were tinged 
 With softest pink, as though they had been 
 
 touched 
 With that rose-tint the fairies use who paint 
 The rosy lined sea-shells, and her fair brow 
 Was lily in its whiteness. I who yearned 
 
68 VIRGINIA VAUGHN' 
 
 Toward beauty, as our souls yearn toward ideals 
 
 Too high to be attained on earth, bowed low 
 
 In spirit to this one, to whom the gods 
 
 Had been so kind. Not only was she fair 
 
 To look upon — a flower in beauty far 
 
 Surpassing fellow-flowers growing near — 
 
 But all her ways were ways of pleasantness, 
 
 And she was one who was beloved of all. 
 
 Her bell-like laughter was so silvery sweet, 
 
 One scarcely felt the need, when she was near, 
 
 Of other music in the house ; so light 
 
 Of heart she was, she seemed a sunray sent 
 
 To make more glad the world wherein she dwelt. 
 
 I loved her, and it seemed she loved me well. 
 
 Though we were so dissimilar in all. 
 
 "We sat together at our play one eve. 
 When mother came upon us suddenly. 
 Her fair cheeks flushed, her brown eyes sparkling 
 
 bright 
 As in excitement. I had never seen 
 Her look so angry, and I could but fear 
 That she would over-roughly speak to me 
 In presence of my little visitor. 
 
 'Virginia !' she exclaimed, 'why did you touch 
 The jewels in my box? Have I not said 
 You never must ?' 
 
 'I did not, mother — ' 
 
 'Hush!' 
 She cried. 'Someone, with not enough to do. 
 Has dared to meddle with my pearl sunburst. 
 And now the largest, fairest pearl of all 
 Is nowhere to be found. So many times 
 I've told you not to touch my jewel box, 
 And now — ' 
 
LOVE $6 
 
 'I did not, mother,' I declared, 
 'I did not!' 
 
 Julia stood, with whitened lips, 
 Shocked at my mother's accusation, so 
 I thought, too much amazed to speak a word. 
 Would she, too, think me guilty? Ah, I hoped 
 She had all faith in me ! I spoke again, 
 More softly, as I took a step toward her, 
 And held my two hands out imploringly : 
 "I did not touch my mother's horrid pearls — 
 I did not, Julia !' 
 
 She, with backward step, 
 Withdrew as I impulsively advanced. 
 As though she feared contamination did 
 I come more near. Then, with her lovely eyes 
 Forth flashing scorn, and her forefinger stretched 
 Accusingly toward me, she almost shrieked: 
 'You did ! I saw you !' 
 
 " If a bomb had burst 
 Beneath my feet, the shock could not have been 
 More great. I knew that I was innocent, 
 And yet a something deep within me feared 
 I might be guilty. I felt dazed, and looked 
 On Julia as though I but dreamed a dream 
 Most strange: could such lips lie? — Did she to 
 
 whom 
 My heart had gone out in affection true 
 Thus hate me utterly, — and spitefully? 
 I could not speak nor cry ; but with a moan, 
 A stifled, inarticulate appeal, 
 I turned to mother. 
 
 'See!' she said. 'Your guilt 
 Is proven. Julia saw you do the thing 
 I knew in reason you had done, and you — 
 No wonder ! — stand in silence. Yet I'm glad 
 You have the grace, at least, to be ashamed.' 
 
70 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Alas for me! In but a moment all 
 The evil that lay dormant in my soul, 
 Sprang into life, and triumphed o'er the good. 
 I would have called down anguish on those two, 
 While still the furies lashed me on to hate, 
 If so I could ; perhaps the pallid hand 
 Of some grandsire, for generations dead. 
 Stained with the life-blood it had caused to flow, 
 Reached then from out the shadows of the past, 
 Arousing in my heart that which none knew 
 Deep slumbered there : the possibility 
 Of hatred and of merciless revenge. 
 We know not whence these influences rise 
 That change our very natures in a flash. 
 And make us strangers even to ourselves. 
 With fist out- thrust,— a fist that hardly could 
 Have hurt a fly, it was so small and weak, — 
 I stood in angry, threatening attitude. 
 And dared them say that I would speak untruth. 
 My manner and the words I said were wild, 
 So wild I think I must have been insane 
 To speak so to my mother, for of her 
 I hitherto had stood in trembling awe. 
 
 ' ' Ere spirits of the evil one had loosed 
 
 Their hold of me, and while I still talked on 
 
 Excitedly, the door was oped and closed, 
 
 And father sadly in our presence stood ; 
 
 Dear father, with those grave, sweet eyes!l thought 
 
 Could read one's very soul. He turned them first 
 
 Inquiringly on mother, then on me. 
 
 And as, half sorrowful, they met mine own, 
 
 The demon in me slumbered quietly. 
 
 And I felt deep contrition for the words 
 
 That I had said. 
 
LOVE 71 
 
 'Now tell me all,' he urged. 
 And there was no more passion in his voice 
 Than had he said to one, to whom he gave 
 Exchange of greeting on the street, 'The day 
 Is very warm.' 
 
 And mother told hira how, 
 Through willful disobedience of mine, 
 The pearl most valued in her ornament 
 Had been unset and lost ; and how I still 
 Most stubbornly denied I touched the gem,. 
 Though Julia saw me with it in my hand. 
 One, judging from the wording and the tone 
 Of her recital, could but only feel 
 She grieved more for a little jewel lost 
 Than that her child, as truly she believed, 
 Was proved untruthful. 
 
 Father turned to me : 
 'You touched it not, Virginia?' 
 
 'I did not.' 
 
 'And yet,' he looked on Julia, 'you declared 
 You saw her do it?' 
 
 ' I— I— thought— I— did, ' 
 She faltered. 
 
 'You but thought?' 
 
 Had she loved him 
 But half as well as I, that look and tone 
 Had pierced her to the heart ! 
 
 'Come, Julia, dear; 
 Let's understand each other.' 
 
 He outstretched 
 A hand to her, and she approached with feet 
 Reluctant, eyes downcast. 
 
 'Now when did you,' 
 He questioned, 'see Virginia near the stand 
 Her mother's box of jewels rests upon?' 
 
7Z VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 She raised a pair of frightened eyes to his, 
 Then let them fall beneath his searching gaze 
 As she half- gasped, half - whispered : 'I — I — think 
 It was this morning, — after breakfast, — when — 
 When — I — was coming — from — the dining — 
 
 room, — 
 I saw her there.' 
 
 'Nay, nay! Remember, child. 
 My little girl has not strong feet like yours. 
 And every mom I carry her upstairs. 
 And to my study, which she calls her school, 
 For there she meets her teacher, there recites, 
 And there prepares her lessons for the day 
 To follow. I myself thus bore her past 
 Her mother's door this morning, and we two 
 Remained together in my study till 
 The bell for dinner sounded. How, then, child. 
 Could you have seen Virginia, as you claim?' 
 
 "She broke down, sobbing, then, confessing how 
 She pinned the sunburst on her dress, and when 
 She heard someone approaching, quickly tried 
 To loost it, but could not; afraid, she snatched 
 It roughly from its place upon her breast. 
 And tossed it in the box, nor knew a pearl 
 Was lost until my mother questioned me. 
 
 'To touch the jewel,' father said, 'was wrong; 
 But 'twas not near so wrong as to deceive. 
 And try to place the blame and punishment 
 Upon another. We may find the pearl, 
 As 'twas not carried from the room, and must 
 Be near where it was dropped. And you, dear 
 
 child,— 
 Oh, may you find the precious pearl of truth. 
 And yyegf it evermore within your heart !' 
 
LOVE 7^ 
 
 "We found our pearl, but if fair Julia found, 
 In days to be, the gem of greater worth, 
 It is not mine to say ; our ways in life 
 Lay quite apart, and we met not again. 
 
 "Soon after this, my father's health, alas! 
 Began to fail, and feebler grew each day. 
 I now was twelve years old, and sometimes he, 
 Too weak to use a pencil, would dictate 
 To me, as I reclined upon the rug 
 Beside his couch, and strained my ear to catch 
 His softly spoken words. He was engaged 
 Upon a book he hoped to finish, he 
 Declared, ere passed the autumn-tide away. 
 1 think sometimes, though never he said so, 
 He meant the autumn-tide of life : for he — 
 He lived not long enough to finish that 
 Begun and carried on so hopefully. 
 
 ' 'When I wa& told, that night, that he was dead, 
 
 I scarcely could believe that it was so ; 
 
 It seemed my love had surely been enough 
 
 To hold him to this world, to life and me. 
 
 But truest love, when all for it is said, 
 
 Avails so little ; it can never hold 
 
 Our loved ones longer at our side when Death, 
 
 Respecting not our love, to claim them comes; 
 
 It cannot breathe, alas ! the breath of life 
 
 Into the body now so stark and cold 
 
 That knew the warmth and suppleness of life 
 
 So recently; nor can it bear us far, 
 
 However we may long to follow our 
 
 Departed, to that other, fairer world 
 
 That they have safely reached. For days my life 
 
 Seemed but suspended by a fragile thread. 
 
 I wished to die ; and prayed to pass away 
 
74 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 To the Beyond where now my father dwelt. 
 
 But Death, alas ! comes not more readily 
 
 For being wooed, and Death passed me to take, 
 
 Perchance, some gladder one who cherished life. :^, 
 
 I slowly struggled back, as time passed on, 
 
 To health — or to my usual health, at least — 
 
 And soon was at my books again, each day 
 
 Reciting to my teacher, as of old. 
 
 But, oh, the loneliness of all the place 
 
 With my beloved, loving father gone ! 
 
 To see him not wherever I might go ; 
 
 To hear him not and touch him not, yet feel 
 
 Him nearer me than those I saw and heard. 
 
 And might reach out and touch, if so I would ; 
 
 Ah, life and death were things mysterious — 
 
 Beyond the comprehension of a child 
 
 Who had no dear, wise father to explain ! 
 
 ' ' I did not try to write for several years ; 
 
 I was not conscious, even, that I thought. 
 
 But thoughts, that once find lodgment int he mind, 
 
 Mature and mellow, as the fruit grows ripe 
 
 Upon the tree; and as the ripened fruit 
 
 No longer clings unto the parent stem. 
 
 But leaves it, peradventure, to refresh 
 
 A tongue that's thirsty, so should thoughts not be 
 
 Withheld from who will hear, whose hearts or 
 
 minds 
 May need the nourishment God grants through us. 
 
 ' ' Each day, upon my knees, I thank that One 
 Who taught my father what to say the time 
 He named me, when I was a little child, 
 'God's poet.' For, in after years, when he 
 Lay sleeping silently within the tomb ; 
 When I had bent me to my work in life. 
 
LOVE 75 
 
 And mother's opposition seemed a weight 
 To keep my soul from soaring, I recalled 
 That I was dedicated to my God, 
 And might not disobey when He said: 'Do!' 
 Though all the world should shout aloud: 'Do 
 not!' 
 
 "We are as truly called of God who feel 
 Within ourselves a yearning, never stilled, 
 To do some certain worthy work in life, 
 As Samuel was who, in the night, heard thrice 
 Jehovah's voice, nor knew it for the Lord's, 
 But thought 'twas Eli called. And when he went 
 The third time to the priest, EH perceived 
 The Lord had called the child, and bade him go 
 Lie down once more, and answer should he hear 
 The summons yet again. The lad obeyed, 
 And when the fourth time had his quickened ear 
 Heard his named called, he bravely made reply : 
 'Speak, for thy servant heareth.' 
 
 We mistake 
 God's voice sometimes, or else are wholly deaf 
 To His commands; we need to hark to Him 
 When all is still, e'en in the dark of night, 
 Perhaps, as the boy, Samuel, did, to learn 
 His will concerning us. Our Father is 
 All-patient, and He calls us twice or thrice, 
 Or many times, unto the life that He 
 Hath made us for. We dare not disobey 
 Who hear : and who thus hear and who obey — 
 What boots it how they give expression here 
 To God in them (God speaks through men in work 
 He has assigned to them) if they do so 
 As nobly and sincerely as they can ? 
 
 "God compensates, I think, in some sweet way, 
 
76 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 To some degree, at least, for all we miss 
 
 That else had made us glad ; too glad, perhaps, 
 
 For our soul's good and His high glory. I, 
 
 Who never knew that gracious mother-love 
 
 It is the right of children all to know 
 
 Whose mothers live to teach them; who could 
 
 taste 
 Not pleasures common to young girls and youth, 
 Or momentarily put down the pain 
 'Tis mine to bear unto the end of life, 
 Could yet quite frequently forget that hearts 
 Know ever need, or grief, so truly did 
 My work teach joy. To feel there is a place 
 For us in life, however small; a work 
 To do, however lowly ; some good end 
 To be achieved, however dimly seen 
 Through lowered mists, is to believe we are 
 Here not by chance, but by the Hand and Heart 
 Of Him who planned and made the universe ; 
 Here not just to exist, but to fulfill 
 Some purpose of that high and holy One 
 Who condescends to use e'en such as we 
 In His great plan. 
 
 "Thus humbly did I work, 
 Yet proudly, too, until my twentieth year. 
 When mother suddenly was stricken down, 
 And my place was beside her. She was ill 
 A long, long time ; so long it seemed she might 
 O'ercome at last the dread disease that thus 
 Was threatening life. We had begun to hope. 
 When suddenly, ere we could mark the change 
 That presaged death, the spark of life went out, 
 And I, already motherless in truth, 
 Was motherless in name. 
 
LOVE 77 
 
 "To grieve for one 
 Who loved us not— whom we loved not — 
 Is scarce as inconsistent as it seems. 
 We feel that, after all, much may have been 
 Misunderstood we thought was read aright ; 
 And we remember things we did and said 
 That had been better left undone, — unsaid. 
 What though we had grave provocation so 
 To do and speak ? 'Tis past, and but remorse 
 Is left to us, a heavy weight to add 
 Unto whatever burdens we in life 
 Already bear. 
 
 ' ' Eight years ago that was : 
 And grandfather, who knew I dearly loved 
 The country, urged a change for me ; he said 
 The fresh air and the quiet here, would be. 
 Perhaps, to better health and better work 
 Conducive. So he brought us here, and he 
 With us abode at lyaureldale, till called 
 Up to that 'larger room' soon after we 
 Were here established. " 
 
 Leon's eyes, when she 
 Looked up, were wet with tears. 
 
 "I did not mean 
 To sadden you, " she said. "God gives to none 
 More than He helps them bear; and He— so good, 
 So kind and all compassionate He is — 
 Makes life a boon most precious, aye, and sweet, 
 To even those whose heritage is pain. " 
 
MARRIAGE 
 
 " His house she enters, there to be a light 
 Shifiifig withifi, when all without is night ; 
 A guardian angel o''er his life presiding. 
 Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.'''' 
 
 — Rosers. 
 
BOOK III 
 
 The night was past, the rain had ceased to fall, 
 
 And through a window of Virginia's room 
 
 The morning sun stole softly in, as if 
 
 To rouse her from her dreams, and bid her look 
 
 Upon the world Love had made roseate 
 
 The while she slept. The birds were all aglee, 
 
 As if they knew the secret of two hearts. 
 
 And laughed among themselves that lovers woo 
 
 At other than the happy time of Spring, 
 
 When trees are putting forth their leaves, and 
 
 flow'rs 
 Unfurling theif gay banners to the breeze. 
 
 Virginia rose, and slipped on o'er her gown 
 
 The light kimona every mom she wore 
 
 While Leah gently brushed her long, dark hair. 
 
 She touched a silver bell upon the stand 
 
 Beside her bed, and soon the negress came 
 
 In answer to her summons. Her black face 
 
 Was swollen, as with weeping, and her eyes 
 
 Were heavy, as though she had spent the night 
 
 In sorest grieving, rather than in sleep ; 
 
 And though she smiled, her soft "Good momin' " 
 
 lacked 
 Its usual cheery tone. Her mistress could 
 But see that something sadly was amiss, 
 And asked her kindly what the trouble was, 
 And if bad news had come within the night. 
 The servant threw herself upon the floor, 
 And clasped her arms about Virginia's knees, 
 
 81 
 
82 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Hysterically sobbing: "Oh, meh chile, 
 
 I heerd dem talkin' las' night atter you 
 
 Done gone ter bed ! I heerd him tell Miss Jane — 
 
 Dat Maussa Leon — he gwine take you 'way 
 
 'Bout Chris' mus time. Meh honey, doan you 
 
 know 
 Dat break meh heart"? 
 
 Quick tears of sympathy 
 Sprang to the girl's dark eyes, and she bent down, 
 And laid a white hand on the woman's head 
 So lowly bowed. 
 
 "And do you mind so much. 
 My dear old Leah?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, meh heart done break 
 Kaze you gwine leab me hyar!" 
 
 " Nay, nay, good one, 
 I shall not leave you here ! Do you not know 
 I need you more than ever you need me?" 
 
 "En you gwine take me, den?" 
 
 The tear- wet face. 
 At once upturned, was beaming with a light 
 Not borrowed from the sun, although there fell 
 The morning rays upon it. 
 
 "Ah, whom else 
 Should I depend upon to carry me 
 Upstairs and down, to brush and comb my hair, 
 And do the many other things none does 
 So well as Leah?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, meh heart ! Las' night 
 I cry en cry, en tink I neber am 
 Gwine laugh agin ; en now, when momin' come, 
 I laugh en laugh, en doan know how ter stop. " 
 
 And truly, she swayed back and forth, and held 
 Her shaking sides the while she thus expressed, 
 
MARRIAGE 83 
 
 In mirthful laughter, her heart's joy, until 
 Virginia, too, began to feel she knew 
 Not how to stop, and gently chided her. 
 
 "Now hush, meh honey! Aint de Bible say 
 Dat sorrow may be doin' in de night. 
 But joy gwine sho be doin' in de momin' ? 
 Aint I des actin' lak de Bible say?" 
 
 And with the words she held her sides again, 
 And bending almost double, laughed outright. 
 While tears, but not of sorrow, overbrimmed 
 Her sparkling eyes. And while she was engaged 
 In her loved task of brushing out the long. 
 Dark tresses of Virginia's hair, she paused 
 Now and anon, and turned aside to laugh 
 As softly as she could. She was ashamed, 
 It seemed, to thus continue laughing, yet 
 Was pow'rless to control her heart's o'erflow. 
 
 When she had done her task, and left the room, 
 Someone tapped lightly on Virginia's door, 
 And to the poet's gentle call : "Come in, " 
 Miss Jane responded. She seemed ill at ease, 
 As though she were uncertain what to say, 
 Or in what words to say the thing she knew 
 'Twere well to say. She scarcely had seemed 
 
 more 
 Abashed had she been seventeen instead 
 Of seventy ; a maiden come to make 
 Confession : " I do love, and am beloved, " 
 Instead of one who would but pray God bless 
 A bride-to-be. For though these two had lived 
 Together pleasantly, each ever cherishing 
 A kindly feeling for the other, each 
 Had failed to sound the other's depth of heart, 
 
84 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 And neither knew the self the other veiled 
 Unconsciously. 
 
 We may not realize 
 How true it is, that we reveal ourselves 
 In different lights to different men, and two, 
 Perhaps, behold us never quite the same. 
 To some we give: our strength, our hope, our 
 
 grace. 
 Go out to them, and bring us no return 
 Save joy of having served. From some we take : 
 We lean on these, and learn of them, and grow 
 More glad, or good, or strong because they are. 
 With others still we make exchange, while some 
 Receive from us no virtue, and give none; 
 Such we might walk beside a long life-time, 
 No answering spark awakening in their souls. 
 Though ours were all afire. Though souls like 
 
 these 
 Have power to bum, yet, like those matches which 
 Light best when into closest contact brought 
 With matter made for their ignition, they 
 Start only into life at touch of souls 
 Affinitive. 
 
 Miss Jane, though kind of heart, 
 Was oft devoid of tact, and though at times 
 Her motive was most gracious, yet her words 
 Were seldom so. 
 
 "I had a talk," she said, 
 ' ' Last night with Mister Grey ; he tells me he 
 Will marry you. " 
 
 The pale Virginia flushed 
 Up to the brow, and answered softly, "yes, " 
 With drooping eyes. And yet the girl's heart 
 
 winced 
 At those three little words : "He'll marry you, " 
 As though her aunt meant what they might imply : 
 
MARRIAGE 85 
 
 ' ' He, fair and full of strength, will deign to stoop 
 From his superior height to marry you, 
 Deformed and weak. ' ' 
 
 Miss Jane did not suspect 
 Such meaning to her simple words might be 
 Attributed. Unmindful of the hurt 
 Herself had caused, so easy 'tis to wound 
 Another and not know, she went on thus, 
 More happily, perhaps: "I hope you will 
 Do well in your new life ; you have been good 
 To me, in giving me a home with you, 
 And being always kind to me. I pray 
 You will be blessed." She paused a moment, 
 
 then 
 Continued in a voice that shook, despite 
 Her firm resolve : "I feel a little sad 
 At thought of leaving dear old Laureldale. " 
 
 "I never meant you should, dear aunt, " her niece 
 Made haste to say. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you have been good — 
 You have been good, indeed!" Miss Jane de- 
 clared. 
 Misunderstanding what the girl had said. 
 But when at last she learned Virginia meant 
 For her to live on still at the loved place, 
 If so she would, with someone to keep house 
 And bear her company, her heart was thrilled 
 With deepest gratitude. 
 
 A building has 
 No individuality to those 
 Who use it merely for a place in which 
 To eat and sleep ; a shelter from the cold 
 And heat, the rain and sun ; a storage place 
 For needful furniture and bric-a-brac. 
 
86 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 'Tis only when our hearts have truly throbbed 
 
 Within|the house beneath whose roof we dwell, 
 
 That it becomes a place to hold apart 
 
 From others, sacred to some glad or sad 
 
 Association of the deathless past. 
 
 Virginia's life had been intensely lived — 
 
 Not less so that it seemed quite otherwise. 
 
 She longed for free expression : she'd have done 
 
 And said the things the soul within moved her 
 
 To do and say, as gladly as the lark 
 
 Upsoars and sings at dawn of day, had her 
 
 Environment permitted. Those most near 
 
 To her, as she walked onward o'er life's way. 
 
 Were not, as chances oft, alas ! with us 
 
 Who journey here, in harmony with her, 
 
 And their souls stirred not with responsive thrill 
 
 When hers was touched. But character is built 
 
 As truly through repression as it is 
 
 Through its expression ; and we are more strong 
 
 Because 'tis ours to say to self, sometimes, 
 
 "Thou must not," rather than always, "Thou 
 
 may'st. " 
 And when we've learned well to control ourselves, 
 We are become such staffs as weaker ones 
 May lean upon, and carry with more ease 
 The burdens they are faltering beneath. 
 
 Who live thus to themselves more than most do, 
 Look more to nature than their fellowmen 
 For consolation and companionship, 
 And she rewards them by unfolding rare 
 And lovely pages to their view, that none 
 May read save those who dearly cherish her. 
 Virginia loved the broad-leaved laurel trees 
 About the place, whose sprays of glossy green 
 
MARRIAGE 87 
 
 She plucked the whole year round, from May to 
 
 May, 
 Nor feared to ever find them failing her, 
 As human friends fail sometimes when we crave 
 Their sympathy. And she, in confidence. 
 Had told them things they sorrowed or rejoiced 
 To hear ; — sweet secrets they kept in their hearts, 
 Nor told the winds to babble of abroad. 
 She knew just where the first snowdrops — those 
 
 flowers 
 In purity and sweet simplicity 
 So like herself — would peep above the earth 
 In early Spring: 'twas in that sheltered spot 
 Beside the hedge, whereon the warm sun shone 
 From mom till eve. There, too, the violets 
 First bloomed, and there the golden daffodils 
 And fragrant jonquils in the breezes danced, 
 As if beside themselves with happiness. 
 
 To poets, as to children, naught is old; 
 Each day dawn is a mystery unsolved. 
 Forever new. None, then, need be surprised 
 That both kneel down, in early spring, to search 
 For green shoots upwardpushingthrough the earth, 
 The while they question, with abated breath : 
 ' ' Now, will the wonder of the budding leaf 
 Again come true?" 
 
 Oh, Mystery most sweet ! 
 Oh, Power that bids the embryo awake 
 Down in the cold and dark of earth, ere we. 
 Who stand within the warmth and light, quite 
 
 know 
 The winter time is past, teach us, we pray, 
 To marvel at the wondrous miracles 
 Thou workest for us daily ! We would be 
 As little children, eager to learn more, 
 
88 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 And waiting for the revelation each 
 
 New day will bring. Alas, 'tis that the gifts 
 
 Attesting to thy pow'r, thy graciousness 
 
 And glory, are so many and so free. 
 
 We look upon them as but common things, 
 
 Scarce worthy of men's gratitude and praise. 
 
 As one, in other words than these, has sung: 
 
 If but a single star should shine for but 
 
 A single night, how many voices would 
 
 vSing loud its praise ! If but one rose should bloom 
 
 For but a day, how grateful would they be 
 
 Who looked on it ! But when the night is gemmed 
 
 With countless stars, 'tis scarcely worth one's 
 
 while 
 To step without his door and look on them ; 
 And when a myriad lovely roses bloom 
 Full in one's sight, why, who would make a stir 
 About a thing so insignificant ! 
 
 Virginia felt not thus: the flowers she 
 
 Saw daily, and the trees and shrubs that grew 
 
 Upon her place, she deemed a part of home, 
 
 And loved the individualities 
 
 Of each : for plants, as individuals. 
 
 Have habits, likes and dislikes, as have men, 
 
 To whom they seem akin, especially 
 
 In their brave struggle for supremacy. 
 
 They are not satisfied to merely be ; 
 
 The least and lowliest weed will seek to climb 
 
 More high than do its fellows. They want light, 
 
 And upward strive toward it, as if they know 
 
 To make no effort is to be o'ercome, 
 
 And starved and stifled in the shadows thrown 
 
 By taller plants. 
 
MARRIAGE 89 
 
 Two seeds that were produced 
 By the same tree, are started into Hfe, 
 One in the shaded forest, thickly grown, 
 And one upon the sunny, open plain. 
 The first, surrounded by a multitude 
 Of struggling plants, ambitious as itself, 
 All striving toward the light they dimly see 
 O'erhead, through leafy limbs of taller trees, 
 Seems clearly, in some way, to understand 
 It must not use material and time 
 At first in building branches. Up and up 
 It sends a slender stalk, producing limbs 
 Far from the ground, so that its buds and leaves, 
 Thus lifted high, are kissed by the glad sun, 
 And bathed by its life-giving warmth and light. 
 The tree upon the plain does otherwise: 
 Its object, too, is to present as large 
 A surface as it may to the sun's rays. 
 No objects intervene to shade the plant 
 When starting forth in life, and sunbeams play 
 So freely round it, that it does not need 
 To strive toward what its woodland sister must 
 Attain, or surely perish. So the tree 
 Upon the plain is quite unlike the tree 
 Within the forest ; and its branches, low, 
 And spreading out unhindered, better suit 
 Its situation, and the service 'tis 
 To render man and beast who seek its shade. 
 
 Some men strive more, and truly grow more tall 
 And more erect of soul, when they are drawn 
 In worthy competition with their kind. 
 And these, sometimes, are bom amid the dim, 
 Dark shadows of this life, and reach the light 
 But only by brave struggling toward some ray 
 They vaguely see. While others, like the tree 
 
90 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Upon the plain, on which the warm sun pours, 
 Have only to accept and use the beams 
 That come to them, unbidden and unsought. 
 And yet, when light means warmth, and even life, 
 The thing to man most vital is, "get light, " 
 Not, "get light thus, " or, "get it so and so. " 
 And he who bravely strives and nobly wins, 
 Becomes too much a man to whine that he 
 Has had to labor painfully for that 
 Which one, not worthier than he, but took 
 From Fortune's hand. 
 
 Such parallels as these 
 Virginia saw in nature, to the lives 
 Of humankind : the bud upon the bush. 
 The full-blown, rich-hued flow'r amid the green, 
 The stem left bare, with petals fallen low 
 Upon the ground, — were all more than they 
 
 seemed ; 
 Each symbolized some several things if one 
 But read aright, and they together told 
 The story of all life : birth, growth and death. 
 Thus speaking to her soul, her flow'rs were loved 
 For more than beauty, so that when she thought 
 Of leaving Laureldale, she knew full well 
 She would depart from cherished flow'rs and plants 
 As sorrowfully as from friends who spoke, 
 With tongues like hers, the language that she did. 
 
 When Leon begged they might be married ere 
 Another year, she looked, with wistful eyes — 
 Eyes yet alight with love and happiness — 
 Upon the beckoning trees outside, and urged : 
 "Ah, wait until the laurels bloom again!" 
 
 "And then, " he laughed, "so fair the place would 
 seem 
 
MARRIAGE 91 
 
 To certain eyes, 'the dearest ever seen,' 
 (Ah, turn them not away, my sweet, to leave 
 Me in the dark !) I might not win my bride 
 To go, though I were there, unto a place 
 Less beautiful. " 
 
 Virginia quickly turned, 
 And softly said : ' ' No place is beautiful 
 Bereft of love that once has hallowed it ; 
 And Laureldale, though fair before you came. 
 Would be unlovely now with you away. " 
 
 "Brave little soul," he cried, "so unafraid 
 To freely speak the love within your heart ! 
 I fain would fill with joy your days-to-be, 
 And make henceforth your life, which in the past 
 So much of sorrow knew, a paean glad. " 
 
 She softly laid a finger on her lips, 
 
 And shook her head, the while she gravely smiled : 
 
 ' ' Speak not today of sorrow, lest our hearts 
 
 Grow sad thereby; for, as another's grief 
 
 Oft saddens us, so our dead sorrows wake 
 
 When Memory calls, and give us pain. Then let 
 
 The dead lie still : I told you of those days. 
 
 Long past, that you might know me as I was 
 
 Before the currents of our lives thus came 
 
 Together to flow on and on as one. 
 
 I felt that I had reason to be sad. 
 
 And oft was bowed beneath the weight I bore 
 
 Of pain, of sorrow, and of loneliness ; 
 
 But, Leon, since you came into my life, 
 
 So truly glad of heart, so strong of soul, 
 
 (So strong, perhaps, through being truly glad) 
 
 I have begun to think we often wrong 
 
 Each other being sad, or seeming so ; 
 
 For thus we add, although unconsciously, 
 
92 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Unto the burdens others bear in Hfe. 
 
 Some might stand firm beneath their heavy loads, 
 
 Did we not weakly put our own on them, 
 
 Thus adding, it may be, 'the fatal straw' 
 
 That bends and breaks an overburdened back." 
 
 "But I, " said Leon, drawing her to him, 
 ' ' Shall neither be nor seem glad any more 
 Until my little song-bird, taught of God 
 To sweetly sing, shall come to fill my home, 
 And thrill my heart, with wondrous melody. 
 What reason, dear, to wait until the Spring, 
 When Spring already is in both our hearts, 
 And beauteous flowers bloom beside the path 
 We shall together tread, hand clasped in hand, 
 O'er life's short way? A way too short, if we 
 Consider well, for two whose souls are one 
 To walk upon the briefest while, apart. " 
 
 Virginia's love could not deny to him 
 A thing it was not wrong for love to yield. 
 And she consented to become his wife 
 On Christmas eve. 
 
 The marriage, which took place 
 Before the clock struck noon, was solemnized 
 At Laureldale, and in that dainty room 
 Of blue and white in which, so recently. 
 The two became acquainted. But as lives 
 Are less correctly measured by men's days 
 Than by their deeds, so love, as well, can scarce 
 Be judged according to the length of time 
 That has elapsed since heart first answered heart. 
 But by the depth and truth with which one feels. 
 It was a quiet wedding, with but few 
 Attending, — mostly simple country folk. 
 The kindly neighbors of the gifted bride. 
 
MARRIAGE 93 
 
 Virginia seemed more pale than usual 
 Amid the group of rosy, robust girls 
 Surrounding her, — a fragile snow-drop found 
 Upon a bed where crimson poppies bloom. 
 Beneath an arch of holly, red with fruit, 
 From which was swung a bell of mistletoe, 
 The couple stood, and said the simple words 
 That made them man and wife, till death should 
 
 part. 
 When the good preacher had prayed earnestly 
 That God would bless and sanctify this bond, 
 The guests advanced to wish, each in his way, 
 The two 'bon voyage' on the sea of life. 
 
 With merry chat and laughter passed the time 
 
 Until the hour for parting came, and all, 
 
 Both old and young, the most enjoyed that hour 
 
 In which the frosted bride-maids' cake was cut, 
 
 Disclosing, amid laughter, fortunes three: 
 
 For her who found a thimble in her slice, 
 
 A life of toil and maidenhood ; for her 
 
 Who found a silver coin, great future wealth; 
 
 While she who found a ring of shining gold. 
 
 Would love and marry ere another year. 
 
 With what an eagerness Youth grasps at things 
 That playfully pretend, and which she knows 
 But only do, and only can, pretend 
 To foretell what the future holds in store ! 
 And while, with smiling lips, she lightly says : 
 " 'Tis all in fun; who cares, and who believes?" 
 Within she whispers : " It may be ! Who knows ?' ' 
 And oft, could she but see and know the truth, 
 The thing she happily anticipates 
 Would bring, if granted, greater grief to her 
 Than that she prays forever to be spared. 
 
94 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Thus Youth desires to peer beyond ; but Age, 
 Who learned so much within the school of life, 
 And from the teacher, stem Experience, 
 Has learned, withal, to render thanks to God 
 Because, between the Now and the To-Be, 
 Suspends a veil no eye may penetrate. 
 
 Too soon the time for their departure came. 
 And as, among their friends, to say goodbye. 
 The bride and bride-groom stood, the man's quick 
 
 ear 
 Caught certain words not said for him to hear, 
 And not, he understood, unkindly meant. 
 Though he was glad Virginia heard them not. 
 
 "Do you suppose," one asked, in undertones 
 She thought none heard save he to whom she 
 
 spoke, 
 "He married her for pity? For she is 
 So delicate, — and crippled." 
 
 Leon turned 
 On her a look that showed she had been heard. 
 Expressing indignation and surprise. 
 As though he would exclaim, in sudden wrath: 
 "What! I, who am unworthy of her love, 
 Do marry her for pity? Would a stone 
 Upon the ground, think you, presume to look 
 With pity on a star within the sky?" 
 
 But he had too much tenderness of heart 
 To feel unkindly long toward one who meant 
 No malice, and too courteous was to fail 
 To make apology for having turned 
 On her that look — impulsive though it was — 
 Of high displeasure. So, approaching her, 
 He held his hand out, saying pleasantly, 
 
MARRIAGE 95 
 
 And in a tone that only she might hear, 
 
 And he who stood beside her: "So, Miss Weir, 
 
 'Tis now farewell,— a word we idly speak 
 
 So oftentimes; and yet a word that may, 
 
 Within itself, convey a prayer if it 
 
 Be spoken prayerfully. May you fare well 
 
 In that new life the ring within the cake 
 
 Foretold for you — a bride to be in less 
 
 Than one short year. " 
 
 She smiled and deeply blushed. 
 While her companion, his eyes lit with love 
 He sought not to conceal, laughed as he looked 
 On her confusion, whereby Leon guessed 
 The ring, for once, had prophesied aright. 
 
 ' ' May he who comes to reign king o'er your heart 
 Stand straight of soul ; then, if his body bow 
 A wee bit to the ground, 'twill matter not. 
 And you will love him none the less because 
 He wears (he being Soul) a misfit garb 
 Awhile on earth. 'Tis crooked souls, forsooth, 
 And not bowed shoulders, most need sympathy. 
 And now at last the final word : Farewell ; 
 The prayer, sincerely uttered: Fare-you-well. " 
 
 At Leon's home the rooms were gaily draped 
 With garlands, and the windows were bedecked 
 With holly wreaths, amid whose shining leaves 
 The sparkling berries peeped out here and there 
 To lend a gladder radiance to a scene 
 Already bright. Above "The Holy Night," 
 A picture in which angels soared and sang, 
 Two shepherd staffs, designed of evergreen. 
 Were crossed, and held together by a star, 
 Made, too, of Christmas leaves and berries, thus 
 Completing such a decorative piece 
 
96 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 As emblemized the coming of the Child 
 
 Into the world. The stairway in the hall 
 
 Was garlanded, and from the chandelier 
 
 A sprig of waxen mistletoe looked down, 
 
 A challenge to the gay young man to make 
 
 The pretty maiden found beneath it pay 
 
 The penalty. Almost it seemed, one saw 
 
 Diminutive and dainty dryads move 
 
 Among the leaves, and heard them laugh because 
 
 In this, their merry game of hide and seek, 
 
 They ever could escape from being seen. 
 
 The very atmosphere about the place 
 
 Breathed gladness and good-will; who entered 
 
 there 
 Scarce needed to be greeted with the words : 
 ' ' A merry, merry Christmas ! ' ' since so well 
 Had skillful, loving hands expressed the wish. 
 
 The lady who thus made the place home-like, 
 Now met the bride, with outstretched hands, and 
 
 kiss 
 Of welcome, at the door. 
 
 "A welcome home, 
 Dear little girl, — my daughter brought to me 
 This Christmas-tide." 
 
 Virginia, looking up 
 To Leon's lovely, loving mother, saw. 
 Beneath a crown of snow-white, waving hair, 
 A face as fair and smooth as was her own, 
 But rosier, and merry as an elf's. 
 As though the frosts of winter, passing o'er. 
 Had left her not untouched, and yet had touched 
 Nor heart nor health. A woman large she was. 
 And strong and good enough, Virginia felt, 
 With the infirmities and littleness 
 Of others to bear kindly, whether these 
 
MARRIAGE 97 
 
 Were of the flesh or spirit. And, withal, 
 So mother!y she seemed, with her white hair 
 And tender face, and with her hands outheld 
 So lovingly, the bride exclaimed, in voice 
 Of glad surprise; "dear Mother!" as might one 
 Who'd found some rare and unsought treasure. 
 
 Soon 
 The one, with graceful, gracious tact, had led 
 The other to the bridal chamber, where. 
 Instead of holly wreaths, each window framed 
 A wreath of laurel, and the walls were hung 
 With garlands of the same. Upon a stand 
 A vase of long stemmed bridal roses stood. 
 Exhaling their sweet fragrance with no more 
 Unconsciousness, I ween, than lovely souls. 
 To blossom grown through sun and shade of life, 
 Exhale their sweetness. 
 
 "Ah," Virginia said, 
 And drew a long, deep breath the while she bent 
 And touched them tenderly with hands that 
 
 seemed 
 Themselves caresses : "I am glad of these ; 
 You must have known how dear unto my heart 
 Are roses ! And the laurel : one would think 
 It grew at Laureldale, and knew me there, 
 With such 'familiar grace' it speaks to me, 
 As if we were old friends. " 
 
 "It did grow there, " 
 And Mistress Grey laughed as she saw the look 
 So mystified upon Virginia's face. 
 Proceeding to explain : ' ' 'Twas Leon's plan ; 
 He had it shipped, unknown to you, my dear. 
 That you might have a bit of your old home 
 To greet you in the new. But now, dear girl. 
 You're weary, one can see, and you must rest 
 Here quietly awhile. Let me undo 
 
98 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Your cloak ; nay, nay, let Leah be ! I will 
 
 Attend to this, for what are mothers for 
 
 If not to wait upon their 'little ones,' 
 
 And give them comfort when and as they can? 
 
 I fain would brush your hair, too, which I see 
 
 Is full as beautiful as Leon said — 
 
 As long and soft and waving. " 
 
 "I am glad," 
 Virginia said, "it pleases you; 'tis worn 
 Thus loosely both because I feel its weight 
 More otherwise, and that it thus conceals 
 Somewhat, at least, my sore deformity. 
 Is it deception, think you, to conceal 
 From others' view an imperfection one 
 Can never overcome, and which she knows 
 Unsightly to all eyes that look on it ? 
 I think 'tis not; but, rather, I believe 
 It is a duty that we owe ourselves 
 And owe each other (most of any those 
 With whom we dwell), to be becoming both 
 In dress and bearing. Many recognize 
 The obligation to do well, but few 
 Quite realize the duty to look well, 
 Home and abroad." 
 
 " 'Tis true, " said Mistress Grey; 
 ' ' But you have sermonized enough, and I 
 Shall leave you. When I send up Leah, dress 
 For dinner, and come out. I've drawn the couch 
 Close to the fire, see ! You surely will 
 Not fail to take a nap. " 
 
 She stooped and tucked 
 The cover round Virginia, kissed her twice, 
 Then bade her : " Do be good and go to sleep ! " 
 
 When she was gone, and her receding steps 
 Alone brought proof of her reality, 
 
MARRIAGE 99 
 
 Virginia felt as one roused in the midst 
 Of a glad dream, who fain would sleep again, 
 In hope the dream might visit her once more. 
 Though Mistress Grey had chattered lightly on, 
 And said not much, her chatter was not such 
 As wounds or pricks, as is the case with some 
 Of ready speech, more careless than unkind; 
 And careless words can cut as deep as words 
 Unkindly meant. But not in speech she gave 
 The best expression of herself : for she 
 Was one of those large-hearted ones who yield 
 Their generous lives to others, day by day, 
 Through years that follow years, in services 
 That bring them no return. Her every deed 
 However trivial, spoke love, and if 
 Sometimes a word within itself had seemed 
 Unkind, the kindly glance, or tone, or touch. 
 By which it was accompanied, but proved 
 A meaning new no dictionary yields, 
 Though classed as "Unabridged." Virginia, 
 
 whom 
 For so long none had served save Leah, could 
 But feel a thrill of gladness thus to find 
 In Leon's house one so considerate, 
 To whom, henceforth, herself could ever give 
 The dear name, "mother." With such pleasant 
 
 thoughts 
 For company, the girl was occupied. 
 And ere she felt a wish to close her eyes 
 In slumber, Leah came to say 'twas time 
 To dress for dinner. She arose, and donned 
 A Grecian gown, whose simple, classic folds 
 Made her seem somewhat taller than she was ; 
 Whose shade of blue, like that the sky assumes 
 On cloudless summer days, intensified 
 The blue of her deep eyes, and harmonized 
 
 LOFC. 
 
100 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Well with the border, whose design was wrought 
 In threads of gold. She wore no jewelry, 
 Nor thought of flowers for adornment, though 
 Her fragrant roses stood in tempting view. 
 
 Then Leon came. He paused to look on her, 
 And his approval of her simple dress 
 His dark eyes spoke. 
 
 "And will I do?" she asked, 
 Half fearing she might not have chosen well 
 For others' eyes, though she failed not to see 
 Her husband liked her so. 
 
 "You will, indeed," 
 He cried ; then added : ' ' Dear, you're beautiful ; 
 And yet — you need — ah, here they are ! You need 
 Cream roses." 
 
 He arranged and pinned them on 
 With careful art, producing the effect 
 Of careless grace, then stepped apart, as if 
 To view a picture, saying : ' ' Dear, some day 
 I'll paint you so. " 
 
 Ere she could make reply, 
 He came again, and playfully knelt down 
 Before her, kissing her fair hand the while 
 He said , half reverently : "My little queen ! ' ' 
 
 She laughingly protested: "One can scarce 
 Be little and be queenly!" 
 
 But he did 
 Not quite agree, and told her she could be. 
 And was in truth, all he deemed dear and good. 
 When he arose, and drew her close to him. 
 She whispered brokenly, with eyes grown moist : 
 "God keep us always close together, love, 
 
MARRIAGE 101 
 
 Through smiles and tears, through pleasures and 
 
 through griefs, 
 Until called hence." 
 
 With joy and pleasure sped 
 The Christmas-tide, the season of good will 
 When hearts grow warm, and hands let freely fall 
 Love's goodly gifts. I know not whether some 
 Grow glad and generous at Christmas time 
 But through contagion, or if all of us 
 Are touched by the sweet spirit of that One 
 Who came, a little child, from heav'n to earth 
 One star-lit night. God's rare and precious Gift 
 To man was He, of whom the angels said : 
 "I bring * * good tidings of great joy, which shall 
 Be to all people. " * * "Unto you is bom 
 This day * * * a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. " 
 
 ' ' Good tidings of great joy ! ' ' Oh, that we all 
 Might feel them so, indeed ! — as did a child — 
 An ignorant little waif — to whom someone 
 Had kindly told the story of Christ's birth. 
 Once, ill, and lying in a hospital. 
 She asked a nurse : ' ' Have you the time to hear 
 A splendid story?" 
 
 ' ' No, indeed ! ' ' the nurse 
 Made answer; then repented that she spoke 
 So hastily, and asked : ' ' What did you wish 
 To tell me, dear?" 
 
 " 'Bout Jesus bein' homed," 
 Was the reply. 
 
 "Why, I have long known that — 
 Since long before you came into the world!" 
 
 "I didn't think (the child's eyes had grown large 
 With wonder) people ever could look glum 
 
102 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 That knew 'bout little Jesus bein' bomed. " 
 
 She was unlike the long-faced christian who 
 
 Believes he cannot, with a cheerful face, 
 
 Best serve his Lord, but goes about his work 
 
 With gloomy brow, as if the God who made 
 
 The sun for day, and millions of bright stars 
 
 To pierce night's dark, would not be pleased to see 
 
 The light of gladness in His children's eyes. 
 
 They better serve who do so joyously, 
 
 For so they oft awaken other souls 
 
 To joy and faith in God, as bright sunbeams, 
 
 Unto our couches stealing at the mom. 
 
 Arouse us from our sleep to recognize 
 
 Them as the day-king's true embassadors. 
 
 'Tis said the milky way, that spans the sky, 
 Is the accumulated light of stars 
 Innumerable, which shine in their fixed spheres 
 Unseen by us, because so far from earth. 
 Each, shining in its own appointed place, 
 Sends forth its rays to mingle with the rays 
 Of light from countless other gleaming stars 
 That make — for angel feet to tread, perhaps — 
 A silvery pathway o'er a bright-gemmed field 
 No boundary marks. 
 
 If each of Christ's redeemed, 
 Who feels within himself the strength and joy 
 Of life renewed, would lend his radiance 
 Unto all men, thus shedding light abroad — 
 As do the stars — to blend with others' light. 
 With what reflected glory would the world 
 Become illumined ! But, alas ! — we hide 
 Our little light, nor transmute into pow'r 
 The joy in us, although we know full well 
 If left unused for any length of time, 
 
MARRIAGE 103 
 
 Though it be physical or spiritual, 
 
 It shrinks to what we cannot use, or keep. 
 
 One day when wintry winds had fled afar, 
 
 Virginia went to Leon's studio. 
 
 Her work in hand, to sit with him awhile, 
 
 As oft she did, and watch dead canvas wake 
 
 To glowing life beneath his skillful touch. 
 
 She walked tiptoe; she loved to come sometimes 
 
 Upon him suddenly, and see his face 
 
 Light up at sight of her. With eager hand 
 
 She pushed apart the heavy, fringed portieres, 
 
 And stepped into the room, a merry laugh 
 
 Upon her lips, and in her eyes a look 
 
 Of glad expectancy. A lady stood 
 
 In converse with the artist, and his bride 
 
 Turned to depart, apologizing, when 
 
 The visitor advanced, and thus exclaimed : 
 
 "Virginia! Have you, then, forgotten me?" 
 
 That voice, an echo of the far-off past ! 
 
 It could belong to only one, and she, 
 
 More lovely than of old — her eyes and cheeks 
 
 Aglow with radiant health, her soft pink skin 
 
 Transparent as the petals of a rose, 
 
 And her full form describing lines and curves 
 
 Of perfect grace — was such a beauteous one 
 
 As but in visions had the poet seen. 
 
 Virginia caught her breath, she scarcely knew 
 
 If most with admiration or surprise. 
 
 And answered: "Julia!" 
 
 "Yes, 'tis I. You seem 
 Astonished to behold me once again 
 In mortal flesh. I'm just from Europe, — glad 
 To feel my feet once more on native soil, 
 Although the time was passed most pleasantly 
 
104 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 For six months there. But you — have you come 
 
 up 
 To spend a while with Mistress Grey? I do 
 Suspect you'll have a portrait made while here 
 If you — " 
 
 But Leon interrputed her : 
 * * It seems you have not heard quite all the news 
 Within a day, as but a moment since 
 You claimed you had. Congratulations would 
 Not come amiss to one who's won his bride 
 Since you were here. Virginia and myself 
 Were wed three months agone, on Christmas eve. " 
 
 The color faded from the woman's cheeks, 
 And she could not command herself to speak 
 Within the moment. Then, with voice subdued, 
 She wished them happiness upon life's way, 
 But said she sorrowed she could not do so 
 In language musical to poets' ears. 
 Immediately she bade the two goodbye, 
 And started out, when Leon 'minded her 
 They had not quite agreed upon one point 
 Concerning the new portrait she wished made. 
 
 "The portrait? " she inquired, appearing dazed, 
 
 Forgetting she had made it the excuse 
 
 To bring her to the side of Leon Grey. 
 
 At last, remembering, she blushed and said, 
 
 Quite wearily: "Ah, let it wait awhile. 
 
 Until I'm rested from my journey home ! 
 
 It is a tedious trip across the sea. 
 
 With no mile-posts to say to us, at times, 
 
 'We're nearer home, at least, another mile.' " 
 
 When finally the heavy portieres closed 
 Behind their visitor, the two thus left 
 
MARRIAGE 105 
 
 Together looked into each other's eyes, 
 
 Nor spoke till she had passed into the street. 
 
 "And so," said Leon then, half pityingly, 
 
 "The Julia of your childhood, and the girl 
 
 False both to me and to her better self, 
 
 We have this morn discovered to be one. 
 
 She never found, perhaps she never sought, 
 
 As your dear father prayed she some time would, 
 
 The pearl of truth. " 
 
 Virginia mused aloud: 
 "How beautiful she is!" 
 
 And then, with eyes 
 Tear moistened, and her pensive face aglow 
 With pity, said: "She loves you, Leon." 
 
 "Nay!" 
 He contradicted, shaking his fine head ; 
 "Such women know not how to love, my Sweet. " 
 
 "All women learn, or soon or late, to love 
 To some degree and in some fashion, " she 
 Declared, while he smiled at her earnestness, 
 "Though not all with abiding love and deep: 
 And Julia, to the depth and measure she 
 Is capable of feeling, loves you, dear. " 
 
 "Come! Come!" a voice exclaimed. The por- 
 tieres moved. 
 And parted presently, revealing thus 
 The rosy, smiling face of Mistress Grey, 
 Who chided playfully: "You promised me, 
 You naughty child, to show me how to set 
 Carnation slips for rooting!" 
 
 "So I did," 
 The girl agreed. "What then? You cannot 
 say," 
 
106 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 She looked up roguishly, and laughed, ' ' I named 
 The very moment I would do the deed : 
 I said this morning, and the morning is 
 Not yet departed." 
 
 "Very true. But come — 
 A busy housewife cannot oftentimes 
 Do things the moment that she would ; she learns 
 To be content to do them when she can. " 
 
 Virginia worked a while with Mistress Grey 
 
 Among the flow'rs, then came again indoors, 
 
 And wrote until the mom had slipped away. 
 
 A quiet little room adjoined her own, 
 
 Which had for her own needs been set apart, 
 
 And furnished as a study. On her desk 
 
 A statuette of gleaming marble stood, 
 
 A figure so sincere in all details, 
 
 It seemed to have been seized and petrified 
 
 E'en in the very thought and act of life. 
 
 'Twas Hamlet, bowed in thought, within his hand 
 
 That human skull he picked up from the ground, 
 
 And discoursed on, not to Horatio's 
 
 True delectation only, but as well 
 
 To the delight of all who read and think. 
 
 A sculptor who had read Virginia's book. 
 
 And found therein, with more ambitious songs, 
 
 Perhaps, a simple sonnet set to words 
 
 In praise of Shakespeare's "Melancholy Dane," 
 
 Had copied thus in miniature for her 
 
 This figure from the Gower monument 
 
 At Stratford. From the softly tinted walls. 
 
 The pictures of the authors she liked best — 
 
 Engraved in black and white, their frames of black 
 
 A little touched with white — looked silently 
 
 Upon her at her desk, all writers whom 
 
 In spirit she communed with oftentimes. 
 
MARRIAGE 107 
 
 Outside her window, on a trellis, trailed 
 
 A yellow jessamine — that flower by which 
 
 The South is diademed in early spring. 
 
 Some branches, long and slender, had o'er topped 
 
 The frame, and now drooped downward toward 
 
 the ground, 
 Each swaying joyously in every breeze, 
 Rejoicing in the freedom thus attained. 
 The buds had but begun to show their gold ; 
 Yet, with a few more days of balmy air; — 
 A few more days of warm, persuasive sun, 
 A thousand sunny-hearted, yellow bells 
 Would be unfurled to fling sweet fragrance out 
 (If not sweet music) freely unto all ; 
 Thereafter soon to lowly fall to earth, 
 Still fair and still unfaded, like a youth 
 Cut down by death, ere sickness has had time 
 To rob him of his beauty. 
 
 In this room, 
 Uninterrupted, worked the poetess 
 Awhile each day. Aesthetic, lovely things 
 By her were not considered luxuries, 
 But means conducive to the fullest growth 
 Of mind and character; for these expand 
 Beneath the influence of the beautiful. 
 As flowers unfold beneath the warmth and light, 
 Unconsciously ; and beauty, to some souls. 
 Is indispensable as bread to flesh. 
 If, through some adverse circumstance of life, 
 It is withheld, as oft it is, from these. 
 They hunger for it with a longing that 
 Amounts to sorrow, snatching eagerly, 
 As starving men snatch food, the few rare bits 
 Life yields to them. If such could look each day 
 On some inspiring, worthy work of art ; 
 Could read a noble verse or paragraph. 
 
108 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 They might awaken to some latent force 
 
 Within themselves; some great yet slumbering 
 
 power 
 They dream not of, creative of high things. 
 And this attests it is the God in us 
 That seeks expression, for ourselves, alas! 
 Know not, ofttimes, what message we would bear, 
 Nor in what manner speak, till things without 
 Have qickened into life the Thing within. 
 
 So came the California Sculptor, he 
 
 Devoid of speech and hearing, to his art 
 
 And to himself. He always loved to draw, 
 
 But not till he had grown to full manhood 
 
 Did Douglas Tilden dream what he might be. 
 
 He saw a model once, a lad had made — 
 
 A copy of a statue — and was so 
 
 Impressed that he began immediately 
 
 The study of the art of sculpture, now 
 
 His medium of expression. Though his tongue 
 
 Be silent, yet he speaks unto the world 
 
 In no uncertain voice ; and though his ears 
 
 Be deaf to sound, his soul is all attuned 
 
 To harmony. The model he had seen, 
 
 And which to you or me had been, perhaps, 
 
 A trifle only, was to him the call 
 
 Unto a broader, fairer path in life, 
 
 Which he, to his enrichment and our own, 
 
 Failed not to heed. 
 
 Though thus conditions were 
 Conducive both to better, easier work, 
 Virginia could but feel, when face to face 
 With her ideals, that isolation which 
 All artists feel, whatever be the tools 
 
MARRIAGE 109 
 
 With which they toil, when thought, conceived 
 
 and come 
 To fullness in their souls, at last must be 
 Delivered. For, as Whistler one time said 
 With truth : "At every moment of his life 
 That he is venturing, the artist is 
 A monument of solitude that leads 
 To sadness. " Even his completed work. 
 He feels, fails to reveal him verily. 
 Or to convey the message to mankind 
 He sought to speak. We, judging by the end 
 He has attained, declare him truly great, — 
 His work a monumental masterpiece; 
 While he who cannot (or will not !) lose sight 
 Of his ideal, looks on himself as small. 
 And on his high achievement as but low. 
 Yet true expression came more freely now 
 To glad Virginia, than in earlier work. 
 In the appreciation of the two 
 Who loved her so devotedly, she found 
 True inspiration, and accomplished more 
 Within a given time than formerly. 
 She was susceptible to atmosphere. 
 And as on warm, sunshiny days, she was 
 More stong of body, so her spirit felt 
 The glow of warm affection, and grew strong 
 To will and do. Upon an idyl she 
 Was now engaged, a work of broader scope 
 Than aught she had attempted hitherto, 
 And which she hoped to make full good enough 
 To dedicate to Leon. She had read 
 Selections, here and there, aloud to him. 
 But had not yet disclosed the general plan. 
 Nor told her wish to lay the finished book, 
 One worthy of acceptance, at his feet. 
 
110 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 The Spring was merged in Summer, and the month 
 Of roses came and went before the two 
 Laid work aside, and went to L-aureldale 
 For needed rest. Miss Jane was truly glad 
 To see them there, and they rejoiced to be 
 Once more among the haunts they knew and loved. 
 It seemed the laurels, green and shining, had 
 Been clothed anew to greet their old comrade, 
 Who loved them none the less because a love 
 More perfect and more high, which should abide 
 Beyond life's little day, had come to her. 
 
 They spent long, lazy days ; for Leon said : 
 ' ' Who knows not how to put aside his task 
 When time for play has come, or to be lost 
 In full enjoyment of true idleness. 
 Will go back to his duties unrefreshed 
 Of body and of mind. " 
 
 He read aloud, 
 Virginia lying idly on the couch. 
 Or sitting in a rocker at his side. 
 Engaged upon some dainty needlework. 
 His voice was one for reading, so it seemed, 
 Being full and mellow, and he understood 
 How to adapt it to the author's mood 
 And meaning. Oft he paused, and they conversed 
 Of many things suggested by some thought 
 That in the book was given utterance. 
 Oft drifting far and farther from the source 
 Where they began till they, the poet said, 
 Were lost at last upon a wide, deep sea. 
 Though Leon had declared they must not work, 
 One day he found Virginia at her desk. 
 And chided her for disobeying him. 
 
 "But, dear," she said, and looked up wistfully 
 
MARRIAGE 111 
 
 "The spirit strives within me so for speech, 
 
 I cannot say it nay. I truly tried 
 
 To be a good child, Leon, " and she smiled ; 
 
 But there are moments when my being turns 
 With such insistence to this task, and deep 
 Within me voices urge with so great pow'r, 
 Methinks my heart would break could I not write. 
 It is as if all I have borne and done 
 Has been but preparation to this end, 
 To lead to it, as rivers meet and flow 
 On toward the sea. " 
 
 He bent and took her face 
 Between his hands, and kissed her tenderly. 
 " 'Tis inspiration, dear. You can but write 
 When you feel so, for, truly, God then speaks. 
 I dare not stand, though for a little space, 
 Between His voice and you. And yet, dear one. 
 Take good care of the casket that enfolds 
 Your songful soul ; the world has need of songs 
 Such as you sing ; and I — I always need 
 My wee song-bird. " 
 
 "Am I not well?" she asked, 
 And looked up, smiling. 
 
 "Aye, you do look well, " 
 He answered her. "Your cheeks, I ween, have 
 
 robbed 
 The roses of a tiny tinge of pink : 
 And, dear, why, soon you'll have a double chin. 
 And dimples playing either side your mouth ! 
 Do you not know, my Sweet, these things become 
 Not poets in whom people look to find 
 Sad poverty of flesh as well as purse?" 
 
 She ordered him, with laughter, from the room, 
 And went on joyously with that dear task 
 
112 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 His hearty approbation made more dear. 
 
 Once, while they lingered still atLaureldale, 
 
 Virginia hid her face on Leon's breast, 
 
 And whispered that which made him hold her 
 
 close, 
 And call her softly, "little mother." Her 
 Conception of the mother's part in life, 
 As of the poet's, was most high, and she 
 Began to make glad preparation for 
 Her unborn child. The least to be achieved, 
 She felt, was fashioning the garments, white 
 And soft and dainty, he should wear, though this 
 Was necessary, and, for loving hands, 
 A joyous task. But while she worked at these, 
 Her mind was fixed on noble things, and pure. 
 And she thought less of laces and of lawns. 
 Than of the child 'twas hers to help God make 
 In His own image. That his body might 
 Be strong, she followed strictly laws of health. 
 Ignoring her own pleasure, oftentimes, 
 In dieting and exercising as 
 His needs required ; that her child's spirit might 
 Be buoyant, she now practiced cheerfulness. 
 And looked before and up with steadfast faith; 
 And that his soul to things most beautiful 
 And good in life might be responsive, she 
 Kept constantly before her spirit sight 
 The things most lovely and most good it had 
 Been hers to know. Thus for his coming she 
 Made ready, looking gladly toward the time 
 Of his advent. 
 
 "We should bequeath our best, " 
 She mused, "unto the child God sends to us; 
 We know not for what end he has come down 
 Into our world, nor can we guess what need 
 
MARRIAGE 113 
 
 May sometimes rise for that 'tis ours to make 
 
 His heritage. It is his right to find 
 
 A welcome here, and joyous mother-love 
 
 Awaiting him. Such love, thus from the first, 
 
 Tends to his perfect, true development, 
 
 And she fails somewhat in the mother's part 
 
 Who joys not that her baby fives in her. 
 
 Methinks the song of praise that Mary sang, 
 
 While visiting the good Elizabeth, 
 
 Could but have had its influence on the life 
 
 Of that most blessed Babe she gladly bore. " 
 
 One autumn day the two, at home again, 
 
 With flowers heaped about them everywhere, 
 
 Worked busily. That day the studio 
 
 Would be thrown open to all visitors, 
 
 And they, for the occasion, would bedeck 
 
 The house with roses and chrysanthemums. 
 
 Virginia, one time pausing in her task, 
 
 Held up two flowers, saying thoughtfully: 
 
 "Who would believe these two chrysanthemums 
 
 Were grown upon a common mother- plant? 
 
 This one, a downy ball of purest white, 
 
 So truly has attained maturity, 
 
 The petals stand apart, each carved and curved 
 
 To individual loveliness, and all 
 
 Combining to make beautiful the whole. 
 
 It seems they might be scattered by a breath. 
 
 As when we blow upon the feathery ball 
 
 Of dandelion seed, and start them forth, — 
 
 A fleet of sail-ships on the sea of air, — 
 
 To anchor in ports sometimes far away 
 
 And far apart. The other, see ! was plucked 
 
 Before it had fulfilled the promise made 
 
 Within the bud. Through no fault of its own. 
 
 It suffers sadly by comparison 
 
114 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 With its maturer, fairer sister- flower; 
 It seems, with its corolla close incurled, 
 Its petals covering its store of gold, 
 A thing of selfish greed. 'Tis piteous 
 For flowers to be gathered ere their prime ; 
 For flowers live, and like all living things, 
 Should have the opportunity to grow, 
 As near as may be, to perfection, thus 
 Approaching the Creator's thought of them." 
 
 "But roses," Leon answered, smilingly, 
 "Though gathered ere developed to their full, 
 Are perfect still, for what is lovelier 
 Than one half-blown?" 
 
 "Ah, roses!" and she bent 
 And rested her pale cheek against their pink. 
 ' ' Do you remember, Leon, that when first 
 You went to Laureldale,they were in bloom? 
 And when you brought me here, they were the 
 
 first 
 Fair flowers to smile on me in my new home. 
 It seems, indeed, the path of life for me 
 Is over-strewn with 'roses, all the way.' " 
 
DEATH 
 ''^ Death is the gate of life!''' 
 
 -Bailey. 
 
BOOK IV 
 
 They dared not tell Virginia he was dead, 
 Lest the frail thread by which she clung to life 
 Should snap in twain. But she divined the truth, 
 And whispered: " 'Twas too dear and sweet a 
 
 hope, 
 Dear Leon, was it not?" 
 
 "Remember, dear," 
 He made reply, "God knoweth, doeth, best; 
 He is all-wise and good. " 
 
 "Indeed, I know," 
 She said, "that God is good: He gave me you. 
 But, oh, my husband, I would hold my babe. 
 For but a little while, upon my breast ! 
 I fain would clasp him close within mine arms, 
 Though he is dead, his face against mine own, 
 As gladder mothers hold their little ones 
 Who live and laugh." 
 
 "You may, dear one, 
 When they have put the garments on that these 
 Dear hands have fashioned. You, whose life has 
 
 known 
 So much of bitter sorrow, will not be 
 More sad for one that's sweet to look back on. " 
 
 "Another scarce had understood, I ween," 
 Virginia murmured low, "this plea of one H 
 Who cherished so the hope of motherhood. 
 But 'twas a hope too precious to become 
 Reality with me, who had not strength ;, 
 
 117 
 
118 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Sufficient for myself and unborn child. " 
 
 "Rest now," said Leon, for her cheeks were 
 
 flushed, 
 As with high fever, and her fragile form 
 Was all aquiver with the fast pulse throbs 
 Which her strong will found uncontrollable. 
 
 ' ' I am not weary. ' ' But she closed her eyes, 
 And her long, curling lashes swept her cheeks. 
 And trembled there, while she wooed kindly sleep 
 To come to her, since Leon wished it so. 
 
 Five, ten, and fifteen minutes passed, and still 
 
 Sleep from the patient seemed afar. But soon 
 
 More deeply, with more regularity, 
 
 She breathed, until it seemed she sweetly slept. 
 
 And Leon's heart was comforted by hope 
 
 Such rest would do her good. But, with a start. 
 
 She woke and sobbed : "I saw a baby-face — 
 
 A face as white as marble, and with eyes 
 
 Fast closed in death! Oh, Leon, has our babe 
 
 Been taken hence before I could look once 
 
 Into his dear, sweet eyes?" 
 
 ' ' He sleeps, Sweetheart, 
 He only sleeps ; and you into his eyes 
 Will look some other while, some other where, 
 Though never here. Now do not talk, but rest ; 
 Rest and grow strong for sake of our true love. " 
 
 Ere long she slumbered sweetly. Word was borne 
 From room to room, in whispers hushed: "she 
 
 sleeps ! 
 Be still, and all may yet he well with her, 
 And those who love her. " 
 
DEATH 119 
 
 Scarce the words had died 
 On lips too glad, alas! to utter them, 
 When she awoke, and turned her shining eyes 
 On Leon, who was sitting silently 
 Beside her pillow. 
 
 "Oh, I must have slept 
 So long that time!" she cried. 
 
 "Why.no," he said; 
 "You did no more than doze a little, dear; 
 One could not call it sleeping." 
 
 "Then," she said, 
 "While I but dozed, I dreamed a dream as long 
 As is the way from earth to paradise. 
 And sweet as heaven is, for 'twas of heav'n, 
 And of glad angels, and the Shepherd good 
 Who came to greet me, holding our wee babe 
 So tenderly. " 
 
 "Oh, say not so, mine own!" 
 
 "You will not shrink from speech of that dear 
 
 one," 
 She said, "when you hear all that I have seen. " 
 
 But 'twas not talk of the departed grieved 
 His heart : a nameless fear tugged at his soul. 
 And would not loose its hold, though wildly he 
 Prayed for deliverance from its stem clutch. 
 
 "When you hear all, " continued his loved wife, 
 ' ' Of that long dream I dreamed so rapidly. 
 You'll see we should not grieve despairingly. 
 It seemed bright portals opened unto me. 
 And my unworthiness, like some loose robe. 
 Slipped from my consciousness as I passed in. 
 Where angels welcomed me, with faces glad. 
 As we greet those we love, whose coming has 
 
120 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Seemed long delayed. They hovered close to me, 
 
 And I seemed even strong and straight as they, 
 
 And moved as swiftly on my feet, which touched 
 
 The ground but lightly. We together passed 
 
 From vale to vale, from hill to hill, and scarce 
 
 I knew if I were leader or one led, 
 
 We moved with harmony so rythmical, 
 
 As of one mind. And as we thus moved on. 
 
 We saw One coming toward us, with a smile 
 
 Of wondrous sweetness on His face, and eyes 
 
 Downdropped upon the tiny babe He bore — 
 
 Our babe, as by my love I realized. 
 
 And swift I ran to meet Him, with mine arms 
 
 Extended toward the little child, whom He 
 
 Did not withhold, but freely gave to me. 
 
 And as He turned and slowly walked away. 
 
 That wee one followed Him with wistful eyes, 
 
 Nor looked on me, as though he felt Christ's care 
 
 Still sweeter than a mother's ministry, 
 
 And yearned for it. And while unto my heart, 
 
 I pressed him close, and let mine eyes, too, gaze 
 
 On that receding Form, beyond Him far 
 
 I saw my father hastening toward me. 
 
 With joyous footsteps. Ere we two had met, 
 
 And ere my baby once into mine eyes 
 
 Had looked, I woke to learn I had but dreamed. " 
 
 "And were you grieved to learn you had but 
 dreamed?" 
 
 While yet he spoke, she said : "I am so glad 
 God sent a dream to comfort my sad soul. 
 And teach me that my baby needs me not. " 
 
 "Aye, needs you not!" And Leon caught her 
 hands, 
 
DEATH 121 
 
 And kissed them rapturously, then cried again : 
 "He needs you not, and we here need you so!" 
 
 ' ' I have grown weary, dear. Help me to turn 
 
 Upon my side, that I may better rest, 
 
 And resting, win back strength. For I would 
 
 soon. 
 For our affection's sake, be well again. 
 And when I wake, do not that which I craved 
 Awhile ago; for I would evermore 
 Remember, through whatever 'waits me here, 
 Our baby as he was in that glad dream, 
 So rosy and so radiant with life. " 
 
 Virginia finally was fast asleep. 
 And Leon, who had kept a vigil long 
 And weary, left her for a little while, 
 With faithful Leah by to call him when 
 She should awake. The negress, sitting low 
 Upon the floor, her head bowed on her knees 
 In deep'dejection, wept in silence while 
 She listened for a movement or a sound 
 From her beloved mistress. Still, aye, still 
 She sat and waited ; still the silence was 
 Unbroken; and Virginia Grey still slept 
 When Leon came again unto his watch 
 Beside the bed. One anxious look he cast 
 Upon the calm white face upturned to his, — 
 One look that told the soul had sped, and then, 
 With anguished cry, he fell upon his knees, 
 And sobbed : "Virginia, oh, my love, my love ! 
 I cannot live with you gone forth from me 
 So far — so far!" 
 
 She answered not ; she would 
 Not answer evermore though he his soul 
 Should sob out in his sorrow. 
 
122 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 It was meet, 
 Though Leon thought not of it then, that she 
 Ascended to the fairer, better world 
 At Eastertide. Upon her breast they laid 
 Her little babe, whom her enfolding arm 
 Seemed lovingly to hold; and in one hand 
 Were laid sweet lilies of the valley, grown 
 And blown at Laureldale. Beside her bier 
 They placed a jardiniere in which there bloomed 
 A tall Madonna lily, purely white 
 As drifted snow, and beautiful as truth; 
 But not more pure and not more beautiful 
 Than she, the resurrection of whose soul 
 It typified. Her hand, eight months before, 
 Had set the bulb, a homely, scaly thing. 
 Within the soil, when one could scarce believe 
 It was a cradle in whose depths reposed 
 A latent, living force that soon would 'wake, 
 And grow to perfect loveliness and grace. 
 As it had risen from the dark to light, 
 Its outgrown hull discarded, and left low 
 To moulder in the dust, so she arose. 
 Her earthly growth attained, to chastely bloom 
 In brighter realms. 
 
 And though the heart believes 
 In joy hereafter for the deathless soul. 
 It can but grieve when Azrael bears afar 
 One dearly loved. Whoever is bereaved. 
 Can sympathize with her who, grieving, sobbed, 
 When one had sought to comfort her : ' ' Ah, yes, 
 I know the soul's in heaven ! But the grave 
 Will hide the darling body, that I loved 
 So tenderly." 
 
 It is but natural 
 For us to love the body ; for, although, 
 When from the spirit separated, it 
 
DEATH 123 
 
 Is but a shell cast off, 'tis yet, so long 
 
 As union is preserved between the two, 
 
 The "open sesame" by which all comes 
 
 Unto the soul. 'Tis through the influence 
 
 And ministry of members physical 
 
 The spirit is awakened from its sleep, 
 
 And quickened into animated life ; 
 
 And by whatever sense ourselves are moved, 
 
 We rise to knowledge through experience. 
 
 Whoever notes the corresponding growth 
 
 Of mind and body in a little child, 
 
 Fails not to see how close the bond that holds 
 
 The two together; aye, so close we might 
 
 Declare the life they share their common life. 
 
 Although the flesh seems oftentimes a weight 
 
 To keep th' aspiring soul upon the ground. 
 
 Again the spirit seems to upward soar. 
 
 And hover o'er it, like an angel good 
 
 To guard and guide. Itself the spirit stamps 
 
 Upon the flesh, and, though immortal, grows 
 
 But only by the things revealed to it 
 
 Through mortal aids; and 'tis, also, through 
 
 things 
 That pass eventually away, it is 
 Expressed, and made to others manifest. 
 Therefore, 'twas more than clay which she be- 
 moaned 
 Who sobbed: "1 loved the body tenderly!" 
 
 And Leon grieved, though firm was his heart's 
 
 faith, 
 For her whose form was now within the grave ; 
 Whose soul by angels had been borne afar 
 To come into a rich inheritance. 
 "I cannot live with you gone forth from me 
 
124 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 So far — so far ! ' ' So, kneeling, he had sobbed 
 
 In that first hour of grief ; and so he felt 
 
 As days and weeks passed by, and still his heart 
 
 Cried out for her sweet presence. Everywhere, 
 
 It seemed, were things to 'mind him forcibly 
 
 Of his great loss, and his large loneliness ; 
 
 E'en things inanimate seemed sorrowful. 
 
 As if they missed her touch, and wished for it 
 
 Through days of desolation, long and drear. 
 
 While Leon once sat at his easel, brush 
 In hand, yet scarcely working for the weight 
 Upon his saddened heart, his mother brought 
 Into the room, to grace his centre stand, 
 A cluster of pink roses, gathered while 
 The dew of morning lingered on them still. 
 
 "Look, dear," she said. "Are these not beau- 
 tiful?" 
 
 He turned, and as his eyes fell on the flowers, 
 Involuntarily he shrank from them. 
 
 "Forgive, my son!" she cried. "I might have 
 
 known 
 The sight of roses would be sorrowful : 
 Virginia always was so fond of them. " 
 
 "Tis I who need forgiveness, mother dear. " 
 The son replied. "I should have hid from you 
 The fact that roses quicken so my pain. 
 And yet, since first I knew Virginia, they 
 Have been suggestive to my mind of her. 
 And I can but associate them now 
 In ways that tend to sorrowing retrospect. 
 Once she affirmed the path of life for her 
 
DEATH 125 
 
 Seemed overstrewn with 'roses all the way, ' 
 And I forgot, while she was with me here, 
 That roses are beset, ofttimes, with thorns 
 That prick, when we are least aware, deep wounds.' 
 
 She took them out, and roses were not brought 
 
 Again indoors, till Leon, having found 
 
 His truer, stronger self, with grateful hand 
 
 Himself culled them, glad there was left to him 
 
 Much she had loved, that seemed a very part. 
 
 Still near and visible, of her dear self. 
 
 For Leon was not one to nurse a grief, 
 
 However poignant. He who closely hugs 
 
 His sorrow to his bosom, in despair 
 
 To weep o'er that of which he is bereaved, 
 
 Wrongs not himself alone, but all with whom 
 
 He is associated in his life. 
 
 So realizing, Leon mused in thought: 
 
 "Though she's departed, never to return, 
 
 I must not waste my powers bemoaning her. 
 
 That which she was to me, she is today. 
 
 And through eternal ages still will be. 
 
 For love is of the spirit, not the flesh. 
 
 I should not weep that she is gone away ; 
 
 I rather should rejoice she once was here, 
 
 And walked awhile — though such a little while — 
 
 Beside me on the earth. Life is, in truth, 
 
 A little journey, and we should no more 
 
 Be sorrowful for days of pleasure past. 
 
 Than travelers returned grieve for the scenes 
 
 Oncelooked upon, and mourn because the friends, 
 
 Who journeyed through lands beautiful with them, 
 
 Are now afar. And should a tourist come 
 
 From countries fair, with never word to say 
 
 Of beauties seen, but making sad complaint 
 
 That such and such an one had traveled far 
 
126 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 To fairer places than he visited, 
 
 We scarce would credit him with gratitude, 
 
 Or name him worthy to have seen that which 
 
 He had beheld. Though with our loved ones gone 
 
 We're lonely, and think longingly of scenes 
 
 Their loveliness makes fair, let us be glad 
 
 'Tis theirs to pass to worlds more beautiful. 
 
 Attaining to a purer, higher plane. 
 
 And ever to a clearer, broader view. " 
 
 Resigned thus meekly to the will of God, 
 
 And chastened by his sorrow, Leon gained 
 
 By having lost. When the first shock had passed, 
 
 He stood erect, more strong for having bent, 
 
 As trees that lowly bow before the blast 
 
 Have their life forces quickened in each cell, 
 
 And so arise to newer, richer growth. 
 
 Life is, to each of us, but that to which 
 
 We are awake, and sorrow wakens us 
 
 To things as beautiful and sweet as joy 
 
 Can rouse in us. We thus learn fellowship 
 
 With all who suffer, or in ages past 
 
 Have suffered, and so come in closer touch 
 
 With the most noble and most great of earth. 
 
 And thus at last we better comprehend 
 
 That blessed Man of Sorrows, who endured 
 
 All things through boundless love of humankind ; 
 
 That tender Brother and true Comforter 
 
 Of sorrowing men. In dark Gethsemane 
 
 Such agony He bore as mortals could 
 
 Not bear and live ; so bitter was it. He 
 
 Implored the Father to let pass the cup 
 
 'Twas His to drink. ' ' Yet not my will, ' ' He said, 
 
 "But thine be done;" and when we, too, have 
 
 learned 
 Like resignation to the Father's will. 
 
DEATH 127 
 
 We are true brothers of the Christ enthroned, 
 And worthy to be called the sons of God. 
 
 Among the manuscripts Virginia left, 
 The artist found at last the poem she. 
 With love, had dedicated to himself, 
 The highest, best achievement of a pen 
 Whose poorest task, so worthily it wrought, 
 Was not ignoble nor ignobly done. 
 At first he thought 'twas what we contemplate 
 With sad regret : a book left incomplete 
 While sleeps the one in whose creative mind 
 It was conceived, and by whose faithful hand. 
 Had not death interposed, rare treasures would 
 Have been unfolded to the eyes of men. 
 There is but one thing in the world more sad 
 Than tasks commenced, and left here incomplete; 
 It is the task put off from time to time. 
 And ne'er begun on earth, though it might be 
 With truest ease attained. The marble block. 
 From whose rough and unpolished bulk, it seems, 
 The head and shoulders of a man emerge. 
 Though not a finished work, yet speaking loud 
 Of aspiration, is not wordless so ; 
 While marble still uncut, a medium 
 Through which art might find tongue, is voiceless 
 stone. 
 
 Virginia, he discovered, had not left 
 
 Her masterpiece unfinished, though a note, 
 
 Penned in parenthesis upon the page 
 
 On which was written "Finis," showed the book 
 
 Had been concluded but the morning ere 
 
 She passed from earth. As Leon read, his heart, 
 
 Though touched with sorrow to remember this 
 
 Was the last message of his well beloved 
 
128 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Unto the world, was yet with pleasure thrilled 
 
 Such beauty to uncover as before 
 
 She never had expressed. From height to height 
 
 In thought she had ascended, as if her 
 
 Pure spirit had discarded more and more 
 
 The cords that bound it, to at last soar free, 
 
 Unhindered by the flesh. Her poem seemed 
 
 A paeon of glad faith, and, had she known 
 
 The veil of death so early would be dropped 
 
 Between herself and him she loved, she scarce 
 
 Had written words more fitted to console 
 
 And to sustain in sorrow. i 
 
 He thus mused 
 Within himself: "With her, the eager mind 
 Was stronger than the body, and the soul 
 Aspired to heights so lofty, it could but 
 Arise above the flesh, and leave it low — 
 A shell from which the bird has flown to sing 
 In sunnier realms. She was too pure and high 
 For earth in human form, but it may be 
 She hovers o'er me, guiding on and up 
 To higher planes, and lovelier by far, 
 Than I had reached with her beside me still. " 
 
 Possessed yet more and more, as months passed 
 
 by, 
 
 Of this idea, the Soul witlpn the soul 
 
 Of Leon knew but perfect calm and peace. 
 
 And was unmoved, e'en while his sorrow surged 
 
 O'er him anew, as ocean depths are still 
 
 When waves above them roll on restlessly. 
 
 One cannot put a deep heart-sorrow by 
 
 Within a day, whatever be his faith. 
 
 And only time, that leveler of all. 
 
 Can teach assuagement of a grief. Yet tears 
 
 Blind not, or blind not long, the eyes of those 
 
DEATH 129 
 
 Who seek to find the good in everything ; 
 And he within the vale beholds the stars 
 As clearly as does he upon the heights. 
 
 With purer aspiration, clearer sight, 
 
 The artist sought expression through his art. 
 
 All things to him had grown more beautiful. 
 
 Not that 'S''irginia was beyond the earth. 
 
 But that she once was of it, and had so 
 
 Loved it that her exalted spirit seemed 
 
 Now breathing through fair nature everywhere. 
 
 Though he had said, the day she passed away. 
 
 That she was gone "so far. " it sometimes seemed 
 
 His wife was even nearer him in death 
 
 Than she had been, or could have been, in life ; 
 
 And that his life-work and his being felt 
 
 The influence of her deep, abiding love 
 
 More strongly than while she was still on earth. 
 
 He painted rapidly and vividly, 
 
 A power other than his own, it seemed. 
 
 Impelling him, though gently, on and on, 
 
 Till he surpassed himsel^f , achieving ends 
 
 More noble than he had before attained. 
 
 Two years had passed, and one day, as he stood 
 
 Before his easel, there was borne to him 
 
 A faint perfume, recalling something he 
 
 Had known in days long passed, he scarce knew 
 
 what; 
 And, startled by the rustle of a skirt, 
 Since he had heard no step, he turned to face 
 Fair Julia once again. 
 
 ' ' Have you no word 
 Of welcome for a traveler returned?" 
 
130 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 She held a hand out, smiling, and her cheeks, 
 Though not so rosy as when last they met, 
 Were dimpled still, while twixt her parted lips, 
 Her polished teeth gleamed white as purest pearls. 
 The artist greeted her with pleasant words, 
 And they talked lightly on of many things, 
 For much had happened while she was abroad, 
 And she had much of interest to tell 
 Regarding things beheld in foreign lands. 
 She told of pictures she had looked upon, 
 And said, while viewing them, she thought of him. 
 Well knowing beauties, to which she was blind, 
 Would, to his clearer vision, be revealed. 
 And she, by music wonderful to hear. 
 In old and dim cathedrals, had been thrilled 
 Until her soul, like an aeolian harp 
 The breezes play upon at their sweet will, 
 Vibrated to the deep and mellow chords. 
 
 She slowly walked about his studio. 
 
 Observing, with apparent interest, 
 
 The pictures he had painted recently. 
 
 Soon she observed an easel, which was draped. 
 
 Concealing thus the canvas upon it. 
 
 Which, she surmised, might be unfinished still. 
 
 The woman felt a strong wish to behold 
 
 This curtained picture, but the artist passed 
 
 To other things, nor spoke concerning it. 
 
 When presently her host was called away, 
 
 Some impulse drew her irresistibly 
 
 To look upon this new achievement, which 
 
 To his constituency, who for his work 
 
 Watched eagerly, was all unknown. And why 
 
 Should she not see it ere the masses did ? 
 
 She loved him— oh, it was not sinful now 
 
 To say so, feel so ! He was free at last, 
 
DEATH 131 
 
 No longer bound by ties unbreakable ! 
 
 She never had believed that Leon loved 
 
 Virginia ; he but married her, she felt, 
 
 Because herself had failed him in his youth, 
 
 And man must marry where his heart is not 
 
 If he have failed to marry where it is. 
 
 He was so high, so mighty and so proud, 
 
 He never had forgiven her for her 
 
 Disloyalty, though he had loved her then. 
 
 And loved her, doubtless, now. To men like him 
 
 A woman must needs bow, and she, so sought, 
 
 Would lowly stoop to win what she had lost. 
 
 Though other men, less lofty and less proud, 
 
 Were wont to kneel in homage at her feet. 
 
 She was not used to meet repulse, and when. 
 
 Two years before, she came from Europe, all 
 
 Her being bent on winning to her side 
 
 Him who had loved her once, to find him wed. 
 
 It seemed her very heart-strings snapped in twain. 
 
 She thought now of that mom — indelibly 
 Engraved upon her memory — the morn 
 Virginia joined them in the studio, 
 And he had softly said she was his wife. 
 His glorious eyes alight with — was it love 
 Or pity? 'Twas not love, for he loved her ! 
 
 She put an eager hand out tremblingly. 
 And lifting, suddenly, the drapery. 
 Disclosed a picture, at the sight of which 
 She gave a stifled cry, her heart pierced through 
 W^ith sudden pain. For in that glance she knew 
 He loved her not, and never had loved her 
 With love like that Virginia had aroused, — 
 A love his brush had here memorialized. 
 
132 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Before a picture, still unfinished, sat 
 An artist, in the act of painting, though 
 'Twas not his hand, but one whose fingers lay- 
 But lightly on his own, that moved the brush. 
 An angel at his side was hovering, 
 Her gleaming wings of snowy white outspread, 
 And her white garments seeming like a cloud 
 That might float upward, did the zephyrs stir, 
 To join its sisters in the azure sky. 
 She was bent down, a smile so radiant 
 Upon her face, it seemed she had learned joy 
 Such as no mortal knows, and yet for love 
 Had come from fairer realms to earth again. 
 It was Virginia's face, etherealized. 
 As Julia saw, as all would see who had 
 Once known the poet ; and the artist, though 
 His face was turned away, upraised to hers. 
 As Leon's self was recognizable. 
 Her hand on his, to guide it and control. 
 His glance upturned to meet her own, was such 
 A story of affection that survives 
 Death and the grave, as was to Julia's soul 
 A revelation strange, yet beautiful. 
 
 ' ' Can such love be ? " she asked, ' ' and do the souls 
 
 Of the departed thus come back again 
 
 To hover near those they have loved and left?" 
 
 She heard the step of Leon in the hall, 
 
 But still, with eyes that seemed entranced, she 
 
 looked 
 Upon the picture, though she could have then 
 Let drop the curtain to conceal her guilt. 
 He crossed the threshold, and there paused, 
 
 amazed 
 That she should have such bold audacity, 
 
DEATH 133 
 
 And angry that her eyes had been the first 
 To look on that bom of his deathless love. 
 
 "You, Julia!" he exclaimed, and to her side 
 Stepped in a moment. Was she wholly lost 
 To shame and honor^she, who, as a child, 
 Had wronged Virginia ; as a maiden had 
 Deceived himself ; and now as woman did 
 This thing ignoble ? He half wished he might 
 Behold that beauty perish which seemed but 
 A cover to conceal a soul deformed ; 
 And when he spoke again his voice was stern 
 To harshness : " J ulia ! " 
 
 Then she turned, and he 
 Repented of the manner of his speech. 
 And begged that she would pardon. 
 
 "Yet," he said, 
 "You had no right ; my mother had not looked 
 Upon it yet." 
 
 Her face was pale and drawn. 
 And moistened with her tears. 
 
 "But you'll forgive," 
 She said, half wistfully. ' ' I have done wrong, 
 And I regret I took such liberty; 
 But I am glad to learn that in the world 
 Is love like that." 
 
 In Julia's azure eyes 
 Was an expression of such sad appeal 
 As Leon could not understand, and he 
 Scarce knew what to reply. 
 
 " 'Tis good to know," 
 He answered her; "it makes glad heaven seem 
 More near unto an ofttimes saddened world. " 
 
 She turned to go, but lingered at the door, 
 As fain to speak some word additional. 
 
134 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 ' ' Perhaps, " the artist thought within himself, 
 "She loved her husband better than we knew, 
 And he thus brought to mind, her heart was 
 
 touched 
 To sadness by the picture. " 
 
 Then aloud, 
 To comfort her, he said : ' ' Believe me, there 
 Are sadder things in life than loss by death 
 Of those we love. " 
 
 She caught her breath and looked 
 Into his eyes. Then whispered, with white lips : 
 ' ' I know ! I know ! ' ' and, turning, went away 
 Without a parting word. 
 
 When she was gone, 
 He worked upon the portrait of a child — 
 A bright-faced little girl — which now was near 
 Completion. His true brush, it seemed, had 
 
 caught 
 The innocent, glad spirit of the child. 
 And one almost expected to behold 
 Her suddenly become imbued with life. 
 He had come more and more, as time had passed, 
 To paint the faces and the fairy forms 
 Of little ones, till he was sometimes called 
 The children's artist. He was loved by them 
 No more than by their mothers, for who so 
 Befriends a little child, wins not alone 
 Its childish love, but that of her, as well. 
 Who gave it being. Such is mother-love. 
 Or love of mothers worthy the dear name. 
 They're touched by that by which their children 
 
 are. 
 And suffer or rejoice accordingly. 
 
 One cannot truly love his fellowmen, 
 
DEATH 135 
 
 And feel no wish to share with them the things 
 
 By which his heart and Hfe have been enriched. 
 
 And Leon, who so loved the beautiful, 
 
 Yearned to reveal it to the little ones 
 
 So dear to him ; he longed to help them grow 
 
 Accustomed to the true and good in art, 
 
 And to unveil their eyes to Nature's truth 
 
 And loveliness. He knew — none better knew — 
 
 How truly Art and Nature, twins in much 
 
 Companion hearts that know and love them well ; 
 
 How they are hand-maids of a bounteous God, 
 
 To aid in distribution of His gifts 
 
 Most gracious, and most graciously bestowed 
 
 On all who will accept. Who is at heart 
 
 Acquainted with these two, has pleasure far 
 
 Beyond what he would otherwise enjoy; 
 
 And for the pains and sorrows that may come 
 
 To him, as they must come to all, in life. 
 
 He knows sweet consolation. Souls attain 
 
 To education, educators know. 
 
 As truly through the eye as through the ear; 
 
 How often, when we pause to hark, we hear 
 
 Christ saying: "Look;" "Behold;" and finally 
 
 His accusation : ' ' Having eyes to see. 
 
 They see not. " All about us, every hour, 
 
 Rich panoramas of delight unroll ; 
 
 Light, color, motion, these are everywhere, 
 
 Unseen by some, not that they have no sight, 
 
 But that their souls, which might with clearness 
 
 see. 
 Are unawakened to the beautiful. 
 
 As a memorial to Virginia — one. 
 He knew she would approve of, did she know. 
 The artist beautified the city schools 
 With pictures, and with other works of art ; 
 
136 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 While he caused shrubs and flowers, that would 
 
 bloom 
 Before vacation, early in the spring, 
 To be set on the grounds. For he believed 
 Eyes that are trained in some things to behold 
 True loveliness, will look for it in all ; 
 And that the soul, to admiration roused 
 Of something worthy, will itself mount up 
 Unto a likeness of the thing admired. 
 And so attain a fuller, higher growth. 
 And those who have, as little children, learned 
 Appreciation of the best in art. 
 Are likelier to make attractive homes 
 Whose influence, ever widening, shall touch 
 Innumerable lives to their uplift. 
 So, looking to the future of wee ones, 
 Who had but started on their journey here, 
 In memory of her whose earthly course 
 Was done, he strove unto a noble end. 
 
 And by and by, when years had come and gone, 
 And when Miss Jane had passed to the Beyond, 
 He made of dear-loved Laureldale a home 
 For orphan children, those especially 
 Who were afflicted. Hither oft he came. 
 And hearts he had made glad grew gladder still 
 At sight of him, while little ones, with shouts 
 Of welcome, flocked about him joyously. 
 
 Within a cabin, kindly built for her 
 Upon the grounds, the negress Leah dwelt. 
 Grown old and feeble now. She knew no need, 
 For her ' ' young maussa " kept her well supplied, 
 Rewarding her, as well as masters may 
 Reward their servants for long faithfulness, 
 For her past faithful serving. 
 
DEATH 137 
 
 Once when he 
 Asked Leah how she was, she made complaint, 
 Low curtsying : ' ' La, sah, dis rheumatiz 
 Gwine fetch me ter de ground, fo' sho, some day ; 
 En I's been wond'rin, Maussa Leon, whar 
 You's gwine ter lay me, when I's dead, ter sleep 
 Twell God done soun' his trumpet?" 
 
 He had seen 
 The negress' strength was faihng, year by year, 
 But had not thought where he, when she should 
 
 die, 
 Would bury her, and kindly he replied. 
 Glad she would now express some preference : 
 "Wherever you would like to lie, Maum Leah. " 
 
 "It's des dis way, " she urged, "I done lie down 
 
 So much upon de flo', right at de foot 
 
 Ob Miss Virginia's bed, when she wuz sick, 
 
 I mos' believe de angel ob de Lawd, 
 
 When he come down frum heav'n, gwine look 
 
 fo' me 
 Right at meh honey's feet, en no whars else. 
 En if I aint been buried dar, you see. 
 What he gwine do? En wuss, what I gwine do?" 
 
 He thought of her affection for his wife, 
 
 Proved by long years of loving ministry ; 
 
 Of how, in that last hour, she was alone 
 
 With his dear one, and tears came to his eyes. 
 
 He could not have denied, if he had wished, 
 
 The simple boon she craved, whose granting cost 
 
 Him nothing, and yet meant so much to her. 
 
 And when she perished, at a ripe old age. 
 
 The love of her "white folks " still strong in her, 
 
 They buried her according to her wish. 
 
138 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 With firm resolve, forever faithfully 
 
 Aspiring to his soul's most high ideals, 
 
 The artist worked unto a worthy end. 
 
 One far from mercenary. Yet his art 
 
 Brought him abundant wealth, which he used 
 
 well, 
 Still looking to the end he most desired : 
 The teaching of the true, the good, the fair, — 
 Contributing through work, and his large wealth, 
 To the upliftng of his fellowmen. 
 
 There's royal blood in one who will, for gain. 
 
 Not stoop to desecration of his art ; 
 
 Such was a man whom once a millionaire. 
 
 Dead to the things most noble that we know. 
 
 Engaged to decorate his palace walls 
 
 With large oil-paintings. As the artist, thrilled 
 
 With inspiration, spread upon the space 
 
 He was to paint a scene magnificent — 
 
 One masters might have praised — the rich man 
 
 came 
 And stood beside him. His shrewd little eyes, 
 Which long had looked upon the glint of gold, 
 Were blinded to the truly beautiful, 
 And that the colors were not dazzling bright 
 Was all he saw. 
 
 ' ' I want not that, ' ' he said ; 
 "I want more brilliant hues." 
 
 And then went on 
 To give instruction to the painter, who. 
 With brush held lightly in his slender hand. 
 Had paused to hear his patron's argument. 
 
 "But that, " the artist answered, when the man 
 Ceased speaking, "is not art. I'd not do work 
 That I, for very shame, would blush to see 
 
DEATH 139 
 
 Signed by my name. " 
 
 "You'd not ! This, Sir, " the rich 
 Man thundered, "is my house ! Upon its walls 
 I'll have but just such pictures as I choose !" 
 
 "And this, Sir, is my brush, " the artist said, 
 Most quietly, ' the slave but of my art ; 
 I would not sell it for ignoble use, 
 Though I should starve. " 
 
 Then he went forth, a man 
 Most truly rich, I hold, although he may 
 Have needed bread. 
 
 As loyal as was he 
 To his loved art, was Leon to the best 
 Within himself. And by his loyalty 
 In life to truth and beauty, even more 
 Than by expression of them through his art. 
 He blessed his fellowmen. We should be glad, 
 We lesser ones whom God has not endowed 
 With extraordinary faculties, 
 That to be noble is more worthy far 
 Than to voice noble things through noblest arts. 
 For lowliest men may live lives true and good 
 As highest men, and so be witnesses 
 To One who is, forsooth, no more the God 
 Of prophet or of poet than the God 
 Of common men. The highest art of all 
 Is life lived worthily ; and who o'ercomes 
 The most in his attainment of the good, 
 Is truest artist, though none name him so. 
 Oft we forget, who to forgetfulness 
 Are prone, the Lord reveals Himself to men 
 Not always on the highest mountian top, 
 Or while engaged in loftiest pursuits. 
 To the great prophet Moses, in exile; 
 
140 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 To Gideon, threshing wheat by the wine-press; 
 
 To David, tending sheep on Judea's hills, 
 
 He came of old. And when the Son began 
 
 His ministry on earth, the first He called 
 
 To be His followers — called from the ships 
 
 Upon the sea — were lowly fishermen. 
 
 Thus, by the choice of His disciples, Christ, 
 
 No less than by His teaching, dignified 
 
 The labor of mankind. But He did more: 
 
 From His God-height He stooped alow to serve, 
 
 And by His serving glorified tasks done 
 
 For love of men. Therefore, who serves the ^best 
 
 And with most love, however lowly be 
 
 His place in life, however humbly be 
 
 His mind and heart endowed, is most like God. 
 
 As God is in life's common places, so 
 
 He speaks with clearness to us, oftentimes, 
 
 Through our most commonplace experiences. 
 
 We miss much joy and good through feeling He 
 
 Is present only in the things that seem 
 
 Great and divine. How quickly we would say: 
 
 "The Lord is in this place, " if we could see, 
 
 As saw the Israelites of old, the waves 
 
 Divide, and form a wall on either side, 
 
 For armies to pass through. And yet His power, 
 
 Mysterious and mighty, is revealed 
 
 As truly through the common and oft seen 
 
 Phenomena of nature, as through things 
 
 We name miraculous. We do not need — 
 
 Or, rather, should not need — the fiery 
 
 And grand convulsions of a Mount Pelee 
 
 To bear strong witness to the living God. 
 
 For, by the springs He sends into thevales ; 
 
 By plenteous grasses that spring up, and clothe 
 
 The earth with verdure, green and velvety ; 
 
DEATH 141 
 
 By that perpetual transformation strange 
 
 Of mineral into vegetable life;— 
 
 The vegetable into animal, — 
 
 (Dust transformed into man) — His handiwork 
 
 Is shown, His glory wondrously declared. 
 
 To recognize the Father, verily, 
 
 As the true source and secret of all life ; 
 
 To realize our being is in Him 
 
 Not only for a little day on earth, 
 
 But for all ages of eternity — 
 
 Is, though in small degree, to comprehend 
 
 His greatness and our own unworthiness. 
 
 For what are we that great Jehovah should 
 
 Stoop down to breathe into our bodies breath 
 
 Eternal, calling us, with voice of power. 
 
 From nothingness to largess of all life? 
 
 And what are we that He should manifest 
 
 Himself to us, if we but will to see. 
 
 Not only in all places, low and high. 
 
 But in the commonest experiences 
 
 'Tis ours to know? Unto each life God speaks 
 
 An individual message ; and He makes 
 
 Each life, that to a likeness of the life 
 
 Of Jesus is conformed, an instrument 
 
 Through which He speaks to countless other lives. 
 
 The life of none is voiceless while he dwells 
 
 Upon the earth, or wholly echoless 
 
 When he has passed to worlds beyond the grave. 
 
 One who upon his bugle blows a blast. 
 
 May still hear echoes, soft and musical, 
 
 Borne far from distant hills unto his ears, 
 
 E'en while his trumpet lies upon the ground. 
 
 In silence, where he dropped it, at his feet. 
 
 So the departed, whom the world calls dead, 
 
 But who can never die unto the hearts 
 
142 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 That love them, touch and thrill our very souls 
 With softest music ; music faintly heard, 
 'Tis true, but full as sweet as that they made 
 While using still their earthly instruments. 
 
 Virginia's pure, sweet life made melody 
 Long after she had passed to other worlds ; 
 And one, at least, sang more in harmony 
 With nature and mankind because her voice 
 Had mingled with the voices of the earth, 
 And echoed still through halls of memory. 
 Just as a singer cannot sing, we know, 
 More clearly and more truly, and not make 
 The chorus more concordant, so not one 
 Can strike a truer, higher chord in life. 
 And not lead others to more true accord 
 With all of life. Thus Leon, tuning his 
 Life-song unto a sweeter, higher key. 
 And singing truly — pausing not because 
 He heard discordant notes arise sometimes 
 From other throats — led many into song 
 Of purer melody. So, through his love 
 For her, the spirit of his bride called him. 
 And through him, others, to a higher plane 
 Whereon to dwell and sing while time should last. 
 
 The "children's artist" who, with rare insight, 
 
 Had painted oftentimes the little ones 
 
 In childhood's every phase and attitude, 
 
 At last came unavoidably to paint. 
 
 As artists of all schools and countries have, 
 
 The Child and the Madonna. Oft the face 
 
 Of her the artist most adores on earth 
 
 Is his ideal of Mary, and, therefore, 
 
 From many a canvas eyes look into ours, 
 
 Half dreamful, the original of which 
 
DEATH 143 
 
 Looked love into the artist's ere, with pow'r, 
 
 He executed that which lives today — 
 
 A world-famed masterpiece. So Leon chose 
 
 Virginia for his model, her sweet face 
 
 And tender, soulful eyes expressing both 
 
 The mother-love and purity of soul 
 
 It was his wish sincerely to portray. 
 
 In that glad little while — less than two years — 
 
 They two had been together, he had sketched 
 
 Her many times, in various attitudes. 
 
 And yet among his drawings found but one, 
 
 The only one quite suited to the end 
 
 He had in view. And this he once had made, 
 
 Unknown to her, as she one afternoon 
 
 Sat in his studio, her eyes downbent 
 
 Upon the dress her hands were fashioning 
 
 For him she hoped, ere many weeks, to hold 
 
 Against her breast. She smiled, and her dear face 
 
 Seemed lit with radiance, as if even then 
 
 Her babe, reflecting both sunlight and joy, 
 
 Lay on her knees. Had the design been made 
 
 Expressly for the end the artist wished, 
 
 It scarcely had fulfilled more perfectly 
 
 His lofty purpose, or with truth have been 
 
 Adapted better to the olden theme 
 
 He fain would tell anew. It was inspired. 
 
 Hence worthy to become the central piece 
 
 Of a creation all would name inspired,— 
 
 Such as the rarely gifted Leon now 
 
 Evolved and vivified. Though in the sketch 
 
 Virginia's face was somewhat in the shade, 
 
 'Twas in the picture glorified with light 
 
 Irradiating from the babe she leaned 
 
 To look upon, with loving interest. 
 
 She needed not a halo to be named — 
 
144 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 In only one glance — Mary ; for her face 
 
 Wore such a look of exaltation high, 
 
 Though stamped with sweet and true humility, 
 
 (As if she worshiped even while she served) 
 
 One could but think of her God set apart 
 
 To bear His Son. And mothers, who beheld 
 
 The painting, felt the hearts within them bound 
 
 In recognition of some truth they had 
 
 Before not realized: some felt themselves 
 
 Akin to Mary in the hope and pain. 
 
 The joy and grief, all mothers know ; some looked 
 
 Forever afterward on motherhood 
 
 As something more divine than they had thought ; 
 
 While others still, and these gained more than all, 
 
 Within them said : ' ' Not only Mary was 
 
 The mother of a little child of God ; 
 
 All who are mothers here are mothers, too, 
 
 Of children of the Father heavenly — 
 
 Co-heirs with His beloved, elder Son. " 
 
 Soon after this was to completion brought, 
 
 The artist had a note from Julia, whom 
 
 He had not met since she, some years before, 
 
 Had scrupled not to look, without consent. 
 
 Upon his picture. Thus, to his surprise. 
 
 The missive ran : "You have not heard, perhaps, 
 
 I marry in a fortnight one well known, 
 
 Of noble rank: Lord Howe, of England. He, 
 
 Unlike so many who have married here. 
 
 Has wealth abundant, yet would many say 
 
 I bought my title with the money earned 
 
 By my first husband — an American. 
 
 To guard against this, I leave here my all, 
 
 Divided among friends and charities. 
 
 And empty handed go to foreign shores. 
 
 You'll laugh, perhaps, who know the history 
 
DEATH 145 
 
 Of my first marriage, and avow : 'She wed 
 One time for money ; now she scatters wealth, 
 With careless hand, abroad, and weds — for what? ' 
 For what, in truth, I know not. There are souls 
 Bom undeniably to restlessness 
 As butterflies that flit from flow'r to flow'r, 
 Here sipping, tasting there, pausing to rest 
 For but a little season here and there. 
 Though you, who give your lives to art, teach 
 
 much. 
 You teach not souls like these, you cannot teach 
 Such souls as these, the way to restfulness. 
 When one such, feehng need of something strong 
 To anchor to, is earnestly besought 
 Of Love to lean on him, and weakly yields, 
 Though she loves not, there're those to criticize, 
 And question, scornfully, 'she weds — for what?' 
 
 "But I forget, apparently, we two 
 
 Are not the friends we were in olden times, 
 
 When each unto the other freely spoke. 
 
 And neither misconstrued the other's words. 
 
 I only meant to say I leave with you. 
 
 As one who'll use it well, for furtherance 
 
 Of your large philanthropic purposes, 
 
 Full half of my estate. Though I, alas! 
 
 Have lived an idle and an aimless life, 
 
 I have not been quite dead to good achieved 
 
 By you and others; and, though well I know 
 
 To give our money, and not give ourselves, 
 
 To any cause, is to give sparingly. 
 
 Yet I, unworthy as I truly am. 
 
 Would give my wealth to be used worthily. 
 
 'Tis yours ; accept and use it for the good 
 
 Of humankind you so sincerely love ; 
 
 And pray, if you have faith in prayer, for her 
 
146 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 Who found so little happiness in wealth, 
 She feels she yields but nothing, yielding it. " 
 
 The artist, feeling Julia had, perhaps, 
 Thus acted on some impulse, thoughtlessly. 
 And so might be induced to change her mind, 
 Now went to see the lady in her home, 
 Her to persuade. 
 
 "It matters not," he said, 
 "Should people say he married you for wealth. 
 Or that, perchance, you purchased with your gold 
 The right to be called Lady Julia Howe. 
 If these things be not true, they touch you not, 
 Nor ever can touch you. " 
 
 ' ' But we are touched, " 
 She said, "where men are not; and he — Lord 
 
 Howe — 
 Prefers I freely should bestow my all, 
 If it affords me pleasure so to do. 
 He is no fortune-hunter : 'tis myself. 
 And not my wealth, he weds. " 
 
 She said this last 
 With straightened form, almost defiantly, 
 As one, whose love had been refused and scorned, 
 Might cry: "He loves me well, though you do 
 
 not!" 
 
 So Leon took her money as a trust, — 
 And gladly utilized it to assist 
 Ambitious boys and girls, who yet were poor, 
 To gain such education as they craved. 
 That otherwise had been withheld from them. 
 
 He lay one day within the shaded woods 
 Near Laureldale. A picture stretched in sight 
 Unlike that he with her, had looked upon 
 
DEATH 147 I 
 
 Two decades and a half of years before. ' 
 
 Where but a single residence then stood, 
 
 And such outbuildings as to country life 
 
 Were necessary, now a village thrived, ' 
 
 In which, with their care-takers, orphans dwelt, , 
 
 Up to the number of five score and more. 
 
 The buildings, one by one, and each designed 
 
 For beauty and for true utility, j 
 
 Had risen on the grounds, till Leon now \ 
 
 Looked on the glad fulfillment of a dream j 
 
 Long cherished. Laureldale, the house in which 
 
 Virginia had abided, he touched not, 
 
 But left it as it was in her life-time, 
 
 And put it to such service as to her 
 
 Seemed an appropriate memorial. 
 
 It was the hour the children left their tasks. 
 And gave themselves to joyous play. To him, 
 As he reclined, in a dreamy restfulness, 
 Upon the fragrant straw beneath the pines. 
 The sound of happy-hearted laughter came, 
 And he, not knowing that he did so, smiled 
 In sympathy. All seemed harmonious; 
 No note of discord struck upon the ear. 
 And no unsightly object met the eye. 
 To mar the music and the loveliness 
 Of a most perfect day. The man relaxed. 
 And gave himself, in body and in mind. 
 To full enjoyment of it. They knew not — 
 Those little ones whose joyous laughter came 
 O'er sunlit fields to him — that he was near. 
 Or they had come, and forced him merrily 
 To join their play. 
 
 All seemed harmonious? i 
 
 No note of discord ? 
 
148 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 "Ah!" The artist raised 
 At once upon his elbow, peering deep 
 Into the shadowed forest. Could it be 
 His ear had played him false, or did he hear. 
 Indeed, the piteous sobbing of a child? 
 He heard it yet again, a sound as sad 
 As laughter of gay little ones is glad ; 
 And as, a moment since, unconsciously 
 He smiled in sympathy with childish joy, 
 His heart was touched with pity now because 
 Some little child — he knew not whom — was 
 
 grieved. 
 Involuntarily and noiselessly 
 The man arose, and went, with hurrying steps. 
 O'er velvety pine needles, through the woods, 
 Until he came upon a lad who lay. 
 Face downward, on the ground, and shook with 
 
 sobs. 
 A dark, Italian boy, of fifteen years. 
 With pretty, wistful eyes that always seemed 
 To look beyond the things revealed to them 
 To things desired, he had for long appealed 
 To Ivcon, but so timid he appeared, 
 And so aloof he held himself from all. 
 One came not easily to know the child. 
 The artist now beside him softly knelt. 
 And laid a cool hand on his burning brow. 
 Whereat the lad, ashamed and startled, shrank, 
 And then, with sad and tear- wet eyes, looked up. 
 When he thus learned 'twas Leon at his side. 
 His sorrow suddenly to anger changed. 
 And, quickly sitting up, he shrilly cried. 
 His declaration boldly emphasized 
 By the accusing finger he outstretched: 
 "That picture, that you painted, is not true !" 
 
DEATH 149 
 
 The man now saw, some distance from the boy, 
 A box of colors, and near it, some sheets 
 Of drawing paper, which were covered o'er 
 With drawings. These, he noticed, although 
 
 crude. 
 Were promising for one untaught, and young. 
 He did not speak of these, but gently asked : 
 "What picture, child? I know not what you 
 
 mean." 
 
 "That picture, where an angel from the skies 
 Came down to teach somebody how to paint," 
 The boy replied, with passion. "For I know 
 If angels could teach people, mother would 
 Come down from heaven, " now his lips again 
 Were quivering with sorrow, "to teach me 
 To paint a lovely picture. Yes, she would !" 
 
 "Who told you that the angel taught the man 
 What he should paint?" 
 
 "Why, one day, " said the child, 
 Forgetting his timidity, "we went — 
 We larger children — to your studio 
 To see the lovely things. Our teacher told 
 Us many things about them, and she said 
 The angel showed the man just what to paint. 
 So, when we came back to the orphanage, 
 I got some colors, so that I could paint. 
 For I see lovely pictures in the night 
 When everybody is asleep but me, 
 Or when I'm in the woods, all by myself; 
 But no good angel came to show me how. 
 Then, after that, Miss Agnes told us once 
 A pretty story of the holy grail, 
 That none could see except the pure in heart. 
 I thought it might be so with angels, too ; 
 
150 VIRGINIA VAUGHN 
 
 That maybe they will stay away from those 
 
 Who are not good, — who do and think bad things, 
 
 And so I've been as good as I could be 
 
 A long, long time ; and I came here today 
 
 To try to paint. But oh, " and he began 
 
 Again to sob, ' ' that picture is not true — 
 
 It is not true!" 
 
 "Now, listen to me, Alf : 
 Who would expect an angel to come down 
 To teach the Alphabet? Yet when we've learned 
 To make use of the letters, and know well 
 How both to read and write, we may transcribe 
 Some thought so worthy, all who read it feel 
 'Twas heaven sent. And so with every art: 
 Who would be artists, must be taught of men 
 As well as angels ; they must get their tools. 
 And learn to use them well, ere they begin 
 To look for inspiration from on high. " 
 
 At that the boy ceased crying, and looked up, 
 A new light in his earnest, wistful eyes. 
 "Then is the picture true?" he softly asked. 
 
 "Aye, true, dear child ! As true as anything 
 Life has revealed to me, and truly life. 
 Through gladness and through grief, has taught 
 me much. " 
 
 He then took up a sketch the child had made, 
 And looked at it. 
 
 "I'll teach you, Alf, " he said, 
 "The art you love ; and when you've gone as far 
 As I can carry you, we'll send you off 
 To foreign lands, for you, my boy, must do 
 More noble things in art than I have done. 
 And must be well prepared for your life-work. 
 
DEATH 151 
 
 But tell me, Alf— I knew not you loved art — 
 How long have you thus wished to learn to paint ? ' 
 
 "Just from the day I saw that picture, Sir; 
 But, oh, since then I've wished it every day, 
 And more than all beside ! ' ' 
 
 If he* spoke truth 
 Who said the worthiest effect of art 
 Is to make artists, in awakening 
 A soul from slumber, Leon had acheived 
 The best and highest that an artist may. 
 
 From out the shadow of the darkening woods 
 
 Into the radiance of the setting sun. 
 
 The two walked hand in hand toward Laureldale. 
 
 To look upon the house Virginia long 
 
 Dwelt in, touched not the spirit of the man 
 
 To melancholy. She whom he had loved — 
 
 Whom still he loved — to him had never died ; 
 
 Her earthly fetters broken, she, in truth. 
 
 Had but ascended to a higher sphere, 
 
 To be, with Christ, "alive forevermore. " 
 
 ^Emerson.