LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 410, 5 October 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A HOMELY HERO.

[From the Saturday Advertiser.)

Harry Drummond was on« of the nicest fellows I ever knew. He was not brilliant, or possessed of captivating manners, for he was naturally of a shy, retiring disposition, and, in his efforts to overcome or hide this amaiable weakness, he was rather blunt, and at times even brusque. But when one really knew him well, he proved a well-informed, pleasant companion, with a heart like _ a woman’s; so gentle and tender was he in reality. He and I were both in the service of the Antipodean Bank, and I, for a long time filled the post of junior clerk at the Agency of which he had charge. Before 1 went there I was told I would land old Drummond not a bad fellow, but an ‘ awful stick,’ and at first I was inclined to endorse this opinion.

The Agency was a small one, and we two constituted the entire staff; and, as Drummond was a bachelor, I lived with him on the Bank premises. I found him remarkably kind and considerate, but I did not fully appreciate him till I had been there for some time. 1 was seized with a severe illness—it was a bad attack of low fever—and through this Drummond nursed me, as I would have said previously, as no one but a mother could have done—and this in addition to doing all the work of the Bank himself, Such a person as a professional nurse was not to be had in that out-of-the-way township for love or money ; and, when I saw him sitting up with me, night after night, I wanted him to drive me down to, the Camptoune hospital, which was distant about twenty-live miles by a rough road. He would not hoar of such a thing, however, which was perhaps as well for me, for I don't think I could have stood the journey.

One or two of the neighbours relieved him for a night or two occasionally, and then I realised the difference between good and bad nursing. But I should not say anything against them, for they were very kind in doing what they did —after all, I am not disparaging them, for there can’t be many 1 Harry Drummonds in the world. One evening, when I was so far convalescent as to ho able to sit in the parlour, Drummond returned from the Post office, bringing a letter to me from one of the fellows in the head office. It contained a good many items of gossip about various members of the staff, which I retailed to Drummond, who had drawn in his chair to the lire beside which I sat.

‘ So Sam Horton is to marry Laura Brandon, is he? lucky dog that he is.’ I don’t know what it was in Drummond’s

tone, as lie made that comment on this announcement of Sam Horton’s marriage, that suggested to me the question, why has Harry Drummond never married? I had never thought of it before, or, if I had, I had set him down as a confirmed bachelor. But now it seemed to me strange that it •

should be so. Drummond was eminently domestic in his tastes and habits, and just the sort of man to be devoted to his wife and children. His affectionate nature wanted some outlet, and 1 v as puzzled to know why he had not bestowed his affection 'on a more worthy object than the ugly little rough terrier which was his constant companion. He was about forty years of age, and in the enjoyment of a good salary and a free house. Besides, he was frugal in his habits, and must have saved a good bit of money, I thought. I must have been wondering about this for some little time, I suppose, for I was startled by Drummond suddenly saying

‘What are you thinking about so intently ?’ The question was so unexpected that I felt as though I had been doing what I had no right to do, and it was not without some confusion that I replied : ‘ Well, I was wondering why it was that you had never married.’ Drummond smiled rather sadly, and I remained for some time silent. After a while he said :

‘lf you feel interested, I will tell you why. It is because 1 camiot afford to do

‘ Not afford to marry!’ I exclaimed in astonishment. ‘ Surely you can afford to marry better than Sam Horton ?’ ‘ I don’t suppose Sam has a mother and two rather extravagant sisters to support,’ he replied, ‘ and that is the reason why I never married. I should not blame the girls altogether, either ; for I don’t suppose they realise what they cost me. Girls are apt to be thoughtless, and think that money is provided for their requirements, without effort on the part oi anyone, especially when they have rather a foolish mother, as I am sorry to own, mine have. However, it does not much matter, for the effort has been made, and I don’t think I should marry now, even if 1 had no one depending on me.’ ‘ Well, if that is so, why do your mother and sisters not come and live here? It would be much more cheerful for you, and less expensive too. ’ ‘ I wished that once, but they made so many objections about it being dull, and that they could never live out of town, and such like, that I did not press the matter. But that want of consideration of me was nearly making me to be lacking in my duty to them, for shortly after I came very near getting married. I thought I could get my mother to live with me, and let the girls take situations as governesses. But then they are so utterly incapable of earning their own living, that I knew they would only make themselves and other people miserable if they attempted it, so I gave up the idea.’

‘ That is, you sacrificed your own happiness to theirs, ’ said I, rather hotly. ‘ Not that altogether, for I had promised my poor father, when he was dying, that I would be as a father to the girls, when he was gone, so that there was my promise to him in addition to the ordinary calls of duty. I believe, if it had not been for that promise, 1 should have been unable to act as I did from a sense of duty alone.’ ‘ You speak as though you had been in love in your time,’ I said. ‘That I was,’ continued Drummond. It’s some years since, now ; but oh ! the remembrance of it, even yet, is trying. Yes, I was in love, thoroughly, deeply in love; and with such a woman, as it is the lot of few men to win. Mote Ormond was as pretty a girl as you would see anywhere, but as the Scotch say, “she was better than she was bonny.” I never knew a more amiable, unselfish creature. I used to think of her night and day ; I saw her on every possible occasion ; and though I never said a word to indicate my feelings, I fancied that she divined and even reciprocated them. I did not like to admit this, after I had resolved that I must not wed her, because I could not give up seeing her. Mote had many admirers, and 1 always thought she would marry one of them— Sydney Burton was the most favoured. {To be continued.')