The Amateur Gentleman

Particular To those who, standing apart from the rush and flurry of life, look

upon the world with a seeing eye, it is, surely, interesting to

observe on what small and apparently insignificant things great

matters depend. To the student History abounds with examples, and to

the philosopher they are to be met with everywhere.

But how should Barnabas (being neither a student nor a philosopher)

know, or even guess, that all his fine ideas and intentions were to

be frustrated, and his whole future entirely changed by nothing more

nor less than--a pebble, an ordinary, smooth, round pebble, as

innocent-seeming as any of its kind, yet (like young David's)

singled out by destiny to be one of these "smaller things"?

They were sitting on the terrace, the Duchess, Cleone, Barnabas, and

the Captain, and they were very silent,--the Duchess, perhaps,

because she had supped adequately, the Captain because of his long,

clay pipe, Cleone because she happened to be lost in contemplation

of the moon, and Barnabas, because he was utterly absorbed in

contemplation of Cleone.

The night was very warm and very still, and upon the quietude stole

a sound--softer, yet more insistent than the whisper of wind among

leaves,--a soothing, murmurous sound that seemed to make the

pervading quiet but the more complete.

"How cool the brook sounds!" sighed the Duchess at last, "and the

perfume of the roses,--oh dear me, how delicious! Indeed I think the

scent of roses always seems more intoxicating after one has supped

well, for, after all, one must be well-fed to be really romantic,--eh,

Jack?"

"Romantic, mam!" snorted the Captain, "romantic,--I say bosh, mam! I

say--"

"And then--the moon, Jack!"

"Moon? And what of it, mam,--I say--"

"Roses always smell sweeter by moonlight, Jack, and are far more

inclined to--go to the head--"

"Roses!" snorted the Captain, louder than before, "you must be

thinking of rum, mam, rum--"

"Then, Jack, to the perfume of roses, add the trill of a

nightingale--"

"And of all rums, mam, give me real old Jamaica--"

"And to the trill of a nightingale, add again the murmur of an

unseen brook, Jack--"

"Eh, mam, eh? Nightingales, brooks? I say--oh, Gad, mam!" and the

Captain relapsed into tobacco-puffing indignation.

"What more could youth and beauty ask? Ah, Jack, Jack!" sighed the

Duchess, "had you paid more attention to brooks and nightingales,

and stared at the moon in your youth, you might have been a green

young grandfather to-night, instead of a hoary old bachelor in a

shabby coat--sucking consolation from a clay pipe!"