LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 336, 10 July 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE WIDOW CASE. A Dear Hunt. They got in at Pekin, and sat down before me in the car—a fat, placid old lady, with a droning voice like the continuous purr of an ancient and sleepy cat, and a lean, tall, grizzled old man, with pursed-up lips and watery eyes. There seemed to be no end of bundles in their arms : there was a big faded carpet-bag of the very oldest fashion, that went under the old lady’s feet, for she was short.

‘Set right down, wife—set right down, I tell ye, ’nd I’ll push it under yer feet ; it ’ll be amazin’ handy to keep ’em out o’ draughts.’ When that was pushed under the end of the seat, there was a great yellow bandbox, quite the worse for wear, to be squeezed into the rack above, causing deep anxiety on the old lady’s part, ‘ For the laud’s sake ! don’t ye smash it, John; my best bunnet’s in’t, and if them bows get bent out o’ shape, I do’no what on airth I can do to’t. Lorainy she fixed ’em real nice, ’nd— ’

‘ Oh, pshaw ! pshaw ? women-folks are allcrs in a pucker. 1 ain’t a-goin’ to break your bonnet; there now. Where’s the flag root ?'

A long bundle was laid up beside the bandbox.

‘ I guess I’ll put up the bag o’ wa’nuts; they’ll jest slip in easy.’ And up went the bag with a little tin pail over it; and before the couple were free to sit down quietly and hunt for their tickets there had appeared, besides the parcels already detailed, a willow basket with two covers, redolent of apples, a stone jug, and v a flat bundle carefully tied up in a red and yellow silk handkerchief. After much hunting in pockets the tickets were found and delivered, and before we came to the rocky pass of Satan’s Kingdom the old couple had settled into quietness, and begun to enjoy their journey. But not its picturesqueness. The frowning rocks above us; the sullen whirling river below, black as Styx; the sharp cliff on the other side, along whose face, on a terrace blasted out from the rocks, ran the gleaming lines of another railway; the few trees that looked shudderingly down upon us—all these did not arrest

my two neighbours. They were discussing their visit to Pekin in an even flow of talk that I could not but hear; only a part of it, however, I need to repeat, since it held for me a significance I knew not at the time. ‘ Lorainy Case is a good gal; yes, she’s a fust-rate good gal, ’ muttered the old man, as his wife finished telling him how the person in question had ‘ ‘ fixed up my Sunday bunnet as good as new. ’ * It was a mysterious Providence that took him away so young,’ he went on. ‘So ’twas —so ’twas, ’ answered his wife. ‘ But he was dreadfully headstrong, Thomas was. He might ha’ knowed the ice wouldn’t ha’ bore him after such a thaw. They do say Lorainy begged of him to stay to hum, but ’twas allers yea and amen with him. He stuck to what he’d calc’lated to do tighter’n wax; so he got drowned, as he might ha’ expected, ’nd left her a widder, ’nd she only jest nineteen. It’s dreadful hard on her to hev her ’flictions come along so early, as you may say. Still, she does seem to be pretty cherk, arter all, most times. Miss Elbert Case she says ’twas a kind o’ mistake Lorainy’s a-marryin’ Tom, anyway.’ ‘ Why, how’s that ? Folks gener’lly know who they’re a-marryin’.’ ‘ Well, it was real queer. You see, Tom and Jim were both out to Oaliforny, and Lorainy wasn’t but sixteen years old. She’d had a first-rate education to Hartford, and she was a beautiful singer; so when she went to Pekin to teach in the ’cademy, she took to singin’ in the choir, and sot beside of Jane Case, and they struck up a kind of a intimacy, so to speak, and Jane she showed her the boys’ picturs; and you know Jim was real hansum, but Tom was dreadful hard-favored ef he was smart. W ell, I do’no’ jest how it came about, but what with the boys a-sendin’ messages to * Jenny’s friend,’ and Jane a-persuadin’ of her to answer back, it came to letter-wrPin’ afore long, ’nd it seems she got the boys’ faces sorter mixed like, so’t she thought Jim was Tom, and fust she knew Tom offered marriage to her, and she kinder sorter took up with him, and got his picture copied, that is to say, Jim’s. And then Tom he was cornin’ back to be married, ’nd Jim went and got killed in the mine just two days afore Tom left, which was kinder luck, as you may say ; for when Tom did come home, lo and behold ! Lorainy screamed right out, for she thought he was Jim, or a ghost, or what not. Anyway, it all came out, how she’d been a writin’ to Tom and a-carryin’ Jim’s pictur; and you’d better believe there was trouble. But Tom he wouldn’t let her off nohow, after two years a-writin’ back an’ forth ; ’nd he’d got some ahead in life as to means, he’d about six thousand dollars, and could buy a farm, and Lorainy—well. I do’no’ how she felt; gals will be gals ; but they persuaded of her to marry Tom, ’nd, sure enough, ’twan’t six months after ’t he was drownded. Miss Elbert Case says ’twas a real providence, for they didn’t seem to be overly happy. Tom was dreadfull rough, an’ Lorainy she was pretty sperity, and seemed as though she’d married the wrong man after all, and so ” * Well, well, mother, mebbe Tom didn’t see the providence in’t so quick as Lorainy ; I should ha’ said ’twas more keerlessness than providence that took a man out on rotten ice; but Elbert Case’s wife allers was a master-hand for providences. I’m glad Lorainy’s provided for, anyway. She’s a handsome little creetur, ’nd as good as gold,’ ‘ Oh my ! she ain’t provided for, husband; that’s the wust on’t. He never made no will, so she hain’t got nothin’ but her thirds; she’ll have to go teachin’ agin,- onless her aunt, old Miss Fyler, out to Canaan, gives her a home, She’s abundant able to do it, but she’s kinder near, ye know. ’

‘ I declare for’t!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘ That makes me think ! Lorainy knew we was a-goin’ to Oaanan, ’nd she give me her pictur to take to Miss Fyler, and I do’no as I should ha’ thought on’t agin, for I stuck it in this coat pocket.’ ‘ Let’s see it,’ said the old lady. So the photograph was taken from the envelope he produced, and very carefully inspected by both parties. ‘Favors her mother, don’ she?’ said the wife, ‘ There am’ no Fyler looks there. She is real hansum, and as pretty a gal as there is anywhere around. ‘ That’s so,’ was the ready response ; and then the photograph was further discussed, and all the Case family, or I thought so, till after I had been in Pekin myself, and found out that everybody in the town was either Case or Humphrey. But I did not listen long; the road grew more and more attractive, and when at last we steamed past Norfolk, and hissed along the hill-side of the beautiful Canaan Valley, I was too absorbed in the series of exquisite pictures to hear the incessant flow of village gossip that went on and on in the vernacular of New England both before and behind me. At last I left my seat, with my bag and shawl still lying there, to stand at the door of the car, which was the last of the train, and watch the lovely curves of meadow fold and unfold at the foot of the dark hills, here and there patches of sunshine lighting up the fields of young grain, the fresh verdure ofjja cluster of maples, pink-heaped apple-trees, or the glitter of the little river that leaped and laughed through all, like a thread of new molten silver.

‘ Canaan !’ shouted the brakeman, as to the south a still higher hill, crested with evergreens, arrested my sight, and I looked round just in time to see my old pair of neighbours, struggling under their various bundles, disappear by the other door; they might have disappeared then and there from my friend, but that, after watching Canaan Mountain and the bright, tranquil Housatonic disappear in the distance, I returned to my seat, and found a white envelope, unsealed, lying on the floor. As I picked it up a photograph dropped out—it was no doubt ‘ Lorainy’s ’ likeness, which had slipped outside instead of into the old man’s pocket. Yes, the slight figure was clothed in black; even the round throat, unrelieved by any whiteness, rose out of a crape ruffle. I knew enough of ladies’ dress to perceive that, at least; but the face took all the ‘ widow ’ similitude even from crape and merino. A photograph is often a caricature; there are faces whose beauty is so entirely in expression that the enforced stillness of sitting for their pictures makes them utter unlikenesses; but this face had a positive beauty of its own in delicate outline, large, pensive eyes, a sweet, full mouth, but a lurking possibility of fun and spirit in the piquant nose and dimpled chin. It was a peculiar face, for all its beauty—unusual, interesting, full of suggestion. No regular, faultless visage, no Madonna, no nymph, no goddess or angel was recalled by its aspect; over the broad, full fore-

head the hair lay in loose waves, soft and shining, but color was wanting, of course. It was a picture that took hold of me vitally, a face that I studied all day, that invaded my dreams, that—l may as well own it —took entire possession of me in twentyfour hours, and resolved me to find out the original as soon as might be. Perhaps I had better introduce myself. My name is Frank Goddard, and I was twenty nine years old when I found the Widow Case’s picture. It would be more according to the fitness of things, as depicted in the ordinary novel, had I been a poor but honest young man, with uncorrupted morals, preserving clean collars and a clear conscience through the dreadful trials and temptations of a clerk’s life in the city; but I was not. I was only a tolerable young lawyer, with plenty of well-to-do-relations, among whom were two old maiden aunts who had spoiled me always, and now, having just died, to my real sorrow, carried on a sort of posthumous petting by leaving me fifty-thousand wellinvested dollars, and a very pretty house and garden in an old New England town. I was not poor before ; now I was rich as I need be, and disposed to enjoy my money a little while be)ore returning to the office, which I could well do, having left in my place an old comrade and college chum, who was glad to step into a tolerable business, and do all the work for a year or two, for pay now, and a partnership hereafter. So I left home, intending to travel, and during the first hundred miles of my journey stumbled on the ‘Widow Case’s picture and on my own fate. Don’t suppose I had never been in love before ; I had, at least twenty times; I had a fatal facility at that sort of thing. I had been madly in love, refused, accepted, engaged, disengaged. In fact, I have a vague idea of once having two bona fide engagements on my hand at once; I don't really know how it happened. I was not a victim, I think I must have been a fool. However, I knew the symptoms by heart, and here they were setting in again at high tide. There was no help for it. I could not get any further West than Albany. I recovered my trunk there from its durance in the baggage car, refilled my valise, and checking the trunk back to H , took the cars to Millerton, and then and there bough t a ticket for Pekin. Did anybody ever write his experience in Connecticut country taverns? I shall not offer mine to the public, but I think it might be a readable article. I found a room for my valise in Hodger’s Hotel, and a feather bed for my place of rest! But I cared very little. My absorbing object was to find the Widow Case; so I strolled down into the bar room, .a dreary desert of bare floor, enlivened here and there by a spittoon, a creaky arm-chair, a whip leaning against the wall, and a county map. Mr Smith, the present landlord of Hodger’s Hotel, in a greasy velveteen coat and battered felt hat, was leaning on the high counter with both elbows, talking cows to an old farmer. I did not hesitate to interrupt the deliberate dialogue with my query. . * Are there any families of the name of Case in Pekin ?’ This innocent question was received with a roar of laughter by Smith, and an idiotic grin, both broad and long, from the toothless old farmer. I began to feel vexed, naturally enough, and Smith perceived it. ‘ Scuse me, square; but fact is, there ain’t much folks in Pekin besides Cases, ’nd here’s one on ’em; this old gen’l’man is Deacon Levi Case.’ ‘ How de do ! how de do !’ chuckled the old man. ‘ Pleased to see ye. Didn’t altogether ketch yer name.’ This time he did. ‘ Oh, jes so ! Why, sounds dreadful nateral. Ain’t one o’the Norridge Goddards, be ye ?’ I disclaimed the honor, but did not enter into the subject of my family ; I only raised my voice, and asked him if he knew any widow lady of his name in Pekin. * Lor, yes! He ! he ! he! More’n four on ’em. 'Why, there’s Widder Elbert Case,’ (here my ears tingled, recalling that name in the talk of the old couple in the ear) * but she’s gone out West; there’s Widder Case up to the mill; and another on ’em down to Parsonville, ’t used ter be South Pekin. There ain’t no widder up to our folkses ; not yet! he ! he ! he ! (Do’no her name, do ye !’ Dear reader, lam not G. Washington. I can tell a lie, at the proper time—and I did it! I could not expose that lovely, delicate being, whose picture I carried in my left breast pocket, to the giggle and chuckle of this grinning old satyr, the coarse laughter of Smith, the bar-room gossip of Pekin. I would rather hunt up every Widow Case in Connecticut (I thought so thenf!) than do it; so I said, with the ease my law practice gave me, that I did not know her name, my business did not enter into personalities. I would go to all these places. So, getting directions and a horse, I set out alone to hunt up my cynosure.) I drove up a shadowy, still, grass-grown road to the mill first, and when I could make the little brown house door resound no louder to my whip and knuckles, I tried the mill itself, but there was nobody there ; it was empty of all but heaped grain and piles of flabby bags; the whole place smelt of new pine and fresh meal—all but the shed where the great wheel hung motionless, for that alone was old, and the black fans of the wheel itself bore the tint and slime, and sent into the fresh June air the mouldy scent of long use, of old water-soaked wood. Then I went back to the house and opened the the door without ceremony; a real old hag rose from her rocking-chair and hobbled up to me with one hand behind her ear. I took the hint, and shouted. To be continued.