Part 7

and some one had carelessly left a footstool on the porch, and as Dorris's foot struck it Endicott was the one to spring forward and save her from falling. Lifting her eyes to acknowledge the courtesy, she met such a look of quiet reproach that her "Thank you" came very humbly from so proud a young lady; and when she reflected on the subject at that trying moment which we have all experienced when we have regained our temper, and are taking a mental retrospect of the occasion when we very foolishly lost it, it was in vain that she tried to justify herself by repeating his sneering words. Remembering the look that followed them, she said, in self-abasement, "I had no right to judge him," and in her humiliation avoided meeting him so successfully that for several days after her cousin's departure she neither saw nor heard of him, until at last she heard with relief that he had gone away for a short time, on receiving news of the death of a cousin,--his nearest relative. But when week after week passed, and Aunt Dorothy had several times wondered aloud what had become of Mr. Endicott, Dorris began to wonder as well, and to miss the magnetic presence that made him so charming to all; indeed, she discovered, to her own uncontrollable disgust, that she missed him even more than her cousin, whose warm and generous nature had endeared him to all his new friends.

In the meantime Lieut. Allen called to say farewell to his former playmate, and the friend of his later years. What if Dame Rumor said he cherished a latent desire for a nearer title than either of these. Dorris said they were only firm and true friends; and the tenor of their talk seemed to prove that she was right, for as she turned from the old-time spinnet, where she had been singing the lovely little serenade of Thomas Heywood:--

"Pack clouds away, and welcome day; With night we banish sorrow; Sweet airs, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft, To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, plume thy wing, nightingale, sing, To give my love good-morrow!"

Allen said abruptly, "Dorris, for what are you waiting?"

"Waiting?" repeated Dorris, wonderingly.

"Yes; don't you remember

"While year by year the suitors come To find her locked in silence dumb?"

"If it was any one but my old friend Max I should make you a very low courtesy, and say, 'By your leave, fair sir, it is a matter of not the slightest consequence to _you_;' but I'll tell you the truth and nothing but the truth: I'm waiting for my hero, Max."

"For your hero? Yes; I thought you were. And what is he like? A fairy prince like the Sleeping Beauty's?"

"Don't be satirical: it doesn't suit you, Max," retorts Dorris.

"Satirical? I'm in the deepest earnest. Won't you describe him? I really wish to know."

"Well," began Dorris, "it is not exactly an easy thing to describe an imaginary person. He is no fairy prince, Max, but a strong and earnest man, a true and noble soul; a man who, for a good cause, would peril anything, a knight like Bayard of old: _sans peur et sans reproche_."

"Do you think you will ever find this ideal?" questions Max.

"No," is the prompt reply. "If there are such men, I have never met them. But I would far rather wait for the dim ideal than try the commonplace reality."

"But is all the reality commonplace? Let me tell you a story, Dorris; I shall not bore you, for it is not long: When I joined the army, in the first of the war, I went to tell an old friend, and to take leave of him. He was a peculiar fellow, seemingly cold, light and satirical, half-sneering at the ardent blaze of patriotism that was burning all around him, seeming to have no intention of serving his country in her need. And yet I knew him to be the truest, noblest, tenderest, and most loyal fellow among all my friends. He looked at me with real envy, and then exclaimed: 'I wish to Heaven I could go with you, Allen!' and I answered: 'Why don't you? I have never asked before because I knew you had some worthy reason.' After some hesitation, he began: 'Because you have never doubted or questioned me I will tell you why I am here, when every feeling is against my inactivity. You will keep my secret?' Of course I promised, and he went on: 'You know I am very wealthy, Max, that my income is, for these times, extremely large; but you do not know that, by my grandfather's will, the next heir, in case of my death, is my cousin, a man who aids and abets the Tories in every possible way, a man unscrupulous and unprincipled to the last degree. I have but one life; I might lay it down in my first battle, and that property, over which I have no control, would be worse than useless to my country. It would aid her foes, and, much as she needs men, she needs money even more. So I stay here, and put my income, as fast as I get it, to the national use. You know what my income is. I'll show you my expenses'; and he showed me the merest fraction--less than I spend myself, I began to expostulate on his endurance of suspicion and blame for what might be so nobly explained, but he would only say, 'Oh, it would sound quixotic and sentimental; and, after all, what does it matter? I know _myself_ that I am serving my country to the best of my poor ability.' But at last, Dorris, he is rewarded, for he was born to be a soldier; and when, three weeks ago, he received news of the sudden death of that cousin, he immediately enlisted, and is now serving his country in the way he has so long desired. What do you think of such a man as he?"

"He is a hero," answered Dorris, steadily, though a suspicion, quick as a ray of light, had flashed through her mind as to who this hero was. "A hero as true as any my fancy could paint. Who is he--this noble friend of yours?"

"Keith Endicott," is the quiet answer, adding, quickly, as he rose to take his leave. "Forgive me, sweet friend, that I could no longer bear that you should do injustice to him, for those quick words of yours the last evening we were all together have rankled in my heart, as I know they have in his, ever since."

Dorris was not too proud to acknowledge when she was in the wrong, and with winning grace she said, as she gave him her hand:--

"I thank you for the lesson you have taught me, Max. I was wrong to judge him so hardly, but be assured I will make full amends when we meet again."

Then the good-bys were said, the good wishes given, and the last of Dorris's three cavaliers had left her.

* * * * *

Summer has gone, and snow lies white upon the ground, and we find Dorris seated before the old desk, whose secret drawer is no longer empty, but holds a faded cluster of roses and forget-me-nots, writing busily in her diary a record not only of the day's doings but of the varying emotions which each day brought to life. The words the busy hand is tracing are these:--

"Jan. 2, 1779. Yesterday was the beginning of the New Year, and as I wondered what it would bring me,--joy or grief, pleasure or pain,--I saw a carriage come up the drive-way and then stop, while the driver assisted to the door a figure in a soldier's uniform. In a moment I was in the hall, and my arms around my brother--for it was my own bravest Roy. He had often written us, but we received none of his letters: they were either intercepted or lost. But, oh, how can I forgive myself when I think to whom I owe my brother's life! that, when Roy was surrounded by enemies, and desperately wounded, it was Keith Endicott who rushed to his aid, and, fighting against fearful odds, bore him alive from the field, at the cost of a sabre cut on his own hand. It was he who saw Roy daily in his long struggle with death, and when that dreadful presence was banished it was he who cared for his safe transportation home, to enjoy the rest which is the only means of giving him back his old strength and vigor. And Roy almost worships Keith, as well he may, saying he is the idol of the soldiers, who have dubbed him the hero of the regiment.

"The New Year has truly brought me happiness, for my brother is with me safe once more; our armies are fast gaining ground, our victories are more numerous, and hope dawns that the flag of liberty will yet wave triumphantly over a free and happy nation; and I can once more mingle a song and not a sob with the busy hum of my wheel."

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Two years have passed; Yorktown has been fought and won, and Dorris's hopeful words are verified. The flag of liberty is unfurled over a free and happy nation,--a nation with its history yet before it, with only its darkest and yet most glorious record traced indelibly on the annals of the world. The New Year has come again, and Dorris, with her spinning-wheel, is wondering what it will bring her. The door opens suddenly, and some one announces, "Col. Endicott, Miss Gordon."

For a moment Dorris loses sight of everything but a tall figure in the quaint Continental uniform, and only hears the old, light tones say, "Will the fair Goddess of Liberty welcome the soldier as he comes back from fighting his own battles, as she bade him?"

And Dorris, with a blush for the memory he recalls, bravely confesses her fault and her gratitude, and ends very humbly, "Can you forgive me, Col. Endicott?" stealing a look up at the grave face.

"Forgive you, dear child! Do you not know that I have loved you all the time? Now that you know I am a little better than you thought me can you trust me for the rest? Can you love me a little, sweet Dorris?"

There was no lightness now, only deep, loving tenderness; and Dorris answered trustingly:--

"I have been waiting for my hero, and I have found him, Keith."

And there we will leave them, while the dancing fire-light shows us the pretty scene beside Dorris's dear little spinning-wheel, and the silvery beams of the rising moon bring to Dorris the beginning of a new and happy life with the advent of a new year.

But ah, Great-grandmother Dorris, stately and demure in your lavender brocade, and your feathered and powdered hair, do you know you were not so very unlike the Dorrises of to-day, after all? And they have spinning-wheels, too, with their flax tied with blue ribbons. And think you that these wheels see no romances? Ah, but they can't _tell_ them, you know, pretty Grandmother Dorris.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

It often happens that the worst effects of wrong-doing are visited upon neither the criminal nor upon those who have suffered in person or property by his crime. This fact is emphasized by the recent suicide of a convict's wife, in one of our New England States, after having killed her two children. This incident furnishes a dreadful commentary on the condition of those dependent upon convicted criminals who are paying the penalty of their crimes. For the convict there is abundant sympathy. As the _St. Louis Globe Democrat_ well puts it, societies are organized for the purpose of improving his mind, and cooking-clubs toil and perspire at Christmas and Thanksgiving to the end that his body may not suffer; tract-distributors provide him with reading matter, and sewing-circles warm him with flannel under-wear; doctors look after his health, and legislators vie with each other in seeing that he is not overworked; but, if there is any society organized for the purpose of helping the wife whom he has disgraced, and most likely left penniless at home, its name has not yet been made public; if any sewing-circle has undertaken to clothe his children, the fact has not been heralded to the world. Yet the heaviest part of the punishment falls not on the convict but on his family, the members of which, by one of those unjust society decisions from which there is no appeal, are stigmatized with disgrace on account of an offence in which they had no part. This is grossly unjust, and those who are benevolently inclined should take the matter in hand and see what can be done for the wives and children of convicts.

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New England has no representative in the national legislature upon whose career she can look with more of pride and satisfaction than that of Gen. Joseph R. Hawley, of Connecticut. A man of sound learning, and many of the highest qualities of statesmanship; he is unpretentious in manner, lives simply, is free from egotism, and full of the generous and manly qualities which inspire confidence and compel friendliness. Few men, of this generation at least,--as will be universally recognized a little later if not now,--have approached nearer to the popular ideal of a representative American in public life. There could be no better evidence of the manly independence which he brings to the discussion of measures of importance than his attitude with reference to the bill intended to provide for the maintenance of an army of such size and efficiency as to provide for all possible contingencies arising from foreign aggression or internal troubles. In recognition of the fact that we have lawless elements in all of our large cities always ready to avail themselves of any pretext for riot and incendiarism, he urged the wisdom of providing such safeguards against these uprisings as would be afforded by disciplined and efficient troops ready for instant service at any point. Some of the demagogues in the Senate, hypocritically posing as friends of the working-men, endeavored to distort this common-sense and patriotic view into an intention to use the army for the crushing of the working-men. There have been few better speeches in the Senate in recent times than Senator Hawley's temperate but cutting reply to these pseudo-friends of labor. It affords sufficient evidence, if any were wanting, that the true friends of the working-men are those who have the courage of their convictions, even when to utter them may afford opportunity for misrepresentation and abuse.

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The report of a recent attempt to wreck a train on the Maine Central Railroad is not so startling as it would be were this species of crime of less frequent occurrence; but it is noteworthy as being the sixth attempt of the kind at the same place within a few years. It is very fortunate that so many of these dastardly efforts to bring innocent people to destruction prove futile. In fact it is comparatively seldom that the boldest attempts at train-wrecking result in loss of life. The awful possibilities, however, which lie within the hands of the train-wrecker suggest most forcibly that this crime should be treated with unusual severity. The person who would indiscriminately bring the passengers of a moving train to death must invariably, if sane, be a criminal of the darkest dye. Murder of an individual, even when coming within the first degree, is not often without some particular aggravation on the part of the victim. But train-wrecking must always be the result of the purest malice,--of diabolism unalloyed. No palliating circumstance ever suggests itself. The villain attempts to kill not one who has involved himself in a quarrel with him, but peaceable, unsuspecting men, women, and children, without distinction. And attempts of this kind have become so frequent, and the crime is at once so cowardly, so insidious, and so dastardly, that no pains to apprehend the villain can ever be too great, nor can any penalty that is allowed for any crime be too severe for this. If capital punishment is to be on our statute books for anything, it should certainly be for the train-wrecker. Let there be a law which shall with certainty bring to the hangman's noose every person who makes even an attempt to destroy a moving train, and this fiendish crime may be less frequent than it now is.

HISTORICAL RECORD.

March 19.--Under this date Mayor Chapman, chairman of the Committee on Invitation for the Centennial Celebration at Portland, Maine, which is to occur on the 4th of July next, issued a circular saying: "The Committee on Invitation of the Centennial Committee desire to have a record prepared of the names of Sons and Daughters of Portland who are residents in other places, to whom invitations to attend the Centennial Anniversary can be sent. For that purpose they request information of such absentees, including those who were born here--those whose parents, or husbands, or wives were natives of our city, and also those not natives who were former residents. Such information can be communicated by letter or otherwise to John T. Hull, Clerk of Committee, at Room No. 18, City Hall."

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March 21.--Fire at Newburyport destroyed two shoe factories and a three-tenement block; another block was nearly destroyed, and other buildings were damaged. Total loss, $75,000.

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April 1.--Celebration at Lowell of the fiftieth anniversary of the incorporation of the city. In the forenoon an historical address was given by C. C. Chase, formerly principal of the High School; in the afternoon Mayor Abbott gave an address, followed by an oration by Hon. F. T. Greenhalge.

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April 4.--Fire at Westboro', Mass., destroyed shoe factories and damaged other buildings, with a total loss of $90,000.

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April 7.--The State election in Rhode Island resulted in the election for governor of George Peabody Wetmore for a second term. The prohibitory constitutional amendment was adopted.

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April 7.--Quarterly meeting of the New England Historic Genealogical Society. Judge Cowley, of Lowell, read a paper on "Judicial Falsification of History."

Rev. Increase N. Tarbox, D.D., the historiographer, reported that since Jan. 1 there had been fifteen deaths among the members. Memorial sketches of seven deceased members were reported, namely: Nicholas Hoppin, D.D., a resident member, born in Providence R.I., Dec. 3, 1812, died in Cambridge, Mass., March 8, 1886. Ex-president William Smith Clark, resident member, born in Ashfield, Mass., July 31, 1826, died in Amherst, Mass., March 9, 1886. George H. Allan, a resident member, born in Boston, Mass., June 16, 1832, died in Boston, March 15, 1886. William Temple, a resident member, born in Reading, Mass., Sept. 15, 1801, died in Woburn, Mass., March 18, 1886. Archbishop Richard Chenevix French, corresponding member, born in Dublin, Ireland, Sept. 7, 1807, died March 27, 1886. John Bostwick Morean, corresponding member, born in New York City, Oct. 12, 1812, died in same city, March 10, 1886. John Gerrish Webster, life member, born in Portsmouth, N.H., April 8, 1811, died in Boston, Feb. 7, 1886. Francis Minot Weld, life member and benefactor, born in Boston, April 27, 1815, died in Jamaica Plain, Feb. 4, 1886.

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April 7.--Terrible disaster to a Fitchburg Railroad train near Bardwell's Ferry, on the State road. Ten persons were killed and twenty-two injured.

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April 13.--Regular meeting of the Bostonian Society. The following life members were admitted: Charles Francis Adams, Jr., Thomas Mack, William Minot, Jr., Jonathan A. Lane, Clarence J. Blake, M.D., Amos A. Lawrence, Nahum Chapin, William Caleb Loring, J. A. Woolson. The essay was by Alexander S. Porter, on "Real Estate Values in Boston During the Present Century." The highest priced land which the essayist had heard of in Boston is the estate bought by H. D. Parker at the corner of Tremont and School streets, 1,984 square feet, for $200,000, or about $100 per foot. The cheapest he had heard of was that of Harrison Gray Otis, on the west slope of Beacon Hill, he having obtained it by squatter sovereignty. In closing he said that real estate has proved to be a safe investment in Boston, and many wealthy families have gained a large share of their wealth simply by the rise of real-estate values.

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April 13.--At an adjourned meeting of the people of Lexington who are interested in the formation of an historical society, an organization was effected by the choice of the following-named officers: president Hon. A. E. Scott; vice-presidents, M. H. Merriam, W. A. Tower, Miss K. Whitman, Miss M. E. Hudson; treasurer, L. A. Saville; recording secretary, A. E. Locke; corresponding secretary, Rev. E. G. Porter; historian, Rev. C. A. Staples; custodian, Dr. R. M. Lawrence.

April 13.--Celebration of the incorporation of the new town of Hopedale. At sunset a salute of eighty-six guns was fired by Battery B, of Worcester, Hopedale being the eighty-sixth town incorporated in Massachusetts during this century. Joy bells were then rung for one hour. Then followed an illumination with fireworks. This town was set off from Milford after a hard struggle in the Legislature.

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April 13.--Dedicatory exercises of the new county building in Ellsworth, Me. The Rev. Dr. Tenney opened the exercises by prayer, and Hon. John B. Redman introduced Hon. N. B. Coolidge, chairman of the county commissioners, who presented the buildings to the court and county in appropriate remarks. Mr. Coolidge was followed by C. A. Spofford, president of the Hancock county bar; Chief-Justice Peters, who reviewed the history of the county in an interesting speech; Judge Haskell, of Portland, and Hon. Eugene Hale.

NECROLOGY.

March 21.--Death from apoplexy of Col. B. W. Hoyt, secretary and treasurer of the New Hampshire Club, treasurer of the B. W. Hoyt Shoe Company of Epping, and special commissioner of the Boston & Maine Railroad.

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March 23.--Judge Joseph McKean Churchill, of the Central Municipal Court of Boston, died at his home in Milton, aged 64 years. He was graduated from Harvard in 1840, and from the Law School in 1845. He served as captain in the Forty-fifth Massachusetts Regiment during the war. He was appointed to the bench in December, 1870.

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April 3.--Death at Philadelphia of Theodore C. Hersey of Portland, Me. He was born in Gorham, Me., in 1812. He early went to Portland, where he formed a partnership with St. John Smith in the West India trade. Mr. Hersey was one of the proprietors of the International line of steamers, and for many years was its president, resigning, on account of ill health, about a year ago. He was one of the founders of the Board of Trade, and its president in 1863-68 and 1873-74, and a charter member of the Merchant's Exchange.

April 4.--Death of George L. Claflin, a prominent wholesale druggist, of Providence, R.I., aged 63 years. He had been a member of the Common Council and the General Assembly, and took an active part in banking and insurance corporations.

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April 5.--Death of Dr. George A. Bethune, of Boston. He was born there, in 1812, and was graduated at Harvard College in 1831. He studied medicine in the Harvard Medical School, and also abroad, and having made eye and ear diseases a specialty, practised until about ten or fifteen years ago, when he retired. He was at one time connected with the Massachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary.

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