LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 630, 26 June 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AN OLD LOVE STORY. IN THERE PARTS. Part I. ( Continued.) One great and sworn friend we had, and that was Bill Stubbs the old man-of-war’s-man—the drunken, jovial, brave Bill Stubbs! Bill used to sing to us, and spin us long yarns about his sea life and the great tights he had been in with the French and the Dutch. Everybody liked Bill; but everybody also Had doubts that the drinking of rum, and the abundant swearing of uncommon oaths, were not profitable to a man when his head was gray and his passions cold. But Willie and I saw nothing of this ; we only saw Bill the hero, Bill the conqueror, with a wooden leg and the heart of a child. His heart was good, we knew, for when Willy once proposed to him that he, who had killed so many, might surely kill old Snuffy Tegg, the schoolmaster, he refused, and surprised us by a lecture on our evil hearts, that we should be minded to kill an old man, who had it in him to do us good and teach us knowledge. ‘No, no, lads! fair and square ; no mutiny for Bill Stubbs. I tell ye, I’ve sailed under skippers as ’ud make arf a dozen o’ he for cantankerousuess. ’ Still, AYilly and I greatly doubted the existence of any human being capable of making himself as disagreeable as old Snuffy. But for all that, Bill would never allow us to play the truant to stay and talk with him, as many a time we would have done. So our school-days passed on, and with heavy toil we arrived within a short time of each other at an acquaintanceship with the Rule of Three, and even to the uncertain ground of Fractions. Snuff Tegg thought I understood it ; but I knew better, and I do not understand the Rule of Three to this day. It was from old Bill’s yarns that I learned the way of putting together what I had to say in the shape of a story. Indeed, had I hearkened to Bill, I should not now be so troubled in my mini whenever I have a few figures to take account of. The two ladies from the Hall, Squire Harding’s daughters, used to come to the school and teach us grammer and catechism ; and so it happened that in many minds in our neighbourhood these two subjects are hopelessly mixed to this day. ‘ What is grammer ?’ said Miss Sarah Harding to little Jack Spratt one day. Jack hesitated a little, but, speaking from conviction, answered deliberately : ‘ She’s an old beast.’ Jack, Ido think, meant his grandmother. He was a starved-looking little boy, with large ears ; and old Snuffy laid hold of them and pinched them with great relish and heartiness. Poor Jack wept bitterly; and little Miss Joy, the squire’s gand-daughter, came up to him and patted his wet cheek softly, saying, in her sweet childish voice : ‘Don’t cry so, little boy. ’ Jack, in the excitement of his wonderment, took her tender hand to his mouth, holding it there for a moment, and turning his tearful eyes round upon her innocent face. But mistakes like Jack Spratt’s were made often enough. Once, I remember, the question came round to Willy, ‘ What are the nine parts of speech ?’ and from the answer he made, which included the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, it seemed he had only heard of three, and they had been renounced for him by his godfathers and godmothers at his baptism. So I have always thought it an unprofitable thing to teach boys grammar and catechism —together. Joy Harding ! How the very sight of the name, and the familiar shape of the letters of it even, thrill me still after all the years ! It surely is that at times the decree has gone forth from the All-wise that a perfect woman shall walk amongst us here on earth—a woman whose every word, and glance, and touch arc strong as love, and tender as tears; merciful to heal, and powerful to save, the wearied and erring soul. It is sinful to love such a woman dearer than all else whatever in the world ?—dearer than all the cherished memories of home, of kindred, and the strong friendships of youth—dearer than dear life itself. And this have I done, all of this, in the times that are long passed now. Much need have I, when I look back upon the past, to be ashamed of some of it; and yet of this great love that I bore and have carried all my life since, I have never wished that it had been otherwise than it has been —ah, never ! Old as I am and gray, that love is fresh still, and will be till I die. Nor can 1 feel it to be wrong to adore a human creature so; to adore her memory —thy memory, dear Joy; No; not if an angel came to say it. I shall meanwhile go on with the other parts of my life, and leave you to sec how things turned out with Willy and me—h. w our two lives were made very different, avid how it all came about.

Willy and I used very often to meet little Joy Harding with her governess, who was a tall, thin Frenchwoman. They used to walk about the green lanes in the summer afternoons ; and sometimes Miss Joy used to ride upon a small .Shetland pony, not much bigger than our mastiff, with its shaggy

mane drooping over its bright eyes. At these times, a small but very impudent groom, with the manner of a monkey, and the shape of a ten-year-old man, always rode behind, on a larger pony, which was many sizes too big for him One day, this little groom was the cause of what might have been a serious accident. Willy and I had met the party as usual, Joy on her pony, smiling and prattling to the tall governess, Walking alongside ; and the saucy groom riding behind, sometimes leaning icily’ - with his elbow on the pony s shoulder, with his tiny feet out of the stirrups. These positions he was in the habit of assuming, with a great appearance of suffering from colic, whenever he saw us approaching. On this occasion our looks had been particularly attracted towards the eccentric groom, who was excelling himself in an exhibition of grotesque distortions ; in short, we thought he had fairly taken leave of all the little sense that had ever been in him. The French lady, turning round, uttered an ejaculation at the spectacle she beheld, so suddenly, that Fairy, Joy’s pony, started and swerved aside towards a deep ditch by the roadside. Little Miss Joy would have been thrown at once into the ditch, but for the fortunate chance that Willy and I stood in the way. The excited pony tumbled over us, and we all fell scrambling together on the roadway. Miss Joy fell backwards on the side where I lay sprawling; and I to this day am thankful that I had sense enough to catch her in my arms, and roll myself partly into the ditch, and out of the way of the struggling pony, holding her safely out of the muddy water, until the governess came to take her up. I crawled out; and there was poor Willy with blood on his face, lying on his back on the roadway, and the groom standing over him, pouring water upon him out of his hands. Willy had been struck by the fore-hoof of the pony, and stunned ; and many a long* year afterwards he carried the white mark of it through the bronze of an Indian sun. The governess assisted Joy to a cottage; and the groom (who led back the ponies) and I . carried Willy there also, for we could not bring his senses back. We laid him on the bed ; and very pitiful it was to see his poor white face by the side of Joy’s. But Joy was not insensible, only dazed and and presently she sat up a wail at the sight of Willy, thinking, no doubt, he was dead. And, indeed, so we all thought, for all that the old woman of the cottage and I could do was of uo a% r ail to restore him. The French lady took no notice of him, but hovered over Joy in a strange, wild sort of way, the like of which I had never seen in the North before. Joy threw her little arms round Willy’s neck and kissed him, and put her \ sweet face upon his breast, sobbing most violently, and screaming whenever the governess attempted to take her away; and I feel sure that it was her warm young life upon his heart that called back the life to him at last. The faint colour came st baling slowly upon his lips under her kisses; and he sighed once or twice, and before long unclosed his eyes, with a wide open startled look that I had always noticed in him when he felt any strong emotion. [To he continued)