The Galaxy, April, 1877 Part 6

"No? It is trivial. Mere prettiness; just a striving after drawing-room popularity. No depth of feeling; no care for the realistic power of the scene. Pretty, pleasing--nothing more. Surface only; no depth."

"But it is hideous," Minola said.

"Hideous? Oh, no! Decay is loveliness; decay is the soul of really high art when you come to understand it. But there is no real decay there.

That girl's face is pretty waxwork. There's no death there," and he turned half away in contempt. "That is what comes of being popular and a success. No; Delavar is done. I told him so."

"He is quite new to me," said Minola. "I never heard of him before."

"He's getting old now," Blanchet said. "He must be quite thirty. Let me see--oh, yes; fully that. He had better join the pre-Raphaelites now; or send to the Royal Academy; or hire a gallery and exhibit his pictures at a s.h.i.+lling a head. I fancy they would be quite a success."

Some of this conversation took place as they were making their way through the crowd with the intention of entering the drawing-room again. Minola was greatly amused, and in a manner interested. The whole thing was entirely new to her. As they pa.s.sed into the corridor there were one or two vacant seats.

"Will you rest for a moment?" Blanchet said, motioning toward a seat.

"Hadn't we better go back for Mary?"

"We'll go back presently. She is very happy; she loves above all things observing a crowd."

Minola would have liked very much to observe the crowd herself and to have people pointed out to her. Blanchet, however, though he saluted several persons here and there, did not seem particularly interested in any of them. Minola sat down for a while to please him, and to show that she had no thought of giving herself airs merely because she was enabled to be kind to his sister.

Blanchet threw himself sidelong across his chair and leaned toward Minola's seat. He knew that people were looking at him and wondering who his companion was, and he felt very happy.

"I wish I might read some of my poems to you, Miss Grey," he said. "I should like to have your opinion, because I know it would be sincere."

"I should be delighted to hear them, but I don't think I should venture to give an opinion; my opinion would not be worth anything."

"When may I come and read one or two to you and Mary? To-morrow afternoon?"

"Oh, yes; we are staying here tonight, but we shall be at home in the afternoon. Are these published poems? Pray, excuse me--I quite forgot; you don't publish. You don't care for fame--the fame that sets other people wild."

He smiled, and slightly shrugged his shoulders.

"We don't care for the plaudits of the stupid crowd," he said; "that is quite true. We don't care for popularity, and to have our books lying on drawing-room tables, and kept by the booksellers bound in morocco ready to hand, to be given away as gift books to young ladies. But we should like the admiration of a chosen few. The truth is, that I don't publish my poems because I haven't the money. They would be a dead loss, of course, to any one who printed them; I am proud to say that. I would not have them printed at all if they couldn't be artistically and fitly brought out; and I haven't the money, and there's an end. But if I might read my poems to you, that would be something."

Minola began to be full of pity for the poor poet, between whom and possible fame there stood so hard and prosaic a barrier. She was touched by the proud humility of his confession of ambition and poverty. Three sudden questions flashed through her mind. "I wonder how much it would cost? and have I money enough? and would it be possible to get him to take it?"

Her color was positively heightening, and her breath becoming checked by the boldness of these thoughts, when suddenly there was a rus.h.i.+ng and rustling of silken skirts, and Lucy Money, disengaging herself from a man's arm, swooped upon her.

"You darlingest, dear Nola, where have you been all the night? I have been hunting for you everywhere! Oh--Mr. Blanchet! I haven't seen you before either. Have you two been wandering about together all the evening?"

Looking up, Minola saw that it was Mr. Victor Heron who had been with Lucy Money, and that he was now waiting with a smile of genial friendliness to be recognized by Miss Grey. It must be owned that Minola felt a little embarra.s.sed, and would rather--though she could not possibly tell why--not have been found deep in confidential talk with Herbert Blanchet.

She gave Mr. Heron her hand, and told him--which was now the truth--that she was glad to see him.

"Hadn't we better go and find Mary?" Blanchet said, rising and glancing slightly at Heron. "She will be expecting us."

"No, please don't take Miss Grey away just yet," Victor said, addressing himself straightway, and with eyes of unutterable cordiality and good-fellows.h.i.+p, to the poet. "I haven't spoken a word to her yet; and I have to go away soon."

"I'll go with you to your sister, Mr. Blanchet," said Lucy, taking his arm forthwith. "I haven't seen her all the evening, and I want to talk to her very much."

So Lucy swept away on Mr. Blanchet's arm, looking very fair, and _pet.i.te_, and pretty, as she held a bundle of her draperies in one hand, and glanced back, smiling and nodding, out of sheer good-nature, at Minola.

Victor Heron sat down by Minola, and at once plunged into earnest talk.

TRIED AND TRUE.

Year after year we'll gather here, And pa.s.s the night in merry cheer.

Through storm and war, o'er sea and land, We'll come each year to Neckar's strand: In war and storm, on land and sea, To this our pledge we'll faithful be, _And each to all be true_.

So sang three students one March night-- Without the storm wind blew, Within were wine and warmth and light And three hearts brave and true.

"To-morrow morn we all go hence,"

Said Wilhelm, speaking low.

"For Emil fights for Fatherland, Franz o'er the sea doth go,

"And I in Berlin, with my books, Will lead a scholar's life-- In toil, and war, and foreign land, We thus begin the strife."

Three gla.s.ses then with Rhineland wine Unto the brim were filled, And to the sacred parting pledge Each heart responsive thrilled.

Three years went by, and so the friends Unto their faith were true, And spent the night in merry song And lived the past year through.

When came the fourth reunion night Without the March wind blew, Within were wine, and warmth, and light, And one heart brave and true.

For Emil died for Fatherland, And Franz went down at sea-- In war and storm, in life and death, They said they'd faithful be:

And so Wilhem three gla.s.ses filled.

Of one he kissed the edge; Two shadow hands the others raised-- The friends had kept their pledge!

SYLVESTER BAXTER.

ABOUT CIGARETTES.

Ten or fifteen years ago we rarely saw cigarettes in this country, their use being confined to the few natives who had acquired the habit during a residence abroad, and to foreigners, French, Italian, and Cuban settlers, who followed the practices of their youth. So slight was the general demand that, excepting in the large cities, cigarettes were rarely found for sale. To-day there are probably few small towns in the thickly settled portions of the country where cigarettes are not readily obtained; while in the large cities the stores vie with each other in giving us varied a.s.sortments of leading brands. Indeed, recent statistics state that nearly thirty per cent. of the entire smoking tobacco consumed in the United States is in this form. Cigarettes are now imported from all portions of Europe, but princ.i.p.ally from France.

Several factories have of late years been started in our own country, but the cigarette _par excellence_ is made in Havana. Nowhere else do we find capital so largely invested, labor so diversified, or such attention to details. There certainly you can take your choice--Honoradez, Havana, Astrea, Cherito, Henriquez, and dozens of others of lesser note.

The tobacco used in the making of the Havana cigarettes is bought from the cigar factors, but only from those who have the most a.s.sured reputation. It consists of the leaves left from the making of cigars.

The necessity of securing the best grades of tobacco cannot be overestimated. The judgment of the cigarette smoker is formed solely from the sense of taste. He is totally unaffected by sight, which in the cigar enables a clever workman to so roll bad tobacco that we are predisposed in favor of an inferior article. While absolute inferiority is intolerable in either, mediocrity, in Cuba at all events, is much more readily tolerated in the cigar than in the cigarette.

The tobacco for the cigarette is not, as is generally supposed with us, raised on the plantations of the various leading cigar factors.

"Bartegas," "Cobania," "Upman," or whatever be the name of our favorite brand, does not depend for its success upon any one plantation. The practice on the part of the leading houses is to send their purchasing agents into the tobacco district as soon as the crop begins to ripen.