LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 7, 8 June 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

\USTIN CHASUBLE'S LOVE CHANCE. IN TWO CHAPTERS.—I. Continued. ' Water, m'm !' gasped Mrs Bosely, almost speechless with natural disgust. ' Water, of course,' replied her visitor. ' What else? And then you're rubbed, and beateD, and your joints are cracked, and—l don't quite know what else ; but you come out beautiful.' Mrs Bosely groaned faintly—- • I should come out dead,' she said, solemnly ; ' it 'ould kill me on the spot.' ' It would cure you,' retorted the youDg lady. ' You say the rheumatism is killing you now ; so you must want to be cured, and I'll just bring a cab—' 'Look'ee here Miss,' said Mrs Bosely, coaxingly—she evidently had reasons for not offending her visitor by too abrupt a refusal —' that 'ere—cure 'ould cost mints.'

' It costs something, of course, replied the girl; ' but I shall pay that; and—' ' Miss Julit!' cried Mrs Bosely. almost driven to desperation,' ' I couldn't let you. It 'ould be wrong. There, now. We must all ha' patience, you know, rnies, in thig vale o' tears : and as my clergyman waß just a sayin 1 to me, one 'ad ought to count it a privilege to carry the crosses as is sent us.' ' Oh, nonsense!' interrupted the girl, curtly—' it's all very well to carry crosses if you can't gdt any one to carry them for you ; but, if you can, drop them and be thankful.'

'An' then, miss, I do think as the rheu* matics is betterin' a little—l do, indeed, miss. They aint so fixed like in the bones ; an' I don't believe as I'd 'ave 'era at all if 'tweren't for that 'ere dratted door, as the draught do cut me in 'alf, it do.' 'Why, Mrs Bosely, I seat some one to mend that door.'

'Ah! an'indeed 'twas very good o' you, miss. A boy, he did come ; but he made such a jawin' an' clatterin' round, I knowed as he couldn't do nothink ; an', not to deceive you, m'm, I'm that shaky I can't abear worritin.'

' Why, you troublesome old thing,' cried the girl, merrily, ' he would have done it all right. Let me look at it.' And then she turned round, and espied me in my dark corner by the door. ' Why, who's this, Mrs Bosely ?' she asked, quickly. ' Your widowed grand-daughter 1 How do you do, my girl 1 and why don't you come and take care of your poor old— '

This was too much. I had alrestdy been shocked to the soul by this girl's levity; but to be taken for an ill-conditioned young woman. Anathematising from the bottom of my heart my classically hairless face and rigidly lengthy coat, I rose up, while Mrs Bosely exclaimed—'Why, lor bless you, dear, that be Mr Jazible, my minister.' ' I hope I am not in your way,' I said, stiffly, seeing she had the grace to blush, but relenting because the blush made so wonderfully pretty. ' I beg your pardon, Mr Jezebel. I——'

' Chasuble,' I corrected, rather warmly. ' Mr Chasuble, I really beg your pardon ; but that corner is so dark, I could not see you properly. Perhaps you can tell me what is to be done for Mrs Bosely'b door.' Her manner was deliciously frank. I suggested that something nailed against the crack

* The very thing!' she aaid, promptly, * A capital idea. One of those red flannel sausage things that men carry round in the snow. Now, Mrs Bosely, where can I get one?'

' Oh, don't 'ee trouble, misp,' replied that individual, very uncomfortably. •It don't matter, the door don't. One gets used to 'em, somehow ; and—' ' She likes it!' exclaimed the girl, indignantly, " She likes a draught. Mrs Bosely, how can you 1 and at your age, too ? Why, how old are you ?' ' Sixty-eight, or som'ereabouts, 1 Mm Bosely mumbled. ' Now don't 'ee worrit, Miss Julit, dear. There aint no doin' nothink with that door nohow, there aint.'

'Sixty-eight!' repeated Juliet (what a pretty name it was), " and you don't know how to stop a draught yet ! Mrs Bosely, I'm ashamed of you. And now I think of it, I saw some of those red sausage things in a little shop at the corner. Mr Chasuble, would it trouble you to buy some for me ? I would go myself, but I see it is drilling, and rain takes all the curl out of my feather. She extended a little velvet purse as she spoke ; and of course I had to take it. It was hardly consistent with the dignity of a priest of the church running erraids for strange young ladies ; but when those young ladies wear white ostrich plumes, liable to be uncurled by rain, drooping over their Bhining braids ; and when they issue their commands in a sweetly royal tone, and smile on you so as to show two little, rosy dimples at the corners of their mouths, he would be hardly human who could refuse to sacrifice his dignity to their pleasure. I did not refuse. I went out meekly, and I bought some of the " red sausage things " at the little shop. Had I not been senior curate, I would have carried them off like a coil of gigantic bloodworms over my arm. As it was, I made the shopboy carry them, and accompanied him back to Mrs Bosely's. I don't know that there was any necessity for me to return there—except to return the purse, I forgot that. Of course I was bound to return the purse to its owner. Mrs Bosely's house consisted of one room, opening out of a sort of gutter called, as I have Baid, Jink's alley, a mere stream of mud trickling out of a filthy back street, and terminating in a cesspool and a dead wall. You stepped over an outlying puddle from the former to reach the door; and as I drew near I saw that it stood ajar, and that the entrance was blocked by a chair, surmounted by a vision of two neat, high-heeled boots buttoned well up over a pair of neater ankles. I thought of St Anthony, and shut my eyes thereby nearly tumbling into the puddle before-mentioned. The boots disappeared, and Miss Juliet opened the door, with as radiant a smile as if we were old friends.

' Have you got them ? Thanks. Well, you haven't been long ' (very condescendingly); 'and now we had better nail them up at once. I found some nails in Mrs Bosely's cupboard. Oh, fancy her keeping her butter in a blacking pot !—and here's a flat iron for a hammer. I think you had better get up on the chair, and do the top part.' ' The ease with which this young lady delivered her commands was superb. I demurred feebly. 1 I am afraid lit will hardly hold my weight, Miss—Mies— Perhaps the boy—'

Bat the boy had put his burden down, and disappeared. « Try,' said the girl, with monosyllabic ssvcritv And I tried What else could Ido ? The crazy article creaked terribly, and then gave a portentous snap. Mrs Bosely groaned. • You had better get down again,'observed my tyrant, calmly. ' I did not know you were so heavy. Never mind. I'll do it, and you can hold the chair, and give me the nails.'

She sprang up as she spoke. There waß only a gentle creak this time. I thought of St Anthony again ; but how shut my eyes now when I had to hand her the nails ? Such a pretty, little, plump hand, too, as it took them I It went to my heart to see how often the flat iroi came down on the soft, taper fingers instead of the refractory nail.

Mrs Bosely groaned at intervals. She was evidently in the depths of depression. Three uncombed male heads blocked up the sooty little window without. Audible comments on ' whatever parson wor up to with that 'ere swell girl,' floated on the air. I felt hot, red in the face—not happy, by any means ; and yet I was almost sorry when the task was done, and stepping down from her perch as lightly as a sparrow, she began to draw on her gloves with a triumphant— ' Doesn't your door look beautiful, Mrs Bosely 1 Now, don't you ever complain of a draught again.' 1 No miss, that I never won't,, said Mrs Bosely with prompt fervour. ' And if your rheumatism keeps bad, tell me, and we'll try the Turkish baths.' ' Don't 'ee talk on't, miss. 'Taint nothink to speak on, it aint.' • All right. Good-bye, then, or I shall be too late for our 'At home.' Good afternoon, Mr Caauble. Much obliged for your help.' And so, with a shake of the crone's hand smd a smiling nod to me, she was gone.' How dark the room looked.

' Ladies never think as they're a keepin' tis waiting for our teas,' grumbled Mrs Bosely, ungratefully ; and seeing her rise, and begin to fumble with a big black kettle, 1 took the hint and departed likewise. I also wanted my tea. or rather my dinner ; and I was not so hungry now as I had been awhile ago. Out of the puddles of Jinks' alley, through the dingy smuttinesß of Silver street, past the sunlit bustle of Notting Hill, down a modest tow of shops terminating in some equally modest lodgiDg houses, ' giving' (as the French say) on a large dairy, a cabstand, a dissenting chapel, and a music shop ' and so into my own abode, the first of the row of furnished apartments. "Tthad never occurred to me before ; but how lonely the place looked. Jane, the lodgiog house slavey—a young damsel of plump form and smut embellished face, clad in a dirty cotton frock, fastened with huge brass pins at the back, which pins had a trick of giving way and bursting out at the smallest provocation, and in a manner which was postively alarm ing when one regarded the amplitude of her proportions ; with a huge chignon, composed of dusty black wool, over which occasional streaks of greasy light hair meander, d capriciously ; and ornamented by a napping oval of ragged crochet always on one side—brought me my dinner— i.e, a large fat chop, black without, crimson within, and swimming in a pond of oil and cinders ; three humid potatoes, decorated with many black spots ; and a segment of cold rice pudding with the mark of her thumb in one side—and spread it on the little square table before the firs. Anglican clergymen are not given to pampering the flesh ; but it did not look inviting. Somehow I caught myself fancying the damsel of the white feath. r and sealskin jacket seated opposite to me, and shuddered at the idea of offering a half of the gory chop ! How would those rose tipped little fingers, like to use these dull, blackish handled knives ? Were they smarting from the flat iron now, I wondered. This was too much. Did St Anthony sit and dream of his temptress after she was gone ? With a violent effort I rose, rang the bell, and resolving to banish mine wita the dinner things, took up the "Times" and tried—very unsuccessfully—to bury myself in the report of a recent church congress. I went to see Mrs Bosely again in a few days—a very few days; but it is the duty of a curate to look after his flock ; and why neglect this venerable sheep. She was alone this time, and though I stayed three quarters of an hour no one else entered ; and as Mrs Bosely appeared in low spirits, \1 tried to cheer her by alluding to that cheerful young person, Miss Juliet. 'My young lady,' groaned Mrs Bosely. 'Ah 1 she be a terrible lively one, ben't she, sir?' 'Very lively, and amiable,' I replied, cautiously. "You have no draught from your door now V ' Ne'er a bit, sir. Wasn't that like her, now 1 It be 'most too stived a' present; an' I might ha' friz here all these years, and ne'er a one o' my visitin' gentry—savin' your presence, sir, of course I don't mean you—would ha' thought o' doin' nothink to keep the cold out. Not they!' This was ungenerous; also, considering the ill-will with which Mra Bosely had submitted to her visitor's alterations, it was inconsistent. I smothered my feelings, however, and merely observed with mild seve rity—- ' Well, I trust you feel properly grateful for the kindness of Miss Juliet —a —what is her name V 'Which indeed I don't know, sir, as it's a thing I never can remember is names ; not as I could say hern, though she telled it me twice ; and I knows as it had devil—if you'll excuse it, sir—at the end on't.' ' A devil!' I repeated, staring. 'Aye, sir, as is just what I said, an' with the selfsame look as you has on you now.' I felt flattered. ' Miss Julit,' says I, that ben't your name, sarely V ' Yes, grannie, it is,"says she ; ' and if you want to remember it, just you think of the old gentleman.' 'But no, m'm,' says I, ' the Lord preserve me from thinking on any sich person as is agoin' about like a roarin' lion seekin' whom he might devour. An',' says I, 'if you'll excuge me, miss, I'll call you by your christenin' name instead.' which I allers do, sir, reg'lar. God bless her.' I too made up my mind to call her Juliet; for how could I—even taking St Anthony into question—associate those laughing lips and rosy cheeks with the Prince of Darkness? . To be continued,