LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 520, 17 February 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

HOW MY GRANDMOTHER CAME TO MARRY MY Continued. ‘Yes,’ replied my grandmother, ‘the strange gentleman was :Fred sure enough, and a tine handsome-looking young man he was too, and kind—kind as if he’d known us all his life. If he’d been mother’s own son he couldn’t have shown greater consideration for her "grief at poor Dick’s death. Poor Dick ! They had had a quarrel the night before he left, about a girl who used to live in the village, a brazen faced, light-tongued hussy as ever beguiled a poor simple lad to his ruin, and she’d threatened to tell father of his goings on ; and that threat we always believed had driven him out of the house. Poor Dick ! Well, having a bed to spare, and enough to make a welcome, father asked Fred if he wouldn’t stay a bit and try the fishing. Father was always hospitably inclined ; and having only me to provide for, ho - could afford to be liberal better than many--* Up. Fred said he would with did; and that was how he and™vgt>t fdftl of each other. At first mother fancied thmße was only -making fun of me—sailors, you l%ow, are such ones to Hirt when they get themhance.’ I nodded again. I remembered Mat young man on board the Courageous Fast summer. ‘But somehow, though I kifcw that I was in no way fit to an officer and a gentleman, I didn’MMp^Ttake that view of his attentions. gentle, so grave, so little inclined to snow himself off. No, mother might send me to bed of a night with wet eyes and a for I loved him long before I had' arijy right to, J suppose; but in the morning the did trust came back, and there was I just as foolish and happy as ever. Nor was ttafe,.trust misplaced ; and for this I thank God 1 with all my heart even now, when I anitfan old woman and must’ soon die ; for j||fe,ll misfortunes which qan befall a girl, Pflpßkair.unlucky love affair Hie worst.’ I■ahddlkqK sighed wfth meaning. ‘ Not so grave, my dear,’ pursued my cheerfully. ‘ You’ve too many have been too well brought up for ever to think of deceiving you.’ if one went about with one’s whole famuy ; 'at one’s back, saying the Church Catechism all day long!

‘Well, it was on a Sunday evening—lie was to L ave on Monday—that Fred asked me if I would be his wife. I can remember now how everything looked as if it was but yesterday. We were standing by Long Pasture-gate, and the sun was just going down, and Jack the sheep-dog was lying at our feet. Hut where’s the use of my telling you all this ! it’ll be tea time before I’m halfway through my story. However, he did ask me to be his wife, despite mother’s warnings and doubtings, and I said ‘yes,’ and father said ‘ yes,’ and we were regularly engaged—engaged to be married at the end of a year, I being then twenty, with the full sanction of every one concerned; Fred’s nearest rel dive being a bachelor uncle, woo was far too deeply engrossed in himself and his books to care what his nephew did or did not do, provided he kept out of his study. I do not think any girl could be happier during the days of her courtship than I was during mine. True, Fred was away for six mouths, from September to March ; but with the primroses he came again, and continued to visit us regularly at short intervals up to the day fixed for our marriage, namely, the twenty-seventh of August. ’ * Did he wear a pigtail ?’ I here inquired, somewhat dubiously.

‘ No, miss, he did not,’ responded my grandmother with asperity. ‘Neither did he ask impertinent questions. He was a true gentleman and a gallant officer, and a man that any woman might be proud to love, and cherish, and obey to her life’s end ;’ and the dear creature’s voice actually shook, and her eyes tilled with tears. * Don’t, granny!’ I cried, springing up, and flinging my arms round her neck, with alarming violence; ‘ don’t or you’ll make me cry too, and then the story will never get told.’

*My dear, you will crush my ruff'!’ was the smothered answer ; and I, much humiliated, resumed my sea,t. ‘ About a week before our wedding day,’ pursued she, when her cap was again straight, and composure regained, ‘ Fred thought he would go up to London to have his picture taken— 1 was so anxious to have a good likeness of him to cheer me when be was away fighting for the king, I said. Besides, he had business to see to—l don't know exactly what. 1 was never much of a one to meddle and pry into other folks’ affairs, however intimate I might be with them ; but father said he understood how it was ; so on the Friday morning he rose betimes and caught the coach at the crossroads, and went ofl as brisk and blithe as man could be.

‘ How well I remember ! But there I am, again running off the line, as your grfhdfathersays. Well, well! •New, while he was away—whence was with us I never had a moment to myself; it was Charity here, and Charity and Charity everywhere; nothing could be done without Charity—while he was away, I say, I had settled to go and spend a few days at Aunt Priscilla’s—Mrs Nettleby, you know; you never saw her, she was dead before you were born, but she was father’s sister, and a wonderful clever woman. So on Saturday father drove me over to Hepple—that was the name of their farm—to stay till Wednesday the 26th, ‘ Letters were expensive pleasures in those days—pleasures to bo but scantily indulged in by young people of moderate fortune like I and Fred, so where you would have written twenty we contented ourselves with two—one to report our safe arrivals at our separate destinations, and one to arrange the manner of our meeting on our return ; for father had left it to myself whether he should send for me from aunt’s, or whether I would walk over. It was but six miles, and being permitted the latitude of choice, I thought I would walk back, if Fred, who was expected home that afternoon, would meet me at Condicote’s Wood, a long belt of firs just halfway between Hepple and the Mere. ‘ I will be at the wood at eight o’clock punctually, ’ wrote he in reply to my inquiry whether such an arrangement would be agreeable, • and will bring the picture in my pocket. The artist assuees me it is as good a one as he has done, and I think it merits your much desired approval.’ ‘Slowly the hours went, despite Aunt Priscilla’s lively talk. She would just have suited you, for she could tell stories by the hour together—real interesting stories, better by far than those made by writers, in my opinion. Slowly the hours went, I say, which intervened between mo and happiness, as I thought; but at last ‘ good-bye’ was said, and uncle was thanked for the twenty pounds he put into my hand at parting as a wedding present. He couldn’t be persuaded to come to our wedding, being a great sufferer from rheumatic gout, and terrible short in his temper, though a worthy man as ever lived ; and I set off', with ray best foot foremost, to keep our tryst.

* For the first mile all went well enough ; then my bootlace broke and hindered me sadly, and it came on to rain—a nasty, small spiteful rain, which wetted one to the skin, without even darkening the dust. Still I struggled on ; Fred was already on his way to meet me, Fred’s arm would soon be at my sei-vice, Fred’s voice would make music in my ears, I was to be married to Fred tomorrow. What was a little discomfort compared to such good luck as that ? 1 struggled on. Suddenly, however, the sound as of a horse galloping struck upon my cars, and I stood still to listen. The part of the road I had reached by this time had borne an evil reputation as long as 1 can remember, from two murders having been committed there, and the fact that a gang of highway men at one time infested Condicote’s Wood to such an extent that no unarmed person ever thought of going that way. Still, of late no misadventure had occurred, so 1 did not feel exactly alarmed—rather surprised and curious. Thud ! thud! beat the horse’s hoofs upon the road. Presently I saw with some difficulty—for it was already dark—a man riding fidl speed towards me, and I turned hot with fright lest he might be the bearer of ill-tiding from home—some one come to tell me that father qr‘'9lojbher was dead, or that Fred had met with ful accident. A moment’s reflection, however, showed me the such fears, and I drew to one side to leffhjm pass, when* seeing me standing there b«ide the hedge, hejpallfid up all of a suddenJhlmost flinging his hor|e, which was fleckia with foam and snorted'with excitemeutagcn his haunches, and exclainild..# — '' ’ qs£ (To he conivnued.j “MrvSmithfs compliments to Mr Brown, thinks it unnecessary that his piggs should go through his grounds.” Answer—“ MiBrown’s compliments to Mr Smith, thinks it equally unnecessary to spell pigs with two g’«.”