LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 538, 9 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A RAILWAY ADVENTURE, [From Chambers' Journal.] I never saw such a change in a man in my life! When we last met, Jack—well, I must not give his real name, considering what I am going to relate, so I’ll call him Jack Pallant— wa% as ho had ever been since I knew him, one of the lightest-hearted, cheeriest fellows in the world, full of fun, and up to everything, and as gentle and tender as a woman, with the courage of a lion. And now, what did I find him ? Even though but three months had elapsed, he had become a grave, dejected, saddened man ; in a word, hardly recognisable, either mentally or physically. I was shocked, and of course he saw that I was. He came to see me, indeed, the moment he heard I was in town, that I might learn from his own mouth what had happened, instead of at second-hand. Jack had always been more or less a spoiled boy—only sons are always more or less spoiled—and having lost his mother when quite a child, it was not wonderful that his poor old dad made much of him. But he had taken the spoiling kindly, and, beyond making him perhaps a little idle and thoughtless, it had done him no harm. There was no vice in the fellow; he spent more money than he should, but many young soldiers do that, without coming to much grief in the long-run; and his father, a soldier before him, regarded the failing leniently, paid his bills, and looked pleasant. Beyond adding that he was a rather short, dapper little fellow, I need not say much more about him; I have only to try and put into coherent shape the strange and tragical business which had so fearfully altered him. His account of it was so disconnected, and so faltering at times, through the emotion which the recital cost him, that I make no attempt to reproduce his story in his own words. It all happened in a railway carriage ; and though we have had enough and to spare of tales of murders, robberies, strange meetings, ghosts and lunatics, which have had a railway carriage as their place of action, I venture to believe that there is still something novel in the circumstances which led to my friend’s sad transformation. He was coming to town one autumn evening for a few days’ leave from Gunnersholt, where he was quartered. I can see him as plainly as if I had been there, springing into the first carriage that offered room, without regard to who was in it; for he was the least fastidious of men, without the slightest particle of ‘ haw-haw ’ pride and nonsense, or that stand-off ishness of manner, too usual with men in his position ; ready to make himself happy wherever he was, or in whatever company. Fond of talking to everybody, liking to draw them out, as he said, and studying character with the full conviction that there was something to be learned from everybody ; chaffing and laughing, or sympathising and helping according to the occasion. Why, I have seen him helping a mother or nurse with half-a-dozen children in charge, as if he had been a Paterfamilias, dandling the baby, or chucking it under the chin, or squeaking at it, tickling the little boys under the ribs until they went into fits, or making the little girls laugh with his comical stories and humorous ways. Quite at variance, indeed, was the private life of Jack Pallant with that of the ordinary British soldier; his brother officers were oftentimes aghast at his proceedings, until they came to know and like him. Therefore, I say, I picture him taking the first seat that offered, and ready to talk to any one in the carriage who would talk to him. But it so happened, it appears, on this occasion that he (got into an empty carriage ; at least he thought so, for it was twilight, and he did not observe for the first moment the figure of a woman, seated in a farther corner, dressed inj dark clothes, and thickly veiled.

The sudden discovery that he was not alone rather startled him for a moment, and it may be, as he said, that the evening before having been a guest-night at mess, his nerves were not quite up to their usual tone. He was not the lad, however, to be long in such a situation, without making some remark to his fellow-traveller, though in this case an unusual hesitation to do so came over him, Giving to her mysterious appearance and extreme stillness. The between-lights of the carriage-lamp and the evening sky prevented him from discerning details ; but there she sat, perfectly rigid, and with not a vestige of her face visible, through the thick black veil.

* Ahem ! ahem ! ’ he said at last, shifting one seat nearer to her and nearly opposite ; * I hope I have not intruded on you; I thought the carriage was empty. I may be disturbing you, I fear.’ He would say anything, in a random sort of way, to break the ice, as he called it.

No answer. A long pause. * Very singular,’ he thought; and he moved to a seat exactly opposite to the figure, making another commonplace observation. No response, or any movement. * Asleep, I suppose,’ he said to himself; and he sat, quietly watching her, whilst the train rattled on for a mile or two. A station was reached, and a stoppage made, with the usual accompaniments of screech, and whistling, and slamming of doors, but without producing any change in the posture of the occupant of the opposite corner. The train again moved on. ‘ Can’t be asleep,’ he muttered. * What’s the matter with her ? ’ The window was close shut; he let it down, with a tremendous clatter and bang, remarking that ‘he hoped as the evening was fine, the weather warm, and the carriage close’ (for he declared to me there was a peculiar odour hanging about which struck him from the first), ‘ she would not object to a little air ? ’ Still no repiy. Then he said : He feared she was not well ; would she like him to pull the bell for the guard, and have the train stopped again ? ’ But nothing he could say or do elicited any sign of life from her. Jack now became seriously uncomforable and alarmed on her account. He thought she could not be asleep, but had fainted. Suddenly it crossed his mind that she was dead ! Night had now closed in, but as the last tinge of twilight faded from the sky, the carriage-lamp gained its full power, and revealed every object more plainly than hitherto.

Jack leaned towards the motionless form. A long black veil, falling from a close-fitting hat-like bonnet, enveloped nearly the whole upper part of her figure; indeed, on close inspection, it hardly looked like an ordinary veil, but more like a large thin black silk handkerchief. Her dress was of common black stuff, much worn and frayed, from amidst the folds of which appeared the ends of a piece of rope that must have been fastened round her waist; and one hand, encased in an old ill-fitting black glove, lay placidly on her lap. Full of uncomfortable sensations, Jack was about to lift the veil, when, for the first time, the figure moved ; its other hand stole slowly from beneath the folds of the dress, and the veil was gradually lifted, and thrown up over the head. Involuntarily my friend shrank back into the corner of his seat, for a face was revealed to him which no one could have looked upon without a sense of awe. It was that of a woman somewhat past middle age, thin, haggard, and pale to a degree which only death could parallel. The features, finely chiselled and proportioned, showed that at one time there must have been supreme beauty, whilst, though the iron-grey hair looked a little dishevelled and unkempt, the glance of the eye was steady, calm, and determined.

In this glance lay, chiefly, the awe-in-spiring expression of the face, for, in addition to the penetrating look, there was a persistency in it, and at the same time a fascina ■ tion, quite terrible. It fixed itself upon Jack from the first moment that eye met eye, and for several minutes not a word was spoken on either side. Presently, however, he tried to pull himself together, and to assume his usual light-hearted manner, which had thus for a minute been so strangely and unusually disturbed, and he said briskly ;‘ I beg your pardon; I was afraid you were ill.’ She slightly bent her head, but spoke not a word, nor withdrew her glance. He felt more and more that it was costing him an effort to be himself. Aer slow, stealthy, albeit lady-like demeanour added greatly to the effect already produced, and a curious sensation was gradually creeping over him, that—impossible as it might seem —that face was not strange to him. Little as he, with his temperament, was given to speculation or introspection, he found himself striving to look back for some event or circumstance in his life which might give him a clue. Had he ever dreamed of such a face, or had he seen it in childhood ? He was puzzled, affected, quite put out. And still, the deep penetrating eyes were fixed on his, piercing as it were into his very soul. And the hands! What were they doing ? Taking off the gloves as with a set,, deliberate purpose; and the long, white, thin, almost clawlike fingers worked strangely and nervously, slowly closing and opening upon the palm, as if preparing to grasp something. Again he strove to throw off the unpleasant, unusual sensation which had crept over him. * I can’t stand this,’ he thought; ' I was never so uncomfortable in my life ! I must do something, or say something to put a stop to this, to make her take her eyes off me ! ’ He moved (abruptly to the further corner of the carriage, and to the same side on which the woman sat. 1 To be continued,']

Lucius Cuttle, of Canton, N.Y., tells a queer yarn about a turkey, and asserts that he can prove it by oaths of nine unimpeachable witnesses. For the purpose of multiplying and replenishing the earth with turkeys, Lucius set his turkey upon seventeen eggs. At the expiration of the usual period of incubation he found that the turkey had produced the requisite number of young turkeys, but was surprised to find twenty-seven eggs still under her. She had evidently laid an egg every day besides doia the hatching business. But the wonder of the thing is that the turkey still continues to sit there, hatches one chicken and lays one egg per diem regularly. The fowl is of the ; ‘ rotary ” species, and for the art which she has discovered and pefected in herself deserves a niche, be it ever so small, in the wall of fame.