Old Valentines / A Love Story

alentine Germain-the actress? She married Robert Oglebay, the painter,

he main entrance

culated accuracy. Wherever construction is in progress you are likely to see him, standing at a little distance, holding his silk hat on his white head with on

, and something about the cut of his clothes suggest the soldier. But he is one of the great engineers;

the house by its walled garden and the imposing wrought-iron grille through w

ing advertisement in "The Athenaeum" for certain missing volumes. One in particular, the "Proceedings of the British Engineering Society for the year 1848," he would tell you, was the very devil to find; it seems there was a fire at the printer's. Sir Peter's mono

on subscription lists headed by the Right People.

Oglebay Prize speeds some talented English lad to Paris. But that endowment was his brother Robert's suggestion. Sir Peter's calls at the Christie Galleries ceased when Robert ma

of his friends. The gay little suppers in their own rooms were famous; nine at table, mostly men, entranced by Valentine's beauty and her wit. Charming were their afternoons among the curio shops, and their return, laden with loot too precious to wait over night for delivery. Glor

soon meant a new frolic. Nurse Farquharson's were

eys, the song with which beautiful Valentine herself had captivated London,-"If I could wear trousers, I know what I should do." If you knew your way about town in the early eighties, you may remember the song. The

ine caught the expression on the nurse's face.

ith me on my birt

pretty upraised hands,

s at my mamma, Farkson

tinople, in Holland. You should have seen Valentine in the Dutch costume she brought home. Each of the inseparable trio of artists, Mr. Singleton, Mr. Leon

had found what he was looking for at last. The strong, deep sentiment of the North had clutched at him and held him fast. And

d northward again, with joyful eagerness.

ding tide had left tiny, helpless creatures which she examined curiously, and then carried

range songs that thrilled her, thou

ikings; of their high-prowed ships, and the long-haired sailors, with fierce eyes; of their ad

es grew steadily during

rk, Robert,"

I have been seeki

l weathers. Valentine's joy was in him. Phyllis found hers

agic the end! Drowned, under the sa

gloom of early evening, the glow of the firelight, the smell of the sea, the full-rigged ship on a rude wall-bracket, and the moaning wind outside were memories of after years. At the moment, wrapped in a blanket, Phyllis was conscious only of security and warmth. She smiled up at the big fisherman who had rescued her, and

ramped past the cottage on their way to the inn, the fisherman's wife, peering throug

irst citizen of the village. A large-eyed, terror-stricken Phyllis learned of her loneliness and sobbed on the good woman's broa

rse. The name was slowly spelled. And the address? Perfectly, Phyllis knew the street and number of that fascinating home of hers, but she now remembered that Farquharson would not be there; that Farquharson had gone to visit her brother in a little tow

and Mr. Singleton," she bethought her

tea, accompanied by a tiny brown dog; but the patient innkeeper could learn no more of her t

ulary convey the idea of relatives to Phylli

eter. But my papa and mamma never went to see him, and he never came to

was it not her own? And his title, too. The innkeeper, impressed, communicated his i

It grieved the innkeeper that another name than the author's must be signed

ishing village, received the poor remains of Robert Oglebay and Valentine, his wif

NORWAY, Augu

of her parents by the remorseless se

SAKKER, P

og-enveloped streets, with a small girl in his arms. One of Phyllis's hands h

his beautiful, spirited, improvident wife had surrounded themselves; trifles which had helped to create t

wreck for her (not in those words, however) she asked him

ome of them are a hundred years old. They are ever so pretty, Uncle Peter, and she let me play with them, whole boxes full of them. I loved them best of all my playthings. Sometimes my papa called me his little Valentine, but they named me Phyllis, after my grandmamma, my papa's ma

MAMMA, TOO,

ght in the valenti

claimed Mr. Rowlandson,

able collections ever brought together, and intimated tha

mmissioned to buy one

Use your own judgm

gh mist, the great brown sail, looming, shadowy; one sailor, in a red jersey, at the tiller. In the corner Robert had scrawled his

owlandson's shop, sir," said his hou

," he replied. "They are old valentines, Burbage, old valentines