The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 05, No. 27, January, 1860. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "Not at all. I didn't know anything about it till I came back."

      "But a mere animal or vegetable life is not much. What was ever done in the tropics?"

      "Almost all the world's history,—wasn't it?"

      "No, indeed; only the first, most trifling, and barbarian movements."

      "At all events, you are full of blessedness in those climates, and that is the end and aim of all action; and if Nature will do it for you, there is no need of your interference. It is much better to be than to do;—one is a strife, the other is possession."

      "You mean being as the complete attainment? There is only one Being, then. All the rest of us are"–

      "Oh, dear me! that sounds like metaphysics! Don't!"

      "So you see, you are not full of blessedness there."

      "You ought to have been born in Abelard's time,—you've such a disputatious spirit. That's I don't know how many times you have contradicted me to-day."

      "Pardon."

      "I wonder if you are so easy with all women."

      "I don't know many."

      "I shall watch to see if you contradict Lu this way."

      "I don't need. How absorbed she is! Mr. Dudley is 'interesting'?"

      "I don't know. No. But then, Lu is a good girl, and he's her minister,—a Delphic oracle. She thinks the sun and moon set somewhere round Mr. Dudley. Oh! I mean to show him my amber."

      And I tossed it into Lu's lap, saying,—

      "Show it to Mr. Dudley, Lu,—and ask him if it isn't divine!"

      Of course, he was shocked, and wouldn't go into ecstasies at all; tripped on the adjective.

      "There are gods enough in it to be divine," said Rose, taking it from Lu's hand and bringing it back to me. "All those very Gnostic deities who assisted at Creation. You are not afraid that the imprisoned things work their spells upon you? The oracle declares it suits your cousin best," he added, in a lower tone.

      "All the oaf knows!" I responded. "I wish you'd admire it, Mr. Dudley. Mr. Rose don't like amber,—handles it like nettles."

      "No," said Rose, "I don't like amber."

      "He prefers aqua-marina," I continued. "Lu, produce yours!" For she had not heard him.

      "Yes," said Mr. Dudley, rubbing his finger over his lip while he gazed, "every one must prefer aqua-marina."

      "Nonsense! It's no better than glass. I'd as soon wear a set of window-panes. There's no expression in it. It isn't alive, like real gems."

      Mr. Dudley stared. Rose laughed.

      "What a vindication of amber!" he said.

      He was standing now, leaning against the mantel, just as he was before lunch. Lu looked at him and smiled.

      "Yone is exultant, because we both wanted the beads," she said. "I like amber as much as she."

      "Nothing near so much, Lu!"

      "Why didn't you have them, then?" asked Rose, quickly.

      "Oh, they belonged to Yone; and uncle gave me these, which I like better. Amber is warm, and smells of the earth; but this is cool and dewy, and"–

      "Smells of heaven?" asked I, significantly.

      Mr. Dudley began to fidget, for he saw no chance of finishing his exposition.

      "As I was saying, Miss Louisa," he began, in a different key.

      I took my beads and wound them round my wrist. "You haven't as much eye for color as a poppy-bee," I exclaimed, in a corresponding key, and looking up at Rose.

      "Unjust. I was thinking then how entirely they suited you."

      "Thank you. Vastly complimentary from one who 'don't like amber'!"

      "Nevertheless, you think so."

      "Yes and no. Why don't you like it?"

      "You mustn't ask me for my reasons. It is not merely disagreeable, but hateful."

      "And you've been beside me, like a Christian, all this time, and I had it!"

      "The perfume is acrid; I associate it with the lower jaw of St. Basil the Great, styled a present of immense value, you remember,—being hard, heavy, shining like gold, the teeth yet in it, and with a smell more delightful than amber,"—making a mock shudder at the word.

      "Oh, it is prejudice, then."

      "Not in the least. It is antipathy. Besides, the thing is unnatural; there is no existent cause for it. A bit that turns up on certain sands,—here at home, for aught I know, as often as anywhere."

      "Which means Nazareth. We must teach you, Sir, that there are some things at home as rare as those abroad."

      "I am taught," he said, very low, and without looking up.

      "Just tell me, what is amber?"

      "Fossil gum."

      "Can you say those words and not like it? Don't it bring to you a magnificent picture of the pristine world,—great seas and other skies,—a world of accentuated crises, that sloughed off age after age, and rose fresher from each plunge? Don't you see, or long to see, that mysterious magic tree out of whose pores oozed this fine solidified sunshine? What leaf did it have? what blossom? what great wind shivered its branches? Was it a giant on a lonely coast, or thick low growth blistered in ravines and dells? That's the witchery of amber,—that it has no cause,—that all the world grew to produce it,—may-be died and gave no other sign,—that its tree, which must have been beautiful, dropped all its fruits; and how bursting with juice must they have been"–

      "Unfortunately, coniferous."

      "Be quiet. Stripped itself of all its lush luxuriance, and left for a vestige only this little fester of its gashes."

      "No, again," he once more interrupted. "I have seen remnants of the wood and bark in a museum."

      "Or has it hidden and compressed all its secret here?" I continued, obliviously. "What if in some piece of amber an accidental seed were sealed, we found, and planted, and brought back the lost aeons? What a glorious world that must have been, where even the gum was so precious!"

      "In a picture, yes. Necessary for this. But, my dear Miss Willoughby, you convince me that the Amber Witch founded your family," he said, having listened with an amused face. "Loveliest amber that ever the sorrowing sea-birds have wept," he hummed. "There! isn't that kind of stuff enough to make a man detest it?"

      "Yes."

      "And you are quite as bad in another way."

      "Oh!"

      "Just because, when we hold it in our hands, we hold also that furious epoch where rioted all monsters and poisons,—where death fecundated and life destroyed,—where superabundance demanded such existences, СКАЧАТЬ