LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 26, 30 June 1874, Page 4

LITERATURE.

GEORGE LOVELACE’S TEMPTATION; A Tale in Four Chapters. Continued. George had expected some opposition, and he knew he should have difficulties with his parent; but he did not anticipate the torrent of indignation and abuse which was showered on his head. Sir George flew into such a passion, that the servants had to come to his son’s assistance, and with difficulty prevented him from laying hands on George, and inflicting personal violence. ‘ Out of my sight I’ he said, and he called him a hard name. ‘ 1 never thought you were my son, and now I’ll own you so no more. Take the jade, who has made a fool of you, away; and let her know that not one penny shall you or she touch while I lire, or when lam dead. No, not if you lie rotting in a poor-house.’ And from that day Sir George had refused to see or hear from his son.

Then had begun a ‘ sair ’ time for the two poor fools who were ill able to battle with the world. And since then often and often had George cursed the idleness which had prevented him from making the most of the teaching which he had had, and left him utterly unable to turn his hand to anything that could get him bread. He had applied to his friends, but they had not done anything for him. You see, Sir George had been beforehand with him, and had let it be known that he had cast off his sou in consequence of disgraceful conduct and atrocious behaviour generally. So the world, ever ready to take up the cry, ‘Vm victis,’ and not stopping to inquire whom it was that George had married, had turned, only too willingly, the cold shoulder on one who had not once wanted for its favors. Ethel too had been refused the help which she asked from her aunt, who used the old argument so often used to palliate neglect, ‘ You have made your bed, and you must lie on it.’ Then in many ways had George sought for employment —as a tutor, as a clerk, as a writer in the lower class of daily publications, as a shoprm i even, and as a messenger. Everything had failed to secure him permanent work. He was too old for one place, he was refused another as having no testimonials, his father’s malice got him turned out of a third, the ruin of his employer had lost him a fourth. And week by week, month by month, as each day found him ignorant how he should find food for the next, he plodded on, getting more and more despairing, seeing Ethel’s face getting wanner and more wan, and knowing that she was becoming less and less able to bear the trial which was coming upon her. Yet she had borne it, and her babe was an additional link which bound her heart to her husband’s, and gave them courage to face the troubles which came so thickly across their path. And now they were struggling on, she too weak to do much besides nurse her infant, and he hardly able to make the wretched pittance which he earned buy food enough to keep him from hunger after he had given to his wife and child. Yet they loved each other, and though to each not unfrequently came the thought that the other’s happiness in this world had been ruined by their marriage, the perfect trust which each had in the other’s affection made them together more willing to share unflinchingly the difficulties which lay before them. At the time of which I tell you George had come in tired and dispirited; for he had earned little that day, and even the smile of welcome which always met his entrance had failed to remove, as hitherto, the look of anxiety and despair which was now so firmly planted on his features. Still, as his wife got from her cupboard the lump of bread and piece of cold meat which was to make their miserable meal, and warmed up what was left of a quart of ale, and setting it on the table urged him to cat, with a loving look in her pale face and blue eyes, George felt that he was not altogether miserable, and was, in one respect at least, better off than his neighbors.

They talked of the chances of his father relenting, and Ethel, whose idea of parental severity did not allow her to conceive such lasting hatred of one’s own flesh and blood, had renewed her advice to George to go to his father’s house and tell him how wretchedly poor they were, and implore him to help them, if not with his money, with his interest.

‘ And, George,’ she said, ‘ did you not tell me to-morrow is his marriage-day ? Do you not think he would be softer to you then ? ’ George thought that it was not every one who remembered a marriage-day so carefully as Ethel, and his face set as he remembered the hard and bitter name which his father had used when last they met, and which made it probable that the anniversary would not be an inducement to (Sir George to forgive ; but then he looked at the pleading face of his dear little wife and the sickly appearance of her child, and determined that he would risk even a repetition of such abuse, and endeavor to soften his father’s heart.

So next day he went, and the servants in the hall, who knew him and pitied his case —for they too were often victims of his father’s passion—ushered him to Sir George without telling his name. ‘ Well ?’ said Ethel, when George came home to her that evening. But his flushed and angry face, where stubborn defiance was mingled with despair, answered her question even before he spoke. ‘ I went into the room, and when he saw me he started up and said, ‘ Oh, it’s you, is it? what do you want? Is that woman dead?’ I told him of our state, of your health, of our poverty. I pleaded for his pity. I acknowledged my fault in marrying without his leave, but urged ray past and present affection for you. I pointed out your weakness, and said you were scarcely able to nurse your child. When I mentioned the child he stopped towards me and said hurriedly, ‘ls it a boy or girl ? Quick, answer me ; do you hear V I told him it was a girl, and he gave a sigh of relief. I was going to urge him to forget his anger and relieve our poverty, when he said, 1 Stop; you know your fault, repair it. Leave that wretched woman whom you say you have married, and never see her again. Go abroad for two years, and then live in the country on an allowance which I, will give you; Meanwhile we will have her watched till she either starves or—’ ’

‘What, dear?’ said Ethel, as George paused and hid his face in his hands, 1 ‘ Gives you reason for seeking a divorce !’ 1 must have said something violent then, for his brutality fairly made mo lose my temper. What I did say I know not ; but our interview ended in his rushing at me, knocking me down and kicking me repeatedly, till the

servants came and rescued me from his violence. iso all hope is lost from that source ; and may Heaven’s curses—’ ‘ Stop, George! ’ said Ethel quickly. ‘That will do no good ; recollect he is your father still.’

The soft voice could always influence him, and even now in the bitterness of his heart availed to stay the unfilial words which were rising to his lips. Affairs, however, looked dark for George and his wife, and for a week he was inclined to despair of ever rescuing her from the distress in which they were plunged. But the blackest cloud has a silver lining, and Hope never entirely fails her followers, A comparatively remunerative engagement, from a firm who told George they were aware of all his circumstances, gave some encouragement to his life, and put an end *) the actual fears of hunger which he had suffered. But still they were poor, very poor; and all Ethel’s management and care, and all George’s self-denial and industry, were required to save enough money to consult the doctor about baby, and buy enough medicine and port-wine to keep her mother’s roses from utterly deserting her cheeks. One day, six weeks after the interview with Sir George, which had terminated so violently, and a fortnight after hia engagement of which I have told you, George, who never saw the papers, received a formal letter in a business-lixe envelope, the contents of which fairly took away his breath. It was from Herne and Hunter, his father’s solicitors, who told him that Sir George, having been violently excited in the meeting with his son, had had a rush of blood to his head, and subsequently a fit of apoplexy, from which he had died about ten days previous to the date of the letter. ‘ Every search, they went on to say, ‘ for a will having been made, we have the honor to inform you that none has been found, and that therefore, as heir-at-law, you are entitled to lay claim to the whole of the estates. We shall be glad to hear from you at your pleasure ; and we solicit a continuance of those favors wjiich, ike., &c., George’s first feeling, to give him his due, was one of distress at the death of his father, and that that death might presumably be attributed to hia interview with him ; but soon this feeling gave way to thoughts of his own condition. The gambler, whom a sudden coup has rescued from impending ruin ; the duellest l \& la barridre,’ whose opponent’s pistol placed to hia heart has missed fire ; the despairing lover, whose last appeal is answered by the ‘ yes ’ which he dared not hope for; —all these feel a sort of reaction of relief which has the effect for a moment of almost paralysing the mind, and amounts from its intensity to pain. And so it was with George, as in a half-stunned manner he read and re-read the letter which lay before him. All his difficulties at an end ! He rich, able to bestow on his wife the luxuries which he at first had intended for her, and let her take the situation in life for which all her poverty and distress, all her hard work and misery, could not disqualify her ! Instead of penury, wealth ; instead of drudgery, leisure ; instead of solitude, association with those who could appreciate Ethel’s beauty and feel for the trials which she had undergone. These were the contrasts which his mind imagined between his past life and his future. Do you wonder that in telling the news t o Ethel he broke down, and that, for a few moments at least, she thought he had lost his head. CHAPTER 11, The London season was at its height. The Easter recess was over ; Parliament was in the full swing of a busy session ; and the hundred-and-one thousand hangers-on of the great debating club were enjoying the society of their friends, and employing the summer months each in his own way. It was Thursday night—one of the Duchess of Merionethshire’s Thursdays and the great house in Bclgrave-square was filled with all those who, from rank, beauty, wealth, or wit, had the entree into the best London society. There was no dancing. The duchess liked that people should be able to see their friends without having their toes trod upon by young guardsmen or Foreign office clerks in their vain endeavor to find their partners for the next valse, or having to listen, without hope of escape, to a dreary succession of ‘ rounds ’ and ‘ squares.’ There was, however, one room in which the best string baud in Europe played a selection of classical pieces, and the prima donna of the year varied the pleasure of those who liked good music by singing one or two of her favorite airs. The rest of the magnificent suite was left empty for the numbers who had accepted her grace’s invitation to get out of the way after they had shaken hands.

A cabinet minister was talking to one of those men, of whom one or more has always been found in London, who know everybody and everything, and can always tell you what Lady A.’s broker or Lady B.’s doctor thicks of his client this week, and can give you the true reason for MrL.’s disappearance from town.

‘ Tell me, Henry,’ he said, ‘ who is that little woman with the pearls, talking to Hcskcth Percy ? What a pretty face 1 I don’t think I ever saw her before.’

‘ Ah, yes, that is quite a story. She is that Lady Lovelace whom people are talking about. Her husband fished her out of Wales somewhere, and married her for love. His father, who wanted him to marry Atterfield’s girl, did not like it, and cut him off with a shilling : he forgot, however, to sign his will, or make it, or something ; and the present man, after living for four years in a hovel, on what he could earn—which wasn’t much—has come into all the property. I don’t wonder at your asking, for she is certainly pretty ; and he, they say, will do very well. It is a fine estate, is it not? You ought to know; Blackwood is in your county.’ ‘ Yes, very, but in a neglected condition ; the last baronet was a cross-grained stingy sort of reprobate, who spent no money on the estate, and let it go to the dogs. He died a year ago. We ought to look after this man ; which way would he vote ? ’ 1 With you, I believe ; but I know the woman—shall I introduce you ? ’ ‘ Yes, do ; and I’ll make my lady go and call.’

0, fickle world ! 0, shallow world ! 0, false world ! Fawn on success, and—No, I will not explode; but it does make me a little angry to think that when George was in sore need of a friend none would lend him a helping hand ; when his wife was the fashion, and lie rich, there were none who were not eager to make his acquaintance, To ho continued,