LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume III, Issue 251, 1 April 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE BOODLE ROMANCE. (From Tinslci/s Magazine.) Chapter I. ( Continued.) In due time there was another ceremony performed at the same aristocratic church. There was a limp mass of soft white material sprinkled with water, and again everybody drank everybody else's healths, and the old masters again indulged in their individual national beverages; and young Boodle was no longer a thing without a name, but a very small Frederic, a Christian, for whom, in the untoward event of his shuffling off this mortal coil before he shuffled on his lirst pair of pantaloons, a kind lady and gentleman had taken on themselves the task of squaring up all mortal bills and finding good society in another sphere. And there was yet another ceremony, but everything was hung with black. People moved about softly and spoke low, and everybody drank highly spiced wine and tasted rich and mournful cake, and none of the old masters partook of their national beverages, but they all remembered how kindly she had spoken to them when in the first days of her bridehood she had visited them at their work, and more than one of them dropped a tear as the sad bell resounded mournfully through the silent air, and the cold clay was cast upon the colder form of ' our clear sister departed.' Young Boodle was given over to the tender mercies of governesses, and, when he got older, of tutors. Then he went to Eton, and thence to college. He had just completed his collegiate career wben old Boodle was taken seriously ill. He was, to borrow a nautical phrase, 'becalmed/ and not having enough breath left to whistle for more wind, he was obliged to remain in that unsatisfactory state until he was taken iu tow by a six horse-power tug hearse, and laid up safety in a dry dock built of sculptured marble. When all this was done his last log-book was opened and read, and young Boodle found himself the sole possessor of the aristocratic studio, one of the finest country seats in the whole of Blaukshirc, and live hundred thousand pounds in hard cash. Young Boodle, having been thrown on his own resources for amusement from his infancy, had devoted a great deal of his spare time* to the perusal of tales of sentiment, and therefrom had gathered together a variety of ideas wholly unpracticable in this unromantic age. He had a compatriot in his opinions whose name was Monty Phipps,_ and the twain had been in the habit of holding weekly reunions for the purpose of discussing the merits of the various works then under their perusal After old Boodle's lamented decease, young Boodle making no difference in his style of living, the meetings still went on as before. One evening, about a year after that lamentable occurrence, the two friends met in Boodle's luxurious Cll fljTTlt) 6 F *( ' Now," then, Fred,' said Monty, settling himself among the silken cushions of a Turkißh|divan and lighting a fragrant weed,

•what do you think of the "Waceine World?'" * S S 'Well,' replied Boodle, also lighting a cigar and elevating his legs upon the back of an easy chair, ' I think the passion is somewhat overdrawn. That scene, for instance, where Angelina enters a convent because her grandmother broke her brother's tobacco pipe can hardly be called natural.' 'No,' slowly replied Monty, 'but there are some good points in it too. That wasn't a bad idea of Philip Arundel's pretending he was dead, and going to look for some one who would love him for his own sake. It would be nice, wouldn't it,' proceeded Monty, in as mournful a tone as though a gravedigger were the theme of their conversation, ' to find a lowly lily who would look up to you alone as her sun?' ' Yes, very,' replied Boodle. 'lf I had a little more time to spare I would do it myself,' proceeded Monty. •Now, Monty,'said Boodle, deliberately taking his legs from off the back of the chair, ' that is just the very thing I am going to do. I have been thinking of it ever since I read about Arundel, and your words have decided me.' ' It is the wisest thing that you could possibly do,' replied Monty. So they talked the matter over and matured their plans during the rest of the evening. A few days afterwards the principal papers had an announcement to this effect: •Personal. —We understand that Mr Frederic Boodle, only son and heir of the late Solomon Boodle, Esq., the celebrated art-critic of lamented memory, having decided on treading in the footsteps of Mr Gordon Cumming and other illustrious Nimrods, left last evening in his steam yacht en route for Africa. We further understand that Mr Boodle has signified his intention of not returning to his native land for a year or more.' Monty Phipps and Boodle read this announcement with great satisfaction. The following morning Boodle, with a whole circulating library of novels, took the train for Wales, in search of the flower of nature, whose destiny was to be trained upon a trellis-work of Boodle. Chapter 11. A boundless expanse of deep blue sea dashing grandly against the adamantine coast, and in the sunlight flashing like a myriad of gems. A long level stretch of fertile ground, and, nestling at the foot of one of the towering hills, a calm peaceful village. In the foreground, attired in tourist's costume, with a knapsack on his back and a valise in his hand, Boodle is discovered. 'Surely,' said he, 'in this peaceful spot a flower such as I seek for is to be found.' He made the remark with the air of an enthusiastic botanist searching for a variety of plant unknown to Linnaeus, and as he said it he looked all around, and into every cranny in the rocks, as though the flower in question was something of the nature of a mountain daisy. Not finding anything, however, he sighed heavily and made for the inn. He was met in the doorway by the hostess, and was shown into the best parlor. A substantial dinner was soon set before him, and if the loneliness of his heart could be judged by the extent of his appetite, never was man in worse state than he. He finished his dinner, and strolled for a walk through the village, still intent upon his floral search. He met a little girl tenderly carrying a pitcher of milk; but, although a flower no doubt, she did not realise Boodle's ideal. He met a dog, who, if a flower by nature, was by no means a modest one; for, like the wolf in " Little Red Riding Hood," he made divers remarks touching the sharpness of his teeth, which he showed very profusely; but Boodle, instead of being charmed with his unsophisticated intelligence, kicked him. He met the oldest inha bitant, who made many disparaging reflecjj tions on the subject of strangers in general, and Boodle in particular. He met an old woman with a sugar-loaf hat upon her head, and then, despairing, he returned to the inn and went straight to his bedroom—not to sleep, however, for he took his diary from his knapsack and made an entry. ' I have arrived at Golygfa-hy-fryd, an d am staying at the Ap Shenkin Inn. Upon mature consideration I have decided to give my own name, as no person within a hundred miles ever heard the name before. I have searched long nnd wearily for some one to love mo for myself alone, but Fate is against me, and my heart is sad. To-mor-row 1 will search again. Oh, the yearning of my heart is almost too great to bear.' Closing the book with a weary sigh, he lit a cigar, and sat by the open window looking out upon the sea. Then opening the valise, he took therefrom " A Broken Heart," and getting into bed drew the candle closer to him. He commenced reading, but the disappointment of the day was too much for him; the book dropped from his hand, the candle burnt lower and lower until it burnt out, and still he lay motionless with his mouth wide open, groaning aloud in big despair. Boodle arose the next morning and rubbed his eyes very hard, probably to wipe away all traces of his sorrow, and then, dressing himself, went downstairs and ate a very substantial breakfast. His mind still intent upon the mission that had brought him to Wales, he again set out upon his search. He saw more life than he had on the previous evening; for, upon his going out of the door, he encountered a flock of geese, who evidently regarded strangers from the same standpoint as the oldest inhabitant, for they hissed him. He was in better spirits this morning, for he smiled softly to himself: ' Thus, I suppose, will ye hiss at me, "ye long-necked geese of the world," when I have found the object of my .search; but let those laugh who win.' Then suddenly bethinking himself that he had not won yet, he walked hurriedly on. He wandered about for a long time, until finally lie found himself seated upon a mossy stone and listening to a legend connected with the ruined castle. It was of a maiden who had been imprisoned there by her hardhearted parent for daring to love a nameless squire; and the narrator, whose figure-head if not his heart, was certainly of oak, and very cross-grained at that, gave Boodle a full and exact description of ner personal appearance. To be continued.