LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 688, 2 September 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ABEL BEES. [By Lynn Wood,] ( Continued.) I retraced my steps as speedily as possible, and was just in time to see the sourfaced old man hobble away from the door. His bony fingers were wound tightly about an ugly twisted stick, which at every step he dug viciously into the ground, whilst he scanned every passer-by with fierce suspicious glances, that plainly told of the miserable cankerworm that was eating his heart away. I followed him through several dirty poverty-stricken by-streets to the door of a house in one of the most squalid. There he entered, and mounted flight after flight, groaning and cursing at every step, until he arrived at the garrets. When on the landing, he turned and faced me. ‘ Don’t want any mealy-mouthed begging parsons here,’he growled. ‘Excuse me, Mr Grew,’ I said; *1 am not going to beg of you ; all I wish is to be permitted to ask you a question or two respecting an old schoolfellow of mine—your stepson, Abel Rees, I mean. It is impossible to repeat the torrent of abuse with which the infuriated old man greeted the mention of Abel’s name. * Don’t speak to me of the lying ungrateful vagabond. Didn’t I feed and clothe him for nine long years ? All that precious money I spent, and what return did I get ? Wheii I am old and poor—yes, poor ! Look at my room !’ The last words he spoke as if I had contradicted him, though I had not moved a muscle the whole time ; and certainly his room was frightful in the extreme poverty of its appearance. ‘ When I am poor and old,’ he continued, ‘ the white-headed serpent leaves me, refuses to do honest work to keep his old father. Ha, ha ! but I am revenged ? Such a whitefaced serpent could not be allowed to live. The old monster looked like a veritable fiend, as a laugh distorted his countenance. * I know from good sources that he’s dead ; yes, dead of cold and starvation in the open streets. Will that do for you ? Now go, I say.’ The old man raised his stick, and not wishing to make a disturbance, I turned and descended the staircase, very sad and down at heart. Such a fearful aspect of human nature was new to me ; and my poor Abel! What he must have suffered ! The mention of his stepfather’s name had brought back so vividly the light hair and large soft blue eyes of my little ci-devant schoolmate, with whom I would so gladly have renewed the boyish friendeship. But all momentarily awakened hopes were dashed to the ground. The fiendish satisfaction with which the old man related the manner of his stepson’s death seemed to stamp it as a fact. Christmas was now drawing near, and with it my departure for home, where I proposed to spend a month’s holiday before actively entering on my clerical duties at the Eastend.

The day fixed'upon arrived, and before starting for the station I went to bid my uncle and cousin good bye. There was a short path between the house and the street gate, and as I placed my hand on the latter, 1 heard the dismal strains with which tortured violins ever respond to the beginner’s touch. Kate was an ambitious musician; not content with an unusual proficiency ou the pianoforte, she was desirous of mastering the most difficult of instruments. At the sound of my arrival the strains ceased. I entered, and in passing the breakfast room, the door of which was ajar, I caught a glimpse of pretty Kate looking very earnest, with the violin (happy instrument) tucked in under her soft white chin. For a moment I almost wished I was a teacher of music, or at least a violin, but my rector’s appearance from out his study put an end to the wild impracticable thought which had for a moment found place in my—my mind of course. ‘ Have you come to bid us good-bye, Harry ?’ said my uncle. ‘ Yes, uncle,’ I answered. ‘ For a month at any rate. Kate, I think, is engaged. Will she mind her music lesson being interrupted V ‘ Mind ! No, I should think not. I will fetch the little minx out.’ The old gentleman bustled in ; and soon out came Kate, all smiles and blushes. ‘ I hope you didn’t hear us, cousin Harry. This is my fourth lesson, and I still make such dreadful noises ; I think there must be something wrong with the violin. However, Mr Smith is very patient.’ ‘lhope I didn’t disturb you,’ I said. ‘No, of course not; I should have thought it very unkind if you had left without wishing me good-bye.’ ‘ Well, I shall lose my train if I don’t go at once. Good-bye, uncle. A merry Christmas to you.’ ‘ Good-bye, my boy, and the same to you.’ ‘Good-bye, cousin Kate.’ Why that unwonted pit-a-pat behind my black waistcoat of scrupulously clerical cut 1 ‘ Good-bye, cousin Harry. ’ 1 pressed her hand as any cousin -would. But why should 1 be disappointed because there was no tone of regret in her farewell ? lleally it was time I had something serious to occupy my mind. Our family was not of those who make very merry at Christmastide. What little festivity we permitted ourselves was of a sober kind. The main principle of merriment and festivity, family reunion, was wanting, for, besides myself, Christmas brought no addition to our ordinary small domestic circle. Thus, even if it were not altogether outside the interest of this strictly veracious narrative, but small diversion would be afforded by an account of my home visit. During my absence from London, which through a severe cold was protracted to two months, I received periodical letters from my uncle. By this means I learnt, amongst much miscellaneous matters, what strides Kate was making in her violin study, and how indefatigable and enthusiastic she had become on the subject. It was near the end of February when I returned to my lodgings in the East end. They looked so cheerless and uninviting, owing to my having forgotten to give notice of my coming, that, after unpacking a few’ thinvs, I determined to go over to my uncle's house, and announce my arrival. It was dusk, and, as was often the case, the front door was wide open. Knowing my uncle’s weakness for a nap at this time of'the day, I stepped in softly. No gases hod yet been lighted, and therefore I was very much started upon finding myself almost in collision /with a lady and gentle-

ifc I—.- 11 — — 1 1 man standing in the shadow of the open door, and apparently engaged in tete-a-tete. My appearance seemed to startle them as much as their presence did me, and the gentleman, who was muffled up in a greatcoat, and held a violin-case in his hand, after saying something incoherent, bowed to the lady and myself, and disappeared. «Surely that’s you, cousin Harry !’ exclaimed my cousin Kate. * Pray excuse the darkness we’re in, but Susan, our new housemaid, is so forgetful. You’ll find papa in the dining-room. I will go and see about your room.’ ‘ Never mind about my —’ It was of no use to conclude my sentence, as Kate was already out of heaiing. .Really it looked very like a retreat in confusion ; and my feelings towards that shadowy stranger were anything but Christian-like as I stepped into the dark dining-room, where my rector was gradually recovering from his nap. f To he continued.']