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The following are extracts of letters, which he wrote while in South Carolina, to an intimate friend in Concord, Massachusetts, who has kindly furnished them for publication. Springfield, St. Helena Isl., S.C., Oct. 22, 1832. "Last night, about one o'clock, I was awakened by the report of a musket. I was out of bed almost instantly.
'Can't you smell Fumum et opes strepitumque Romae? He turned quickly to Helena. 'I wonder if that's right, he said. 'It's years since I did a line of Latin, and I thought it had all gone. 'In the first place, what does it mean? said Helena calmly, 'for I can only half translate. I have thrown overboard all my scrap-books of such stuff.
O pardon! 'O my lord, said Helena, 'when I personated this fair maid, I found you wondrous kind; and look, here is your letter! reading to him in a joyful tone those words which she had once repeated so sorrowfully: When from my finger you can get this ring This is done; it was to me you gave the ring.
I was then at Stuttgart, where I was appointed Secretary of Legation. At St. Helena Bonaparte said, "On the news of the attack of the Tuilleries, on the 10th of August, I hurried to Fauvelet, Bourrienne's brother, who then kept a furniture warehouse at the Carrousel." This is partly correct.
See you do this, till they are so weary they can go no farther; and when you find they are asleep, drop the juice of this other flower into Lysander's eyes, and when he awakes he will forget his new love for Helena, and return to his old passion for Hermia; and then the two fair ladies may each one be happy with the man she loves, and they will think all that has passed a vexatious dream.
Light a match, Geoffrey." He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket, and obeyed her. Their two heads stooped together over the bag. Helena drew out a handkerchief torn, with a lace edging. "That's not a village woman's handkerchief!" she said, wondering. "And there are initials!"
Last night it seemed a thousand years ago, and it seemed but as an instant passed last night she had learned what love was, and The Flopper stirred uneasily. "Wot'll I tell him?" asked the Flopper. "He's waitin' out dere by de porch." "Why why nothing," said Helena, and she smiled a little tremulously at the Flopper. "Nothing. I'll I'll go and see him."
One citizen volunteer gathered up thirty-two buffalo robes, which he subsequently took to Helena and sold at good prices as relics of the battle. Several of them were badly stained with blood, but this, of course, enhanced, rather than lessened, their value in the eyes of the class of buyers he sought.
Helena, Gorgias, and the old philosopher Euphranor, had approached her, and when the latter asked with loving reproach, "Why, Barine, how did you get through the howling mob?" she answered gaily: "That a learned member of the Museum may receive me with the query whether I am here, though from childhood a kind or what do you think, grandfather? a malign fate has preserved me from being overlooked, and some one else reprovingly asks how I passed through the shouting mob, as if it were a crime to wade into the water to hold out a helping hand to those we love best when it is up to their chins!
Helena's eyes too were wet; and in both there was the memory of that night at Beechmark which had made them sisters rather than friends. "And of course," said Helena "you'll stay with me for ever." But Lucy was far too happy to think of her own future. She had made friends real friends in these three months, after years of loneliness. It seemed to her that was all that mattered.
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