REGENSCHIRMA.—A TALE OF HORROR.

Auckland Star, Volume II, Issue 531, 22 September 1871, Page 2

REGENSCHIRMA.—A TALE OF HORROR.

FfEOM " TKMPLE BAB."] . i- -I :-<.*-

Chapter I. I had known him from a boy ; we had been flogged together at school, we had been plucked together at college; together we had entered London life ; toether we had borne disapointments and celebrated victories ; together we bad sworn always to live, and determined to hold over sacred the " love that passeth the love of woman." My name was -mith, but with true Johnsonian wit he called me " Smy ;" his was AugusJ,its'""de Vere, which it seemed almost profanity to shorten, as I did, into " Ongy," and sometimes "Devy." No cloud had ever come between us before the dreadful day I write of; and that

J3ut J anticipate. The London season was over ; De Vere had danced with such praiseworthy energy tliat liis bootmaker's claims became considerable : whilst I, who cor.fined my gaiety principally to lounging in the park, had had diltorcnces with my tailor so serious as to render a short absence from England desirable. Under these circumstances, I came one morning into his bedroom before he had arisen. " Tomkins ! some brandy and soda," I heard a voice, half stifled by the bedclothes, murmur. " It is not Tomkins," I replied ; " and branrly and soda is bad for you. Listen !" " lie turned lazily in his bed. " I won't listen without a brand " " You shall!'' and I sat down upon his feet suddenly. " Oggy, I have an idea!" " Impossible !" he exclaimed, and appeared to wake up at this announcement. " We must go abroad.1 " Abroad —why?" " Bootmaker —tailor—season over." ■ « Well—when P" '• Switzerland P" " No—so infernally cockney.' " Where, then ?" " Germany. I w ant to go to Bonn, to see a ' schlagar' match. Is it on, Bmj P" "It is," I said, and we grasped each other's liauds. Thus was the first act played in the fearful drama I have to recount. Chaptee 11. Header ! doyou know the town of BonnP if you do, f.here is no need for me to describe it; if you do not know it, no amount of description would make you do so. fc'o I proceed with my narrative. De Vere was very sick crossing the Channel; I'm suro he was, because he kept leaving me on deck to go below, to letch a plaid, to get a drop of brand — to see alter our things, he said, but I knew better. 1 took advantages of his absence to Lok orer the side, but I'm sure the fishes did not benefit in the manner De Vere vulgarly said they did.

The journey to Cologne was uneventful. The Hotel Dischwas bad, but, usDeVere said, the hotel dishes were worse. My exclamation of disgust at a smell we encountered in our peregrinations he also said was a veritable " Oh !de Cologne," but I pass by such bad jokes as unworthy of my graphic pen. I only record these minutiae of travel as interesting, from the fact that the time was approaching when —- But again I anticipate. At Bonn we went to the " Stern," as De Vere insisted on it; he said (having consulted a dictionary) that there we should at last probably discover the meaning of the phrase " the twinkling of a bed-post." But I own I did not see the joke, such as it was, until several days afterwards, when I had got hold of the dictionary. I made great play then with Doctor "Watts' hymn, but De Vere said it was a stupid joke ; he always said my jokes were stupid. There was an English family at Bonn ; at least there were a great many, but there were only one for us. In that family there were two daughters—one lovely as the_day the other ugly as the—tho night isn't particularly ugly—l can never find a simile ! The pretty one was Emily, the ugly one was Jane. .Tane was the eldest —Jane Gray, as De Vere called her, she being well-stricken in years and snowy about the head, and he thinking he knew some history. The parents were very old and had about six teeth between them. How they managed at the table d'hote I cannot tell,but I suppose the six teeth were real good ones. The family's surname was Moppin—an old name, Jane told us: its derivation, the fact of their founder using his handkerchief to his face, after having captured seventeen fortified towns from William the Conqueror, one afternoon in July. We both fell in love with Emily, or rather slid into it, after meeting her every day for a week at the table d'hote. It was a fearful time. I could not stifle the beatings of my heart. I could not lose my friend. "What was Itodo ? Chapteb 111. After a short time we obtained an introduction to the family, and occasionally dined with them. One morning De Vere missed an umbrella which he valued very mncu, and questioned his man Tomkins as to its disappearance. " Did you take it with you last night," sir P" said the man. "Of course I did," said De Vere, and Tomkins transferred his gaze to the window panes. " I loved that umbrella," said De Vere sadly. "Do you know tfhere it is, Smy ?" " No," said I, " hosr should I ?" " Could I have left it in the Moppins' rooms ?" he said, niusingrly. " "With my heart," I murmured sentimentally. " With your what ?" he asked—he is so inquisitive. "Nothing," and I sighed ; but what a sigh ! " Tomkins!" said De Vere, again, " I won't lose that umbrella." " No, sir," said Tomkins, who this time seemed to look for it in the fireplace. "Go to Mr. Moppin, and ask him, with my compliments, if I left it in his room." " Yes, sir," and with one despairing glance at the ceiling, Totnkins departed. He returned —the umbrella was not to be found, " I must have one," said De Vere; and sallying out he bought a new one, with a great deal of handle, and very little silk to speak of. We dined that night with the Moppins in their own rooms—a dream of pleasure, only spoiled by De Vere's bad jokes, which I saw ICmily didn't appreciate. No; she liked heart, soul, a mind—in short, me. As we walked home,De Vere was silent, iill, on reaching the "Stern," he exclaimed : " I'll take my oath I took it! "Toon what?" I asked, wonderingly, waking up from a reverie of a future with Emily. " My new umbrella." " D n your umbrella!" I exclaimed with energy, and he walked haughtily from my room. "Aly Emily—my Emily—my Umly ! My umbrella—my umbrella !" I murmured to myself, as I fell fast asleep. Chapteb IV. We scarcely spoke at breakfast next morning. De Vere was cold and haughty, and I—what cared I for him, or a thousand^ umbrellas ? Was there . not always Emily ? Ah, Emily !(I could write a beautiful rhapsody here, but space forbids). I' lunched with the Moppins. There was something odd about the family, and Janb appeared to watch her sister iv a way which I thought quite inconsistent with good breeding. "Where's your friend?" asked Mrs. Moppin, as well as her three teeth would allow her. I frowned—or knitted my brow, as a novelist would say. " I don't know —looking for his umbrella, I think." " Looking for his umbrella !" This was in chorus from mamma, papa, and Jane. Kmily seemed —dear girll-'-not to care a fig for De Vere or his umbrella. "Has he lost it?"'asked old Moppin, anxiously. I was tired of De Vere, and answered shortly: " i'es—two." " Two!" Again there was a chorus ; but no further questions on the subject were asked, and at last Emily and I were left alone together. Heaven ! —llapture! — Bliss ! Our hearts, I found, beat in unison -my sentiments were returned. " Oh, Love ! —Oh, Fire!" as the Laureate says; but no words can express my feelings: lot me draw a veil over them. Chapteb V. Do Vere dined, as well as I, with the Moppins that evening ;'they seemed to have giver, up the table d'hote, and we were the only guests in their comfortable lodgings. We (i.e. De Vere and Smith) were not friends yet; he had an Englishman's love for his umbrella, and I had slighted that love. I made up my mind to apologise that night, as I turned over music for my angel at the cracked lodginghouse piano, and watched him making bad jokes to the grizzled Jane, who—poor old thing!- certainly made a good preteuoe of laughing at them. Happiness! If culling out one's best friend with a girl be not happiness, X know not what is—'tis

Elysium ! At last it was time for us tn go. I pressed Emily's hand with infinite meaning, took leave of the others, and went to the door. " I brought an umbrella," said De Vere Jane turned scarlet, and the old mothe' looked ready to faint. \ " You told me you'd lost it yediterdav " I said. \ Jl "Yes, but I bought another to\w t can't get on without an umbrella. )>J\;si o i» And to my astonishment he suddenly walked across the room, dived under the sofa close to the piauo where my angel was sitting, and pulled out an umbrella. " How very odd !" ho said. " How very odd !" said all the family " How could it have got there?" V wondered. "How, indeed?" wondered all thi family. " Emily 1" said Pere Moppin, after t, moment's pause—;" do you know P" TT- ■ " How should I, pa ?" asked a dulcet voice. De Vere and I walked silently home to bed. I forgot to apologise for the last night. "I can't stand this, he said next morn, ing, at breakfast; we're bewitched. I must have an umbrella, and I verily believe the Moppins have stolen the other two, and tried to steal thig," and he clutched it fiercely. " Sir," I said, with dignity—and I can be most dignified—" insult me, if yon please, but do not presume to insult her family." " Her family P—why ?" "I interrupted him. " She will be Mrs. Smith." h, He started, j" Surely, Bmy, you can't be such a fool!" It was too much. " Silence!";> I thundered, " and keep your jealous anger for those who mind it!" We parted, for ever; he left Bonn that day and went back to England, with his umbrella. Dear «Jggy ! Had I but known—But again I anticipate. Chaptee VI. She said " Yes ;"—Mr. Moppin said "Yes;" —Mrs. Moppin said,' les ;" and I revelled in happiness. Would I speak to Jane for a moment P she asked, I would have spoken to a thousand Janes, had she wished it. Jane and I were alone. She cleared her throat, and seemed to hesitate. "Before you are definitely engaged to Emily," at length she said, " there is one thing about her you ought to know." " She has been in love before P" I asked, anxiously. "Never mmd —I can bear ifc." " No —never."- ---" She is extravagant P" " No, not particularly." « She But what is it ?" "Well, she has a peculiarity-a very disagreeable one." My heart sank : " She smokes ?" " Oh, no." " She drinks ?" and my blood curdled. " No—no." "She —she—gambles ?" " No; but she sometimes {and it is only now and then) haS i!ti strange wish—a monomanis, I .jn&y for possessing the goods of other people. She -" Good God! I saw it all. De Vere's umbrellas! She was —oh Heaven!" I shrink from writing u/he dreadful wordshe was a Kleptomaniac. I fled! * # * * I may come back to England some day; my native land, may, perhaps, again welcome its wandering Bon. But my soul is a void; my ht-art is broken and my tailor's bill is not yet paid. The following advertisement has appeared several times in the renowned "agony column 1' of the Times: — ■ " Oggy ! write to your Smy ! Let not two paltry umbrellas stand between us. An. apology is offered. Address, Smy, Post-office. Boulogne-sur-Mer." T