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Put yourself in father's place," she continued seriously, "and tell me how you would feel. Remember that I am all he has to love and care for him, and he is very dear to me. He would not hurt you for the world, and what he thinks is the best way I believe is the best." "I will think it over," was Manson's comment. "It's so sudden and overwhelming I do not know what to say or do.
But she too was aware of the tall girl in white on the neighbouring deck, and she turned enquiringly to Falloden. "Do you know who she is?" "The Risboroughs' daughter Lady Constance Bledlow." Mrs. Manson's eyebrows went up. "Indeed! Of course I knew her parents intimately! Where is she staying?" Falloden briefly explained. "But how very interesting! I must call upon her at once.
"I was born in Releford County, Tennessee, ten miles from Murfreesboro. My parents belonged to Dr. Jimmy Manson. He was off and gone from home nearly all the time. He didn't have a Negro driver. Because he didn't they called us all Manson's free niggers. Folks didn't like it because we had so much freedom. One day a terrible thing happened broke up our happy way of living on Dr. Manson's place.
It was not long after this pleasant chat that there occurred another episode in Manson's war experience that had a peculiar effect upon his imagination, and one that perhaps will illustrate the pathos of war as well as any.
"It seems so to me," said his wife, as if she were producing a new thought. "I had no idea," Mr. van der Luyden continued, "that things had come to such a pass." He paused, and looked at his wife again. "It occurs to me, my dear, that the Countess Olenska is already a sort of relation through Medora Manson's first husband. At any rate, she will be when Newland marries."
Now, looking contentedly at the groups around him, he concluded that never before had his party been so well attended. Dibbott and Filmer and Bowers were there with their wives, and young Belding with the Wordens. The Presbyterian minister and the Catholic priest were admiring the strawberries, and Manson's deep voice came from a cluster of men nearby.
To Manson's keen imagination it seemed as if Fate had led him to this horrible spot to go mad and die alone, tortured by remorse and despair.
There can be no moments of happiness, no rifts of sunshine, and but few gleams of hope woven into the picture. All must be as war is a varying but continued succession of dreaded horror and the fear of death. The first month of Manson's experience at the training camp was hard only in anticipation, and but a daily round of duty easily performed and soon passed.
Manson's report closes with an account of a case of abscess of the thigh, with varicose inguinal glands, in which fragments of a mature worm were discovered in the contents of the abscess. Lancet. Of all orchids no genus we can just now call to mind is more distinct or is composed of species more widely divergent in size, form, structure, and color than is this one of Masdevallia.
The earliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure in was "The Vision of Mirza," and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, "How are thy servants blest, O Lord!" I particularly remember one half-stanza which was music to my boyish ear "For though on dreadful whirls we hung High on the broken wave " I met with these pieces in Manson's English Collection, one of my school-books.
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