LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 43, 20 July 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MAY-DAT : A LONDON IDYL. [From " St James' Magazine."] May-day in London - the words sound paradoxical. In days of yore May-day was kept in merrie England under the green-wood-tree. Then on every village green arose the bright May-pole; even in the heart of busy London, the Church of St Andrew was called Undershaft because the great, famous May-pole rose so much higher than the consecrated tower. In those dark ages, those times of simple faith and innocent gaiety, and contented labor and kindly wealth, Mayday was indeed May-day. But now we have changed all that: cold-hearted science has placed May-day a fortnight earlier in the year, and with the alteration of the Kalendar many other alterations have come in. St Andrew Undershaft looks up to no May-pole, and gathers but a scanty Sunday congregation; the queen of the May is a poor dirty girl in faded tarlatan and crumpled artificial flowers; Robin Hood has been replaced by a chimney-sweep with bunches of ribbons flying from his shoulders; Little John has given way to Jack-in-the- Green, whose weary and monotonous dance rather suggests the idea of Jack in the Blues (not the Boyal Horseguards). Yet still there is some romance existing even in smoky London, even on our bitter May-days; and romance there will be as long as there are young human hearts in our work-a-day world, ay, and as long as there are human hearts at all, be they young or old. At six a.m. on the Ist of May, Mary Spring was up and about her little attic; it was a cold, bright morning, so cold that until she had lighted her fire she could not hold her needle. Having coaxed a handful of wood and coal to blaze up cheerfully, Mary Spring went to another tiny attic which opened into her own, and begged her mother to get up and come to breakfast. Old Mrs Spring spent an hour in arraying herself in her rusty black gown and cap trimmed with purple flowers, both now so crushed and so faded as to seem but the ghosts of a gown and cap, and Mrs Spring herself but the ghost of a respectable elderly woman. Little, bright, busy Mary resembled no ghost. As soon as she had laid the table and made the tea (it was the second brewing from the same leaves), she sat down to work, and the work which she had in hand was strangely out of keeping with the attic and its other surroundings. A ball-dress of the purest and richest white silk was receiving the last touches from Mary Spriug's clever fingers. This ball-dress requires a little description: it was of the purest and richest white silk, and that was all. There was no lace, no ribbon, no trimming of any kind on it? the long skirt fell in graceful, classical folds; a plain sash of the silk, merely hemmed, was to confine it at the waist, and the body (made in Mrs Price's workroom) had a sort of fulness, and was ornamented only with bands and bows of still the same silk. The dress looked as if intended for a bride, Mary stitched away until her mother came hobbling in asking for her breakfast. Mary threw the silk gown into the old tablecloth in which she wrapped her work, and went to the fire for the teapot. As she did so a sudden gust of wind blew a great puff of smoke into the room, and the air was immediately laden with little particles of soot, commonly called blacks or smuts. " Oh!" shrieked Mary, as she folded the table-cloth in many folds over the snowy Bilk. •'Bother them smuts!" Baid Mrs Spring, W they've been and got into my tea." "Never mind the tea," said Mary, "it's Miss Stewart's ball-dress I'm thinking of." Before the frugal breakfast was finished another puff of smoke rendered the atmosphere of the room quite dense. Mary was getting worried. " The chimney wants cleaning; I'll go round and speak to Mr Twinch about it." " Yes, do," answered her mother; " he's a very nice young man is Mr Twinch." Mary tossed her head and colored a little; but presently, on going to the fireplace, she discovered that the soot resting at the sides of the chimney had caught fire. She was now alarmed. " Mother dear, I'll go for Mr Twinch at once." Bhe threw the silk in a heap on her bed, and poising her bonnet on her head, she rushed out, along a couple of streets, and stopped at a gate which led into a little yard. Just within the gate a strange scene was perceived ; two or three men were disrobing themselves of the black, working garb of a sweep, and were beginning to array themselves in wonderful and tawdry costumes. Two plain, haggard women had already dressed themselves in the style of

columbines; and Mr Twincb, in his " customary suit of solemn black," was fixing himself in a bower of green. He paused when he saw Mary, holding the great cage over his head, as he were a candle and about to extinguish himself. " Oh ! Mr Twinch ! " began Mary, panting, " our chimney's on fire 1 " " You don't say so ! " replied Mr Twinch, lowering the cage until his face was hidden, and like some rural deity he was half man, half tree ; " chimneys are the awkwardest customers as ever was. I ask you, why does your chimney take fire on the Ist of May more than the Ist of April 1 " "I don't know I'm sure," said Mary piteously ; " but will you come at once ? I can't tell what to do." " I'll come, Mary Spring," rejoined Jack-in-the-Green, who was now hidden in his bower, all except his feet; " but it is the hardest and cruellest fate as ever fell on a Jack-in-the-Green to have to put out chimneys at this time of day on the Ist of May. But any how, it fi ts beautiful 1 " So saying he carefully extricated himself from his bower, picked up his brushes, and set off to follow Mary. She found the chimney beginning to burn briskly, and her mother sitting in front of the fire-place wringing her hands. Before the girl could take any measures to put out the fire, Mr Twinch was in the room, ready to do all that was needful. While Mary brought pails of water and wet-rags, he fussed about the place, screwed his brushhandles together, and assured Mrs Spring that it was all right. And so it was, after a time, and as far as the chimney was concerned ; but when the fire was put out and the soot swept down and packed up, a terrible misfortune came to light. The white dress lay now on the floor of Mrs Spring's bedroom, and on the middle of each breadth was the mark of a man's black hand 1 " Mr Twinch," cried Mary, " you've done this 1" The sweep stood and stared. At length he said, " It's my belief as gownds is awkwarder customers to deal with than chimleys. Who'd have thought it ? I see some'at white a-lying there; takes it up, chucks it into tother room 'cause it shouldn't get no hurt; and there you are! " Mr Twinch kicked out one foot towards the heap of silk, as if in utter disgust with gowns, chimneys, and himself. Mary was now sobbing bitterly. " It was all my fault," she said ; "I should have put it away more carefully ; but I was so hurried and frightened." " It were my fault, miss," interposed Mr Twinch ; " I didn't ought to have nothing to do with gownds; chimleys is more in my line." " What is to be done now ? " grunted Mrs Spring. " What will Mrs Price say ? " Mary cried as if her heart would break; " Mrs Price will make me pay for it out of my own pocket. She always does if we spoil anything." "Can't you wash it clean?" asked Twinch. " Silks don't wash, man," answered Mrs Spring. " Put patches on," he suggested. " There's nothing to be done," said Mary, drying her eyes, and endeavouring to recover her calmness. " I must go to Mrs Price and tell her, and pay for the skirt; that will be about six pounds;" " I shall pay for it! " shouted Twinch, " Mary, I was a going to ask you to marry me, and set up on my six pounds ; but if you like you can pay Mrs Price instead." The girl was almost too much distressed to take any notice of his offer of marriage. She began to put on her bonnet and jacket, and to fold the spoilt gown in the tablecloth. She did not think that Mr Twinch was serious in saying that he would pay for the damage ; she was only considering how she would begin her terrible announcement to Mrs Price, the fashionable dressmaker, and a hard task-mistress. Mary silently went down from the attic carrying the spoilt gown ; Twinch followed close behind her, and stopped her as soon as they were in the street, saying, " Now, look here, Mary; I ain't a master-sweep just yet, but I think I shall be some day ; and you've seen me on Sundays when I've washed the soot off ; and I've got a little money in the bank; and I'll pay the six pounds with all my heart; and so, you see, you'd better say you'll marry me." "Oh my?" said Mary; "I'm sure I don't know; I haven't time to think about it today. If you'll wait till I've settled with Mrs Price," and here the girl's eyes filled with tears, " then I shall be able to think about it, and tell you my opinion." Twinch looked after her as she flew along the street; and he returned to the yard and to his green cage, while Mary went trembling to the door of the fashionable milliner. Mrs Price was so tremendously fashionable that she never condescended to speak to the girls who worked for her at their own homes. Indeed, many of her customers never had the honor of an interview. She used to say that she must draw the line somewhere; so she drew it below the wives of Baronets. She made an exception in favour of the families of Deans and Canons, and the Attorney and Solicitor-General, because she could not tell who might be the next Bishop and Lord Chancellor. Mary Spring asked to see Mrs Price, and was told, in reply, to go up to the workroom. She knew that room well, but when she laid her hand on the door-handle she hesitated and sighed. But she must enter; and found herself in the presence of the forewoman and several girls who lived in the house. " Oh, Miss Spring," said the forewoman, looking round, "it's you, is it? You've brought Miss Stewart's dress?" " Yes," faltered Mary, " but—" " Well, but what ? Is it not finished ? " " It was finished —" " What's the matter with the girl ? " exclaimed the good-natured forewoman; " what have you done with the dress ? " "I have had a misfortune—" here Mary broke down and burst into tears. The other girls, who had snspended their work while they stared at Mary, now broke into a chorus of laughter ; but the forewoman bade them hold their cackling tongues for a parcel of geese as they were, and led Mary into a little private room. Here the tablecloth was unpinned and the ruined dress displayed to view. The forewoman could only cast up her hands in silent horror. " There is nothing to be done," said she; " every breadth is spoilt, and ever so much of this troublesome bias trimming. We are too busy to get a new skirt done before eveniner; and besides, who is to pay for the damage ? " Mary did not like to say that Jack-in-the-Green was goin to pay for his misfortune ;

she only wept silently. The forewoman went to call Mrs Price, who came in, gorgeous in a black moire gown and Honiton lace. " Mary Spring," she began, in a deep contralto voice, " you are a nasty, careless, wicked thing; you have robbed Miss Stewart of her new dress, you have robbed ine of all my profit on it, and you have put yourself out of my employment. You will pay for this silk." "Yes, ma'am," sobbed Mary. " And you will do no more work for me." "No, ma'am." " Aud I will give you no character." " Very well, ma'am." "I should not dare to send to tell Miss Stewart about your carelessness, so you will be good enough to go straight off to her house in Wilton Orescent, and make your excuses to her—l wont hear them; I don't want to know how you did it. Don't answer me, you wicked, thieving, lying creature, you!" Poor Mary had made no attempt at excuse or explanation. She again pinned up the dress, and in silence went down the stairs into the hall, and so away towards Miss Stewart's house. That lady was not at home, and Mary was bidden to wait. After some time Mrs Stewart came down stairs, and Maiy began to speak to her. " Pray don't tell me anything," snapped the tall, gaunt lady ; " this is Miss Stewart's house, and I can'f say a word about Miss Stewart's affairs." So Mary sat down again, thinking how strange it was that so much money should have been left to Miss Stewart independently of her mother. It was a very sore point with Mrs Stewart, and she dragged it forward to every one's notice, just as old women of a lower grade in society are so eager to show every chance visitor all their bodily sores and diseases. Mary was still waiting in the hall when one o'clock struck, and the footman brought a tray with preparations for luncheon, and began to lay the table in the dining-room. Then there came a ring at the door, and Mary looked to see Miss Stewart. But no, it was only Miss Wallace, the poor cousin, who was staying on a visit in Wilton Crescent. " Is Arabella in yet? " asked Miss Wallace as she entered the dining-room. "No," replied Mrs Stewart's voice. " And therefore we cannot have lunch yet." To be continued.