LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 733, 25 October 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

♦ b WARNED OF A WARNING. v {Concluded.') 'Annie, dear,' he said, when, after a Q mighty effort, he regained some command £ ( over his suspense (she, poor child, only y thought he was sharing her sorrow, which n the sight of that loved and long-lost face had j awakened), 'you must give me back my c promise.' s * What promise V D ' That I made you the day you rode over j. to see the Melvilles.' * I don't remember your promising any- a thing that day. What was it ?' 'To remind you would be half breaking rj it. Surely you cannot have forgotten ?' ' Let me see. You read me How Santa Claus came to Simpson's Bar, out of "Bret Harte," and pretended that it did not make you cry.' a ' That was after dinner.' j, ' In the morning you and papa were talking about fishing, and I listened.' 'lt was not in the morning or in the evening that I made you that promise, < Annie. It was in the twilight, when you returned from your ride.' /• ' Why, Frank ! I went straight up to my £ room. It was so late, I had hardly time to change my things. I never saw you from that time till we met at dinner. What are / you dreaming about ? Oh, Frank, darling ! what is the matter ? Are you ill ?' Again the cold sickening stupor ran . through him, and he fell forwards over the table, speechleßs. I, who tell this story, was a surgeon in the navy, and spending a short leave of absence as a visitor in the house, where the scenes I have attempted to desoribe took place. Annie's shrieks called her father, who called me, and between us we restored j poor Frank to consciousness. No one con- , suited me. Still I watched him closely, and at breakfast, when tbe mail bag came in, and he read his correspondence, I noticed that he received a second shock. " That afternoon he called me into his own , room, and told me what had happened to , him, almost as it is worded here. He added , evidence (acquired since morning) which proved beyond the possibility of a doubt «■ that Annie was miles away from the house when what he took for her spoke to him in the library. I heard him out, and made the usual reply. He had been dreaming—his nerves were out of order. ' They are now,' he said, ' but suppose any I one had asked you about them the day be- < fore yesterday ; what would you, have said V Had I been Obliged to 'reply, J must have s admitted that e,' leg? nervxins person, in the t sense of being likely to give way to delu- ] sions, could hardly be found, but he did not 3 wait for an answer, and went on. j <As for dreaming—that is—excuse me, doctor—absurd. I was wide awake on Tuesday evening, and I did not go to bed for an hour at least after my visitor left me on Thursday night. Now let us consider the • surroundings. I was warned of a warning 1 * Warned in the kindest, gentlest manner. < Why ? If I had been unprepared for the ; second manifestation, it would have startled 1 —shocked me Why was I—a hale strong • man (as you and all the rest thought me)— • to be guarded against a shock ? Why was I to be turned from pursuits which you and • all the rest would have said yesterday had : made me so hale and so strong, by Bupernatual means? Bead that.* Be banded me a letter ; the one he had ! t read at breakfast. It "was from' thfc secretary ; ! of a Life Insurance Company; thanking him j for the preference he had shown the" society, ! but declining his proposal; < ' ' ' The week before fast,' "hacontinued, 'I was examined by I 'their medical 6ffj#er—as a ! matter o'i- form, Ijhey said. 'He measured j me round the chest, and'tapped,, and, fjtetho Bcoped'me—and this is. the'result.'. 'lnsurance 'companies have all [sjoxts of crotchets,'. I began. 1 '''Doctor,'. W!fe taking . ' -I ffl iisiax w» „ u e brace .. .-. kuow as well as 1 j . means." There is something awfully wrong ! here (placing his :, hand on his heart). That is why I was 11 warned against a surprise—that is why my e poor darling's dead mother conjured me to - avoid violent sports—that is why the Insur;s ance Company rejected me—that is why I confide in you. Now tell me the truth.'

I p'aced my ear to his side and took three liferent soundings. Then I told him, as arelessly as I could, that I had no stethocope with me, and he was too agitated just hen for a fair examination. ' I'll see if I an't borrow some tools,' I said, 'and see ou to-morrow morning, when you will be lore composed.' 'As you will,' he replied ; 'but you are listaken about composure. I shall never e more composed than I am at this molent.' ' How can you say so, after your attack nly a few hours ago ?' I asked. ' That is over. 1 know all now.' ' Tush !' 1 sneered, trying to get out of ly difficulty by appearing impatient. ' You now absolutely nothing.' 1 All right, Doctor, ' he said with one of is bright smiles, and resuming his coat; 'I dmit it. I don't know how I breathe, or ow I swallow. I don't know how I was orn, or what will happen to make me die. I on't know why I wink an eye when a grain f dust comes along in the air. But I do reathe and swallow. I have been born, and shall die ; and somehow the grain of dust rill be caught on my eyelash. I don't know diy these visitations have come to me; but tiey have come, Doctor, and for a reason. 100 k me in the face, and tell me that I have sound heart.' I could not do it. ' So farewell,' he went on cheerfully ; ' a rag farewell to all the old fun. " Othello's ccupation's gone." ' 'And he will settle down into a quiet larried man,' I added, to humour him ; but is face darkened. ' Do you think I am justified ?' he began, But you shall answer me that to-morrow.' • I hope you have not said anything about ais to Miss Annesley?' I asked, after a ause. 'God forbid!' ' But she must have guessed that someling was wrong when you spoke to her bout that promise.' • Perhaps she did for the moment, but my linting fit—l couldn't help it, Doctor—put i out of her mind. If she returns to the abject, I shall get round it somehow, Of aurse I may rely upon your silence.' ' Are you two going to waste all the day p there?' cried Annie from the garden. Come down, Frank ; I want you to help le cut some flowers.' He joined her, and I stood watching them •om the gallery. To-morrow I would tell im what I knew too well already. There 'as indeed something awfully wrong with is heart. And who would have thought it, > look at him ? He seemed the very picture I health ; but the last ten minutes of the >ot race—the last fifty strokes of the oar — 'hen the spirit forced the flesh to more than lortal doing, had done their silent work, should have to tell him to be very, very ireful. I should be able to comfort him by lying that men as badly off as he was had lade old bones, and died in their beds, at ist, of something else. I stood rehearsing ow this was to be told, when I heard mnie's voice again. ' No, not that one ; it's too full blown, here is a lovely bud a little higher up. No, o, you stupid great fellow—there ; to your ight.' They were standing under a climbing rose ush, and she was pointing to a spot about yard over his head. Standing on tip-toe, e could just touch the stem of the coveted ower, but not hold it, and of course it obbed from his fingers. ' If you jump you can catch it,' said L nnie. As she spoke he sprang, seized the rose svhich was pulled down by his weight) ; and ill against the fence upon which the bush r as trained. ' Oh, how awkward you are to-day!' jinie cried. ' Well, why don't you break i off and give it to me ?' The next moment he slid to the ground at er feet—dead ! The Champion Athlete of his day was illed in a struggle with a rose bud. EVE j AN IDYLL. Chapeer I. Town, am quite sensible of the advantage of being orn ' the heir of all the ages, in the forelost files of time,' and rejoice that I live in tie days of railroads, telegraphic wires, heap postage, and chloroform. But i elight in looking back from my present vantage ground ' on to the stormy plains of he past, and find it quite refreshing to picare it to myself in all its strong contrasts of orgeous colour and striking effects of I hiaroscuro—virtue so resplendent, vice so J .eep in gloom—and the wide distinctions j lade more conspicuous by all the varieties, j f costume. j It is like turning from a nice smooth j iaihting on papier rnache to a fine rugged Id Rembrandt. especially do I like to pay an oocaional morning visit—at no such great disance—to my great, great grandmother ; and politely offer you a seat in Fancy's car, if 'ou are inclined to accompany me on the ourney. Those were ' The teacup days of paint and patch, And when the hoop was worn.' >efore steam had 'annihilated Time and pace,' whirling all classes together across :ountry, in one undistinguishable mass vhen my lord and my lady lumbered along n a coach and six, exposed to all manner of langers from holes and highwaymen ; and roan and Hodge, if bent on beholding the ; gold-paved streets o$ ' Lon'on,' must trudge ifoot, or spend days, and even weeks, jolting xi a waggon—-when upon the smallest provocation swords were drawn and blood was ipilfc, and many a crime was committed which the perpetrators' were never called to ibe'ount. Then fine ladies were very tipe, indeed, and were 'often very"foppish, \VhUe the rustic peasantry were.really rustic," for town or country' seemed"' far, as the pphea, asunder!* " Tjhe world at. heme theft \WS<little of whatj was. going till long after the had; t.akejgi, plajjo,. SpecH o| spdj tjlje. sw'spsp#y, w u«v"- t • mt 'W,% ■****»*■ - "" otters/as Wfire gmaU ..„,ue tor the perusal of giants. But perhaps you think it time I should be<nn my story, if I have one to tell. How I came to know it is neither here nor there ; I will tell it if you will listen. Sometime in the earlier half of the lasi century—l am not quite sure of the exac date, so will not commit myself—the Coun tess of Millamant, then a young widow, was one of the reigning queens of fashion. Kiel and beautiful, with some wit, and man?

whims, she was adored by the men, slandered by the women, and envied by all. She cared for none of her suitors, but kept them all chained to her footstool. Capricious as her pet monkey, and spiteful as her parrot, but beautiful as an angel, she was worshipped, feted, and lampooned. All courted her for one cause or another, and she was now just beginning to be sick of adulation and of pleasure. Weary of continual sunshine, she even longed for a passing cloud, and, in short, was ready to die of ennui, under its then fashionable title of spleen. See her holding her little court this fine June morning in—don't be shocked—her bed-chamber, and in—don't be still more shocked -her bed. Yes, there she is, in the : midst of clouds of lace, cambric, and fine : linen, looking—l really must use the well- ' worn simile, it is so appropriate—like Venus rising from the sea foam. Her face is made ' up for the day, and glows with artificial ' brilliancy—her large brown eyes, which no < art can alter, shining with a lustre all their ' own, and appearing unnaturally conspicuous, J amid the mass of white paint and powder 1 which conceals both hair and skin. I Her bed is all satin and lace, the quilt a f miracle of embroidery, fit screen before so ' fair a shrine. The lofty room is hung with finest tapestry, where nymphs and cupids J disport themselves in airy attitudes and ] scanty garments. The carpet is of thickest pile, the toilette a little museum of curiosi- ' ties, and tall Venetian mirrors reflect and I multiply the luxurious scene. j I said the Countess was holding her court; j the courtiers all of the male sex; and no l harm was thought. French manners prevailed in the highest classes, and the reign- ' ing beauties often received their earliest bevy of adorers half concealed by the gor- 1 geous curtains of their nightly couch. j Now, who were the adorers ? First, shall the Church have preference. The family chaplain, in a distant window, flirted with the attendant abigail. Not daring to raise J his eyes to the glorious midday sun, he wor- ! shipped its pale reflection in the moon, as personified by comely Mistress Prudence, so by name at least, if not by nature. The army j was represented by Captain Terence O'Brien, 1 a descendant of all the kings of Ireland ; but descended so low that he would have been ' well content to forego his chance of the * lovely widow's hand, could he only have ] hoped she would bestow on him a gift or loan to enable him to continue his gambling J speculations. ! A brace of lordlings were foremost in the ' picture. One, fair and foolish, loved the ] lady for herself ; the obher, an ugly fellow, with sharp wits and flattering tongue, sought J to repair his fallen fortunes at her expense. '' A millionaire courted her for fashion's sake; a diplomatist to further his political schemes. • All bowed before the idol of the hour, who yawned in their faces as she idly turned her ' attention to the choice of ribbons for the f day. | The conversation, as might be expected ' among rivals, was rather broken and dis- ] jointed, and interspersed with a good deal of '' snapping and snarling, the highest notes of the concert being the voices of two young lords; while the Irishman, talking incessantly in a rich unctuous brogue, furnished J a fine pedal base to the score. 'Ah !' said Lord Lackland, ' that shows j thy want of taste, my friend. What could suit a cheek of rose so well as the rose's own , ( hue ? The Queen of Flowers and the Queen < of Beauty combined.' 'Nay.' rejoined Faircourt, 'if we must needs follow suit, does not coquelicot matoh the coral of those lips V 'Or,' said a trembling youth, who had \ hitherto been all eyes and silent tongue, j ' why not azure ? The hue of heaven for one \ all but divine.' ( This sally was received with some deri- s sion, and the lady, in a querulous tone, ] asked if 'twere not a pity he could not say ' the blue would match her eyes. Sir Terence i O'Brien swore the heavens ought to be hung j with blaok in their honour, and with the 1 laugh which followed came a chorus of laudatory remarks on those certainly raagnifi- ] cent orbs, which their owner received with 1 ill-disguised contempt, asking if there was ] not one man of parts among them who could ; furnish a newer theme. Then she called for her jewels, and the i couch soon glittered with the contents of } half a dozen caskets. This brought the 1 millionaire to the front, who produced a ' costly pendant as an offering to the fair one. ] She accepted it with calm indifference, and, i scarcely thanking the munificent donor, ' tossed it aside among the other trinkets. Now, the disdain and caprice of this spoiled beauty were genuine—the result of - the hotbed of prosperity in which she had ; been reared. She had lived in luxury and • listened to adulation till both had lost their power to please. But, strange to say, her , very faults added to her popularity. Had ] she assumed these airs to enhance the ' piquancy of her charms, she could not have j succeeded better; and when the servile crowd was dismissed that day, that she • might proceed to the business of the toi- ; lette, all departed more enamoured than ' ever of the undeniable charms of her person ] and her purse. That night there were masks at a fashion- ' able place of public resort, and Lady Millamant must needs be there; not' that she expected much enjoymsnt, but because she did not know what to do at home. Too indolent to devise a fancy costume, she would wear a domino; but ere the domino was donned, a long and most elaborate toilette was completed. A. dress oi the richest brocade, with flpwers ip. their natural | colours, interspersed with threads of gold, was trimmed with tbe finest lace and knots o£ ribbon mixed with strings of pearls. All spread, out;'over panniers oij enormous displayed' tp advantage the beauty oij the material and) the stately while her. powdered haii;, raised W, | nearly %bp.W fa* k]»»~ J diamond;!}, f,rom, a, ®f faaM""' grandeur <m tk* *'' -**, which,like apalmtls* — v " jpo f a high hill, surmounted ,oip And it must be admitted that, , exaggerated and artificial as was the dress L brows-the only dark objects about her, I exceDt an ' assassin' near her mouth—witn a SEEwhich was absolutely during .And ' when her beautiful features lost for a v moment their usual expression of indolent SZur in the triumph of conscious beauty, L assle gazed at her ta^W h "ff^t" , the glass, none who saw her could dispute ■ her claim to reign a goddess in the hearts of / men,

When she arrived at the ball it was already crowded. A black velvet mask covered her features, and a domino eclipsed the splendour of her dress ; but to those well acquainted with her, the carriage of her head, and the grace of her movements, revealed the divinity within, and she was soon surrounded by an admiring throng. Though all were masked, most of them she recognised in her turn by some trick of gesture or peculiarity of voice; but, as she gazed around, her attention was arrested by the entrance of a person she felt sure she had never met before. Yet he seemed one well worth the knowing. Like the rest a ' mask concealed his face, but the domino dis- ] placed, and hanging on his arm, displayed in ; full the supreme elegance of his tall figure, , and the unparalleled magnificence of his , dress. The extended skirts of his blue , velvet coat set off the richness of the silver embroidery; his buttons and buckles, of ] diamonds of the finest water, eclipsed i all the surrounding paste ! his sword-hilt -, blazed with gems, and the lace of his cravat ] and ruffles might have moved the envy of ( the proudest belle. He wore his own hair, powdered, then rather unusual; indeed, all , about him was somewhat singular, though < certainly singularly elegant. < His appearance caused a flutter of excite- ; ment, and the whisper ' Who is he ?' went i round the circle. The men criticised, the women admired. At last one better informed j than the rest, proclaimed him to be the . young Marquis of Riverdale, son of the \ Duke of Broadlands, who had just returned ] from long travel in France and. Italy : and . a certain foreign air, and the fact that he i was new to the world, seemed to justify the ] assertion. Our Countess, as he approached, moved ] perhaps by a desire that the admiration she . felt should be reciprocal, under pretence of \ heat, removed her mask, and throwing back ] her domino, appeared suddenly in the full { blaze of her unrivalled beauty. The un- , known started, and turning to the nearest by- s stander, eagerly enquired her name. \ ' What, sir,' said, the person addressed ; \ ' not know the Countess Millamant ? You must be indeed a stranger to the town, not to know the fairest woman in it.' ' I have been long abroad,' quoth he, ' and } have seen too many fairest women to bear i any of them long in mind; but this is, I ] must admit, a splendid beauty.' 'So saying, he advanced towards the , Countess, and with the freedom a mask j allows, addressed her in the high-flown , language of the day, begging permission to . worship as a pilgrim at the shrine of Venus. , This she graoiously accorded, provided he ] could bring some flowers of wit and wisdom ] as an offering to the goddess. ] ' Madam,' cried the stranger, • beauty like ] yours might inspire the dullest brain, as • well as move the coldest heart, did not awe , enchain the tongue.' And so they went on ] for some time, till both seemed tired of the mimic courtship. They remained the most | conspicuous figures among the gay and | motley throng, but did not seek one another again. j As Lady Millamant went home that night, > borne in her gilded, cushioned chair, at the i brisk trot of two strapping Irishmen, her lacqueys at once lighting and clearing the | way before her, she reflected with many i signs on the emptiness of worldly pleasures. ] Oh, for a new sensation ; for anything which . could produce other feelings than weariness and vexation, gambling. • I might have been ruined, but luck and my large fortune were against me, and I never lost or won at cards enough to give me pleasure, or to cause a pang. Love! —ah ! that were no - doubt emotion —joy, sorrow, hope, and fear " in one, but I have never known it, and I never shall My husband's age precluded the possibility of any warmer feeling than esteem, and as to the poor creatures who surround me, and feel, or feign, a flame— 5 how to reciprocate it for any one of them ? The pretty fellows are so often rakes, the men of parts are mostly prigs, foolish, ( foppish, false—and tiresome all. To-night, the travelled air, the noble mien of the Marquis of Riverdale inspired a hope that he might prove more interesting than the restbut no ; the same nonsense flowed from his lips in the same weary drawl, and Venus . and Cupid still did duty for life and love.' ! Here she arrived at the door of hey , splendid mansion. The footmen thrust their torches into the extinguishers provided for the purpose, and Lady Millamant stepped from her chair into the lofty hall, and accompanied by her waiting woman, regained the gorgeous suite of apartments she had not long quitted. There she threw herself into an armchair j with a portentous yawn. ( 'Oh, my lady has the vapours again,' cried Prudence, ' and to-night, of all nights in the year, when, on my conscience, she looks ten times more beautiful than ever, and I dare swear, ten thousand times more beautiful than any other dame or damsel at the fete — and better dressed forsooth ! Who else has. ' such a brocade as that—so rich and fanciful} ; Oh ! if I were my lady with drejases and jewels, and love, and lovers, by the score, I'll wager I would laugii spieen and vapours ' away, and be !&&ppy from morning till night.' ' Pretence, lam sick of dress and jewels, , and the assemblies where they shine, ands *st for love and lovers, the old ones my wealth, the young ones loys. themselves. Love indeed V 'Oh! my lady,' priedj Prudence, 'do not miscall love 1 you could only see my cousin N<llj and her sweetheart, Roger BJake, who, are to. be married come Monday nex.t, you,'d never say that lovo was naught. * ' Roger and Nell,—some rustic party, no doubt. Who, aire they, girl, that they should fee} luxe, that is but feigned by us? 'Roger, my lady, is the son of my Lord Faircowt's bailiff, and cousin Nell is uncle Sampson's d»; a ghter, one of Squire Woodto*®o 'aimers. Ah! there will be mirth , and happiness, and love eno' at that wedding if only your ladyship could tat see it, 'I wonder if the rustic* da enjoy themselves, or if 'tis only outward seemm* with them too ! I have scarcely seen a tree or blade of grass, save in the Park or Spring Garden for many a year. Igo sometimes to I Greenwich or to Richmond by the river, it is true; but then one's so beset one scarce looks' round. I wonder what the real country may be like, and how the country I people feel who never oome to town.' (To be continued.)