Vanity by haunting the apartment in which were stored the trophies of

his varied triumphs--nor dream much in the great gallery hung with

pictures of his travels. But from all these lofty halls of memory he

constantly escaped to a remote and solitary chamber, into which no one

had ever penetrated. But my fatal eyes, behind the glasses, followed

and entered with him, and saw that the chamber was a chapel. It was

dim, and silent, and sweet with perpetual incense that burned upon an

altar before a picture forever veiled. There, whenever I chanced to

look, I saw him kneel and pray; and there, by day and by night, a

funeral hymn was chanted.

"I do not believe you will be surprised that I have been content to

remain deputy bookkeeper. My spectacles regulated my ambition, and I

early learned that there were better gods than Plutus. The glasses

have lost much of their fascination now, and I do not often use them.

Sometimes the desire is irresistible. Whenever I am greatly

interested, I am compelled to take them out and see what it is that I

admire.

"And yet--and yet," said Titbottom, after a pause, "I am not sure that

I thank my grandfather."

Prue had long since laid away her work, and had heard every word of

the story. I saw that the dear woman had yet one question to ask, and

had been earnestly hoping to hear something that would spare her the

necessity of asking. But Titbottom had resumed his usual tone, after

the momentary excitement, and made no further allusion to himself. We

all sat silently; Titbottom's eyes fastened musingly upon the carpet:

Prue looking wistfully at him, and I regarding both.

It was past midnight, and our guest arose to go. He shook hands

quietly, made his grave Spanish bow to Prue, and taking his hat, went

towards the front door. Prue and I accompanied him. I saw in her eyes

that she would ask her question. And as Titbottom opened the door, I

heard the low words:

"And Preciosa?"

Titbottom paused. He had just opened the door and the moonlight

streamed over him as he stood, turning back to us.

"I have seen her but once since. It was in church, and she was

kneeling with her eyes closed, so that she did not see me. But I

rubbed the glasses well, and looked at her, and saw a white lily,

whose stem was broken, but which was fresh; and luminous, and

fragrant, still."

"That was a miracle," interrupted Prue.

"Madam, it was a miracle," replied Titbottom, "and for that one sight

I am devoutly grateful for my grandfather's gift. I saw, that although

a flower may have lost its hold upon earthly moisture, it may still

bloom as sweetly, fed by the dews of heaven."

The door closed, and he was gone. But as Prue put her arm in mine and

we went upstairs together, she whispered in my ear:

"How glad I am that you don't wear spectacles."

MY DOUBLE; AND HOW HE UNDID ME

By Edward Everett Hale (1822-1909)

[From _The Atlantic Monthly_, September, 1859. Republished in the

volume, _The Man Without a Country, and Other Tales_ (1868), by Edward

Everett Hale (Little, Brown & Co.).]

It is not often that I trouble the readers of _The Atlantic Monthly_.

I should not trouble them now, but for the importunities of my wife,

who "feels to insist" that a duty to society is unfulfilled, till I

have told why I had to have a double, and how he undid me. She is

sure, she says, that intelligent persons cannot understand that

pressure upon public servants which alone drives any man into the

employment of a double. And while I fear she thinks, at the bottom of

her heart, that my fortunes will never be re-made, she has a faint

hope, that, as another Rasselas, I may teach a lesson to future

publics, from which they may profit, though we die. Owing to the

behavior of my double, or, if you please, to that public pressure

which compelled me to employ him, I have plenty of leisure to write

this communication.

I am, or rather was, a minister, of the Sandemanian connection. I was

settled in the active, wide-awake town of Naguadavick, on one of the

finest water-powers in Maine. We used to call it a Western town in the

heart of the civilization of New England. A charming place it was and

is. A spirited, brave young parish had I; and it seemed as if we might

have all "the joy of eventful living" to our hearts' content.

Alas! how little we knew on the day of my ordination, and in those

halcyon moments of our first housekeeping! To be the confidential

friend in a hundred families in the town--cutting the social trifle,

as my friend Haliburton says, "from the top of the whipped-syllabub to

the bottom of the sponge-cake, which is the foundation"--to keep

abreast of the thought of the age in one's study, and to do one's best

on Sunday to interweave that thought with the active life of an active

town, and to inspirit both and make both infinite by glimpses of the

Eternal Glory, seemed such an exquisite forelook into one's life!

Enough to do, and all so real and so grand! If this vision could only

have lasted.

The truth is, that this vision was not in itself a delusion, nor,