LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 535, 6 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MISS WILLARD'S TWO KINGS. (From Lippincott's Magazine.) Prologue. Of these rings, one was a narrow gold band, in which, held by slender filaments, glowed a large and lustrous diamond, shooting out fine flashes of delight that its crystal prison had caught a sunbeam to sparkle there for ever. The other was a broad, roughly-made ring of black horn, with some rude figure — that of an anchor, apparently—stamped upon its surface in a suspicious looking metal. Worn alone, the significance of either ornament might have been understood—worn together, the wearer became a puzzle that many vainly tried to solve. Society knew all about the diamond solitaire, for Harvey Kent made no secret that it was the betrothal sign he had placed upon Miss Willard's finger. Had she never accepted the glittering pledge, she might have worn the black ring unquestioned to the day of her death, for Miss Willard was not known to the fashionable world until she awoke and found herself famous as Harvey Kent's promised wife. No pains were spared to find out all about the woman Colonel Kent had chosen. Strange rumours of her peculiarities were soon in circulation, for which it must be confessed that her conduct gave ample cause. She was called strong-minded and sarcastic. Perhaps it was true, for she wore short, unconventional skirts, and her hat waa a in itself. She plunged into

the vilest streets of the city, and held out her strong pure hands to forsaken ones whom she called sister, brother. She was often absent from her church pew, and would spend such Sundays with a set of little street Arabs, whom shejtook into her own home to wash and feed and amuse into civilisation. Miss Willard, in brief, was eccentric, and society felt itself aggrieved that she should have been chosen to the social throne where Harvey Kent's wife would naturally reign. But the matter was settled. The wise world accepted what it could not alter, and sent in its cards at Miss Willard's door. Unable to find a flaw in the manners or conversation of the girl, who received her lover's friends with rare simplicity and self poise, attention fixed itself upon the black ring that she wore, and it became a magnet round which questions clustered sharp and close as needles to their loadstones. Whether Miss Willard's taste were at fault, or she lacked the fine sense of the fitness of things; whether she were communistic in idea, and chose by the novel juxtaposition of her rings to symbolise'the close relations that might exist between high classes and low; whether the black ring were a link between herself and a plebian past life whose secret she faithfully kept, such were the 'questions that agitated the minds of society, and called without ceasing for a reply —which it is my privilege to give. The Story.

The sun of a July day was darting its fervid rays upon the little town of.Hollywell in Northern Mississippi. An air of desolation hung about the place. A few old men sat in the shade of the trees near the village post-office, smoking long-stemmed pipes, and occasionally interchanging sleepy questions and replies. Some small boys, with a precocious air of ennui, were playing marbles in the court yard. Now and then a victimised dog, with a rattling tin can sounding about him, would race madly through the street, raising little swirls of dust that made the old men cough and sneeze and hurl wheezy maledictions at the irrepressible urchins of the chase.

In its day, Hollywell had been a pretty village, nestled among the hills, shaded by ancient trees, overrun with .the flowers of the South, growing everywhere in wild and beautiful profusion. But it was the second year of the war, and the changes had been swift and sad. The public buildings had been burned, and their brick walls were standing, broad red signs of disaster. Raids from both armies had preyed upon the place, and now the yellow sunbeams shone down pitilessly enough on gardens overgrown with weeds, on neglected homes and ashy ruins. The mental life of the town was stagnant. Every man able to carry a musket had enlisted ; the negroes, with rare exceptions, had deserted their owners ; and the place being almost cut off from communication with the outside world, little things acquired a factitious value in the general longing for excitement and variety. Now and then the community would be stirred by the advent of a daring blockade-runner, who had eluded the pickets and escaped from the neighbouring oity of Memphis, with a supply of medicines, coffees, and teasj all of which sold for fabulous prices. Sometimes a young girl would promenade through the streets in a homespun dress that she had woven with her own pretty hands, and a pleasant murmur of admiration would run through the little town. Often two women would run a race in lint-making, the people anxiously watching the contest, and awarding wordy honours to the victor.

The great event of each week was the arrival of a hand-car that ran between Hollywell and the smaller towns along the road, and was managed by a blind man, a cripple, and two negroes. It brought a breath of freshness to the sleepy town. If there came only a recital of a dog-fight in the next village, or an account of Widow Green's thriving trade in hot corn-dodgers, still it was 'news,'and prized accordingly. Then there was always the chance of a paper not more than two weeks old ; and sometimes an invalid soldier, bearing upon his haggard face the signet of his discharge, would be lifted from the car by tender hands, and carried to the home that was to be the last station on the journey. One day—the July day on which my story opens—the hand-car came rolling labouriously into the village station. The two men at the crank jumped off, with the perspiration streaming from their dark faces, and refreshed themselves with copious draughts of water brought by a grinning young darkey from a well near by. Apparently there was little to interest the knot of idlers to-day. There were no papers, and the only passenger was an old negro woman, who lay on a mattress in the bottom of the car, and seemed quite helpless as she was lifted out. ' I can't git no furder,' she groaned. 'De Lord knows dis chie didn't count on no such sickness when she started dis trip.' ' Where are you bound ?' asked one of the loungers. ' I hope to git to Memphis, marster, an' rest my bones in freedom afore I d:'«.' This speech created a hostile feeling at once. ' D d runaway !' muttered the old mayor of the town. ' Look here, you old black sinner ! you'd better pack {yourself back to where you came from.' ' I can't do dat, marster ! I got no more stren'th dan a chile. Kin anybody tell me of a place I kin stay till I'm well enough to move on? I've got money to pay.' ' What is the matter with you ? ' asked a white-haired old mau. ' I am a doctor, and if you can pay my bill, I will cure you.' He felt her pulse, asked a few questions, then started back with an unprofessional pallor on his face. 'My God ! It's the small pox.' There was a general rush, and in a moment the place was cleared, with the exception of the doctor, the mayor, and a few negroes who hung about at a distance. 'A pretty thing,' said the mayor,' angrily, ' that you should come here to poison the place. Why couldn't you get to hell long ago?'

She was too feeble for the obvious retort, and lay on the ground panting heavily, her eyes rolling from one face to another.

'Let her alone,' said the more pacific doctor, 'and decide what to do with her. I don't see but that we must find a place for her.'

'The devil knows where it will be,' growled the mayor, who was apparently under such conversational necessity as that imposed on the girl in the fairy tale, from whose mouth toads andbettles dropped when•T«r «he spoke. ' There isn't a public building left, not a family in town that would allow her on the premises.' | To be continued,']