LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 35, 10 July 1874, Page 4

LITERATURE.

OtR COON: A SOUVENIR OF THE SOUTH ATLANTIC. We had many passengers beside those entered on the purser’s list, when the good ship Neva started on her homeward voyage from Brazil. What with the specimens already* on board when we left Rio de Janeiro,*and those which we picked up at Bahia and Pernambuco, we might have held our own against any Zoological Garden existing. Peopled by five bullock?, twelve sheep, four hogs, six parrots, three ‘lionmonkeys’ belonging to the doctor, nine or ten paroquets brought by various passengers, four or five toucans purchased by the sailors for friends at home, several scores of ducks and fowls, and two big brown apes from Bahia, our packet was suggestive of Noah’s first attempt at the ark, overcrowded by a false alarm of the deluge. But the gem of the whole menagerie, beyond all question, was Our Coon. It was a fine June morning, the day after leaving Pernambuco, when I first made the acquaintance of this fellow-passenger, who had come aboard the night before, unannounced, in a kind of modified kennel. I was standing on the forecastle, having a 1 yarn ’ (according to custom) with my frend the boatswain, when a burst of laughter from a group just abaft the foremast attracted my attention.

4 Blest if they ain’t a-skylarkin’ again with that ’ere coon !’ remarks my companion with a broad grin— 1 Ain’t yer seed him yet, sir V 4 No; I didn’t even know there was one on board.’

4 Jest you go and ’are a look at him, then ; he’s the rummest customer as you’ve seed for a good spell, I’ll bet 1’ Aft go I accordingly, and join the crowd assembled round one of the hencoops, on the top of which, munching some biscuit out of the carpenter’s brawny hand, crouches a nondescript mass, something between a pig and a porcupine—all snout and bristles, in the midst of which sparkles a small, bright cunning eye. This is Our Coon —destined to become the most popular personage on board, and to leave in my memory at least, an ineffaceable souvenir.

Before we are half-way to St Ytnccnt, Our Coon has become as integral and universally recognised a portion of the day’s amusements as our sweepstakes on the ship’s daily run, or our after-dinner concert upon the lower deck. All the passengers, turn and turn about, make pilgrimages to look at him. Children shout and make faces at him ; men cut stale jokes upon him, or trace likenesses in his long, lean, crafty face to various political celebrities; old ladies wonder at him through their eyeglasses ; young ladies feed him with cake or sweet biscuit, and pass their soft hands caressingly over his bristly coat. But he takes it all quite coolly—to all appearance not a whit flattered or uplifted by the homage paid to him. The cakes and oranges he receives with marked approval—the compliments and caresses with philosophic indifference. Self-sufficing as Diogenes, and living like him in a tub, he seems the very embodiment of that serene stoicism Which is 4 equal to cither-fortune.’ For the first two or three days he is a,great favorite with the crew, and catered for as liberally by them as by the first-class saloon. Sailors are always prone to make a pet of something ; and Our Coon's dry knowing look and imperturable composure win universal admiration from our blue-jackets. But, like other popular favorites, his reign is but a short one. The Cape Verd peaks arc not yet in sight, when, ns I go forward as usual to the forecastle for my morning 4 Blow,’ I hear a burst of stentorian malediction, and find a stalwart tar exhibiting to bis sympathising messmates the poor remains of a gnawed and mangled tobaccopouch—‘ torn,’ as the boatswain poetically remarks, I so small, that you couldn’t see it ’twarn’t for the smell o’ the baccy.’ 4 Look’ee there, now I I was just a-standin’ by the coop yauder, a-thinkin’ no harm, when, all to once, what does that ’ere’ fhere follow three or four lines of vigorns adjectives] ‘go and do but whip ray’baccy pouch out o’ my hand, and tear it all to bits —and be hanged to him.’ 4 Never mind, my lad,’ interpose I incautiously ; 4 we’ll easily find you another pouch, somewhere ; and, after all, it’s not the poor beast’s fault—he doesn’t know any better.’

'Ah, it’s all very well for yon to talk,’ growls the irate mariner, stung to double fury, as the aggrieved John Bull always is, by.any attempt at consolation. ‘Just wait till he collars summut o’ yourn, and see if yer don’t swear as loud as any on us 1’ I turn away with a laugh, which is echoed by the entire circle ; little dreaming, in my presumptuous self-confidence, how speedily or how fully honest Bill’s blunt prediction is destined to be accomplished. But from this day forth Our Coon’s orgap of Acquisitiveness develops itself suddenly and portentously—as if, having once tasted the pleasures of theft, he were determined to enjoy them to the full. Every day some fresh complaint is made of his depredations. A little girl comes to me weeping over the loss of the feather of her hat; a gentleman finds himself minus a cigar which he was just sbout to light; a lady bewails her pocket handkerchief, torn to ribbons by this omnivorous ‘ collector of extracts and the officer of the watch himself is seen one evening looking ruefully at his new forage-cap, which has a hole gnawed clean through the crown of it. Even the boatswain, man in authority though he be, is not exempt from taxation ; a banana wherewith he is about to regale himself is carried oil and devoured under his very eyes by the fourfooted Bedouin, whose small cunning eye assumes a doubly knowing twinkle during the operation.

Several attempts at revenge are made by Our Coon’s innumerable victims ; one peculiarly vindictive individual going so far as administer to him a pinch of snutf, which (as the operator emphatically remarks) • would moke £(ny Christian quadruped sneeze his very eyes out 1’ But upon Our Ooon-r-thanks, no doubt, to the astounding length of his nose—the dose produces no effect whatever, and fgf the time being he escapes unpunished. But the retribution in store for him, if tardy, is very complete. Up to this time my own relations with this Ishmaelite ©f the forecastle had been friendly enough, I had been in the habit of feeding him with fruit and sponge cake (which appeared to meet his views), and visiting him three or four tijnes a day, till the sociable monster learned to climb upon my shoulder, burrow his long gutta-percha snout into my pockets in search of food, and paw bis claws through the curls of my

beard—an amusement in which he occasionally indulged rather too energetically for my comfort. Thus it happened that (as has been seen) I was rather disposed to side with him against the current of public opinion ; but it was fated that my views on this point should undergo a sudden and surprising change. On the twelfth morning of our voyage, just as the gray bastions of volcanic rock that fence the Cape Yerd Islands are melting into the southern sky, I come on deck after what my friend the boatswain would call < a good spell o’ qaill-drivin’,’ cramming into my pocket a roll of papers (chiefly short magazine articles, which I propose carrying up to my favorite perch in the forcrigging, in order to enjoy at my ease the greatest pleasure of all literary conscripts—that of reviewing my own works. But my evil star directs I should halt on the way, to pay a visit to my friend the coon, who receives me as usual with ‘ gestures expressive of delight.’ But alas I I forget his propensity to act the part of custom-house oflicer to my pockets ; and before I can guess what he is about, the long flexible snout dives into my breastpocket, whips out the precious bundle, and —exit robber, O.P. I spring upon the coop like a possessed monkey, and clutch him as he runs ; but in trying to escape me, he lets drop the packet, and away flutter my ‘fugitive notes’ over the weather-quarter into the sea, The chief officer, who is standing near in conclusions of laughter, contrives to seize two or three of them, but the returns of "‘ missing ’ are at least seventy-five per cent of the whole. In one moment lam left desolate ; and a deafening roar of laughter from behind warns me that my friend Bill and the boatswain are enjoying seeing me bereaved in my turn. <No use applying to that editor again, Mr K laughs the chief;’ ‘ he’s declined ’em without thanks, you see. Well, it’s one comfort, they won’t be dry reading where they are now.’

4 Well, sir, you’ve got a taste o’ him this time 1’ says Bill, grinning from ear to car. ‘ I have, my lad ; and now I am going to pay him out for it.’ *Be ycr, sir 1 Well, it ’ud just sarve him right, I will say. But, bless yer 1 he’s up to every trick as yer can try on him ; and ye wouldn’t go for to hurt the poor beast, sure-ly ?’ 4 Hurt him ? No ; but I’ll make him, remember it. Just wait a minute.’ I go forward to a knot of tars who are washing their clothes on the forecastle, and return with a piece of soap, which I lay upon the coop (which is still wet from the washing of the deck's,), and then retire a few paces ; while the conscript fathers of the forecastle, clustering around me, breathlessly await the result.

The coon pounces upon the new dainty, and, as usual, begins to rub it between his fore-feet previous to devouring it. As a natural consequence, his paws disappear in a whirlpool of lather. At this novel phenomenon, he is palpably taken aback ; it puzzles him ; he does not like it. His glossy fur is wet and soiled, and the only thing to be done is to rub off the nasty stuff forthwith ; so he. goes to work upon it with his snout. Up flies the lather instanter, in double quantity, enveloping his head in a sort of huge frill, through which his small, deep-set eyes stare at us with a kind of frightened fury ; while the sailors, clinging to each other for support, explode in yells of laughter that rend the very air. Driven frantic by the uproar, which seems to imply that he is being made a fool of, bewildered at finding himself blossoming into soap froth at the rate of one hundred bubbles a minute, evidently wondering what on earth can have become of his nice brown coat, and whether he shall ever see it again, the poor beast scrubs away like a Dutch washerwoman, making matters worse at every stroke. At length, as a last resource, he rolls over and over in the midst of the froth, making an object of himself to which no description can do justice. When I leave the scene of action ten minutes later he is still scrubbing away as hard as ever, with an expression of mingled horror and amazement in the little that remains visible of his features.

Poor old coon ! I wonder what has become of him now ? As little did I dream when we first met that he was one day to make such a “ Saturday Review” sweep of my works, aa did be that he was fated to expiate the destruction of so many papers by furnishing material for one himself.

TOTTIE WTLDE’S DEVICE. In Three Chapters.

[From 1 London Society.’] Chapter I. A RACE DOWNHILL.

‘ I wish you wouldn’t talk such rubbish, Eddie!’ said pretty Tottie Wylde maliciously, as she lay one brilliant summer day : busily digging holes with her parasol in the soft sward of the Down overlooking Soasurf on the southern coast. Her younger brothers had wandered away to roll boulders down into tlitflevcl below, and her cousin, Edwin Keillcr, pined for her to say she loved and would marry him. ‘ It isn’t rubbish, Tot,’ he replied warmly ; 'you know you like me, and yet you drive me wild with your childish ways. Can’t you ’ ‘ No, I can’t, sir ; and I won’t—l won’t tie myself to any man. I’m going to be an old maid and travel about the country lecturing on Women’s Bights with that dear Miss Faithfull.

He chewed the end off his cigar with vexation as she chaffed him—‘l’ll not ask you again, Tot; you must deliberately mean to make me miserable, or you would’nt go on like that.’

‘ Oh yes, you will—you know you will—won’t you, Eddie?’ She laughed all over as, certain of her prey, she teased and petted him and put a tiny hand in his while making a little mouse.

* I won’t, I tell you—l’m not going to.be made a fool of all ray life, by Jove. I’ll go back to town to-morrow and grind away at law.’

‘ Oh, Eddie, Eddie ! and leave your own Totlic lamenting?’ again she laughed outright, and looked bewitching, while the sweet south wind tossed her brown locks wildly. He got up in a rage, flung his cigar away, and turned as if to go down home. Tottic relented, but she could not help irritating him a little more : ‘ Eddie, Eddie !’ she called, ‘ don’t leave me ; now come back here, there’s a good boy I and I’ll tell you what I’ll do—l really will,’ she pleaded as a brilliant idea flashed across her brain ; and he could not help turning round to listen to the winning tones ; ‘l’ll marry you. Eddie—l here —if— if—but will you promise me you’ll agree to what I say ?’ To be continued.