The Bay State Monthly. Volume 2, No. 2, November, 1884

"You say nothing, Mistress Royal," said Waldo; "but it may be you've heard it before, since you and Mistress Eveleigh are in the same house."

"Yes," she answered, "I have heard it before." She moved her head quickly as she spoke, and as the moonlight struck her face, Archdale fancied that he saw a moist brightness in her eyes. But certainly no tear fell, and when the next moment Katie declared it Elizabeth's turn for a story, she told some trifling anecdote that had in it neither sentiment nor heroism. It was laughable though, and was about to receive its deserts of praise when at Archdale's first word Elizabeth cried, eagerly:—

"Don't, please. It was not worth telling; only I could remember nothing else."

At this entreaty Harwin stared at her, and his lip curled disdainfully under the hand that partially covered his face. "Have you so much wealth of fascination, young lady," his thoughts ran, "that you can afford to scatter your coins in this way? I rather think not." His eyes rested upon her for a moment as she sat looking at Katie Archdale, and the scorn of his mouth deepened. "Admiration of one woman for another," he commented. "Pshaw! the girl lavishes everything; she will soon be bankrupt. She is drinking in the intoxication of Katie's beauty just as—no, not like me, of course. If ever there could be excuse for such a thing it would be here, for Katie is bewitching, she is perfect; affectionate, too, but with no nonsense about her. She reserves her admiration for—for whom does she reserve it? For the proud young nabob beside her, or for the good-humored little coxcomb over here? It shall be for neither; it shall be for me. I, too, can be fascinating when I take the trouble. Fair lady, I have plans for you."

"Master Harwin," cried the girl's clear voice, interrupting his thoughts, "why don't you begin? We're waiting for you."

"Pardon me," he answered, "I was not aware of it. Well, since you are inexorable, I'll try. I will not attempt anything in this New World, which you all know so much more about than I do, for then there'd be every chance of my being heavily fined. But if you want a story of Old England, perhaps on that ground I can barely escape my forfeit."

"We shall be delighted," said Miss Royal, courteously, for Katie, to whom she saw that he was speaking, was at the moment claimed by Archdale; he was saying something to her in a low voice, and she gave him willing attention.

Only a flash in the narrator's eyes as he began showed that he noticed this.

CHAPTER II.

OPPORTUNITY

"Once upon a time, then," he said, "in Scotland, no matter in what part, there dwelt two disconsolate people. They ought to have been very happy, for they were lovers, but, as you may have noticed, lovers are happy only under the condition that love runs smooth, and here it was extremely rough. The suitor was of ancient family and poor, the lady was charming, and wilful—and an heiress? You are all waiting to hear me say that—no, she was poor, too. And so you see that a doubling of impecuniosity was quite impossible, for poverty rolls up fast in a geometrical progression. But the lovers had no such scruples. It's a romantic story enough if I could tell it to you in detail."

"And why not?" cried Katie, whose interest was making him wish that were possible.

"I should have to go back for generations, and tell you of family feuds as old as the families themselves, a Montague and Capulet state of affairs, although each family had so much respect for the golden amenities of life that its possession by the other would have softened the asperity of feeling. But each was poor,—poor, I mean, for people in that station.

"The lady, as I said, was a beauty; the gentleman had extra will enough when it was roused to make up for the absence of beauty, although, indeed, the lady was not lacking in that quality either, and so, opposition made them only more determined to have their own way. It was impossible to run away,—she was too well guarded; defiance was the only thing, and I must confess that from what I knew of them both, I think they enjoyed it. The Capulets, as I will call them, were dissenters, the Montagues belonged to the Established Church. Now, the Capulets were very zealous, and at this time a famous itinerant preacher came into their neighborhood. They, being the greatest people in the place, invited him to stay at their house during his visit. He often preached in the open air. One day, at the end of one of those eloquent discourses, a young man in countryman's dress came up and asked him to marry himself and a young woman whom he had been waiting upon a long time, but who had refused to be married unless this very preacher could perform the ceremony. 'She said it would be a blessed wedlock of your joining,' pursued the young fellow. The preacher, although he was a great man, was only human,—it is well, I suppose, that we never outgrow our humanity,—and felt flattered by the young girl's belief in his sanctity. He proposed the next day for the ceremony, and was arranging to marry the rustic couple on the lawn before the house of his host when the young man interrupted him by stating that it must be gone through with immediately, for his lady-love was so shy that it was with difficulty she had been persuaded to come to-night, and she would never consent if he gave her all that time to think the matter over in, nor would she be willing to come up on the lawn with the great people. She was at hand with one of her friends; everything was prepared; would he marry them then? At that moment? The bewildered minister looked up the road before him, where the carriage of the Capulets was disappearing at the top of the hill; he had been told that the daughter would remain with him, and that the carriage would return as soon as Mamma Capulet had made inquiries about a cottager who was ill; for his congregation had been crowding about him with questions and tearful confessions of sins, and the good Capulets, who had the opportunity to make their confessions in private, were in haste to be gone. Where was his fair companion? He looked about him; he had lost sight of her in the throng. But in a few moments she came forward, accompanying the bride, who the groom explained was a protégée of hers. Miss Capulet had drawn down her veil, and in answer to this statement nodded to the reverend gentleman and murmured an assent. The bride's face, too, was hidden by her bonnet and by her shyness, which prevented her from once looking up. The name of the groom lingered with surprise on the minister's lips, for it was not a clodhopper's name, I assure you; but he had heard nothing of the love affair. When he came to the bride's name, however, he did pause, for it was that of the Capulet. 'How is this?' he asked. 'How has she the same name as you, my child?' Before the veiled lady could answer, the groom informed him that the bride's family, being old retainers of the other, had the same last name, as it was in Scottish clans, and that the bride herself, born on the same day as the young lady at the great house, had received also the same Christian name, which explained her being under Miss Capulet's protection. The good man was conscious that, though his piety was eminent, his knowledge of all genealogy but Bible was deficient, and when both women softly assented to this statement, his air of perplexity gave place to the manner of a man who understands the business of the hour. He was in a hurry, and in an incredibly short time the two were one. 'Is it all over?' asked the groom. 'Are we securely married?' 'You are joined in the holy bonds of matrimony until death do you part,' returned the clergyman, solemnly, beginning to add his blessing. But this died half-uttered on his lips, for the bride slowly raised her head, threw back her bonnet, and the haughty face and laughing eyes of the Capulet were before him. 'Bear witness,' she said, her shyness completely gone, 'that I'm this gentleman's wife.' 'You are, indeed,' he stammered. 'But how—why—who is this?' and he reached out a trembling hand toward the veiled lady. 'My maid,' returned the bride; 'she came here like one of the cottagers, and we exchanged gowns while you were talking to the people.' 'I hope, I sincerely hope, it's all right,' returned the poor man; 'but if I had known, I would have spoken to your honored parent, first.' 'Yes, I'm sure of that,' she laughed, 'and then we should not have been so happy.' At the moment a post-chaise drove up, into which the bridal pair and the servant made haste to get. 'Pardon me that I cannot accompany you home,' laughed the lady, leaning out to give the minister her hand in farewell. 'You cannot know how grateful to you we are. I shall never be able to reward you; I can only give you my thanks and prayers—and be sure to tell them at home how firmly you have married us.' The chaise drove off, and the good man was left alone. He felt inclined to think that he had been dreaming, until he looked down and saw in his hand a purse of gold pieces that the groom had slipped into it, whispering, 'If you refuse for yourself, be my almoner and give it to the poor.' Before the preacher had recovered his wits the carriage of the Capulets reappeared. The lovers, however, did not re-appear for two years, and by that time Montague had unexpectedly fallen heir to a fortune and a title, and was received with open arms by the new relatives. In our days it's always the one who was not the prodigal who has the fatted calf killed for him."

"I'm afraid the poor minister was not very welcome when he had told his story," said Elizabeth.

"Clever enough, on my word," cried Archdale.

"Not quite to your liking, I fancy, though," answered Harwin.

"Do you think he would have had the wedding indoors, in the teeth of everybody?" laughed Katie.

Harwin assented, adding that he felt convinced that Master Archdale would have insisted upon all the accompaniments of a grand wedding at any cost.

"Yes, I shall have that when my time comes," returned Stephen, looking straight before him a trifle haughtily. But Harwin noticed that directly his eyes fell in passing back to their watching of the shore, and that one sweeping glance was given to Katie.

"But can people be married in such an instant?" asked Waldo. "I always thought it was a work of time—rather a formidable piece of business."

"Oh! when you come to two or three ministers of the Church of England, and the benedictions, and all that, so it is," said Harwin; "but the real business part is an affair of—I was going to say less than a minute." He sat silent after this, with his head bent, then, lifting it suddenly, before anybody had spoken, he fixed his glance, with a musing expression, upon Waldo. "I was wondering if I could remember the formula," he said; "I think I can. Mistress Royal, allow Master Archdale to take your hand a moment, if you please."

Elizabeth made no responsive movement, and Archdale, for an instant, failed to turn toward her. He had been looking at Katie while Harwin was speaking; but Katie drew back, hastily.

"Oh, do, Elizabeth!" she cried. "I want to see what it is like; do try with Stephen, and let us hear." As she spoke, Archdale turned toward Elizabeth, courteously.

"Come, Mistress Royal," he said, as Harwin was explaining that he had asked her because she happened to be on the proper side for a bride, "let us make an effective tableau for the amusement of these mariners, who, since they are becalmed themselves, persist in wanting something going on."

Elizabeth had heard the entreaty in Katie's light words. She knew that if she herself had cared for Mr. Archdale she could never have jested at marrying him. It made her all the more sure that Katie did care, because, otherwise, the girl would have found it great fun to rouse a little jealousy in the two admirers opposite, watching every movement. She yielded her hand to the light clasp that held it, and listened with less interest than the others to Mr. Harwin's distinct and rapid words until he came to the sentence, "I pronounce you man and wife." Then she shivered, and he had scarcely finished the adjuration that follows—"What God hath joined together let not man put asunder," when she snatched her hand away.

"It is too solemn," she cried, "it is too much; we ought not to have jested so."

Harwin laughed.

"Pardon me if I've made you uncomfortable," he said; "but you will forget it in five minutes, and even for that time you must blame Master Waldo's curiosity."

"And mine," added Katie, at which young Waldo gave her a grateful glance. Then he joined with her in breaking the hush that had fallen on the others. "Stephen," she said, "now for your story. Do you think you are coming off scot-free?"

"I thought we had performed our parts," he said, turning to Elizabeth with a smile.

"Mistress Royal has already told her story," cried Waldo, "There's no escape for you."

"Escape would be difficult now, I confess."

"So begin."

He began obediently, but fortune was kinder than he had expected, for he had not fairly started when Kit cried out,—

"A breeze! Here it comes. Heads to larboard!" And down went Archdale's and those of the two ladies with him as the sail was shifted and the boat began to skim the water before the breeze which freshened every minute. Soon they had gained the cove where they were to land, and Archdale's story was never finished.

THE PROTECTION OF CHILDREN

BY ERNEST NUSSE

The census of 1880 fixed the juvenile population of the United States at 20,000,000, of whom 10,158,954 were boys and 9,884,705 were girls. "From a political point of view," says the eminent philanthropist, Mr. Elbridge T. Gerry, "the future of the nation depends on the physical and intellectual education of its children, whose numbers increase every year, and who will soon constitute the sovereign people. From the moral and social point of view, the welfare of society imperatively demands that the atmosphere in which they live, and the treatment that they receive from those intrusted with their care or custody, shall be such as to establish in them habits of industry, of sobriety, of honesty, and good conduct. For injurious treatment of a child, inasmuch as it tends to result in the distortion of its physical and moral nature, constitutes an offence whose importance seriously effects the public order." But what is to be understood by cruel treatment? It consists in every act of omission or of commission which causes or procures physical injury or death. It is hardly necessary to observe that this definition must be limited to its practical meaning, rather than interpreted in its broader, philosophical sense. We must leave out of the question the results of improper or imperfect educational training and discipline. It is doubtless a cause of harm to a delicate and nervous child to force the development of its intelligence; a harsh word hastily uttered by parents may leave an ineffaceable impression upon a sensitive organization; severity degenerates into injustice when it confounds a peevish act, the result of physical disorder, with an act of deliberate disobedience. The weakness which resigns its authority In order to spare itself the care of a child's education engenders for life the spirit of insubordination. The humiliating and unjust reproach, the stinging sarcasm, wound the child in its tenderest feelings;—but these are not the forms of cruelty and wrong which fall within reach of the law. It is unable to interpose between the parents and the child, except in case of an actual and serious offence, and for the rest it must rely upon the affection planted by nature in the hearts of parents. These distinctions are more felt than expressed, and opinion will never deceive itself in regard to the conduct of unnatural parents.

But if these propositions are absolutely incontestable, how do they leave room for the function of a society? If children are beaten, abandoned, given over to odious practices, will not the authorities, on the complaint of those interested, or compelled by public opinion, be able adequately to fulfil the task? This reasoning, altogether French, would not properly take into account the American temperament, the genius of the Anglo-Saxon race, of its institutions, and of its usages. In France, since the fourteenth century, misdemeanors have been prosecuted the more generally by the public minister, acting under whose orders are numerous officers of judiciary police, who entertain the complaints of the public and send them, with the result of their examination, to our courts. The magistrates charged with the case complete the investigations, if they take place. The elements of the evidence are therefore combined when the prosecution is instituted. In the United States these intermediate officials exist but imperfectly between the injured party and the magistrate who renders judgment. From lack of sufficient evidence, the rights of this injured party run the risk of being compromised through his inexperience. Moreover, the complaint of the child, often directed against its parents or its legal guardians, involves the examination of a delicate situation, which must be conducted with much discernment. Without comparing the two systems, American and French, which correspond each to the particular genius of the two nations, it will be seen that the American system leaves much more to private initiative, and that it would become ineffectual when the victim of the offence, being a child, has neither the energy nor the knowledge necessary to demonstrate that its complaint is well founded, without the aid of some one in power. This is the aid which is given by the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children; and we can now understand how the exigency of the case, so powerfully felt by the practical intelligence of the Americans, has called into existence this potent organization, which we may call the guardian of the rights of childhood, for the repression of the offences from which it is liable to suffer. The following anecdote shows how the necessity for this institution arose, in a manner at once thrilling and dramatic:—

Ten years ago in New York, on the top floor of a tenement-house, in a miserable room without furniture, a dying woman lay on a pallet, in the last stage of consumption. A charitable lady who visited her asked what she could do for her. The dying woman replied: "My hours are numbered, but how can I die in peace when night and day I hear the beating by her mother-in-law of the unhappy little girl who lives in the room next to mine." And, in fact, for a month her heart had been torn by the cries of this child, Mary Ellen, kept in confinement by this brute. Much moved by this recital, the visitor felt impelled to demand the interference of the police. They told her this was impracticable unless she was able to furnish proof of her allegation. She knew the facts only upon hearsay, and only in case a misdemeanor were actually proved would it be possible for the police to interfere as she desired. The charitable feelings of the lady would not permit her to stop here. She made inquiries among benevolent societies. But here again she experienced a check. The societies could not receive the child except upon legal commitment by an order of court. And charitable persons with the most benevolent tendencies, being consulted on this difficulty, confessed themselves at a loss to suggest a remedy in the case, and declared that it was dangerous to interfere between parents and children; that in so doing one is liable to become involved in inextricable difficulties, since the heads of the family are the best guardians of their children. However, the sorrowful appeal of the dying woman echoed continually in the ears of her whose charitable aid had been implored. She resolved upon a supreme effort to rescue this child. She sought Mr. Henry Bergh, a man who has never been deaf to a cry of despair, and who has devoted his life to the protection of animals. Mr. Bergh considered the life of a child to be quite as valuable as that of a beast, and gave it as his opinion that the tribunals should be appealed to. A warrant was immediately procured and the child was produced in court, its face covered with horrible wounds. A pair of scissors with which these wounds had been inflicted were produced. The facts in the case caused a profound sensation in the court and throughout the city. The mother-in-law was arrested, found guilty, and the little girl was taken from her hands to receive an education which has rendered her an elegant and accomplished young woman.

Humble beginnings, which it will be well for us to bear in remembrance for the confusion of our pride! It is from the protection of animals that has sprung, in New York, that of the child. And, when we contemplate the great number of societies in the United States,—the Humane Society of Saratoga, of Bangor, of Keene, of Taunton, of Connecticut, the Western Pennsylvania, the Tennessee Society, those of Nashville, of Cleveland, of Cincinnati, of Indianapolis, of Chicago, of Peoria, of Sangamon, of Quincy, of Minnesota, of Minneapolis, extending, simultaneously, their help to children and to the brutes, we shall be no longer astonished either at the combination of effort explained by this historic origin, or especially at a philosophy which rightly esteems that cruelty commences with the animal, only to end fatally with the human being. The proceeding instituted at the instance of Mr. Henry Bergh was a most valuable precedent. The establishment of a method of rescue, encouraged complaints, which, till then, had been silent, of the abandonment, misery, or sufferings of children. Mr. Bergh's society found itself besieged, and, after deliberation with his counsel, it was determined to establish another in New York, whose special mission should be the protection of children. An old gentleman of high respectability, belonging to the sect of the Quakers, Mr. John D. Wright, was elected to the presidency, which office he held until his death, which occurred on the 21st of August, 1880. His successor is Mr. Elbridge T. Gerry.

However, inasmuch as the authority with which the society sought to be invested had reference to public justice, and involved the power to appear for the defence of the interests of others, and to require the coöperation of public officials, a law was indispensable, in order to confer these powers. Such a law was passed August 21, 1875, whose provisions covered not only the case of the New York society, but determined the functions of all institutions of a similar nature. On condition of complying with the prescribed formalities for acquiring a corporate existence, the law granted to these institutions the right to make complaints, in any jurisdiction, of violations of the statutes regarding children; it set forth, formally, the duty of magistrates or officers of police, to cooperate with the societies acting in the limits of their several jurisdictions. The boundaries of the ground of protection were thus defined, but there was still lacking the requisite legislative authority. Experience showed that, besides the misdemeanors of common law—attempts upon the morals, murder, assault and battery, etc.—a multitude of offences against children remained unpunished. The society, therefore, solicited and obtained from the Legislature, powers which permitted it to repress acts of cruelty towards children that the law failed to reach. The first of these measures was the law of 1876, forbidding the employment of minors under sixteen years as dancers, beggars, street peddlers, as gymnasts or contortionists, or in indecent occupations prejudicial to their health or perilous to their life. Then came the law of June 6, 1877, forbidding the admission of minors under fourteen years into public places, liquor saloons, balls, concerts, theatres, unless accompanied by a parent or legal guardian. With these laws, which it caused to be interpreted in the courts in certain test cases, the society arrived at the most satisfactory results. There were no longer seen in New York those juvenile beggars whose miserable appearance is made an instrument of gain by their worthless masters; those vagrants who disguise their vagabondage under the pretext of imaginary professions, collecting cigar stumps and rag picking; those little girls who sell flowers at the doors of houses of bad repute, often concealing under this ostensible occupation infamous transactions with panders who keep them in their pay. A determined warfare was declared against the Italian padroni, who thrive upon the toil of the little unfortunates to whom they pretend to teach music, and whom they utilize as peddlers and chimney-sweepers. The conviction of the too notorious Ancarola was the signal for the suppression of these shameless villains; the purchases of children ceased, and the cause of humanity triumphed, thanks to the combined efforts of the society and of the Italian consul, after long and earnest conferences. It is not only the Italians, but the children of all nationalities, who have profited from this powerful patronage: Hungarian, German, Chinese, Irish, French. One of our compatriots, a girl of fourteen years, came one day to implore its aid. Her father was a drunkard, who had reached the lowest round in the ladder of degradation; her mother had no means of subsistence except concubinage, nor her two sisters except prostitution. She begged that they would save her from this life of shame. The society received her, procured her a position, a good education. Learning that she was heiress to a considerable property left by a grandfather, the society took active steps in France to secure to her her rights. Unfortunately, the agent who had possession of the estate became insolvent after having squandered the property, and it was impossible to recover it. The society continued to care for the young girl up to the day of her marriage to a young man enjoying a regular salary of $1,200, and worthy of her in all respects.