LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 801, 16 January 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE SACKFUL OF SOVEREIGNS. A WONDERFUL STORY OF CHRISTMAS LUCK. Chapter I.—The Summons. A sunny garden slope upon the southern side of Highgate Hill: at its lower end a delicious tangle of orchard, long grass, and underwood, russet tinged briers, and common ferns. Higher up, the gnarled and t wasted old apple-trees, thick with rosy fruit, give place by degrees to a strip of gooseberry and currant bushes and kitchen greenery; until these, in their turn, edged by a high boxed border, sweet and gay with waving lavender, gilly-flowers, cabbage roses, sunflowers, hollyhocks, and the homelier order of garden treasures, terminate in a smooth well-kept lawn. Upon this look several windows of a quaint, old-fashioned, irregular red-bricked cottage, partly thatched and partly tiled; with honeysuckle and many a sweet-scented creeper clambering round the angles, and even going some way up a little stack of twisted chimneys ; the whole cottage, garden, and orchard—surrounded by an old moss-grown wall which, on the front or high-road side of the domain, is bright and odorous in spring with overhanging lilac and laburnum, whilst, where the antique iron gateway makes a gap, a great arch of ivy marks the entrance to this pleasant home : one of those homes, indeed, which, rural and unpretentious, might have been found in many a London suburb a quarter of a century back; but which, alas, have wellnigh disappeared now, since the over whelming wave of bricks and mortar has swept out from the great city, like the everwidening eddy on the surface of a lake, when rising fish or idly-thrown stone disturbs its placid waters. There is a wooden summer-house, also in perfect harmony with its surroundings, save that part of its roof has been recently repaired with a patch of somewhat too new and over-bright red tiles. Nestling snugly under the shade of a big elm-tree, midway on the slope, betwixt orchard and kitchengarden, it overlooks that well-known view which terminates with St Paul's, dimly looming—with chimney stacks, towers, and spires—through the long line of murky, dusky sky. A sweet retreat for toil-worn citizen, or any caring for the gentler, simpler ways of life.

Particularly suited as a background does it seem to the figure seated at the rustic table in the little arbor on the soft September afternoon when our tale begins. He is an aged but tolerably hale-looking, broadshouldered man of about (seventy-five, with keen brown eyes, and having that smug old-fashioned aspect in dress and mien befitting the retired well-to-do man of business, that all who have any acquaintance with Matthew Hickman know him to be. Open before him lies a small memorandum-book, in which he seems to be adding up some figures; and beside him, with ink-bottle and tray of pens, are a few scattered papers. Now and then, in the pauses of his calculations, he strokes his clean-shaven chin, or toys with his mutton chop strip of pure white whisker, and the quiet expression of satisfaction with which from time to time he looks out upon the view tells of contentment with both place and circumstances. Yet in his eyes and round the corners of his mouth a very close observer might detect some signs of waning health, and there is at times a knitting of the brows and a raising of the garden-hat, which might suggest occasional twinges of pain passing across the forehead. The clock of the neighbouring church chimes out the half-hour past five, and whilst the sound dies away on the delicate air he draws from his fob, by its broad ribbon and bunch of seals, a large old-fashioned gold watch to compare the time. Presently he is deep in his figures again, when footsteps approaching along the winding gravel path that leads down from the cottage to the summer-house divert his attention, and hastily gathering up some of the scattered papers he places them with a certain air of secretiveness under the book he is examining.

' You are home earlier to-day, George,' says Mr Matthew Hickman, looking up towards the figures of a young man -s,nd woman, who had by this time come within speaking distance. ' A little, sir, perhaps; we have had rather a slack day at the bank,' answered the former, a pleasant, blue-eyed, fairhaired young fellow, albeit with a somewhat weak and changeless expression of face. His tall hat and tight-fitting black frockcoat, apart from his remark, proclaimed him straight from the City. • 1 am not sorry either,' he resumed, stretching himself with an air of weariness ; ' and I have been a little disappointed and

vexed.' ' Ah ! how so ?'

'Why, father,' quickly answered the young woman, as she entered the summerhouse, and placed her hand gently on the old man's shoulder, ' don't you remember I told you George was hoping to get a step through Mr Gore's retirement? And now it has been given to George's junior —and, of course, he feels it hard.' ' Well, well, I am sorry for that,' answered Mr Rickman somewhat vacantly ; ' but it will come, it will come. He's better off where he is, anyhow, than if he had been in a Government office.'

'O, I question that, sir,' broke in the younger man. ' But I don't,' was the rather sharp response. * You have at least the satisfaction of working with a elear conscience ; you are not idling your time in readiug the newspaper all day, wasting stationery, and robbing your country, as you would have been if your father had got you a post under Government. You know my opinion of the way Government offices are managed, and Government too, for the matter of that. I have no patience with the waste and reckless expenditure that go on in all departments, whilst we hard working folk have to pay treble the taxes we need. No, George, I really don't think I should ever have consented to your marrying my Alice here if you had been a Government clerk.'

' Then, sir, I am very glad things are as they are,' said Mr George Woodwyn, smiling, whose position in this family group is thus made evident.

'Here, Lily, come along, here's daddy,' he went on, as a sweet little curly haired girl of about three came toddling down the path, and ran into her father's arms. ' Shall we go in now and have tea ? and grandfather will come in at six, won't he ?' (2b be continued.')

Peematuee Decay. From inherent weakness, overwork, continued exposure to unwholesome air or sudden variations of temperature, from business cares, sorrow, or other causes, the constitutions of many persons prematurely decay. Under such circumstances, a wise discrimination should be exercised in selecting the material wherewith to repair-dilapidation and restore the human edifice. Bemember that the sanction of four thousand physicians has been accorded to Udolpho Wolfe's Schiedam Aromatic Schnapps [ Advt.]