LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 562, 6 April 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ROSE LODGE. It looked the prettiest place imaginable, lying under the sunlight, as we stood that first morning in front of the bay. The water was smooth and displayed lovely colours: now green, now blue, as the clouds passed over the face of the sky, now taking tinges of brown and amber; and towards evening it would be pink and purple. Further on, the waters were rippling and shining in the sun. Fishing vessels stood out to sea, plying their craft; little cockle-shells, their white sails set, disported on it; rowing boats glided hither and thither. In the distance the grand waves of the sea were ebbing and flowing; a noble merchantman, all her canvas filled, was passing proudly on her outward-bound course. ‘ I should like to live here,’ cried Tod, turning away at last. And I’m sure I felt that I should. For I could watch the ever-changing sea from morning to-night, and not tire of it. ‘ .Suppose we remain here, Johnny? ’ ‘To live?’ ‘ Nonsense, lad ! For a month. I am going for a sail. Will you come ? ’ After the terrible break-up of our boatingtour, we came to this little place, Cray Bay, which was on the sea coast, a few miles beyond Templemore. Our pleasure cut short at the beginning of the holiday, we hardly knew what to do with the rest of it, and felt like two fish suddenly thrown out of water. At Cray Bay we found one small inn, which bore the odd sign of the Whistling Wind, and was kept by Mrs Jones, a stout Welshwoman. The bedroom enjoyed a look-out at some stables, and would not hold much more than the two small beds in it; and she said she could not give ns a better. The discomforts of the lodging were forgotten when we strolled out to look about ns, and saw the beauties of the sea and bay. Cray Bay was a very primitive spot; little else but a bettermost fishing place. It had not then been found out by the tonr-taking world. Its houses were built anyhow and anywhere ; its shops could he counted on your fingers; a butcher’s, a baker’s, a grocer’s, and so on. Fishermen called at the doors with fish, and countrywomen with butter and fowls. There was no gas, aud the place at night was lighted with oillamps. A trout stream lay at the back of the village, half a mile away. Stepping into a boat, on this first morning, for the sail proposed by Tod, we found its owner a talkative old fellow. His name was Draff, he said; he had lived at Cray Bay most of his life, and knew every inch of its land, and every wave of its sea. There could’nt be a nicer spot to stop in for the summer, as he took it; no, not if you searched the island through : and he supposed it was first called Cray Bay after the cray-fish, they being caught in plenty there. ‘ More things than one are called oddly in this place,’ remarked Tod. ‘Look at that inn: the Whistling Wind ; what’s that after ?’ ‘ And so the wind do hoostle on this here coast; ’deed an’ it do,’ returned Druff. ‘ You’d not forget it if you heered it in winter.’ The more we saw of Cray Bay that day, the more we liked it. And Tod made up his mind to stay for a time if lodgings could be found, ‘ But what would they say at home to our staying here ?’ I asked, the next morning at breakfast. ‘ What they chose,’ said Tod, cracking his fourth egg. ‘ I am afraid the Pater ’ ‘ Now, Johnny,’ you need not put in your word,’ he interrupted, in the off-hand tone that always silenced me. ‘lt’s not your affair. We came out for a month, and I am not going back home, like a bad sixpence returned, before the month has expired. Perhaps I shall tack a few weeks on to it. I am not dependent on the Pater’s purse.’ No ; for’ he had his five hundred pounds lying untouched at the Worcester Old Bank, aud his cheque-book in his pocket. Breakfast over, we went out to look for lodgings ; but soon feared it might be a hopeless search. Two little cottages had a handboard stuck on a stick in the garden with ‘ Lodgings’ on it. But the rooms in each proved to be a tiny sitting-room and a tiny bed-room, smaller than the garret at the Whistling Wind. ‘ I never saw such a world as this,’ cried Tod. ‘ If you want a thing you can’t get it. Oh, by George ! Look there, Johnny ?! We had come to the last house in the place—a fresh-looking, charming cottage, with a low roof and a green verandah, that we had stopped to admire yesterday. It faced the bay, and stood by itself in a garden that was a perfect bower of roses. The green gate bore the name ‘ Rose Lodge,’ and in the parlour window appeared a notice ‘ To Let,’ which had not been there the previous day. ‘ Fancy their having rooms to let here !’ said Tod. ‘ How lucky !’ In he went impulsively, striding up the short grapel path, and knocked at the door. It was opened by a tall grenadier of a female, rising six feet, with a spare figure and sour face. She had a large cooking apron on, dusted with flour. ‘ You have lodgings to let,’ said Tod. ‘ Can I see them ?’ ‘ Lodgings to let ?’ she repeated, scanning us up and down attentively ; and her voice sounded harsh and rasping. ‘ I don’t know that we have. You had better see Captain Copperas. ’ She threw open the door of the parlour ; a small square bright looking room ; with a gay carpet, a cottage piano, aud green chairs. Captain Copperas came forward : a retired seaman, as we heard later ; tall as the grenadier, and with a brown weather-beaten face. But in voice and manners he, at any rate, did not resemble her, for they were just as pleasant as they could be. ‘ I have no lodging,’ said he. * My house is to lot; and the furniture to be taken to.’ Which announcement was of course a vast check upon Tod. He sat, looking very blank, and then explained that we only re quired lodging for a month or so. ‘ It’s a pity but you wanted a little house,’ said Captain Copperas, ‘ This is the most compact, desirable, perfect little dwelling mortal man ever was in. Rent twenty-six pounds a year only, furniture to be bought out-and-out for a hundred and twenty-five. It would be a little Eden—a Paradise—to those who had the means to take it.’ . As he spoke, he regarded us individually and rather pointedly. It looked as much as to doubt whether we had the means, Tod

(conscious of his five hundred pounds in the bank) threw his head up. ‘Oh, I have the means,’ said he, as hautily as you please. ‘ Johnny, did you put any cards in your pocket ? Give Captain Copperas one.’ 1 laid one of Tod’s cards on the table. The captain took it up. ‘lt is a great grief to me to leave the house,’ he remarked. ‘ Especially after having just settled in it, and laying in a stock of the best furniture in a plain way, purchased in the best market! Downright grief.’ * Then why do you leave it ?’ naturally asked Tod. ‘Because I have to go afloat again,’said the sailor, his face taking a rueful expression. ‘ I thought I had given up the sea for good; but my old employers won’t let me give it up. They know my value as a master, and have offered me large terms for another year or two of service. A splendid new East Indiaman, two thousand tons register, and—and, in short, I don’t like to be ungrateful, so I have said I’ll go.’ ‘ Could you not keep on the house until you come back ?’ ‘ My sister won’t let me keep it on. Truth to say, she never cared for the sea and wants to get away from it. That exquisite scene’ —extending his hand towards the bay, and to a steamer working her way onwards near the horizon—' has no charms for Miss Copperas. No ; I can only give the place up, and dispose of the furniture. It will be a fine sacrifice. I shall not get the one half of the money I gave for it; don’t look to. ’ I could read Tod’s face as a book, and the eager look in his eyes. He was thinking how much he should like to seize upon the tempting bargain ; to make the pretty room we sat in, and the prettier prospect yonder, his own. Captain Copperas appeared to read him also. ‘You are doubting whether to close with the offer, or not,’ he said, with a frank smile. ‘You might make it you s for a hundred and twenty-five younds. Perhaps —pardon me ; you are both but young—you may not have the sum readily at command ?’ ‘On yes I have,’ said Tod candidly. ‘ I have it lying at my banker’s in Worcester, No, it’s not for that reason I hesitate. It is —it is—fancy me with a house on my hands ! ’ he broke off, turning to me with a laugh. ‘ It is an offer that you will never be likely to meet with again, sir.’ ‘ But what on earth could I do with the house and the things, after we had stayed here for a month or two ? ’ urged Tod. ‘Why, dispose of them again of course,’ was the ready answer of Captain Copperas. ‘ You’d find plenty of people willing to purchase, and to take the house off your hands. Such an opportunity as this need not go begging. I only wish I had not to be off in a hurry ; I should make a very different bargain. ’ ‘ I’ll think of it,’ said Tod, as we got up to leave. ‘ I must say it is a nice little nest.’ In the doorway we encountered a tall lady, with a brown face and a scarlet topknot. She wore a thick gold chain, and bracelets to match. ‘ My sister, Miss Copperas,’ said the captain, And he explained to her in a few words our business, and the purport of what had passed. ‘ For goodness sake, don’t lose the opportunity! ’ cried she, impressively affectionate, as though she had known us all our lives. ‘ So advantageous an offer was never made before; and but for my brother’s obstinately and wickedly deciding to go off to that wretched sea again, it would not be made now. Yes, Alexander’—turning to him— ‘ Ido call it quite wicked. Only think, sir,’—to Tod : ‘ a houseful of beautiful furniture, every individual thing that a family can want; a piano here, a table-cloth press in the kitchen; plate, linen, knives, forks ; a garden full of roses and a roller for the paths : and all to go for the miserable sum of a hundred and twenty-five pounds ! But that’s my brother all over. He’s a true sailor. Setting himself up in a home to-day, and selling it off for an old song tomorrow ! ’ ‘ Well, well, Fanny, he said, when he could get a word in edgeways to stem the torrent of eloquence, * I have agreed to go, and I must go. ’ ‘ Have you not been over the house ? ’ she resumed. ‘Then do pray come. This is the dining-room,’ throwing open a door behind her. It was a little side room, looking up the coast and over the fields, with a few chairs and tables in it. Upstairs we found three chambers, with their beds and other things. It all looked very comfortable. ‘ This is the linen closet,’ said Miss Copperas, opening a narrow door at the top of the stairs, and displaying some shelves that seemed to be well filled. ‘ Sheets, tablecloths, dinner napkins, towels, pillow-cases ; everything for use. Anybody taking the house has only to step in, hang up his hat, and find himself at home. Look at those plates and dishes ! ’ she ran on, as we got down again and entered the kitchen. ‘ They are very nice—and enough to dine ten people.’ They were of light blue ware, and looked nice enough on the dresser shelves. The grenadier stood at the table, chopping parsley on a trencher, and did not scend to take any notice of us. Out in the garden next, amidst the roses—which grew all round the house, clustering everywhere. They were of that species. called the cabbage rose; large, and fragrant, and most beautiful. It made me think off the Boses by Bendemeer’s stream. ‘ I should like the place of all things ! ’ cried Tod, as he went down to get a sail;. and found Druff seated in his boat, smoking. ‘ I say, Druff, do you know Captain Copperas?—Get in, Johnny.’ ‘ Lives next door to pie at Bose Lodge,’ ' answered Druff. ' / ‘Next door! What, is that low whitewashed shanty your abode ! How long has ; Copperas lived here ? ’ ‘ A matter of some months;’ said Druff. . He came in the spring.’ ‘ Are they nice kind of people ? ’ ‘ They be civil to me,’ answered Druff. ■' * Sent my missis a bottle o’ wine and some t ., hot broth t’other day, when she was. ill—” A sudden lurch put a stop to the discourse, and in a few minutes we glided out of the bay, Tod’s gaze fixed on Bose Lodge. ‘My mind’s made up, Johnny. I shall take the place.’ I dropped my knife and fork in very astonishment. Our sail over, we were at dinner in the bar-parlour of the Whistling Wind. ‘ Surely you won’t do it, Tod ! ’ {To be continued )