LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 426, 25 October 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A WELCOME WINDFALL.

( Concluded .) Who was his heir ? Nobody knew ; but it was supposed that the principal part of his property was willed away to different London charities —if a will existed Doubts and surmises were speedily ended by Mr Wentworth, the lawyer who had now succeeded to Mr Upton’s business, requesting the return of those who had gone to the funeral to Russell square to hear the last wishes of their departed friend. By a singular fatality, the same carriage that conveyed Mr Vivian back to Russell square also contained Frederick Atwood, who resolutely avoided giving the former the faintest sign of recognition. The drive soon ended, and very speedily the servants were summoned to join the assembled guests, to hear the contents of the will.

Mr Wentworth seated himself, and, with due formality, producing the document, proceeded without preamble to read the last will and testament of John Upton. Various legacies were left to his servants—in amount, far beyond what they could have expected—and handsome sums to each of his executors, of which four were named. After that, the rest of his property, real and personal, he bequeathed without reserve to the daughters of his deceased friend —Miles Annesley— Clara Atwood and Alice Vivian, for their sole and separate use, free from the debts and engagements of their husbands ; to be invested—and here followed many businesslike and careful details—after which came the signature, witnessed and dated, in due form, one month after the date of Alice Vivian’s marriage, Mr Atwood’s face was a study ! Joy, impossible to be repressed, shone on every feature for a few moments. ‘ The amount ?’ he asked.

‘ There is a codicil,’ replied Mr Wentworth ominously; and silence being restored, he proceeded to read. John Upton recalled the foregoing will as regarded the disposal of his property to the two daughters of his deceased friend, Miles Aunesley, and added a codicil, desiring that the whole of his property, real and personal, should be realised and invested, the legacies above only excepted, for the sole use and benefit of Alice Vivian, wife of Charles Vivian; a change which the deviser wished it to be known had been decided on by him in consequence of the unsisterly conduct which Mrs Atwood had displayed towards her sister, and which had come under the personal notice of himself, and whose prosperity rendered any addition from him unnecessary. Then came his signature —also witnessed—in due form. A dead silence followed, broken again by Mr Wentworth, who, approaching Charles Vivian, shook him warmly by the hand. ‘ I must congratulate you, Mr Vivian, on so splendid a fortune coming to your wife !’ 4 Splendid fortune !’ echoed Charles. ‘ Considerably over two hundred thousand pounds,’ returned Mr Wentworth. It was enough, aud too much for Frederick Atwood. He waited to hear no more, but rushed off without the ceremony or civility of leave-taking, to tell his wife what she had done for herself. Of her rage and fury, it is needless to speak—or of the mutual recrimination that never ceased from that time forth between the angry and disappointed but justly punished pair. Better only to follow Mr Vivian to the shabby little dwelling, whither he lost not an instant in returning, and where Alice awaited him, little dreaming of the marvellous tidings he was to bring. He drove back—a circumstance which surprised her ; and as she watchod him alight, the extreme pallor of his face made her fancy illness must have caused him to indulge in the unwonted luxury of a hansom. 4 Alice, my wife, my darling, our troubles are over ! Mr Upton has left his fortune to you—at the least, he has left you two hundred thousand pounds !’ Poor Alice had borne her reverses bravely, and when actual poverty had faced her, strengthened by her love for her husband, she had never utterly given away ; but now, to hear of such a sudden, marvellous, aud unexpected change in their prospects was too much for her, aud, to the infinite alarm and consternation of her husband, she fainted dead awaj. It was a happy waking for her ; and of the evening that followed, only those who have suffered reverses, and recovered prosperity, can imagine the happiness. By mutual consent, the first year’s income was cheerfully devoted to discharging, with interest, the unpaid claims against Mr Vivian, and at the end of that time, he stood once more a clear and independent man. If the money was in Alice’s name, it in no way detracted from their happiness—they were too truly devoted to each other to have any feelings on that score, and their days of adversity had not been in vain, for they had made them feel an amount of pity and sympathy for others, which proved a blessing to many. John Upton’s money was not squandered in thankless and extravagant entertainments The Vivians retired to a lovely place in Kent, where they spend their days now, doinggood with a lavish hand, and enjoying, in happiness and moderation, the splendid fortune which had so unexpectedly become theirs. Shortly after their accession to it, a a son was born, and in him the name of their benefactor lives again, for they called him * John Upton Vivian. So, though no public charities were enriched by his death, and no newspaper record paraded the magnificent bequests of the departed solicitor, one family was raised to happiness and comfort by his means; and through them, many and many a poverty-stricken home has been cheered and gladdened, and many a desponding heart has had cause to bless the thought that prompted John Upton’s Welcome Windfall. A SEASIDE ADVENTURE. I was in rather a poor state of health, caused by long and assiduous attention to business in the firm to which 1 belonged in Crutched Friars. My physician recommended rest and sea-air. I was to go to some quiet spot on the sea-side, live simply, avoide late hours, and all causes for harass-

ment. It would be a great thing if I could night after night get a sound sleep, and be for a time free of any anxiety. Rest for the brain was to be the sovereign cure. Acting on this pleasant advice, I chose Lulworth in Dorsetshire, as quiet and dull a place as could possibly be discovered. To help the cure, I was medically recommended to avoid the glare of sunshine, to wear blue spectacles and have my hair cut short; all which, with other advices, I attended to.

Passing over any account of the journey—except that a fisherman, of the name of Vye, who happened to be at Wool (the little station for Lulworth), drove me across in his gig to my destination, and proved to be a very agreeable companion—behold me at Lulworth,, poking about for lodgings, and finding accommodation at an old fashioned cottage, kept by one Mrs Cruxley, As for dullness, nothing could match the situation. The only living objects to arouse curiosity were a lady and her daughter, who, walking about, seemed to be borne down by some awful sorrow. I saw that the daughter was an extremely interesting girl, with, a pair of eyes which, as they met mine, imparted even through my blue spectacles a peculiar sensation.

For days and days I spent the most monotonous and regular life, by degrees extending my walks along the cliffs, and making the acquaintance of the coast-guard, ensconsed in his turf shelter just above the cove. Wherever I went, there were the two ladies, peering about, and exciting curiosity in their movements, wander where I would along the’cliffs. They appeared to be for ever on the outlook for some object on the horizon. There was a mystery about them I conld not fathom.

Well—three weeks passed, and one afternoon, after a heavy sea-fog which had lasted for six-and-thirty hours, I strolled far away across the downs, and struck the coast almost at the extreme western end of the range of tall chalk cliffs. It was the farthest point I had just reached, and it revealed the altered character of the country and shore, which here gradually flattened out, until it was nearly a dead level, stretching towards the distant town of Weymouth. The solitude of the spot, the balmy autumnal air, the smooth sea, and pleasant sandy beach, all suggested a bath. Clambering down the rocks, I was about to undress under the lee of the cliffs, when I was startled at hearing, as I imagined, a footstep in the loose shingle. I concluded that the sound was a mere fancy; and so assured, 1 was soon in the full enjoyment of a delightful bath in the placid ocean before me.

By swimming out to some rocks that rose above the sea, I abandoned myself to the pleasant novelty of the situation. Only by chance did I cast my eyes landward, and there, to my vexation, was a stranger on the beach. It must have been his footstep I had heard, and how he had concealed himself, I could not divine. Yet, there he was ; and, to add to my consternation, he began to take off his own clothes, and to dress himself in mine. My first impulse was to call out, and next to swim hastily to the shore, and give chase. All my efforts were vain. Before I touched the shingly beach, the stranger, or thief I must call him, had donned my garments and vanished among the cliffs. I was naked and helpless. My only resource was to put on the clothes which the wretch had left as his own.

Here was an extraordinary source of perplexity. The thought of having to put on these clothes filled me with disgust. A more motley and coarse attire I had never seen, only fit, as I imagined, for a mounteback of the lowest character. There was, however, no choice, unless I wished to walk to Lulworth in the costume of our first parents. It was some consolation that this incomprehensible dress was tolerably clean, and was not on the whole a bad fit. The odd thing was the diversity of colorus and marks. There were conspicuously stamped the letters P. S., and below them the figures 5755. Ridiculous as was this strange attire, it was clear that I should hasten to the nearest coast-guard station and give notice of the robbery. As the afternoon was waning, there was no time to be lost. On straggling, hatless, up the side of the cliff, I noticed two figures watching me curiously from above. They were boys, who, as I approached them, waved their caps, and, with a sudden shont, ran off at top of their speed. Gaining the crest of the high down, I again caught sight of the boys, still running. Presently, two men met them; they spoke together, the boys waved their hands excitedly in my direction, then all advanced towards me. I, in my turn, moved to them, aud as I approached, I saw one was a coast-guardsman, the other a policeman. As we neared each other, the boys fell back behind the men, and the men themselves half halted, seemingly hesitating and irresolute.

But I went on, aud as soon as I was close enough to speak, said to the policeman : ‘Ah! you’re just the man I wanted.’ Funny , isn’t it ? You’re just the man we wanted,’ was the reply; and in another second the coast guardsman had seized me by the arms, whilst his companion slipped a pair of handcuffs on my wrists before I was well aware that it was done.

my confusion and surprise, the truth did not as yet dawn upon me. This strange treatment added only another mystery to the affair; but I well remember, that, in spite of my perplexity, I was diverted by the behaviour of the boys, as, with a yell of triumph, they scampered back in the direction whence they had come. What followed next, is less distinct in my recollection. I know only that I protested, remonstrated, and begged my captors to explain. It was all |in vain—the sailor’s lips seemed hermetically sealed; and all I could elicit from the policeman was a dry ‘ All right; push on, or we shan’t get to Portland before it’s locked for the night.’ I was evidently taken for an escaped convict, and, looking at my dress, there were grounds for the supposition. Of course, I protested against such a belief, told who I was, and mentioned how it was my clothes were stolen while bathing. All was in vain. 1 was only laughed at, and heard that a reward of five pounds was offered for my recovery. To he continued.