LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 617, 10 June 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

R .«■ r-ITAJJ • BENIGNA. HOIU ik |. t «'. ■ - ( Continued .) ,-ffX fwoiider (that I am Tipt linfid, infieM. Then ncty mother’s death' has wrought no change in you. I indeed reproach myself bitterly thinking the trouble I may sometimes have' cattiSi 4 her, but nothing touches .yp«i .#| JIATiIH 1 • *1 do not know why I should change my 1 SaSHfeßUEiam quite satisfied with myself, and I have always been able to please you* and everyone else.’ .‘ Wellf <be ( ’it so; but I have sufficient reason left me to know plainly that I can never live with you again. I must leave .you, and yon-paa contemplate your beauty ]m .the glass, fibdrlisten to the admiration of your mends ; but in my eyes you are loathsome. I must leave you 1’ ‘Leave,me? Why, can you findafairer wife e|ls|whcre V I * ‘ A fairer 1 is beauty everything ?’ <■/Come, 1 bbsensible, come downstairs with „ _ 9 me.

f with you; I will go forth into the wide, world. ’ ; -''‘ Vefy'well, then, I will say good-bye, and I wish.you a pleasant journey. . I With these words Beuigna left the room, and went downstairs. After a while she -s'aw her husband 5 leave the house with his in jiis hand; he stood still awhile where 'the footpath joined the highroad. She had to call him back, but reflected that she bad done her part, and it would go too jflflph 1 agirinst the grain were she to yield “further. While he yet hesitated George heard the window opened, and saw a broad ray pfiight; stream fromthe window and fall on the very spot where he stood, he hastily Itrbde beyond it, and went out into the blank . Beqigna sat alT'alone, and whispered to ‘the silent air, *|Xe ; wii/eome back again I’ Hour after hour passed by—no George appeared. AUfitJpiiceitbegan.tp feel ‘eerie’ in the house from which- ithe dead had sp lately Been boxne. -She went to her ' aimt, with fonnerly fesidea, but saw that no light within; she retracpd her steps, thinking it would be better to Betraynothirig. sb thatfio one anight know how that the beautiful Benigna had been deserted by her husband,- -Were it pnly fof an hour. When she was it'came over 'her how dearly he had loved; find still did love her. How could he leave her? * ; She hastened (homewards. Surely he would have returned ere this, arid jvould bbr anxious at her absence. She entered the house. No one was there. She would not go to bed, the tbooght ; she wolfl| ;#ait up for him ; but in the room above ,the oil had been spilled, and there was little remaining, and the lamp went out before her fixed, and ■terror-stricken eyes, and’there she sat in the might, until dawn came. Day came, bnt .no George. She looked in. th® t * ad wondered at the strange altered face it showed her. She roused herself, and bathed her face, and dressed herself, and sat down to her work. But she fell asleep at her embroidery frame, and was awakened by the entrance of her aunt. A fellow-workman of George’s called too, and asked when George was coming back to work, as they were very busy. Benigna answered ' that her husband had gone away on a little family business, and would be home that day or the next. —■ Evening came, morning came, and there yas no sign of George. Weeks, months, passed by. Benigna was never seen in the village. She worked all day, and wept in the night time bitterly and unceasingly. Many reports wore abroad in the village as to the disappearance of George. Hut when year after year slipped away, he was almost forgotten; and Benigna was hardly recognisable, she was such a wreck. She, the beauty, the admired of all, was now passed coldly by. Much was said and exaggerated as to her ill-treatment of George’s mother ; and only when it was known that Benigna was fast losing her eyesight did any pity reach her. Benigna became blind, and her aunt turned this misfortune to account, jna.king.nse of her miserable state, blind and "onppled as she now was,- as a means of extorting charity./ She led the poor creature (aboutTtha., couhtry,,begging in the villages, and often related to compassionate by- , atanders the history of the wretched forsaken wife, now so helpless and forlorn. Benigna Bore all this without a murmer. More than ten years passed. The bunt died, and Benigna-was now doubly forsaken. •ct !1 * • 3 .5! X / . CHAPTER 111. - „ << It was the depth, of winter. The snow, crackled uuder the the feet of the men who wet® walking, towards the village court 'house. The group kept on increasing as it proceeded, ipnd the following fragment of conversation was heard.

‘This is a strange notion of a joke.’ ‘ It may be very fine fun, but 1 don’t quite see it.’ -' - ‘

‘To sell a poor blind woman by public auction.' r ‘ But she is a burden to the community.’ ‘Arid we.have enough to provide for already.’ This was the burden of their talk. , The.village vyas a small apd unimportant one ; it possessed but little arable land, and what there was chiefly belonged to three peasant farmers. The inhabitants were 7 principally stonemasons, charcoal burners, and blacksmiths. The sound of the machiAery, in the,mill was heard from the valley, and a depse column of smoke rose towards the cleWsky.' 1 A poqrly pressed man came put of a roadside cottage. As he stepped out on the street, a scolding woman’s voice called after him, but he proceeded to join the group who were going to the court house. * Win you take in Benigna, John 1 ’ asked one of the men.

* I would willingly, but my wife won’t hear of it.’

While he was speaking, a girl abou seven years old ran after him and said, * Dncle, my aunt says she will set the house on fire if you bring Benigna back with you.’ v - * Then I would do it if I was you,” said one of the men, ‘just to show her whois the master.’ v :v

John went on rather slowly with the others, and they soon came to the court house. A considerable number of men had already assembled, and were smoking their pipes in the lobby, waiting till the business of the day should commence. At last the clerk called the people into the council chamber. The guardian of the poor sat at

a table, and, nqt far from him, there sat in a corner, a female .figure in rags, which scarcely jhejd together. .^e T ,wy atoort bent double, anCenpportoa.her chin onbcth hands," in which she held a crutch. , * Now tot brudness,’ began the Maize. ‘ There site Benigna jthe parish is very poor, and cannot allow mneh for her riiaintenance. . No one, 1 therefore, ought to arrange !# receive hat Who is not prepared to' doth* best for her, to - do hisdntyaein the sight of God, and have a kindly-care of the forlorn widow.’ Here a groan hurst .from the miserable form behind him. ‘lt would have been better if your wives hkd come with you, for it u depends so muob-On .how the wifeis disposed towards her.’ >

1 A sum was now named which ; the parish would pay yearly for the maintenance of the blind woman,, bat thfete was a dead silence, When the question was ■ asked wbbawould take heir in lor 1 U less sum, for''^t ! the «pph‘ pants Ware anxiojs for as high a riamnnera»— tien as possibia. -- ' • . •

‘ I will take her for the sum named,’ said John the basket-master. -v ■ ■ ‘ And I I’ ‘And 1 !’ said several.

‘ Who spoke,fustf asked the blind woman of a little girlj standing .near. It was the schoolmaster’s daughter.’ •! * John the basket-maker, 1 ’ 'answered the

girl. ‘ Lonlyitrust you won’t haveto go to him; his wife is worse than a fiery dragon:’ ; The cratch fell from the handcrftheblind - woman, the girl took it ,npand gave it'her again. Several offers were nowidadeySn rapid, succession,' and the girl' had* not tilde to keep Benigna informed of *? all that turns-. pired. jixfw a ovad O'* 07 i( V* At last only due :Voice) ■ was : left;' and the considerable pause. ■ ■ * Three tfaeried'dit, and down came the. hammer. ; > osiwoa at • - ‘ Who is to take me !’ asked the old woman. ■ ft :

‘ John, the basket-masker,’ wU theanswer. ‘ Come hither, John, give me your hand. I knew your mother, and your wife’s mother, too.

The guardians were astonished when Benigna spoke. An influential farmer, with a long nose, thought it necessary to 1 make a remark and admonished her thus: ''

‘ Now, Benigna, we will have no complaints. Now you are provided for j tod you must have patience, and remember, the parish is doing mof« for you than you deserve; so be thankful accordingly* ' Withthis he directed his nose towards the remaining guardians, *as -much, as t 6, say, ‘ That’s my view of the matter/ 1 . ‘ -•* ‘ * Come along,’ said John. * Where is your bed?’ ” ; rr% edl an \hc d

* At the schoolmaster’s/ answered Benigna; * and a small box also.’ atuo bh« ■

The girl led Benigna a few steps of the way; but when they came to the slope of the hill, where the village children i were sliding, it was so slippery that Beninga could go no further. ■ ?o vrd - ‘ r ‘ ‘ Take me round the neck,’ said John, stooping for the purpose, ■* and I will**carry ’ you up the hill on my back.’ ' ■ ( : Thus he bore her oh his* back all the way. The children made fun of the droll procession ; ■ but the schdolmasterV daughter told themithere vtas nothing to laugh at. ; ‘John was a real good fellow; people! Were saying. I On the way he said to Benigna, J( ’ : > ‘My wife ! is rather ! given to * scolding, bnt don’t let that put you out. .'When she has had her fling she’ll stop of her own accord. And if you have anything to say shy it to ine; I will look after yod to the endof your days.’ ■ ■' </

John, the basket-maker, firmly believed, as did halt the village, that Benigna bad a secret treasure buried somewhere ; ‘ so it was not from pure kindness that he was so well disposed towards her ;- he hoped thus to win her confidence on'this point. t ( -■> *’ - •

‘.Tesl yes I V said : the old woman, ‘you will have your reward.’ -i/ 0 ;. John chuckled to - Mmselt; that was as good as admitting that she had a treasure. He carried B enign a into the room. No one was there but the little child, who saidi crossly, ‘ How bothersome 1 so the old witch has come to us after, all.’ ■

John seated Benigna on the bench. Her crutch fell from her hand; the little girl quickly snatched it up and mied, ‘ 1 will put it in the fife, and then, you’ll be fast to' your seat, and not able to get at me, you old hag.’ The child ran into the kitchen, and threw the crutch on the blaming fire on the hearth, tut John hastily pulled it out again. - : His wife stood by and said : , ‘.Yon can look after her, it’s no basinets of mine.’

‘ Bat you mast be kind-to her. Or else go in and tell her you intend td be creel to her.* ‘ Why not ?* said she, and goihg into the next room, said, ‘lt’s many a day since all the world found out your ways and I don’t doubt you have led John by the note id'this matter; but mind you, I am not fool enough to tend a blind, good-for-nothing eld woman.’ Finally, she asked Benign* why She had not made away with herself before how, * Because I must live to grow better, and so must you.’ The woman left the room, and Benigna sat alone. She heard nothing but, an angry poking of the kitchen fire, on which her hostess evidently expended her wrath. Meanwhile the child was saying, ‘All the children are laughing ait me, saying I shall have to lead the' blind witch about; but I won’t lead her a step/, ~ , Then the child caine into the inner room, complaining that its hands were frozen with cold, for it had been out sliding. ‘ Don’t go too soon to the fife, then/ said Benigna. .‘.What, are you there still-f Said the child. ‘ It’s very well for you to talk whein you don’t know day from night,’ ‘-Is it night already ?’ asked Benigna. * Of course it is/ (To be continued.}-