THE HARVEST LAND 
and child—while I remained In the laurels with 
Chickabiddy, who was to be’sent, for as a last re¬ 
source. Ills appearance In the tlrst, Instance 
would have excited suspicion, while the sight or 
me would have acted on my uncle like a red rag 
on a bull. 
That T should be In a position to record what 
took place between Clara and my atml-bj'-m ar¬ 
il age Is, of course, natural enough; but that. I 
3hould have been able to set, down what my uncle 
said to Susan ar the Hotel or the Four Seasons 
may have seemed to verge on the domain of Ac¬ 
tion. before this little history Is closed, how¬ 
ever, It will DO seen that the matter admits or an 
easy explanation, similarly It will be found that 
I do not draw on my Imagination when 1 describe 
what went on between Mr. and irs. Nathaniel 
Nokes In their country house, they lived, T am 
bound to confess, most happily together. My 
uncle's conscience hy no means troubled 1dm as 
It ought to have done, considering his cruelty to 
me and inlno, but It. did prick him a little, which 
— combined with bis unparalleled obstinacy—no 
doubt caused him to sot his wife on her guard 
against us. The only bitter drop in his cup, how¬ 
ever, was the terror with which he regarded any 
Incursion of his London friends, and their discov¬ 
ery of his having married beneath him. uis 
neighbors had no suspicions of anything amiss. 
To hoar Ills Susan talking broken English to the 
Squire’s wife was, he protested, as good as a piny. 
But these country people, as he said, would he¬ 
llo vo anything; and London peoplo believed 
nothing -only gave credit. Especially he feared 
three persons of his acquaintance, named sponge, 
Kasper, and Robinson—'“ nil London born, but es- 
peclally Rasper.’' 
The following conversation took place, as It 
happened, on tho very morning of our visit. “ if 
they come down here, my darling," said ho, re¬ 
ferring to this trio “ and they never will, lr they 
wait for mo to ask them—we must throw up tho 
sponge. Tho game will be over. For my part, I 
shall never bo able even to call you ‘ Kelta ’ be¬ 
fore them ; and as for you—” 
“ Well, It is true I am not so accomplished as 
the lady you Intended to marry,” Interrupted 
Susan; “ but still, you see, they think I am a born 
lady, and appearances do such a deal In this 
world.” 
“ Well, yes, I have noticed that In the wine 
trade. If you were to sell cider at eighty shillings 
a dozen, it would be considered uncommon good 
tipple by tho customer who bought. II.. Tell them 
Madeira has been twice to China," (and here my 
undo repeated “twice to china?" with great 
unction), “ and how they smack their lips I And 
talking of appearances, Susan, that, reminds me 
to warn you against, another sort of appearances 
—the pretense and show of poverty. You must 
learn to steel your tender heart against that. 
Since my nephew’s wife wrote you that begging 
letter-” 
“Oh, Sir, it. was not a begging letter,” she inter¬ 
rupted. 
“ "■ Susan; why do you call me ‘ sir?* ” 
"Because," answered she, “when you look so 
stern and talk so severely, you don’t seem to he 
The daylight waning and the darkDess near; 
So little done, and @ML) so much to do! 
Before me the Iona night of cloud and fear, 
Without one star to pierce the shadow through. 
I hear the rumble of the swaggering wains, 
I hear the burden of the harvest song; 
And, through the hazy light in happy lances, 
I see the sun-browned reapers pass along. 
And I must lay my sickle down and go 
From the dim Helds that look so drear and lone 
Alas ! that I have bo few sheaves to show! 
I shall not hear the Master say, *• Well done!" 
With what regret I look back to the past. 
When the long shadows loomed so far away; 
And morning scorned on every wakening blast. 
To waft the whispers of an endless day ! 
So many misspent moments, wasted hours, 
Playing with pebbles on the sea-washed strand; 
Searching for hulterflies. or gathering flowers. 
Instead of toiling Id the harvest land. 
And now the night, stol'n on me Like a thief. 
While yet I dreamt that it was scarcely noon; 
Sad that the sunshine is so very brief ! 
Sad that the shadows fall so very soon ! 
O for one other hour of Ood’s bright day, 
In which to work with sinew, heart And will; 
Ere yet T leave the fields and pass away 
To that mysterious sleep where all Is still! 
mock-turtle, fler object will rather be. to keep us 
out of her husband's sight: to persuade him t hat 
she alone Is the object he has to live tor and es¬ 
pecially to die for. T dare say she has made him 
leave all his property to her by this time. Where 
there Is a way, you may depend upon It there Is n 
win, with a woman of that kind. My uncle's 
bride has been too highly placed to teel for folks 
In our position. We are a very humble pear—a 
mere baking pear, ns It were—while she Is a Jar¬ 
gonelle on the top of the tree." 
“Let us hope that Blie will be sweet and ten¬ 
der,•’ put in Clara, quietly. “ Beautiful we know 
she Is, and accomplished." 
“Yes," I answered, dryly; “ I wish she never 
had been. “ If there was no further demand for 
Montmorencls in their native land, the supply 
should have ceased, l object to the surplus that, 
had been imported Into this country by the House 
of Nokes.” 
However, It ended, as may he surmised, in my 
giving way to Clara, and In our all three going 
down to the Tamarisks; though Chickabiddy took 
my side of the argument, and protested against, 
the proceeding throughout the journey. 
We walked Horn the station to the Tamarisks, 
partly because we had uo money to spare for a 
vehicle, and partly because I was glad to put, off 
the dreaded Interview as long as possible. It was 
our last chance, and though Clara called It (after¬ 
ward) a coup d'etat, It seemed Just then much 
more like a forlorn hope. At the garden gate we 
separated, my wife going straight up to the 
house door—for she had the courage of a lion, 
since she was about to do battle for her husband 
hand to your unfortunate nephew, but please 
don t let us talk about it. it makes mo have less 
reverence and even less gratitude toward you, 
since your very generosity has made mo the 
Instrument of punishment and—as I fee:—of 
wrong. I have been poor myself, and what must 
that poor young creature have thought of my 
never answering her touching letter?” 
“Touching letter! It’s nil nonsense. Ohheav- 
ens, there's the front door-bell! It’s Sponge and 
Rasper and Robinson, I know.” 
It, was an Immense roller to my unde when he 
found that It, was only a lady who wished to see 
his wife, and lie withdrew at once to smoke a 
cigar. 
There would have been less smoke and more fire 
had he known who that lady was. 
u hen Clara entered the drawing-room, she was 
at once favorably Impressed with my aunt-by- 
marrlage, who had a very gentle, it not a very re¬ 
fined expression of countenance, and received her 
kindly, and this determined her to throw herself 
upon her compassion at one. 
“ l did hot send In my name, madam, because 
I feared It would only prejudice you against your 
visitor. 1 am Charles’—that Is, your husband’s— 
niece by marriage. Not a near relation to your¬ 
self, you might say, if you wish to be unkind, 
which I do not think you do." 
"Oh, dear,’’ said Mrs. Nokes, verymuch dls- 
AN AUNT BY MARRIAGE 
BY JAMES PAYN, 
[Continued from page 130. | 
My uncle kept his word; for before six days 
were over Susan was Mrs. Nokes. There are mar¬ 
riages of convenience, aud there are marriages 
(or there used to be) of affection. I hardly know 
under which of these heads to place this paw.lcu- 
lar union. Necessity did certainly in a manner 
dictate It; and the circumstances under which it 
took place were very ludicrous; but few mar¬ 
riages of romauce have probably turned out half 
so well. So fur as Clara, and 1 wore 
concerned, he might ,ju3f, as well have *-- 
married the Montmoroncl — as we 
thought he had done • for, of course, we 
did not hear from him to the contrary 
nor had lie bad the moral courage to 
Inform his friends that any change ' 
had been made In his matrimonial ar- J 
rangements. They only knew he was ^ 
married, and took It tor granted that Y? 
It was to tho high-born young woman 
to whom he l;ad been engaged. My 
uncle was doubtless a great deal hap- jf 
pier as It was. 
tressed, and quite forgetting her broken English, 
“but I do, ma’am, I wish to bo as hard as a 
stone 
He used to say to him¬ 
self at .the office every day, over the 
bottles; “She's worth eight hundred 
dozen of the other one. There was 
something wrong about that Mont- 
morencl vintage, ror fill Its sparkle. 
Now, my Susan’s all good—good the 
first day. good the second day, good 
every day. She’s like port—all the 
better for keeping; and she’s not like 
port—because there’s no crustiness 
about her. And she’s no fool, neither, 
though she don’t play the piano and 
things.” 
As a matter of fact, she was very 
clever, and had not been discovered by 
“ Society ” in the neighborhood of The 
Tamarisks, to have been Inferior In 
position to themselves. She always 
spoke French, which, though It. was 
not good French, was a good deal bet¬ 
ter than that Of her visitors, and that, 
of course, was her chief safeguard. 
My uncle had never boasted to his 
country neigh bore or his bride's accom¬ 
plishments ; but he feared above every¬ 
thing the hoar which should bring 
down to The Tamarisks those mends 
from the clly, who were always want¬ 
ing to know when they were to have 
the pleasure of hearing her play and 
sing, and of seeing her beautiful 
sketches lo olL 
Clara and I and Chickabiddy were by 
this time in a very disconsolate condi¬ 
tion, and mat ters were going very hard 
with us. We were “ going under,” as 
the gradual sinking in the social scale 
IS significantly termed, and for my 
part I had given up all hope of coming 
up again. But my wife was still of 
good heart. She had always clung to 
the notion that if she could only have 
got speech with my uncle she could 
have softened him toward us, while 
after his marriage she had actually be¬ 
lieved It possible that an appeal to his 
newly-mamed wife might prove suc¬ 
cessful. She had, therefore, written 
her a letter, which "tune back to us— 
not, Indeed, unopened, as that to njy 
uncle had done, because the recipient 
had not bpen forewarned against It, 
but without one word of reply. 
After that experience It seemed to 
me mere midsummer madness to per¬ 
severe ; but Clara thought otherwise. 
“ I shall make a personal appeal to 
her, Charles, with Chickabiddy.” 
Her air was that of a general who 
Thk deuoht of Mbs. Norris and the children was the feeding of those beautiful Ducks, 
