LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume III, Issue 230, 5 March 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

COLLARED. By Albany de Fonblanque, Author of "A Tangled Skein," &c. The British playwright has one great advantage over us story-tellers. In a few lines he can give time, place, and an introduction to his dramatis persona, sufficient to indicate Avhat may be expected from them in the course of the piece. Now the British playwright is not a bad sort of fellow upon the whole—a free-and-easy gentleman, upon whose conscience the laws of meim and tuum (as applied to literary property) sit easily. He owes me something, and therefore I shall not apologise for making reprisals, and borrow his easy way of beginning. This, if you please, is the bill of the play, so far as it relates to the opening scene:— Scene I—The room of a shooting-box in the north of England. Time, after dinner. Period, 1874. Persons represented. The Hon. Percy Ryngold, otherwise " The Bird." Mr. Thomas Fitzwalter-Smith, otherwise " Marquis." Captain Ashleigh, V.C., R.A. The Honorable Percy Ryngold was familiarly known as ' The Bird,' on account of a fancied resemblance which he bore to a favorite species of songster; and, indeed, if a canary of good family could part his frontal plumage in the centre, slightly suppress his beak, and grow a small moustache of a mealy character, he might retaliate, and call himself 'the Honorable,' after Master Percy. Nor was the resemblance merely on the surface. The gentleman had chirpy, bird-like ways, and a very sweet voice. Canaries, lam given to understand, are gifted with a supply of brains out of all proportion to their size; therefore you are not to conclude that the Honorable Percy was deficient in this respect, as some young aristocrats of ' mealy' complexion have been known to be. On the contrary, any one from the country, or elsewhere, who undertook to ' get over' ' the Bird' would have to rise at a very early hour indeed. Mr Fitzwalter-Smith (christened Tom) was the only son of his father—the great grease man, who had not only lubricated the wheels of all the railway trains, but those of Fortune's chariot as well. He died, very rich, about three years ago : and as his name was Walter, and plain Smith would not do for his heir, that golden youth became Fitzwalter, with a hyphen, and banished the vulgar Thomas from his card-plate for ever. The immense delight which he evinced one day at being mistaken for a celebrated marquis gained him that title as a nickname. He liked it. Waiters and cabmen who heard him thus addressed would take it in earnest sometimes, and call him 'my lord;' which was pleasant. His weakness was vanity, and his favorite pastime the practical joke. Lounging about the grease-works in his unemancipated days, with his pockets full of money, and safe under the aegis of the governor, this sort of wit brought him glory. Even its victims laughed, and slapped him on the back—droll dog that he was!—and swalled his insolence and his champagne with equal relish. They had their reward. As soon as good old Smith was in his grave, and the works sold, they were cut to a man ; but the new set into which Smith's heir managed to wriggle did not take his jokes half so well. There was a story about a horsewhip and some black balls, which was good-naturedly hushed up, as its hero showed signs of improvement. He had his good points, or Ave should not find him in his present company. The last of our trio, Charles Ashleigh, had no nickname in particular. His was one of those happy careless natures which do not throw out any peculiarity whereon to hang one. In the regiment he was 'Charley.' With a few men he was * old Charley,' and they knew what a true friend was. No woman had ever called him ' dear Charley,' and repented it. If any one, not having the sense to see what underlaid his careless demeanour, selected him as a person with whom it would be safe to take a liberty, that one would find that he had made a most unfortunate mistake. In this respect he was something like his favorite setter Lady, who disdained to notice the yapping of small dogs, but was death on a real affront. ' Who's for the ball to-night ?' said the Bird, throwing himself (as the smallest man always will) into the largest easy-chair, and lighting a cigar. ' You, of course, Marquis. ' ' The tone of your inquiry seems to suggest that I'm a doubtful starter,' observed Ashleigh, when the person immediately addressed had nodded assent.

The Hon Percy looked round with an expression as though he were going to chirrup 'tweet,'but replied:— ' In making one's calculations it is well to reject at the outset those which prove themselves. The voracity of the Marquis's appetite for balls in general is too well known to allow of any doubt as to his going. He would swim over the lake, with his clothes done in a waterproof sheet on his back, and dress upon a tombstone on the other side, sooner than not go to this one; wouldn't you ? .-.I ' I mean to go —that's enough, said the Marquis, rather gruffly, ' Of course. You will go anyhow, but circumstances might arise to prevent one or other of us from having the pleasure of your company. . '.How so ? Is Ashleigh really undecided ? He spoke quickly, and with a gleam of pleasure in his eyes. ' Not in the least,' Ashleigh replied. I shall certainly go.' Their looks met, as though they crossed swords and said, 'On guard !' Bore la donna? When one gentleman brightens up with pleasure at the mere probability of another gentleman's staying at home, be sure that there is some lady who is not going to do so. Where is she ? She is up-stairs, dressing for the ball—miles away from our shooting box—and you really cannot see her. It is more to the purpose to ask where she was at two o'clock this afternoon. She was on the moor, taking the luncheon to a party of grouse-shooters, with her soft brown hair breeze-tossed into a tangle about a face as healthy as the wild heather, and as sweet. She will be out tonight, ' in sheen of satin and glimmer of pearls'—the belle of the county,"the queen of the ball. She looks with a sigh at a torn serge dress and a pair of muddy but bewildering little boots, and wonders if she will ever again be as happy as when she wore them last. Right in the centre of her dressing table is a ruby glass vase, with a spring oi

heather in it. The exquisite bouqet which yhe is to carry to the ball wastes its faagrance out of sight. Down stairs in the dining room is a portly gentleman, who was also at that shooters' luncheon, and whose last thoughts before he lapsed into his forty winks preparatory to dressing ran : ' Well, I can't expect to keep her with me always. The young man is rich and steady. Lord, Lord, how time flies !'

What young man was rich and steady ? Captain Ashleigh was steady, but not rich. ' The Bird' was pretty well provided with worldly pelf, but sadly deficient in steadiness. It must have been Mr Fitzwalter-Smith who was running in the old gentleman's head as he dozed off before the tire, if he was thinking of any one he had seen lately, for he had no near neighbors, and our triumvirate at the shooting box were the only young men about. As Mr Balfoure of the Ridge was their only neighbour, and a very hospitable one, they made themostofhim, andtheirwelcomewasas good as new. Hardly a day passed in which some of them did not visit the Ridge. They had a standing invitation to drop in of an evening, and somehow or other the birds would get round that way about five o'clock, when Miss Balfoure's afternoon tea was ready. In the evening she sang duets with the Bird, played be<szique with Mr Fitz-walter-Smith, and talked art and travel with Captain Ashleigh. They sang and played and talked very well respectively; but the gunner had the best of it. He had seen a great deal—seen it well; absorbed what was grand and beautiful about him unto himself, and gave out part of its grandeur and its beauty in description to a heart, who could touch the spring which threw off his reserve.

He was also able to interest Miss Balfoure in what his rival considered ' all sorts of trash'—rare mosses and ferns, quaint construction of bird or insect architect, strange effects of light and shade, with which her mountain home abounded. This led to many a confidential ramble in what was truly their happy hunting ground, and on the day of that luncheon before mentioned, when a splendid lot of birds—three or four coveys packed—went away right into the thickest cover, Captain Ashleigh would persist in going back alone after a miserable brace, in quite another direction; and he never put them up after all. He only marked down a basket-carriage driven by a fair girl in a blue-serge dress, who pulled up her ponies, and exclaimed, ' Why, Captain Ashleigh!' as though he were the last person she expected to see. Was it because she got tired of his society during the ramble which followed, or because she was vexed with him for being an accessory to the muddying of those little boots and the tearing of that dress, that she almost ignored his presence at luncheon, and was so amiable : tp Mr Fitzwalter-Smith as to raise the idea in her father's mind that he was the coming man and son-in-law ? Or was she a flirt! • She was no flirt. Having thus answered the question which shunted this story from its opening scene, we'll return, please, to the shooting-box. ' I suppose we shall all go,' said the Marquis. 'lf it continue fine,' the Bird replied; ' but the construction on wheels, dignified by the nameof thebrougham, which has been sent for our conveyance only holds two; and there is a young man with whom I am intimate, and in whose personal comfort I take the deepest interest, who absolutely declines to drive twelve miles in an open dog-cart, should this delightful climate indulge in one of its favorite mists.' 'We can toss up for the dog-cart,' said Ashleigh. * I will not place my life upon the hazard of—of heads and tails. If it remain fine, I go in the brougham. If it mists—which means rain by the bucketful— I stay. Behold, I have spoken !' 'You are a spoilt child, Bird; your tender plumage shall not suffer. I'll take the dog-cart, anyhow,' said Ashleigh. 'Well, what is it V This to his servant, who entered with a small but heavy parcel. 'One of the gillies brought it from the station, sir, this morning, and forgot to tell me. It is not my fault, sir.' 'AH right. Put it down.' ' What is it '(' asked the Bird, when tha valet had gone. ' Only Lady's new collar.' ' Let's have a look.' ' Inquisitiveness, thy name is Percy Eyngold. There ! Ashleigh tossed him the package, out of which came a curb-chain collar, light, but strong, with ' Lady, the property of Captain Ashleigh, 11. A., 5 engraved on the plate. ' I don't like those things,' said the Marquis ; ' they rust. I prefer stx-aps.' ' Dog-stealers can take off straps,' observed Ashleigh, in reply. ' So they can that, with a key.' * With the key, which they won't get. The lock is a patent one.' ' Isn't it too small for Lady !' asked the Bird. ' I think not,' replied her master. ' Why, it wouldn't go round my neck,' said the Marquis. *ls that any reason why it should not fit Lady?' ' Bet you a sovereign it don't measure fifteen inches.' ' Done!'

' Who's got a measure?' 'We don't want one,' Ashleigh replied, taking off his shirt-collar. 'See! this is marked fifteen and a half. If I can get the chain on, it must measure as much. Will that satisfy you?' ' Perfectly.' ' There, then!' He threw the collar round his throat, and fastened it with a sharp click. Mr Fitzwaiter-Smith tossed the lost coin on the table, and left the room, growling something which was not audible. ' How these rich fellows hate to lose!' said the Captain, pocketing his sovereign. 'They do, old man,' said the Bird, very markedly. * They hate to lose, but mostly they don't lose.' ' That's true,' sighed Ashleigk. ' Charley, you haven't told me anything, and I'm not going to pump you. But don t you think it's time to go in and win ?' ' Good boy !' said the other, with one of his bright smiles, as he stretched his hand over the table, and pressed Percy's. ' Only suppose I go in, and do not win ?' ' Well, you know your own running best. Look out, though, for the other horse is putting on a big spurt. For these stakes weight tells, and he carries twelve thousand a year.' (To be continued.)