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TURUN LINNA

Kirj.

A. W. J.

L?nsisuomalaisten toimittama

Penni-kirjasto Suomen kansalle 2.

Helsingiss?, Suomal. Kirjal. Seuran kirjapainossa, 1867.

P. Th. Stolpen kustannuksella.

W?h?st? paljo tuleepi, Kipin?st? tuli syttyy.

Lieneek?h?n yht??n Suomen maan asukasta, joka ei kumminkin nimeksi tunne vanhaa Turun kaupunkia? Tuskin kyll?. Historiamme lehdeill? on sen kaupungin nimi niin usein mainittu, ett? siit? varmaan voimme p??tt?? t?ss? seudussa tapahtuneiden seikkojen olleen siit? arvosta, ett? kumminkin paikkakunnan nimi on levinnyt joka m?kkiin maassamme. Siis, lukiani, l?hdepp?s ajatuksillas muassani hetkeksi t?lle paikkakunnalle, niin saamme yhdess? n?hdess?mme muistoja vanhoista ajoista antaa mielemme rient?? kuluneisin p?iviin. Ehk? voivat entismuistot edes v?h?nkin meit? miellytt??.

Suomen lounaisessa osassa virtaa hiljain pohjasta etel??n Aurajoki. Alkain P?yty?n saloista on se ensin suuren ojan n?k?inen, vaan levenee sitte v?hitt?in, kunne se kuusi penikulmaa kuljettuansa kohtaa meren aallot tullessaan kapeaan lahteen, joka nyky??n kantaa Linnanaukon nime?. Juuri matkansa perille p??sem?isill??n jakaa se kahteen osaan Turun kaupungin. Turun komea tuomiokirkko kohottaa korkeat muurinsa sen it?isell? rannalla ja miss? se rient?? meren syliin, siell? sen l?ntisell? puolella vanhan Turun linnan valkoiset muurit kertovat satunsa kuluneista vuosisadoista; ajoista, jolloin maamme mahtavimmat miehet asuivat linnan nyt jo suurimmaksi osaksi h?vinneiss? saleissa.

Noin vuonna 1157, siis n?epp?s jo monta ihmisik?? sitte, oli sill? seudulla, jossa linna nyt seisoo, vilkas liike. Auran joki tosin silloin jo vierteli mutaista vett?ns? Linnanaukkoon, mutta komeita kartanoita sen rannikoilla olisi silm?si turhain etsinyt. Tuskin olisit n?hnyt m?kki?k??n, miss? Turun kaupunki nyt ylpeilee katuinensa ja huonerivinens?. Kukkulat ja avarat laksot olisivat ainoastansa kohdanneet silmi?si. Ainakaan et olisi voinut. aavistaa, ett? niinkin komea kaupunki kuin nykyinen Turku t?ss? oli syntyv?. Mutta, arvelet, mik? sitte oli syyn? siihen liikkeesen, josta puhuin. Saatpa kuulla.

Kaks oli pyhe? miest? Kaksi kansan ruhtinasta Ristivelje? jaloa; Yksi kasvoi Ruotsinmaalla, Toinen maalla vierahalla. Lapsi maalta vierahalta Se on H?meen Henterikki, Waan joka Ruotsissa yleni, Se on Eerikki ritari, Ruotsin kuuluisa kuningas?

Mutta sill? ett? muutamat Suomalaiset v?kisin olivat kastetut ei viel? pitk?lle p??sty. Pakanuus oli juuritettava ulos mielist? ja kristin oppi istutettava syd?miin pakanuuden siaan. T?ss? ty?t? monelle miespolvelle. Pispa Hentrikki on ensimm?inen, joka t?h?n ty?h?n uhrasi voimansa ja -- henkens?. Er?s Suomalainen talonpoika Lalli nimelt? katkaisi piaan h?nen vaikutuksensa, koska tappoi h?nen K?yli?n j?rvell?, mutta kunnioitettavan pispan muistoa ei voi mik??n saattaa unohduksiin, niin kauvan kuin Suomen kansa hengiss? pysyy. Woidaksensa t?t? k??nt?misen ty?t? pitkitt?? t?ytyi Ruotsalaisien pit?? sotavoimia maassa, sill? Suomalaisten mielet olivat niin juurtuneet vanhoihin oloihin ja uskoon, ett? voiton saatuansa kohta olisivat luopuneet Ruotsalaisten heille pakoittamasta vallasta ja uskosta. P??tettiin siis rakentaa linna Ruotsin vallan pysytt?miseksi maassamme ja paikaksi, mihin linna oli rakettava, valittiin niemi Aurajoen suussa. T?m? on nykyisen Turun linnan synty. Sin?, lukiani, joka olet kuullut tykkien pauhinaa, olet kuullut, mink? mahdottoman voiman ampuneuvot ovat itselleen anastaneet, niin ettei harmaat vuoretkaan en?? ole vakaat olostaan, ehk? hymyilet katsellessasi linnan muuria ja ajatellessasi, ett? ne ovat raketut sotavarustukseksi, mutta se, joka eli siihen aikaan, ainakin ne n?hdess??n suuresti ihmetteli niiden mahdotonta vahvuutta. Ei paljo aikoja kulunutkaan, ennenkuin Turun linnaa pidettiin ruotsin vallan vahvimpina. Mutta niin ajat muuttuvat. Ruutin keksint? ja ampuma-asetten parantaminen vaikutti, ett? linna menetti t?m?n suuren arvonsa ja vihdoin j?tettiin se korjuutta, niin ett? aika vapaasti sai tehd? h?vitt?v?? ty?t?ns?, josta nykyinen linna antaa ik?vimpi? todistuksia.

Nykyisen linnan kaikki muurit eiv?t ole raketut samaan aikaan, vaan me voimme eroittaa vanhan ja uuden linnan. Wanha linna on suurimmaksi osaksi rakettu harmaasta kivest?. Sen rakentaminen aloitettiin, niinkuin jo olemme maininneet, Eerikki kuninkaan aikoina. Uusi linna on luultavasti 400 vuotta nuorempi ja on rakettu tiilikivist? vanhan linnan it?iselle puolelle, ja on vanhaa linnaa paljoa matalampi.

Ensim?iset vuosisadat linnan olosta peitt?? suuri pimeys. Ainoastansa muutama s?de v?lkkyy t?st? pimeydest?. Sen harmaat muurit, jotka ovat ainoat j?lell?olevat todistajat silloisesta el?m?st?, eiv?t virko mit??n, ehk? mit? heilt? kysyisimme, ne vaan vakaina muistuttavat meit? itest?ns?. Wasta kuudennentoista sadan alkaessa rupee pimeys antamaan per?? ja tarkemman tiedon aamurusko koittamaan.

Mutta ennenkuin jatkamme sotaretkemme, k?yk??mme hetkeksi katselemaan linnan sis?puolta ja oloja siell?. Jos olisit t?h?n aikaan tullut linnan saleihin, niin tuskin olisit luullut olevasikaan Suomessa. Huoneitten sein?t, n?et, olivat peitetyt kalliilla vaatteilla, laattiat monenkarvaisilla matoilla, huonekalut arvaamattoman komeat, useammat niist? t?nnetuodut kaukaisista maista. Ainakin h?mm?styt, jos luettelen sinulle herttuan palvelioita, joita siihen aikaan kutsuttiin "virkamiehiksi". Wuonna 1559 luetellaan niist? ajoista s?ilytetyiss? kirjoissa palkkaa saavia "virkamiehi?": 24 pyssymiest?, 13 nikkaria, 9 muurimestaria, 29 laivanteki??, 3 lasimestaria, 3 sahaajaa, 1 sorvari, 5 nuoranteki??, 2 teurastajaa eli lahtaria, 9 nuottamiest?, 3 pursimiest?, 8 sepp??, 3 oluenpaniaa, 5 kokkia, 3 tynnyrinteki??, 3 tiilinteki??, 5 kintaitten teki??, 3 rahanteki??, 5 tavarain kirjoittajaa, 14 kamarikirjuria, 3 ankeriasten kalastajaa, 3 portinvartiaa sek? joukko yksityisi?, joista yksi oli -- "koirien p??mies". Ja ajatteleppas sit? hetke?, jolloin vieraita likiseuduilta oli koossa. Silloinpa palvelioita vilskui joka tahoilla, ja p?yd?t oikein uupuivat herkkujen alle. Kerran esimerkiksi oli p?yd?ll? vaan kalaruuissa "nahkiaisia, lohta, siikaa, lohen m?ti?, silakkaa, s?yn?vi?, lahnaa, ahvenia, s?rki?, kuoreita ja ankeriaita". Ulkomaan viinat oikein tulvasivat virtoina. Usein py?ri my?skin musiikin soidessa mit? kalliimpiin vaatteisin puettuja naisia ja miehi? tanssin py?rteess? ymp?ri lattiaa. Kuultiinpa linnassa silloin Suomenkielt?kin. Tapahtuipa kerran niinkin, ett? herttua p??tti kirjoituttaa Ranskan kuninkaalle -- Suomeksi. Mutta n?m?t ilop?iv?t eiv?t kest?neet kauvan. Kanuunain pamaukset ja kuulain viuhu ajoivat ilon ja riemun pakoon ja t?m?n j?lkeen ei linna milloinkaan en?? ollut niin monen mahtavan miehen asuinsia eik? sen saleissa en?? sellaista prameutta n?hty.

Toukokuun keskipaikoilla rupesi Eerikin sotav?ki sek? merelt? ett? maalta ahdistamaan linnaa, mutta linnan v?ki puolusti sit? urhoollisesti. Kuningas l?hetti yh? Ruotsista lis?v?ke?, mutta apua Juhanalle Puolasta ei kuulunutkaan, jotenka linna viimein joutui hyvin ahtaalle. Sanoma k?y, ett? Eerikin sotav?ki, turhain kauvan aikaa ahdistettuaan linnaa, keksi seuraavan petollisen sotakeinon. W?h?n matkaa linnasta lounaan p?in on pieni saari, joka nyt sai nimens?, jota t?n?p?n?kin viel? kantaa, Hepokari. Eerikin sotamiehet, n?et, pikisiv?t ja tervasivat hevosen ja sytyttiv?t sen palamaan. Hevonen rupesi h?diss?ns? t?ytt? laukkaa juoksemaan ymp?ri saaressa. Linnanv?ki n?ki t?m?n ja juoksi kaikki yhdelle puolelle katselemaan t?t? ihmett?. Mutta sill? aikaa karkasivat Ruotsalaiset maan puolelta linnaan ja saivat t?ten linnan valloitetuksi Elokuun 12:na. Herttua Juhana vaimoneen, palvelioineen ja puolustajineen joutui vangiksi ja vietiin Ruotsiin.

Kun Juhana oli viety vankina Ruotsiin, suljettiin h?n kuninkaan k?skyst? "Gripsholm" nimiseen linnaan, jossa 4 pitk?? vuotta istui. Eerikki, joka luonnoltaan oli ?re? ja pikainen vihaan, kuulteli my?skin usein huonojen neuvonantajien puhetta ja teki sent?hden monen ty?n, joka ei hallituksellensa kunniaa tuottanut, vaan sit? vastaan vieroitti yh? enemm?n kansan mielen h?nest?. Wihdoin antoi h?n miekkansakin maistaa viattoman miehen verta. Pikainen katumus seurasi nyt niinkuin usein ennenkin ty?t?ns?, jonka vihan vimmassa teki. Raskasmielinen luontonsa muuttui t?st? niin synk?ksi, ett? h?n muutaman ajan mielipuolena kuljeskeli milloin miss?kin, j?tt?en hallitustoimet sikseen. Her?tty?ns? n?ist? hourauksista antoi h?n mahtavien sukulaisien pyynn?st? Juhanalle vapauden ja sovinto tehtiin veljien v?lill?, joka kuitenkaan ei kest?nyt kauvan. Eerikki heitt?ysi taas malttamattoman luontonsa valtaan ja entiset julmuudet uudistettiin. Seurauksena siit? oli, ett? veljens? Juhana ja Kaarlo nostivat kapinan h?nt? vastaan, ottivat h?nen vangiksi ja panivat h?nen pois hallituksesta, johon h?nen siaansa Juhana nousi. T?m? tapahtui v. 1568. Ensin salvattiin Eerikki Tukholman linnaan, mutta muutettiin sitte Turkuun v. 1569. T??ll? h?n oli kaksi vuotta, kunnes h?n taas muutettiin Oolantiin Kastelholman linnaan ja sielt? muutaman kuukauden per?st? Ruotsiin, jossa oli vangittuna milloin miss?kin linnassa, kunnes h?nt? veljens? k?skyst? vaadittiin ottamaan myrkky?, josta kuoli 1577. Juhanan julmuus velje?ns? kohtaan on inhoittava. Eerikki, n?et, pidettiin hirmuisen kovassa vankeudessa. P??llikk? Turun linnassa esimerkiksi pyysi rautaa ja kuparia Ruotsista, saadaksensa niist? teett?? kahleita Eerikille. Eerikki oli hyvin mieltynyt soitantoon ja lukuun, mutta kaikki soittokalunsa ja kirjansa, jopa pyh? raamattukin, vtettiin h?nelt? pois. H?nen t?ytyi kirjoittaa tikulla ja musteena h?nell? oli vett?, johon nokea oli sekoitettu; ruokansa oli usein aivan huono ja monasti sai h?n maata kipe?n? ilman hoidotta ja l??kkeitt?.

Wiel? samana vuonna suvella tuli herttua itse sotav?en kanssa laivoilla Suomeen. St?larm, joka ei voinut uskoa, ett? Kaarlo, jolla ainoastansa oli huonoja ja pieni? sotalaivoja, uskaltaisi niill? tulla Suomeen, oli laiminly?nyt kaiken laivastonsa varustamisen. Kaarlon laivat purjehtivat sent?hden est?m?tt? likelle Turun linnaa, mutta linnasta ampuminen esti h?nt? viem?st? laivansa jokeen. H?n pani sent?hden v?kens? maalle v?h?n matkaa kaakkois-puolla linnaa ja aikoi maata my?den menn? linnaa h?tyytt?m??n. Linnanv?ki, joka n?ki h?nen aikomuksensa, l?hetti sotamiehi? kanuunilla h?nt? ottamaan vastaan Turun kaupunkiin. Arvid St?larm johti niit?. Nykyisess? Uudenmaan tullissa tulivat sotav?et yhteen, mutta Kaarlon v?ki ei kauvan ampunutkaan, ennenkuin St?larm miehineen vet?yi takaisin ja rupesi matkaamaan H?mett? p?in. Herttuan sotav?ki marssi yh? linnaa p?in. Linnassa oli p??llikk?n? Fleming vainajan leski, joka oli hyvin urhoollinen nainen, eik? ensink??n ajatellut antaumista, vaan kehoitti sotav?ke? urhoollisuuteen ja uskollisuuteen kuninkaalle. Herttuan v?ki teki linnoituksia Korpilahden ja Myllym?en vuorelle ja ampua r?j?hytti niist? linnaa, mutta turhain. Linnan muurit eiv?t olleet mill?ns?k??n ampumisesta. Waikka Flemingin leski sai kuulla, ett? kuninkaalta apua ei ollut odottamistakaan, niin h?n oli yht? rohkea. Wihdoin sai herttua linnan kavaluudella. Er?s ylioppilas Taneli Hjort rupesi yllyttym??n sotav?ke? pakenemaan herttuan leiriin ja onnistuikin hyvin toimessaan. Kun t?m? tuli tutuksi, kutsutttin linnan v?ki kokoon ja luvattiin suuri palkinto niille, jotka pysyiv?t kuninkaalle uskollisina, mutta niille, jotka tahtoivat, annettiin lupa menn? herttuan leiriin. Suurin osa sotav?est? olikin halukas menem??n ja j?lkeenj??neet eiv?t kauvan sen j?lkeen voineet tehd? vastusta. P??sty?ns? linnaan meni herttua linnan kirkkoon, jossa Klaus Flemingin ruumiinarkku oli. Koska h?n oli kuullut arveltavan, ett? Fleming viel? oli Puolassa ja ett? ruumiinarkussa vaan oli kivi?, k?ski h?n ottaa arkun kannen auki, ja kun h?n n?ki vanhan vihollisensa kuolleena, veti h?n h?nt? parrasta ja lausui: "jos sin? olisit nyt el?nyt, ei p??si olisi ollut vakavana". Flemingin rouva vastasi: "jos minun autuas herrani olisi el?nyt, niin teid?n armonne ei milloinkaan olisi tullut t?nne sis?lle".

Kaikki parhaat kanuunat ja Suomen laivasto sek? joukko sotavankia, joista yksi oli Flemingin leski, vietiin Ruotsiin.

Saman vuosisadan lopulla v. 1698 muutettiin maaherran asuinpaikka Turun linnasta Turun kaupunkiin ja t?m? seikka antoi linnan suuruudelle ja kuuluisuudelle melkein kuolinhaavan. Linna sai est?m?tt? h?vit? h?vi?mist?ns? ja oli t?st? l?htien vaan sotamiesten ja vankien asuntona. T?m?n lis?ksi tuli seuraavan vuosisadan alussa tulipalo, joka sai tehd? suurta tuhoa, ennenkuin saatiin sammumaan. Samaan aikaan oli my?skin "iso viha", jolloin linna j?tettiin autioksi, niin ett? Wen?l?inen sai h?vitt??, miten tahtoi. Noin v. 1840 on linna uudestaan ulkopuolelta kalkittu, mutta n?ytt?? saavan odottaa turhain sit? p?iv??, jona Suomen kansa pit?? velvollisuutenansa yll?pit?? rakennusta, johonka niin monta suurta muistoa on yhdistetty. Toivokaamme kuitenkin, ett? sekin p?iv? pian koittaa, koska jo t?t? nyky?kin n?emme yh? suuremman innon her?j?v?n tutkimaan muinaisuuttamme.

Nyky-aikana ja jo monta aikaa sitten on pappi ja linnan vallesmanni ainoat herrasmiehet, jotka asuvat linnan muurien sis?ss?. Mit? lajia muut asujamet siell? ovat, kuulemme helposti kahleitten helin?st? heid?n jaloistansa ja voimme arvella jo linnaan tullessamme, kun n?emme portilla sotilaita vahtimiehin?.

Jo linnan mahtavimpina aikoina oli siin? my?s pahanteki?it? vangittuna. Eritenkin on muistettava vanhassa linnassa oleva niin kutsuttu "kolotorni", johonka p??stiin ainoastansa pitkien k?yt?vien kautta, jotka k?viv?t milloin yl?sp?in, milloin alasp?in. Ensin tultiin pime??n soikeaan saliin, jossa keski-laattialla oli luukku, josta pahanteki? laskettiin alan kuuden sylen syv?lle. Suvella riisuttiin h?n paitaan asti, mutta talvella j?tettiin takki p??lle. Ruuaksi sai h?n vett? ja leip?? "kohtuullisesti". Sinne pantiin ne, jotka eiv?t tunnustaneet itse?ns? syyp??ksi siihen, josta syytettiin. Kauheampaa keinoa heit? pakoittamaan tunnustukseen tuskin olisi l?ytynytk??n. Kirjailia, joka t?st? puhuu, lis??, "ett? moni roisto suvella kesti t?t? koko viikon, mutta talvella tuskin kaksi tahi kolme p?iv??". Muutamat pel?styiv?t jo sen n?hdess?ns? niin, ett? tunnustivat, mit? vaan tahdottiin. Muutamat olivat "niin paatuneet", etteiv?t sittek??n tunnustaneet, ja muutamat "niin ilke?t", ett? p??sty?ns? sielt? ottivat takaisin, mit? olivat tunnustaneet? Kuka voi sanoa, kuinka monta viatontakin t?t? hirvitt?v?? kiusausta sai k?rsi?? Nyky??n ovat vangit uudessa linnassa, ja vanhan linnan komeat salit ja mahtavien asuinhuoneet ovat muutetut -- makasiineiksi.

A. W. J.

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When Isabel was four and twenty she went to New York to visit some cousins, and though they lived very quietly, she made the acquaintance of a young civil engineer, at home on a vacation from his work in the United States of Colombia, who had married and borne her off after the briefest possible courtship, never to see her old home again till she came back, ten years after, a widow with two children, to eke out her small means by the shelter of the family abode. I cannot delay the humiliating confession, postponed as long as may be for the sake of the artistic unity of my picture, that the youngest of these children was a boy, if, as his mother was wont to plead, "a very little one." He was dressed in as unboyish a fashion as possible, and being christened Winthrop, was always called Winnie. He was a quiet, gentle child, kept down by his position; but though thus made the best of, he was felt to be an inconvenience and an encumbrance, if not now, certainly in the future. There was no end to the trouble it would make when Winnie grew older, and required a room to himself, and would be obliged to go to a boys' school, which might even lead up to the direful contingency of his "bringing home other boys."

After Isabel's departure, Marian, though the prettier of the two, found it dull to go about alone. No one asked her to New York; the cousin had died, and the cousin's husband had married again; and when she grew past the dancing age, perhaps earlier than she need, she went nowhere where she had any chance of meeting any men but the husbands of one or two married friends, and she was such a little fool that she fancied they despised her for being an old maid. She knew she was five-and-thirty on her last birthday, and was foolish enough to be afraid and ashamed of owning to it. She need not have done so, for she did not look a day older than twenty-five; but the memories of her contemporaries were pitiless.

"Is--Mr. Hayward a widower?"

"Oh, dear, no, ma'am!" replied Drusilla, emphatically.

"And--they--still live there?"

"Oh, dear, yes, ma'am!"

Marian was very glad that the Saturday she chose for her expedition was Aunt Caroline's day for the Women's and Children's Hospital, and that Isabel had taken Minna and Winnie for a holiday trip into town to see the Art Museum, which left fewer people at home to whom to explain her errand, and to whose comments to reply. Mrs. Carter said it was silly to go so far, and if she couldn't be satisfied to take the girl without, she had better find some one near by. The trained nurse, who was slowly but surely getting the whole household under her control, said that Miss Carter's beautiful new spring suit would be ruined going all the way to South Boston in the horse-cars; and Mrs. Carter, who would never have thought of this herself, seconded her. Marian did not argue the point, but she wore the dress nevertheless. She never felt that anything she wore made any impression on any one she knew, but she could not help fancying that if she had the chance she might impress strangers. No one she knew ever called her pretty, and perhaps five-and-thirty was too old to be thought so; and yet, if there was any meaning in the word, it might surely be applied to the soft, shady darkness of her hair and eyes, and the delicate bloom of her cheeks and lips, set off by that silver-grey costume, with its own skilfully blended lights and shades of silk and cashmere, and the purple and white lilacs that were wreathed together on her small bonnet. She made a bad beginning, for while still enjoying the effect of her graceful draperies as she entered the horse-car for Boston, she carelessly caught the handle of her nice grey silk sunshade in the door, and snapped it short in the middle. She could have cried, though the man who always mended their umbrellas assured her, with a bow and smile, that it should be mended, when she called for it on her way back, "so that she would never know it;" but it deprived her costume of the finishing touch, and she really needed it on this warm sunny day; then, it was a bad omen, and she was foolish enough to believe in omens. Her disturbance prevented her from observing much of the route after she had drifted into a car for South Boston, and had assured herself that it was the right one. Perhaps this was as well, as the first part of the way was sufficiently uninviting to have frightened her out of her intention had she looked about her. When at last she did, they were passing along a wide street lined with sufficiently substantial brick buildings, chiefly devoted to business, crossed by narrower ones of small wooden houses more or less respectable in appearance; but surely no housemaid who would suit them could ever have served in one of these. Great rattling drays squeezed past the car, and Chinese laundrymen noiselessly got in and out. The one landmark she had heard of in South Boston, and for aught she knew the reason of its existence, was the Perkins Institution for the Blind, which her Aunt Caroline sometimes visited. But she passed the Institution, and still went on and on. That the world extended so far in that direction was an amazement in itself; she knew that there must be something there to fill up, but she had had a vague idea that it might be water, which is so accommodating in filling up the waste spaces of the terrestrial globe. Finally the now nearly empty car came to a full stop at the foot of a hill, the track winding off around it, and the conductor, of whom she had asked her way, approached her with the patronising deference which men in his position were very apt to assume to her: "Lady, you'll have to get out here, and walk up the hill. Keep straight ahead, and you can't miss it."

"And can I take the car here when I come back?" asked Marian, clinging as if to an ark of refuge.

"Oh, yes," said the man, encouragingly; "we're along every ten minutes. It ain't far off."

Marian slowly touched one little foot, and then another, to the unknown and almost foreign soil of South Boston. She looked wistfully after the car till it turned a corner, and left her stranded, before she began slowly to climb the hill. It was warm, and she missed her sunshade. "I shall be shockingly burned!" she thought. She looked about her, and acknowledged that the street was a pleasant, sunny one, and that its commonplace architecture gained in picturesqueness by its steep ascent. As she neared the top the houses grew larger, scattered among garden grounds, and she at last found the number she looked for on the gate-post of one of the largest. She walked up a brick-paved path to the front door between thick box borders, inclosing beds none too well weeded, but whose bowery shrubs and great clumps of old-fashioned bulbs and perennials had acquired the secure possession of the soil that comes with age. Behind them were grape-vines trained on trellises, over which rose the blossoming heads of tall old cherry-trees, and through the interstices in the flowery wall might be caught glimpses of an old garden where grass and flowers and vegetables mingled at haphazard. It dated from the days when people planted gardens with a view to what they could get out of them, regardless of effect; and the house, in like manner, had been built to live in rather than to look at. No one could say how it had looked before trees had shaded it and creepers enveloped it so completely. The veranda which ran around it was well sheltered from the street, fortunately, thought Marian, for the bamboo chairs and sofas, piled up with rugs and cushions, with which it was crowded, were heaped with newspapers, and hats, and tennis-rackets, and riding-whips, and garden-tools, and baskets, tossed carelessly about. On the door-mat lay a large dog, who flopped his tail up and down with languid courtesy as she approached. She was terribly afraid of him, but thought it safer to face him than to turn her back upon him, and edging by him, gave a feeble ring at the door-bell. No one came. She rang again with more energy, and then, after a brief pause, the door was opened by a half-grown boy.

Marian only knew a very few families who aspired to have their doors opened by anything more than a parlour-maid, and these had butlers of unimpeachable respectability. But this young person had a bright, but roguish look, which accorded better with the page of farce than with one of real life. He seemed surprised to see her, though he bowed civilly.

"Is Mrs. Hayward at home?" asked Marian, in the most dulcet of small voices; and as he looked at her with a stare that seemed as if it might develop into a grin, she added, "or any of the ladies of the family? I only wish to see one of them on business."

"Walk in, please, ma'am, and I'll see," faltered the porter, appearing perplexed; and he opened the door, and ushered Marian across a wide hall with a great, old-fashioned staircase at the further end--a place that would have had no end of capabilities about it in a modern decorator's eyes, but which looked now rather bare and unfurnished, save for pegs loaded with hats and coats, and stands of umbrellas--into a long, low room that looked crowded enough. Low bookcases ran around the walls, and there were a great many tables heaped with books and magazines, and a piano littered with music in a most slovenly condition; a music-stand or two, and a violin and violoncello in their cases clustered about it. The walls over the books were hung with old portraits, which looked as if they might be valuable; among them were squeezed in whips, and long pipes on racks, and calendars, and over them were hung horns and heads of unknown beasts, whose skins lay on the floor. Over the fireplace hung a sword and a pair of pistols in well-worn cases, but they were free from dust, which many of the furnishings were not. The long windows at the side opened on to the veranda, which was even more carelessly strewed with the family possessions than at the front door, and from which steps led down to a tennis-court in faultless trim, the only orderly spot on the premises.

What a poor housekeeper Mrs. Hayward must be! She must let the men of the family do exactly as they pleased, and there must be at least half a dozen of them, while not a trace of feminine occupation was to be seen. No servant from here could hope to suit the Carter household, no matter how good a character she brought. But somehow the intensely masculine air of the place had a wild fascination for Marian herself, in spite of warning remembrances of how much her family would be shocked. There was something delicious in the freedom with which letters and papers were tossed about, and books piled up anywhere, while their proper homes stood vacant, and in the soothing, easy tolerance with which persecuted dust was allowed to find a quiet resting-place. A pungent and pleasing perfume pervaded the premises, which seemed appropriate and agreeable to her delicate senses, even though she supposed it must be tobacco-smoke. She had smelled tobacco only as it exhaled from passers in the street, and surely this fine, ineffable aroma came from a different source than theirs! While she daintily inhaled it as she looked curiously about, her ears became aware of singular sounds--a subdued scuffling and scraping at the door at the further end of the room, and a breathing at its keyhole, which gave her an unpleasant sensation of being watched; and she instantly sat stiffly upright and looked straight before her, her heart beating with wonder and affright lest the situation might prove actually dangerous. The sounds suddenly ceased, and in a moment more a halting step was heard outside, and a gentleman came in at the other door--a tall man, whose hair was thick, but well sprinkled with grey; whose figure, lean and lank, had a certain easy swing about its motions, in spite of a very perceptible limp; and whose face, brown and thin, and marred by a long scar right across the left cheek, had something attractive in its expression as he came forward with a courteous, expectant look. Marian could only bow.

"I beg your pardon; did you wish to see me?" inquired the stranger, in a deep, low voice that sounded as if it might be powerful on occasion.

"I am afraid I am the only person who answers to that description." There was a good-natured twinkle in his eye, and he had a pleasant smile, but his evident amusement abashed her. "I keep my own house," he went on.

"Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought there was a Mrs. Hayward!"

"I am sorry to say that there is none. But I am Mr. Hayward, and shall be very glad if I can be of any service to you."

"I don't want to disturb you," said Marian, blushing deeply, while Mr. Hayward, with, "Will you allow me?" drew up a chair and sat down, as if to put her more at her ease. "It is only--only--" here she came to a dead stop. "I do not want to take up so much of your time," she confusedly stammered.

"Not at all; I shall be very happy--" he paused too, not knowing how to fill up the blank, and waited quietly, while Marian sought frantically in her little bag for a paper which was, of course, at the very bottom. "It is only," she began again--"only to ask you about the character of a chambermaid named Drusilla--yes, Drusilla Elms. I think it must be you she refers to; at least I copied the address from the reference she showed me; here it is," handing him the slip of paper; and as he took out his eyeglass to study it, "only I couldn't tell--I didn't know--whether it was Mr., or Mrs., or what it was before the name, I am very sorry."

"Oh, it was not a bad hand!--not at all! It was my own stupidity! I suppose you really did give her the character, then?"

"In spite of your politeness, I am afraid I too plainly recognise the bewildering effect of my own scrawl. I think I must have given her the reference, though I don't remember doing so."

"Yes; but the fact is that our old Catherine, who has been cook here for a longer time than I can reckon, generally engages our other maid for us, and she dislikes to change the name, and calls them all Margaret. I think we had a very nice Margaret two years ago, but I will go and ask Catherine; she may recollect."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself! I have no doubt that you are quite right--none at all!"

"I am very sorry, but Catherine is out, doing her marketing. She will probably return soon, if you do not mind waiting."

"Oh, no!" said Marian, shocked with the idea that her presence might be inconvenient; "I could not possibly wait! I am in a very great hurry."

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