“Viens, corps, ta fosse t’attend!” for Pere S——­ was a heretic, and could not have slept in consecrated ground had he died before the Republique Francaise removed religious restrictions from all burial-places.  All the consular corps in all the region round about followed the old man to his long home, all our public buildings hung their flags half-mast high, all our little world told queer stories of the dead old man.  But our own hearts grew tender with thoughts of this life finished at fourscore years with its longing of almost half a century unfulfilled.  “Philip Nolan” we often called the old man, who sometimes said to us, with yearning, pathetic voice,—­

“I am an American; I am here only till I make my fortune.  When I am rich enough I shall go Home.  I shall die and be buried at Home,—­when I am rich enough.”

Temperament is Fate.  Pere S——­’s temperament of Harpagon fated him to die as he had lived,—­a man without a country.

     MARGARET BERTHA WRIGHT.

THE PRIMITIVE COUPLE.

I.

PARADISE.

The island in Magog Lake was like a world by itself.  Though there were but fifteen or twenty acres of land in it, that land was so diversified by dense woods, rocks, verdant open spots, and smooth shore-rims that it seemed many places in one.

Adam’s tent was set in the arena of an amphitheatre of hills, upon close, smooth sward sloping down to the lake-margin of milk-white sand.  Beyond the lake stood up a picture as heavenly to man’s vision as the New Jerusalem appearing in the clouds.

This was a mountain bounded at the base by two spurs of the lake, and clothed by a plumage of woods, except upon spaces near the centre of its slope.  Here green fields disclosed themselves and two farm-houses were nested, basking in the light of a sky which deepened and deepened through infinite blues.

Though it was high noon, dew yet remained upon the abundance of ferns and rock-mosses on those heights around the camp.  The tent stood open at both ends, framing a triangular bit of lake-water and shore.  Within it were a table piled with books, an oval mirror hung over a toilet-stand, garments suspended along a line, a small square rug overlying the sward, and camp-chairs.

The two cots had been stripped of their blankets—­which were out sunning upon a pole—­and set in the thickest shade, and upon one of these cots Eva was stretched out, having a pillow under her head.  Her dress was of a green woollen stuff, and barely reached the instep of her low shoes.  A mighty bunch of trailing ferns, starred with furry azure flowers and ox-eyed daisies, was fastened from her neck to her girdle.  She had drawn her broad sun-hat partly over the bewitching mystery of her eyes and forehead, to keep the sky-glow at bay, but left space enough through which to search the whole visible world, and her face was smiling with pure joy.  To be alive beside Lake Magog was sufficient; and she was both alive and beloved.