The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 10, No. 58, August, 1862. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ me. It was several minutes before they came back. In the interim I had taken a long look at the face on the wall. It seemed too young to be very beautiful, and I couldn't help wishing that the artist had waited a year or two, until a little more of the outline of life had come to it; yet it was a sweet, loving face, with a brow as low and cool as Sophie's own, only it hadn't any shadow of an Aaron on it. I didn't hear the door open, I hadn't heard the sound of living thing, when some one said, close to me, as I was standing looking up at the face I've spoken of,–

      "What are you doing?"

      It was Mr. Axtell, and the voice was a prickly one.

      "Is there any harm?" I said. "I'm only looking here,"–pointing to where my eyes had been before. "Who painted it?"

      "An unknown, poor painter."

      "Was he poor in spirit?"

      "He is now, I trust."

      A man that has variant voices is a cruel thing in this world, because one cannot help their coming in at some one of the gates of the heart, which cannot all be guarded at the same moment. "Poor in spirit?" "He is now, I trust." I felt decidedly vexed at this man before me for having such tones in his voice.

      "Can I go up to Miss Axtell now?" I asked.

      "In a moment, when Kate has shown Doctor Eaton out."

      I picked up my powders and my illustrious book, and waited.

      Kate came.

      "The doctor says there's no need," she said, in her laconic way.

      Kate, I afterwards learned, was the daughter of the farmer that Sophie heard Miss Axtell consoling for the loss of his wife, one day.

MY DAPHNE

      My budding Daphne wanted scope

      To bourgeon all her flowers of hope.

      She felt a cramp around her root

      That crippled every outmost shoot.

      I set me to the kindly task;

      I found a trim and tidy cask,

      Shapely and painted; straightway seized

      The timely waif; and, quick released

      From earthen bound and sordid thrall,

      My Daphne sat there, proud and tall.

      Stately and tall, like any queen,

      She spread her farthingale of green;

      Nor stinted aught with larger fate,

      For that she was innately great.

      I learned, in accidental way,

      A secret, on an after-day,–

      A chance that marked the simple change

      As something ominous and strange.

      And so, therefrom, with anxious care,

      Almost with underthought of prayer,

      As, day by day, my listening soul

      Waited to catch the coming roll

      Of pealing victory, that should bear

      My country's triumph on the air,–

      I tended gently all the more

      The plant whose life a portent bore.

      The weary winter wore away,

      And still we waited, day by day;

      And still, in full and leafy pride,

      My Daphne strengthened at my side,

      Till her fair buds outburst their bars,

      And whitened gloriously to stars!

      Above each stalwart, loyal stem

      Rested their heavenly diadem,

      And flooded forth their incense rare,

      A breathing Joy, upon the air!

      Well might my backward thought recall

      The cramp, the hindrance, and the thrall,

      The strange release to larger space,

      The issue into growth and grace,

      And joyous hail the homely sign

      That so had spelled a hope divine!

      For all this life, and light, and bloom,

      This breath of Peace that blessed the room,

      Was born from out the banded rim,

      Once crowded close, and black, and grim,

      With grains that feed the Cannon's breath,

      And boom his sentences of death!

      CONCERNING DISAGREEABLE PEOPLE

      "On the whole, it was very disagreeable," wrote a certain great traveller and hunter, summing up an account of his position, as he composed himself to rest upon a certain evening after a hard day's work. And no doubt it must have been very disagreeable. The night was cold and dark; and the intrepid traveller had to lie down to sleep in the open air, without even a tree to shelter him. A heavy shower of hail was falling,–each hailstone about the size of an egg. The dark air was occasionally illuminated by forked lightning, of the most appalling aspect; and the thunder was deafening. By various sounds, heard in the intervals of the peals, it seemed evident that the vicinity was pervaded by wolves, tigers, elephants, wild-boars, and serpents. A peculiar motion, perceptible under horse-cloth which was wrapped up to serve as a pillow, appeared to indicate that a snake was wriggling about underneath it. The hunter had some ground for thinking that it was a very venomous one, as indeed in the morning it proved to be; but he was too tired to look. And speaking of the general condition of matters upon that evening, the hunter stated, with great mildness of language, that "it was very disagreeable."

      Most readers would be disposed to say that disagreeable was hardly the right word. No doubt, all things that are perilous, horrible, awful, ghastly, deadly, and the like, are disagreeable too. But when we use the word disagreeable by itself, our meaning is understood to be, that in calling the thing disagreeable we have said the worst of it. A long and tiresome sermon is disagreeable; but a venomous snake under your pillow passes beyond being disagreeable. To have a tooth stopped is disagreeable; to be broken on the wheel (though nobody could like it) transcends that. If a thing be horrible and awful, you would not say it was disagreeable. The greater includes the less: as when a human being becomes entitled to write D.D. after his name, he drops all mention of the M.A. borne in preceding years.

      Let this truth be remembered, by such as shall read the following pages. We are to think about disagreeable people. Let it be understood that (speaking generally) we are to think of people who are no worse than disagreeable. It cannot be denied, even by the most prejudiced, that murderers, pirates, slave-drivers, and burglars, are disagreeable. The cut-throat, the poisoner, the sneaking black-guard who shoots his landlord from behind a hedge, are no doubt disagreeable people,–so very disagreeable that in this country the common consent of mankind removes them from human society by the instrumentality of a halter. But disagreeable is too mild a word. Such people are all that, and a great deal more. And accordingly they stand beyond the range of this dissertation. We are to treat of folk who are disagreeable, and not worse than disagreeable. We may sometimes, indeed, overstep the boundary-line. But it is to be remembered that there are people who in the main are good people, who yet are extremely disagreeable. And a further complication is introduced into the subject by СКАЧАТЬ