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The senses will have their share. It is melancholy that a man with the stomach-ache cannot enjoy Shakespeare; and that this wild, wayward, glowing, and glorious Bettine must disappear in the Frau von Arnim, wearing caps and taking snuff, and instead of these pine-trees, false curls, cut from the last criminal, perhaps, and then croaking and child-bearing and nursing and diapering! things so beautiful for many, but not for her.
William and Bettine stepped solemnly hand in hand upon the little platform which had been provided for the May Queen. Miss Dewhurst, who was chatting amicably to the parents till the last of her small performers should appear, seemed suddenly turned to stone, with mouth gaping and eyes wide. The old fiddler, who was rather short-sighted, struck up the strains, and the dancers began to dance.
Her prestige was established for ever. "Little angel," murmured the elder girls. The small boys fought for her favours. William began to dislike her intensely. Her voice, and her smile, and her ringlets, and her blue dress began to jar upon his nerves. And when anything began to jar on William's nerves something always happened. It was not till about a week later that he noticed Bettine Franklin.
"'Ullo," murmured Bettine shyly and politely. "You like pink rock?" was William's next effort. "Um," said Bettine, nodding emphatically. "I'll give you some next time I buy some," said William munificently, "but I shan't be buying any for a long time," he added bitterly, "'cause an ole ball slipped out my hands on to our dining-room window before I noticed it yesterday."
Bettine came forward from where she stood near the door, bringing a large, soft pillow, very unlike the little hard one on which Ernestine's head rested; and as Olive carefully lifted the sleeper's head, they were exchanged, without disturbing the heavy stupefied slumber.
Why, it was all I could do to keep him from coming here right away; and I left him trying to comfort Jean, who was nearly in a spasm of joy. She was awake and insisted on knowing why you did not come; otherwise I should not have told her to-night. Here, Bettine, bring one of those largest pillows."
Miss Franc Murray, she is going to marry Cousin Roger, Bettine says; she has one, and scolds her like everything when her hair isn't just right." "Why, how do you know?" laughed Olive. "I've been there lots of times. She comes here for me, and tells Uncle Ridley she loves me dearly; but Olive " "Yes."
Made a resolution to read fewer novels, and those only of the best. List of books I like: Carlyle's French Revolution and Miscellanies. Hero and Hero-Worship. Goethe's poems, plays, and novels. Plutarch's Lives. Madame Guion. Paradise Lost and Comus. Schiller's Plays. Madame de Staël. Bettine. Louis XIV. Jane Eyre. Hypatia. Philothea. Uncle Tom's Cabin. Emerson's Poems. . . .
"Cried, when you are getting well?" laughed Olive, just beginning to realize how much she had wanted to see the little sister, who was now clinging to her with such joyous love. "Yes, indeed I have; and then Bettine gets so sorry for me, and says it isn't right, but then, I think God ought not to make me love mama and you all so much, if He does not want me to cry to see you."
"In proportion to our appreciation of music is also our appreciation of what is not music," Sarona says; and so faithfully does this writer prove it, by her attention to minute and usual circumstances, that one might certainly allow her some exaltation when touching on one theme, yet how this exaltation can be called in question by any who espouse Bettine von Arnim's sublime ravings the morning after entering Vienna is mysterious.
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