Tales and Sketches.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume 4, Issue 1090, 3 June 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)

Tales and Sketches.

ONLY TEN MINUTES; < ORrIVHATvMY:DREAM'TOIiD"MEr-

Tho Kenvicka woro always a large family. W-henlwajajad, I drewup a genealogical table, whence it' appeared that Arthur' Georgo FordKbnriokj was at that period.tho jibssessbro'f (eleven Lunoles. andi aunts on; my father's •sido,\of twenty-eight first cousins in tlio pbrsons i of. their-: children, and of eight brothers and.sißters of; my own. ..; I ■ was•' the eldest son My oldest Hncler-my Uncle George, :tt. wit,'who .was also'rny.go'd'father, as my second .name tesof.our tribe, and flio- head; of..the ;fifm of Kenfick/and Co,, merchants of Shanghai,, ;.My, fathorjhad also made a very fespectablo .fortune as a colonial broker; myioth'er uncles were all prosperous ■fathers _ of. families, and .my. aimts were i all flourishing .mothers.-.As ;mybranch: of the family treoievplbped (from .the .budding stago of .thEunursery.and schoolroom, my sistors bade fair to follow tho good example of their aniitfljiahdjhy brother? ; fo tako after their unoles, I must ask my reader to get it well into/ jhisjhead .'fhnj, J; jam; (distinctly a member, of ,a very largo, and exceedingly marking' 'family''oh: my; father's,'.side.;. That Bbomingly; imrtiatei'ial'accident'. Ib : tho' very rrfotofmVjWlioiestoty.' : '. '- !! " : , ; ' :; .'|'"'; •, ''The bnly to- of likeness which' governed the Keriricks in general Was', untir''iriy' bwil : birth,' my Undo .' He alo'lie had.' heVor''married; 'indqe'd,! ho lib'tll. prbfeised' an'd practiced such mifejogvnib principle's : 'ds''t'6' have;earned for Wmself theriairi'e'.o'f''"'the'bidbachelor" at nineteen years old'. ! He had never stumbled pver:sp; mtfch''as the', mores't 'threshold 'of flirtation.' Ho was friendly.with liis sisters-in-la.vt'. arid fond of, his 'nieces,' but a strange petticpat'was'a terror to hiini ' A'rtiore easygoing,'|enial;iiiaham'ongmenWW riot to bo found in M .world' 'than -George'Kenrick; ml the, appearance' of a wbrMacted onlii'm like a sudden' frost in summer, Nbr : did he, l)y any means, coricear his'objection l! to the sex at large, but was a public arid 1 open railer at women and their ways; bo that, in spite of bis good looks, good heart,, good temper and good' fortune, hia enemies'gavehimup ns a hopeless, caso; and left him alone. ~.. But.it so happened that Uncle George took it into his head that he. would, like to have a son and heir, so long as,,he could manage it without the help of'anything in the shape ,of womankind, Naturally, as soon as I came into the iworld, Uncle' George was.asked to be my, godfather J and I had the advantage, it will be .'remembered, of being 'the firstborn of the brother who came next to him, And, curiously enough,'it so happened that, as I grew up, I became even less like atypical Kenrick'than he; Iwas idleat my books; I was a dunce at arithmetic; -Iwas mortally afraid of little girls.' But I had a, consuming passion for paints and pencils, and one lucky or unlucky day J made a shameless caricature of Uncle :Gedrge : himself,; which happened to fall into his own hands.. ■,, I pan see,him.now,, tuning it upside down; and downside up, and round and round; arid' I .canisee, his .frown .trying .to keep itself from | turning into a smile.' ,It was. really a very; ■good bit of art in its way, j believe. "If a'her'ring and a half cost three halfpence, how. many can you buy for twopence ?," asked ho, ;' •'•■'■■ i am sometimes uncertain of the correct answer.to this'day; : but I'said'then, at a venture, "Oneandaquarter."". \ - , "You'll doj my lad I" said Uncle George,; cordially. " I'd give my eyes to be a painterj instead of. a China merchant, but I never' could draw a straight line, and I never could' ! manage to got loss than value for my mpney. Never.mind—we'll have an artist in the family yet, and HI bo he—by deputy. Ami if ever you get as far as 'rule.oUhree.i; I'll— rf , ' ";,. What he would do I know not. But he had a long talk with my father that same day. And it became an understood thing in ! the family (which could well afford tho disappointment) that I was to study art at Uncle George's expense, and was to be his sole heir; in effect, that I was to be given over to him. So said, so done,. It is not his fault that I am hot a'better painter than I am. Or rather, it is his fault; for I should surely have studied harder had I not known myself to be a sole heir, under his will, to all the results of the business at Shanghai, My .father also altered his will; and as I was more than amply provided for, divided among my eight brothers and'sisters what ivould havo been my share of his fortune My history thenceforth, up to tho age of about eight-and-twenty, is soon told. I was 'taken from school and put to painting, which I followed with much more pleasure than industry, and without exceeding my very handsome allowance by .more than was natural in one who never could understand the price of herrings. My uncle returned to Shanghai,- and very soon 'afterward' my fafher died,' leaving behind him the will I have described.' '■ . ; It was in the autumn of a never-to-be forgottenyear'thai; I started alone on a' sketching.tpur, in North Wale's, .arid'arrived on foot atiijie;little inn of.LfanpwlK. The next day I rambled about in search .of.;a subject all day: long,- ;dined, luxuriously: on' trout, and then slepta single sleep forten hours .withouta'single dream; "And I ne'ver'felt so ref reshed'ahd sd'vigorous as I' did at -breakfast time on that next morning,,;! had found a' that, satisfied'me 'with its prpmiso, anil I was eager to begin;; But .lor oncel had reckoned, without my, hostess—Fortune. Quelle very spot, j. had .chosen for.myself. yesterday, there eat au : .earlier...birdrintenti upon.my'.iwornlr-a rival wooer.of Nature,' painting as if shofiad not an ■ instant of her life to'lose'; ..#i?r my rival was a 1 she,' ■■■ i' ■■••'■■ ••

Owing to' the nature'of the jiath; Iliad cpme upon her almost before IsaV her'.; and she'was far' too absorbed to'; have heard riiy coming.i I hardly knew what to do','. I never, felt more'eager for work; I hail lived of:moOd-humoring, and I felt as,if I-must ncodspaint that pietufeornorie;'aatl to-day: or ■ never. '. And i yet > there was - no "possible way of saying to her, " Pardon me/but this bit'of:'Nature is retained.'- ■•Meanwhile-'I took a gdod : .long .look at her 1 ;, for .one does nof-ror.'l'ithenn those'days did, not-meet a ; , wandering sketcher iu petticoats .every day! at,mit ; of-the-way like, Llanpwll. And" less,often,still one used, to meet'sketehprs iu petticoat 3 likp hei; :j. and, not moro often now : than tlieu.r Uncle Georgo; no.■doubt, would have run away, I kept my ground. .1 ■Slie waa : beyorid- all • question ! a reliiarkably pretty girl-^real!y,pretty, 'and not merely 1 ' froin' i: ii pdinter'f 'point , ! of' view, .'She was ! very pretty/and Very little' and/very young.' She! wag.a.lftdy,' every inch, 'that this necessarily, amounts tomuch,',aeoirig how ■ N f her.incites ,wqre, ;!,and she Was tastefully as:>vell,as Bei)siblyidressed, . ,■ i i;; ■,, :i , But, nevertheless,'she. had pioked up,my particular worm/ r. So ■ I 'did tho only thing that'se'emod' to be;left' me. 'Hei'o was ah rtd:: ventjuty anyhow', 11 There 'was,'a' convenient' bit'o'f rdck' ; . l ih:'whieli I cbuld-.sit very Coiri' foriably and unseen—unless 'she happened' to; lijpk .up,' winch did. not ■seem at' all likely,! Lclimbed to without,making any noise,, put a block on my' knees and began to; sketch—Her.;i : • ';/.. ] ,- ; ~';':',!!'' -So she sketched the r sceiio, and I, till I could-get my innings, sketched the sketcher:: Asthomimitbs wont by I began to think' m'eahs'the'worst 6f ; thqj)ar-' 'gain.- : y Tfierc 'is plenty/, of •naturo'in 'Nbr'tly 1 wales,'' : but':there are, not.'niatfy°girls like thisiirinnture,''.-Presently I,began to hope thatihe) wouldnojt'.leaY.c to? soon;

at'leastjnot' untii I had done enough to make :n;pictaro of her at leisure,; She Worked>hafd M I ; -faster; ; aiid, jtwenty times at least I caught'-some lietv J light or shade of expression that-obliged me to begin in spirit all over again. Never had J.found a subjeot that-had. interested me, nay, fascinated, me more—nevor since I caricatured Unole Georgo. .. At last.she laid down,.her. work and rose,. "An'dJloTny dismay, "blio 'did'look "up, aiid v ßhe,sa\v,measplainly,as.l saw,her, ..I.laidj my blookjface.downward,iaS'guiltyasJfJl .had been caught red-handed in the middle! pfaorime. ..-.,> , .-.■:; ;,.•,.(:.,., : .. ■„■ [ ;,:. !;'Sir,", she said,- very .quietly and calmly, but,in.a, voice-a,vory. sweet one, by tho way -that.seomed somehow t to hido.a smile, Vi would,you mind beipgiSO kind asj to hand me down a small baakofc ; that : • you. will find behind that bit ,6f rocb on- your left hand ? Thank you ;,I am very much obliged." L ■. , ,As all the world ;knOws, there are exactly elgven. thousand, : three hundred and. forty. five.;ways in:,which a/girl can speak to a atrango young man,whom she ■ meets alone by chance and for tho first time,. The.way in.whioh this girl .spoke to me was in the Jiest of thorn, ,It was. most clearly not meant Qithor„:to attract or, to encourage or to.serve fQr ice-bfeakiiig, or, on tho .other, hand, to impress or.repel; she.wanted something, and she was not afraid tq.ask for it .simply,, and that was, all. It implied at once the courage that..oomoa from ; .trust ( ;and the I( trust-that comes from, courage,.,,.l; suppose l she. had never had oause,to ; fear or mistrust any fellow human 50u1,,: ~ ■; > ■,;'.- . ~-.' She opened;the.basket I had handed her, .took put some, sandwiches and a bottle of milk, and began to eat, a_s unconoornedly as if po male creature were; by to.see, ; But .if she for, fear, why-not being uncle. •.., „;,,. ~.. :..". beseem, both to have been caught by .the same-bit,',' said I, "This is what I was hunting for, all yesterday. But I suppose you know.this country well? '.'j ~ i :i '.v?.ret.ty; well/!-, said she, 1 "But-may I not.offer.you some of my dinner, as you don't seem to, have brought" any of your own ? ".■ , • yJ'Ldon't know how to sayjfo; but I must say it,.if.l may, I should like to see your mornjngVwork, though-—if—," ; ■( ".Certainly," said' alio, handing mo.'.up a sketch ..which,, combined., with, her entire freedom-from all shyness about the matt'r, settled at oncOifor.mo thequeation of whether she was artist or amateur, Boyond question sko was fully „as much an artist as I, and probably a.great, deal more, • "I'm afraid it is a sadlibeJ, though. ; \yill-you, please, let .mo see yours?" , , _ ..., ::...".Of course—r"l.was beginning, when I suddenly remembered ..what my morning's .work had been, J suspected myself of coloring,, and, the, ; suspicion fulfilled itself,.l, am sure, in the usual way. " Ob, .mine-I'm afraid,"l,said, leaping at whateyerjlie.was nearest to hand—," I'm afraid I must plead guilty tp hideous laziness in the face of your industry. I've been all this while going to begin, J wanted the afternoon lightj you see—-" ■■. , ,'" ,

" How lucky! it is afternoon now. I wish you would let me watch;you.work, .if I may? It will be a grand chance forme."' "But you are yourself a painter, are not you ? And a fine one. I can't pretend.' But our common choice of a subject should be a sort of introduction between us, any way. I've no doubt I am arguing myself unknown not to know you, and shall feel ashamed of my ignorance when I find out who you are." For I was certain by this time that I had fallen in with somebody who was somebody in the world of art, and whoso name and works at least I ought to know," "I don't think it likely that you ever heard of me," she said, a little stiffly. "I suppose yon como from London, I don't, You are not likely to havo heard of—of—of —Mildred Ashton, And as to being a painter, I only know I am a very poor one indeed."

"Then all I can say is, you •will not remain unknown or poor for long. You have genius, Miss Ashton; that is a big word, but a true one."

Her whole face lighted up with pleasure. "Do you really mean what you say.? asked she.

" I hope I always mean what I say," said I, stupidly enough. It did not even strike mcas strango that such chance companions as we were should be begining to talk as if we were friends. I only noticed her childlike pleasure at my speech, and that it was far too simple and natural to be called vain. '' And you are a real painter ?" she asked, "It isiny calling. Isn't it yours ?" "I have no other. But I want teaching very badly indeed, I have told yon my name, What is yours?"

" Arthur Kenriok." "No doubt I ought to know it, only I don't," said she, nearly echoing my words, "Tho only Kenrick I ever heard of is a friend of a cousinof mine, who lives in China, at a place called Shanghai—" " What I You kndwmy uncle, Miss Ashton ? This is strange inde?d! lam the nephew of George Kenrick of Shanghai," .''.N0,.1 don't kuow.him," said .Miss Ashton.'.. ( 'fßut why.js' it strange that your uncle should know, my cousin, when they both live in the same'town ?' However, lam glad tokhow it is 'so, and, therefore, a little ab'outwhoyo'u are.. Are you not going to begin?"' ; ' ;', '.'"'', .'.'. It is only a great deal too easy to write down empty words. '. But,until some inaii of; sciQncefinda.out'llbw to reproduce theirione' and color, the pen must- be.content to be to 1 the, tongue what a'mere photograph is to a picturp. r I am obliged to, be. vain, enough to suppose'that Miss Ashtpn took me .forsome sort ~of -a gentleman, .which means a man to! , whom any woman may speiik 'freely under' j any circumstances and <it ( any.timo. ~But she must havd been 1 exceptionally, a ; lady tb'aocept her freedom as, so jnuph' ;'a matter pi course, and withput'thp least'shadow-of a'

thought that her niakjng.'a stranger's ',acrjuaintance in this fashion might'be thought a little stage by others. I only wish .1 had power of saying' exactly 'what I'mean, 1 can only ,wish' that wo'all lived in a,world where introductions and credentials , could, bo ignored as foolish forms. 'As it is,; tlibs'e that ignore them'must either be jworse and more' foolish than their neighbors, jo'r else aa wise asthe'serpent'ahd as harmless jas the,,dive, And nobody who' liad eyes and Could doubt for a moment as to which' 'order Mildred Ash-ton belonged. I worked lahd-she watched,-for the':greater part.of the [afternoon, without any;,talk worth mention:. Ji'ng.-fl learned no mote' about her than her |namo,aud gathered no moro otherwise than ithat she was poor, lived outside the'gates of jthe world; and loved: her art in a -.very-dif-ferent fashion from mine. I felt as if, until jto-dayj I hadiibeen living—no,'not living—.i jexistingT-withoutasoul- . ■.....'.■, ,i

I ' How our, meetings grew into a habit,-very imatter-ofcourse.on iher part, full of .excite(incut on ,im'ne, would be far too long to say, :There was cortainly nothing unnatural, howlever, iu the growth of a friendship between itwo'wquld-bo artists of whom one waited help and the other wanted—everythiug. We liad'found one another in a world to which conventions did not belong, in which people soon learn to know other apart from the accidents of fortune. There was qppt-ainW no very great harm for her to (jncl.out inipe, and there was nothing but good in her. Lot inc. leap'to the end at onco—l'knew Iliad fouudher.whomust.be'my wife, whatever else she might lie; and sometimes I hoped, and sometimes despaired.',

Jliaye'paid-that I heycr dreamed. But one night, aiter 'a Jong, afternoon .spent in Mildred. 8. ,c'9mpn,ny,.» new and .strange expe-. riehe'e, happened to me, I djd dream. Regu'lar,/ and : experienced (jreamefs inay not

think my .'dream'a particular strange or remor,kable v iQne.-';ißut'it was remarkably ■strange to inly just because it was a dream. It was not of Mildred. Professed dreamers tell me that dreams very Beldom relate to the days which they follow; that the fullness of-the_'heart:may be often the-moving oause,but very rarely fashions tho .form. liseemci tome, with pxtraordinary-vlvidnosa,' bliat' some, genii of an Arabian.. midnight had. transported iihe "to SJiaffghai;* 1 At least I suppose it must We been' Shanghai, though the plaoo was more like >what, in ; my. waking fancies, I imagine Pokin or any typically Qhinese city to.be. j I can remember, noticing ; without any surprise. that all tho Jiouses,. and,, even many people .who .crowded the streets, were made of porcelain, mostly blue and .whits, and, all exceedingly small | the buildings did not reach above ,my shoulders;.nor tho people, much abovo my .kn«es.„ ; Nobody, however, noticed ,mo, and this did : not surprise me 'a; little, .though I have been .toldithat, incapacity, for, feeling surprise at anything is .the grand test of a dream.j So, ; if this.;theory be oorreot,,l was not .dreaming at all, but was really in Shanghai,,or, Peking or whatever it may bo. I .walked about tho. streets, in;search of some unknown something,,careful not, to crack any, of the porcelain .with the large stick I carried,:,Presently!,had; a curious, feeling of laborious oppression, especially about the jmees,. which seemed,to; have becomesuddely loaded with ,iead, so heavy to :they;.,;.!.Btjl! labored on, and the..oppression I felt took; an external.form, as.if my own personality extended : itself .outwardly from me to everything, about me, ; The. air, became a thick yellow cloud, very hot, andal.most stifling,, with., a ; disagreeable flavor, like what I suppose a London fog ,in tho dog-' days would be.-,, How. I managed to enter one of the'porcelain dolls';houses, I know not; but I must have done.so, fori.pre-' sently found myself in a large room, .papered all over with playing,cards, and here! saw Uncle George. , ; ~,' ;■ ' „',". It.didnot surprise me that he was standing upright in a brass .cpndlestick-that seemed quite as natural as thai.he was burning in some indescribable, manner with a wick and.a flame.. .If.l shut my eyes I can I see it all now as clearly as then, for never was any \yaking impression more vivid; and yet fprthe life of me I.cannot describe the exact manner in,which he was identified with a lighted candle, ,The really, extraordinary part of the matter was that the flat dish of.the candlestick had twostems,.ahd that in jthe second, and in like manner, burned the figure of a woman, ,\yhoae, face. did not seem wholly strange.to me, though I could not connect it with any face I had ever seen. I could not tell whether.Uncle George saw mo or no. 'He and the woman became more and • more, distinctly candle-like without losing their original natures j {in a way they were being transformed into candles without in the least ceasing to bo entirely themselves. I did not confuse myself with "what! saw—another, unusual feature,' I am toid,ina dream, Presently the melted greases began to run down, and to encircle the .human candles with broad spiral folds. I'counted the ; folds as,they'formed themselves with sirig'u- ; lar regularity-one, two, three, four, five, : six, seven, eight, nine; a tenth was half- i formed, when suddenly the two flames began '. to splutter, and then to leap and flicker. I i saw that they were on the point of going out, : and wondered which of the two would be the ; first to go. It was the woman—out she went, i and I saw her no more. My.uncle still i burned on, but always in the same un- i wholesome way. Sometimes his flame started ; up, yellow and clear; sometimes it splut- ) tered down to a blue point, like the light of i a glowworm, I was about to speak to him ' when out he went also; arid,'after a rush. | through leagues of air, I found myself trans- J ported back from China to my bed at Llan- I pwll, as unrefreshed as if my journey had < been real, (To k continued,)