Lord Canterville listened very gravely to the worthy Minister’s speech, pulling his grey moustache now and then to hide an involuntary smile, and when Mr. Otis had ended, he shook him cordially by the hand, and said, ‘My dear sir, your charming little daughter rendered my unlucky ancestor, Sir Simon, a very important service, and I and my family are much indebted to her for her marvelous courage and pluck. The jewels are clearly hers, and, egad, I believe that if I were heartless enough to take them from her, the wicked old fellow would be out of his grave in a fortnight, leading me the devil of a life. As for their being heirlooms, nothing is an heirloom that is not so mentioned in a will or legal document, and the existence of these jewels has been quite unknown. I assure you I have no more claim on them than your butler, and when Miss Virginia grows up I daresay she will be pleased to have pretty things to wear. Besides, you forget, Mr. Otis, that you took the furniture and the ghost at a valuation, and anything that belonged to the ghost passed at once into your possession, as, whatever activity Sir Simon may have shown in the corridor at night, in point of law he was really dead, and you acquired his property by purchase.’
Mr. Otis was a good deal distressed at Lord Canterville’s refusal, and begged him to reconsider his decision, but the good-natured peer was quite firm, and finally induced the Minister to allow his daughter to retain the present the ghost had given her, and when, in the spring of 1890, the young Duchess of Cheshire was presented at the Queen’s first drawing-room on the occasion of her marriage, her jewels were the universal theme of admiration. For Virginia received the coronet, which is the reward of all good little American girls, and was married to her boy-lover as soon as he came of age. They were both so charming, and they loved each other so much, that every one was delighted at the match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had tried to catch the Duke for one of her seven unmarried daughters, and had given no less than three expensive dinner-parties for that purpose, and, strange to say, Mr. Otis himself. Mr. Otis was extremely fond of the young Duke personally, but, theoretically, he objected to titles, and, to use his own words, ‘was not without apprehension lest, amid the enervating influences of a pleasure-loving aristocracy, the true principles of republican simplicity should be forgotten.’ His objections, however, were completely overruled, and I believe that when he walked up the aisle of St. George’s, Hanover Square, with his daughter leaning on his arm, there was not a prouder man in the whole length and breadth of England.
The Duke and Duchess, after the honeymoon was over, went down to Canterville Chase, and on the day after their arrival they walked over in the afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pinewoods. There had been a great deal of difficulty at first about the inscription on Sir Simon’s tombstone, but finally it had been decided to engrave on it simply the initials of the old gentleman’s name, and the verse from the library window. The Duchess had brought with her some lovely roses, which she strewed upon the grave, and after they had stood by it for some time they strolled into the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There the Duchess sat down on a fallen pillar, while her husband lay at her feet smoking a cigarette and looking up at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he threw his cigarette away, took hold of her hand, and said to her, ‘Virginia, a wife should have no secrets from her husband.’
‘Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you.’
‘Yes, you have,’ he answered, smiling, ‘you have never told me what happened to you when you were locked up with the ghost.’
‘I have never told any one, Cecil,’ said Virginia gravely.
‘I know that, but you might tell me.’
‘Please don’t ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. Poor Sir Simon! I owe him a great deal. Yes, don’t laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.’
The Duke rose and kissed his wife lovingly.
‘You can have your secret as long as I have your heart,’ he murmured.
‘You have always had that, Cecil.’
‘And you will tell our children some day, won’t you?’
Virginia blushed.
THE ORANGE-MAN; OR, THE HONEST BOY AND THE THIEF
BY MARIA EDGEWORTH
Charles was the name of the honest boy; and Ned was the name of the thief.
Charles never touched what was not his own: this is being an honest boy.
Ned often took what was not his own: this is being a thief.
Charles’s father and mother, when he was a very little boy, had taught him to be honest, by always punishing him when he meddled with what was not his own: but when Ned took what was not his own, his father and mother did not punish him; so he grew up to be a thief.
Early one summer’s morning, as Charles was going along the road to school, he met a man leading a horse, which was laden with panniers.
The man stopped at the door of a public-house which was by the road side; and he said to the landlord, who came to the door, “I won’t have my horse unloaded; I shall only stop with you whilst I eat my breakfast.—Give my horse to some one to hold here on the road, and let the horse have a little hay to eat.”
The landlord called; but there was no one in the way; so he beckoned to Charles, who was going by, and begged him to hold the horse.
“Oh,” said the man, “but can you engage him to be an honest boy? for these are oranges in my baskets; and it is not every little boy one can leave with oranges.”
“Yes,” said the landlord, “I have known Charles from the cradle upwards, and I never caught him in a lie or a theft; all the parish knows him to be an honest boy; I’ll engage your oranges will be as safe with him as if you were by yourself.”
“Can you so?” said the orange man; “then I’ll engage, my lad, to give you the finest orange in my basket, when I come from breakfast, if you’ll watch the rest whilst I am away.”—
“Yes,” said Charles, “I will take care of your oranges.”
So the man put the bridle into his hand, and he went into the house to eat his breakfast.
Charles had watched the horse and the oranges about five minutes, when he saw one of his school-fellows coming towards him. As he came nearer, Charles saw that it was Ned.
Ned stopped as he passed, and said, “Good-morrow to you, Charles; what are you doing there? whose horse is that? and what have you got in the baskets?”
“There are oranges in the baskets,” said Charles; “and a man, who has just gone into the inn, here, to eat his breakfast, bid me take care of them, and so I did; because he said he would give me an orange when he came back again.”
“An orange!” cried Ned; “are you to have a whole orange?—I wish I was to have one! However, let me look how large they are.” Saying this, Ned went towards the pannier, and lifted up the cloth that covered it. “La! what fine oranges!” he exclaimed, the moment he saw them: “Let me touch them, to feel if they are ripe.”
“No,” said Charles, “you had better not; what signifies it to you whether they are ripe, you know, since you are not to eat them. You should not meddle with them; they are not yours—You must not touch them.”
“Not touch them! surely,” said Ned, “there’s no harm in touching them. You don’t think I mean to steal them, I suppose.” So Ned put his hand into the orange-man’s basket, and he took up an orange, and he felt it; and when he had felt it, he smelled it. “It smells very sweet,” said he, “and it feels very ripe; I long to taste it; I will only just suck one drop of juice at the top.” Saying these words, he put the orange to his mouth.
Little boys, who wish to be honest, beware of temptation; do not depend too much upon yourselves; and remember, that it is easier to resolve to do right at first, than at last. People are led on, by little and little, to do wrong.
The sight of the oranges tempted Ned to touch them; the touch tempted him to smell them; and the smell tempted him to taste them.
“What are you about, Ned?” cried Charles, taking hold of his arm. “You said, yo
u only wanted to smell the orange; do, put it down, for shame!”
“Don’t say for shame to me,” cried Ned, in a surly tone; “the oranges are not yours, Charles!”
“No, they are not mine; but I promised to take care of them, and so I will:—so put down that orange!”
“Oh, if it comes to that, I won’t,” said Ned, “and let us see who can make me, if I don’t choose it;—I’m stronger than you.”
“I am not afraid of you for all that,” replied Charles, “for I am in the right.” Then he snatched the orange out of Ned’s hand, and he pushed him with all his force from the basket.
Ned, immediately returning, hit him a violent blow, which almost stunned him.
Still, however, this good boy, without minding the pain, persevered in defending what was left in his care; he still held the bridle with one hand, and covered the basket with his other arm, as well as he could.
Ned struggled in vain, to get his hands into the pannier again; he could not; and, finding that he could not win by strength, he had recourse to cunning. So he pretended to be out of breath and to desist; but he meant, as soon as Charles looked away, to creep softly round to the basket, on the other side.
Cunning people, though they think themselves very wise, are almost always very silly.
Ned, intent upon one thing, the getting round to steal the oranges, forgot that if he went too close to the horse’s heels, he should startle him. The horse indeed, disturbed by the bustle near him, had already left off eating his hay, and began to put down his ears; but when he felt something touch his hind legs, he gave a sudden kick, and Ned fell backwards, just as he had seized the orange.
Ned screamed with the pain; and at the scream all the people came out of the public house to see what was the matter; and amongst them came the orange-man.
Ned was now so much ashamed, that he almost forgot the pain, and wished to run away; but he was so much hurt, that he was obliged to sit down again.
The truth of the matter was soon told by Charles, and as soon believed by all the people present who knew him: for he had the character of being an honest boy; and Ned was known to be a thief and a liar.
So nobody pitied Ned for the pain he felt. “He deserves it,” says one. “Why did he meddle with what was not his own?”—“Pugh! he is not much hurt, I’ll answer for it,” said another. “And if he was, it’s a lucky kick for him, if it keeps him from the gallows,” says a third. Charles was the only person who said nothing; he helped Ned away to a bank: for brave boys are always good-natured.
“Oh, come here,” said the orange-man, calling him; “Come here, my honest lad! What! You got that black eye in keeping my oranges, did you?—That’s a stout little fellow,” said he, taking him by the hand, and leading him into the midst of the people.
Men, women, and children, had gathered around, and all the children fixed their eyes upon Charles, and wished to be in his place.
In the mean time, the orange-man took Charles’s hat off his head, and filled it with fine China oranges. “There, my little friend,” said he, “take them, and God bless you with them! If I could but afford it, you should have all that is in my basket.”
Then the people, and especially the children, shouted for joy; but as soon as there was silence, Charles said to the orange-man, “Thank’e, master, with all my heart; but I can’t take your oranges, only that one I earned; take the rest back again: as for a black eye, that’s nothing! but I won’t be paid for it; no more than for doing what’s honest. So I can’t take your oranges, master; but I thank you as much as if I had them.” Saying these words, Charles offered to pour the oranges back into the basket; but the man would not let him.
“Then,” said Charles, “if they are honestly mine, I may give them away;” so he emptied the hat amongst the children, his companions. “Divide them amongst you,” said he; and without waiting for their thanks, he pressed through the crowd, and ran towards home. The children all followed him, clapping their hands, and thanking him.
The little thief came limping after. Nobody praised him, nobody thanked him; he had no oranges to eat, nor had he any to give away. People must be honest, before they can be generous. Ned sighed as he went towards home; “And all this,” said he to himself, “was for one orange; it was not worth while.”
No: it is never worth while to do wrong.
Little boys who read this story, consider which would you rather have been, the honest boy, or the thief.
THE PRIEST’S SOUL
BY LADY WILDE
In former days there were great schools in Ireland, where every sort of learning was taught to the people, and even the poorest had more knowledge at that time than many a gentleman has now. But as to the priests, their learning was above all, so that the fame of Ireland went over the whole world, and many kings from foreign lands used to send their sons all the way to Ireland to be brought up in the Irish schools.
Now, at this time there was a little boy learning at one of them who was a wonder to everyone for his cleverness. His parents were only labouring people, and of course poor; but young as he was, and as poor as he was, no king’s or lord’s son could come up to him in learning. Even the masters were put to shame; for when they were trying to teach him he would tell them something they never heard of before, and show them their ignorance. One of his great triumphs was in argument; and he would go on till he proved to you that black was white, and then when you gave in, for no one could beat him in talk, he would turn round and show you that white was black, or maybe that there was no colour at all in the world. When he grew up his poor father and mother were so proud of him that they resolved to make him a priest, which they did at last, though they nearly starved themselves to get the money. Well, such another learned man was not in Ireland, and he was as great in argument as ever, so that no one could stand before him. Even the bishops tried to talk to him, but he showed them at once they knew nothing at all.
Now, there were no schoolmasters in those times, but it was the priests taught the people; and as this man was the cleverest in Ireland, all the foreign kings sent their sons to him, as long as he had house-room to give them. So he grew very proud, and began to forget how low he had been, and worst of all, even to forget God, who had made him what he was. And the pride of arguing got hold of him, so that from one thing to another he went on to prove that there was no Purgatory, and then no Hell, and then no Heaven, and then no God; and at last that men had no souls, but were no more than a dog or a cow, and when they died there was an end of them. “Whoever saw a soul?” he would say. “If you can show me one, I will believe.” No one could make any answer to this; and at last they all came to believe that as there was no other world, everyone might do what they liked in this; the priest setting the example, for he took a beautiful young girl to wife. But as no priest or bishop in the whole land could be got to marry them, he was obliged to read the service over for himself. It was a great scandal, yet no one dared to say a word, for all the king’s sons were on his side, and would have slaughtered anyone who tried to prevent his wicked goings-on. Poor boys; they all believed in him, and thought every word he said was the truth. In this way his notions began to spread about, and the whole world was going to the bad, when one night an angel came down from Heaven, and told the priest he had but twenty-four hours to live.
He began to tremble, and asked for a little more time.
But the angel was stiff, and told him that could not be.
“What do you want time for, you sinner?” he asked.
“Oh, sir, have pity on my poor soul!” urged the priest.
“Oh, no! You have a soul, then,” said the angel. “Pray, how did you find that out?”
“It has been fluttering in me ever since you appeared,” answered the priest. “What a fool I was not to think of it before.”
“A fool, indeed,” said the angel. “What good was all your learning, when it could not tell you that you had a soul?”
“Ah, my lord,” said the
priest, “If I am to die, tell me how soon I may be in Heaven?”
“Never,” replied the angel. “You denied there was a Heaven.”
“Then, my lord, may I go to Purgatory?”
“You denied Purgatory also; you must go straight to Hell,” said the angel.
“But, my lord, I denied Hell also,” answered the priest, “so you can’t send me there either.”
The angel was a little puzzled.
“Well,” said he, “I’ll tell you what I can do for you. You may either live now on earth for a hundred years, enjoying every pleasure, and then be cast into Hell for ever; or you may die in twenty-four hours in the most horrible torments, and pass through Purgatory, there to remain till the Day of Judgment, if only you can find some one person that believes, and through his belief mercy will be vouchsafed to you, and your soul will be saved.”
The priest did not take five minutes to make up his mind.
“I will have death in the twenty-four hours,” he said, “so that my soul may be saved at last.”
On this the angel gave him directions as to what he was to do, and left him.
Irish Stories and Folklore Page 14