LITERATURE

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 960, 24 July 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE

THE TRAMP. By Bbete Hart. ( Continued) ‘ Ye see, sur,’ he would say, suddenly sitting down, ‘ it’s along uv me misfortunes beginning in Milwaukee that —’ and it was not until I was out of hearing that he would languidly gather his traps again and saunter after me. When I reached my own garden gate he leaned for a moment over it, with both of his powerful arms extended downward, and said : ‘ Ah, but it’s a blessin’ that Sunday comes to give rest to the weak and weary, and them as walked seventeen miles to get it.’ Of course I took the hint. There was evidently no work to be had from my friend the tramp that day. Yet h's countenance brightened as he saw the limited extent of my domain, and observed that the garden so called, was only a flower bed about twenty-five by ten. As he had doubtless before this been utilized to the extent of his capacity in digging, he bad probably expected that kind of work, and I daresay I discomfited him somewhat by pointing to him an almost levelled stone wall, about twenty feet long, with the remark that his work would be the rebuilding of that stone wall with stones brought from the neighbouring hill. In a few moment s he was comfortably provided for in tte kitchen, where the cook, a woman of his own nativity, apparently, chaffed him with a raillery that to me was quite unintelligible. Yet I noticed that when, at sunset, he accompanied Bridget to the spring of water, ostentatiously flourishing the empty bucket in his hand, when they returned in the gloaming, Bridget was carrying the wat ir, and my friend the tramp was some paces behind her, cheerfully collecting and picking blackberries. At seven the next morning he started in cheerfully to work. At nine he had placed three large stones on the first course in position, an hour having been spent in looking for a pick and hammer, and, in the incident, chaffing with Bridget. At ten o’clock I went to overlook his work; it was a rash action, as it caused him to respectfully doff his cap, discontinue his labour, and lean back against the fence in cheerful and easy convert ation.

‘ Are yc fond of blackberries, Captain ?’ I told him the children were in the habit of getting them from the meadow beyond, hoping to stop the suggestion I knew was coming, ‘Ah ! but, Captain, it’s meself that, with wandering and havin’not in’ to pass me lips but the berries I’d pick from hedges, it’s meself 1: nows where to find them Share, it’s yer childer, and foine boys they are, Captain, that’s besaching me to go wid ’em to the place, knownst only to meself.’ It is unnecessary to say that he triumphed. After the manner of vagabonds of all degrees, he had enlisted the women and children on his side—and my friend the tramp had it all his own way. II e departed at ten and returned at four in the afternoon, with a dinner pail half tilled. On interrogating tire boys, it appeared that they had a ‘ bully time,’ but on cross-examination it appeared that they had picked the blackberries. From four to six, three more stones were laid, and the arduous duties of the day were over. As I stood looking at the first course of six stones, my friend, the tramp, stretched his strong arms out to their fullest extent, and said : ‘Ay, but it’s wor-ruk, and it’s all I’ll be askin’ fur.’

I ventured to suggest that he had not yet acc unplished much. ‘ Wait till to-morrow. An’ but ye’ll see thin. It’s me hand that’s yet onaisy wid the brick-making strange to the sthones. Av ye’ll wait till to-morrow.’ Unfortunately, I did not wait. An engagement took me away at an early hour, aud when I rode up to my cottage at noon, my eyes were greeted with the astonishing spectacle of my two boys hard at work lay-

ing the courses of the stone wall, assisted by Bridget and No rah, who were dragging atones from the hillsides, while comfortably .stretch d on the top of the wall lay my frienJ the tramp, quietly overseeing the • iterations with lazy ami humourous com nent. For an instant I was foolishly in dignant, but he soon brought me to my senses.

‘ Shore, sur, it’s only lamin’ the boys the habits uv industhry I was ; and may they niver know, be the same token, what it is to wor-ruk for the bread betune their lips. Share it’s but maltin’ ’em think it play I was. As for the colleens beyant in the kitchen, shura isn’t it hetther they was helpin’ your honor here than colloguing with themselves inside ?’

Nevertheless I thought it expedient to forbid thenceforth any interruptfon of servants or children with my friend’s “wor-ruk.” Perhaps it was the result of this embargo that the next morning early the tramp wanted to see me. ‘ And it’s sorry lam to say it to ye, sur,’ he began, * but it’s the dandlin' of the stones that’s desthroyin’ me touch at the brick makin’ an’ it’s better I should lave ye and find wor-ruk at me own thrad p . For it’s wor-ruk I’m nadin’. It isn’t meself, Captain, to ate the bread of oidlenass here. And so good by, Captain, and if it’s fifty cints ye can be triviug me until I find a kiln —it's God that’ll repay ye.’ He got the money, but he got also conditionally a note from me to my next neighbor, a wealthy neighbor, a wealthy, retired physician, possessed of a large domain ; a man eminently practical and business-like in Iris management of it He employed many laborers on the sterile waste he called his farm, and it occurred to me that if there really was any work in my friend, the tramp, which my own indolence and pre-occupation had failed to bring out, he was the man to do it, I met him a week after. It was with embarassment that I enquired after my friend the tramp. ‘ Oh, yes,’ he said reflectively, ‘let’s see - he came Monday and left me Thursday. He was, I think, a stout, strong man, a wellmeaning, good-humored fellow, but afflicted with a most singular variety of diseases The first day I put him at work in the stables he developed chills and fever caught in the swamps of Louisian —’ ‘ Excuse me, ’ I said hurriedly, ‘ You mean in Milwaukee ’

‘ I know what I’m talking about,’ returned the Doctor, testily ; ‘he told me his whole wretched story ; his escape from the Confederate service, the attack upon him by armed negroes, the concealment in the bayous and swamps ’ ‘Go on, Doctor,’ I said feebly, ‘ yoe re speaking of his work.’ ‘ Yes, well, his system was full of malaria ; the first day I had him wrapped up in blankets and dosed with quinine. The next day he was taken with all the symptoms of cholera morbus, and I had to keep him up .m brandy and capsicum. .Rheumatism set in on the following morning and incapacitated him for work, and I concluded I had better give him a note to the doctor of the City Hospital than to keep him here As a pathological study he was good, but as I was looking for a man to help about the stable, I couldn’t afford to keep him in both capacities ’ As I never could really tell when the Doctor was in joke or earnest, I dropped the subject. And so my friend the tramp gradually faded from my memory, not, however, without leaving behind him in the barn, where he had slept, a lingering flavor of whiskey, onions, and fluftiness. But in two weeks this had gone, and the Shebang (as my friends irreverently termed my habi tation) knew him no more. Yet it was pleasant to think of him as having at last found a job of brick making, or having returned to his family at Milwaukee, or making Ids Louisiana home once more happy with his presence, or again tempting the fish-pro-ducing main—this time with a noble and equitable captain. It was a lovely August morning when I rode across the sandy peninsula to visit a certain noted family, whereof all the sons were valiant and the daughters beautiful. The front of the house was deserted, but on the verandah I heard the rustle of gowns, and above it arose what seemed to be the voice of Ulysses reciting his wanderings. There was no mistaking that voice—it was my friend the tramp. From what I could hastily gather from his speech he had walked from St. John, N. 8., to rejoin a distressed wife in Hew York, who was, however, living with opulent but objectionable relatives. ‘An sure, Miss, I wouldn’t be askin’ ye for the loan of a cint if I could get wor-ruk at me thrade of carpet wavin’; an’ maybe ye know of some manufactory where they wave carpets beyant here. Ah, Miss, an’ if ye don’t give me a cint its enough for the loikes of me to know that me troubles has brought the tears in the most beautiful eyes in the wurld, and God bless ye for it, Miss.’ Now I know that the most beautiful eyes in the world belonged to one of the most sympathetic hearts in the world, and I felt that common justice demanded my interference with it and one of the biggest scamps in the world. So without waiting to be announced by the servant, 1 opened the door, and joined the group on the verandah.

if I expected to touch the conscience of my friend the tramp by a dramatic entrance, I failed utterly. For no sooner did he see me than he instantly gave vent to a howl or dedght, and, falling on his knees before me, grasped my hand and turned oratoricaily to the ladies. ‘Oh, but it’s himself—himself that has come as a witness to my characther! Oh, but it’s himself that lifted me four wakes ago, when I was lyin’ with a mortal weakness on the say coast, and tuk me to his house. Oh, but it’s himself that shupuorted me over the faldes, and when the chills and faver came on me, and I shivered with the cold, it was himself, God bless him, as sthripped the coat off his own back and give it to me, sayin’: “Take it, Dinnis; it’s shtarved wid the cowld ye’ll be entirely.” Ah, but look at him, will ye, Miss ! Look at his swate modist face a blushin’ like you*own, Miss. Ah, look at him, will ye? fib’ll be denyiu’ of it in a mimt; may the blessm uv God folly him. Look at him, Miss. Ah, but it’s a swate pair ye’d make (the rascal Knew I was a married man;. Ah, Miss, h you could sec him wroiting day and night, with such ail illigaut hand of his own (he had evidently believed from the gossip of my servants that I was a professor of chirography) if ye could see him, Miss, as I have, ye’d be proud of him.’ {To bo continued.)