LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 61, 10 August 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

GIVEN UNSOUGHT. Continued. The pictures were sent in, and Graysbrook took a few days’ holiday. On ‘ Titania,’ for more reasons than one, he pinned his faith ; and his faith was strong. Returned to town, he passed through Trafalgar Square, and strolled into the Academy to see the book of the rejected pictures. Heavens 1 what did he sec ? Three of his paintings hung, one rejected, and that one ‘Titania.’ He sprang into a hansom and drove to Bond Street. Hodges was busy writing. 1 Ah ! I see you have heard, then, my boy. Well, I consider it the most remarkable piece of good luck.’ ‘ Good luck ?’ cried Ned. ‘Exactly,’ returned Hodges. ‘Now, you wait, and see what I’ll do. I said that picture should make you, and damme, it shall,’ Chapter hi, ‘ I say, Ned 1 by Jove, here’s something for you to read,’ exclaimed Tom Lewis, tossing the newspaper across the table, as he and Graysbrook were finishing breakfast iu Lewis’s chambers in Lincoln’s Inn. ‘ What is it ? ‘ Read, my friend —for yourself.’ And Graysbrook did read, and the subject referred to was balm to his disappointment. The newspaper was ‘ The Daily Electrifyer ;’ the article was the third leader. It was couched iu gushing language, and appeared to be prompted by a letter in another part of the paper, headed ‘ Flunkeyism at the Royal Academy,’ and signed ‘ Fair Play. The letter abused that select body for negligence ; accused them of favoritism ; and after a couple of ‘ Now, sirs,’to the Editor, asked if such corruption could longer be borne; and whether it was not part and parcel of the same system which in Parliament had already refused a Reform Bill, and still tolerated Game Laws, 'i he leaderwriter had taken up the cudgels in favor of the writer of the letter and thought that something ought to be done, hinted several impracticable remedies, and concluded a forcible article by reminding the Academy that the object of their institution was to encourage, art not to damp it ; that the annual exhibition should contain the collective artistic genius of the countiy, and not become the showroom for portraits of the aristocracy, or the emporium of a clique ! ‘ Well,’ remarked Ned, laying down the paper, ‘ I daresay it’s all true, but it won’t help me.” ‘ Don’t be too sure; there is more behind.’ And so indeed there was. The next morning there were a dozen letters in the ‘ Electrifyer’from indignant correspondents,making mention of several well-known artists whose pictures had been rejected ; notably amongst these was Graysbrook. Three days later a pamphlet appeared, which created a great sensation, and sold by thousands. This was written—no matter by whom ; some say by a painter turned critic, and a constant partaker of Sunday dinners at The Cedars—in terse and forcible English, proving mathematically that the average time given by the Selecting Committee to the examination of each picture was under three seconds. Graysbrook’s name was mentioned again in glowing terms, and flung iu the teeth of the Academy. Outside the exhibition and all around Trafalgar Square the pamphlet was sold, price threepence; reviews of it appeared iu the press; and ‘The Weekly Scalper,’true to its friends, published a cartoon in which the hanging committee were ridiculed, and verses lauding Ned. Now was the time for Cyrus Hodges to profit by the storm he had contributed to raise. He opened a gallery iu Bond street, exhibited ‘ Titania’ and tluee French paintings, advertised extensively, and drew crowds. Amongst his other patrons came the Duchess of St Mawes, and the following day his Grace. The noble lady took a violent fancy to ‘ Titania,’ and the consequence was Cyrus sold the picture and pocketed two hundred per cent. Nor was this all. Ned’s other paintings sold immediately for three times the price he himself had received for them, and the artist went to dinner to St Mawes House. This visit was, thanks to Hodges, duly chronicled in the ‘ Morning Post ;’ and a fortnight later Ned, clad in a suit of Poole’s, appeared at some fashionable entertainment every night. In short, ho was the rage for about four weeks, when the arrival of a popular author from Fiji, and a two-volume book of travels from his pen, somewhat eclipsed him. Iu the meantime dinners were multiplying at The Cedars. Lucy was cultivating her voice and receiving much attention. One morning, Captain Wagstatfe rode from Hampton Court to Twickenham, found Lucy alone in the drawing-room, and made her an offer of his hand, his fortune, his moustaches, and his heart. He was politely and firmly declined.

Ned heard of the repulse from Lewis ; his heart bounded with joy, then sank within him.

‘ She has refused a man of birth and fortune,’ he said to himself; ‘what chance should I have, who possess neither? No; 1 must bide my time.’ That summer of 18G6 will long be remembered by City men. The fall of the one great h«use dragged hundreds of smaller ones in its ruin. Panic everywhere. Long, white faces met every morning on the Stock Exchange. Men one day the owners of thousands, awoke the next beggars. Every trader was more or less hit. Hodges, whose busy hand drove many irons, other than his ostensible business, in the fire, had suffered with the rest, but up to a certain time, to no large amount. The sky was black, but Cyrus wore a sunny smile ; to one did be confide his troubles, and of course not to his wife.

August was near, aud Graysbrook made up his mind at last ; not to ask Lucy to be his wife, but to leave England for a time. He told his secret to Lewis, who of course had divined in months before, and made ready for a journey to Palestine aud Egypt. Hodges approved of the plan, promised to look after the pictures he sent home, gave him two commissions, and asked him to dine at Twickenham to say good-bye. There wore no other visitors that evening, aud the dinner was dull enough—-Hodges silent and gloomy, his wife querulous, Lucy reserved and very pale. The cloth removed, Hodges swallowed four glasses of wine rapidly, and begged Ned to excuse him for half an hour, as he had letters to write Ned went info the drawingroom ; Mrs Hodges was tending her younger child, who was ill ; Lucy was alone. At his request, Lucy seated herself at the piano, and for a t'me her sweet rich voice

held him entralled. At last she sang ‘Kathleen Mavourneen,’ and when she reached the lines — ‘ It may be for years, and it may be for ever, Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart V Graysbrook, as he bent ever her, saw her bosom heave and a tear glide slowly down down her cheek. Another moment, she broke off from her song and burst into tears. The ardent torrent of his love at last broke forth. ‘ Miss Graham—Lucy—Lucy—my love—my darling 1’ And he clasped her trembling to her heart. Half an hour later Mrs Hodges entered the room and tea was served. ‘ Beccles,’ said she to the servant, ‘take this cup to your master.’ The man returned presently with a white face. ‘lf you please ma’am, master’s unwell—fainted, I’m afraid.’ Thoroughly alarmed, all three rushed to the library. There lay Hodges across the hearthrug insensible, foam on his lip, a letter crushed in his hand. “ Open the window, quick !’ cried Ned ; ‘ unloosen the collar; and you, Beccles,’ run to the nearest doctor. I’ll gallop to Richmond and fetch a physician.’ And quick as thought Ned ran to the stables ; the groom was absent, so he saddled one of the carriage horses, jumped on his back, and tore along the Richmond road. He had galloped a quarter of a mile, when in the darkness the horse stumbled, and Ned, never a good rider, was thrown head foremost upon the stony road. Chapter IV. When Edward Graysbrook recovered consciousness, he found himself in bed, his right arm in splints, and an odd feeling in his head. The arm was broken and his head was shaved. Six weeks had elapsed since his unlucky tumble, and during that time he had raved in the frenzy of brain fever, tended by Tom Lewis with that loving care which few men have the patience to bestow even on their dearest friends. Sad was the intelligence which Lewis had to impart—imprudent speculation, a crisis in the city, bankruptcy, apoplexy, death. When the patient was sufficiently recovered to bear the shock, he learned how, after the death of Cyrus Hodges, The Cedars had been seized by the creditors, how the widow and family, after a brief sojourn in London, bad departed for Germany to find a home in some small provincial town. One morning when Graysbrook was able to sit in an arm-chair at the open window looking into Lincoli*’s-Inn-Fields, Lewis gave him a letter which had been awaiting his recovery. The writing was in Lucy Graham’s hand ; Ned trembled as he opened the envelope. The letter ran thus ; ‘ July 26th, 1866. ‘ I scarcely know how to express what I wish to convey to you ; we are, both my aunt and I, deeply concerned to hear of your accident, which we hope will not prove so serious as has been anticipated. You have, of course, heard that my poor uncle is no more, and that a heavy domestic calamity overwhelms my aunt. It is with regard to this that I must ask you, dear Edward, to forget all that passed between us on the last occasion that we met. You must not think me false to you when I ask you to take this step ; I am only, I am sure, true to myself. I have another duty to perform, a duty more sacred than that of an affianced wife. My aunt, who has been a mother to me, is now poor and suffering, my cousins are young and must be educated ; I can do something now to alleviate their distress, I can comfort my aunt and teach her children. Edward, you must see that I am right, for, bitter trial as it is to me to bid farewell to you, is it possible for me, who have lived with her in prosperity, to desert her now, even for you ? We shall leave at some small German town —I shall not say where —and I shall work hard at my music. ‘ You, with your great career before you, can easily afford to forget me ; if you do not, some day we may meet again. Goodbye. ‘ Your sincere friend, ‘ Lucy Frances Grahem.’ ‘ Dear, noble girl 1’ cried her lover, as he finished the letter; ‘she is indeed worth living for ;’ and he wept like a child. May, 1869. Three years had scarcely changed the great city. A monstrous hotel or two had sprung up in places, a general election had changed the Ministry, the Royal Academy had removed from Trafalgar Square to Piccadily, one or two comic periodicals had fretted an hour or so, and were seen no more, young ladies promenaded Regent street with false hair piled in a fashion of a century ago to gaze at the photographs of half-dressed actresses (Heaven save the mark !) with a sang-froid which would have driven our grandmothers frantic, bankruptcy had become a necessary element in the education of our hereditary legislators, who in the morning might attend a meeting of creditors, or appear before a registrar, and later in the day take their ancestral seats in the House of Lords to direct their minds, knowing as to race-horses and critical as to ballet-girls, to the affairs of the nation. Socially there were changes, but in its outward aspect London of 69 wore the same face as London of '66. To he Continued .