LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 979, 15 August 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MY AUNT DEBORAH. Rosetrec Cottage, Fulham ; that was my , aunt's address. There who had resided for as far back as 1 could remember, as after ray mother died I was put under her charge, she buing the last surviving relative I had in the world. Like most old maids, my aunt was scrupulously neat and prim in her appearance and surroundings. She had, moreover, a perfect horror of boys, and was what is called a ' disciplinarian '; a firm believer in sparing the rod and spoiling the child. Shall I ever forget th<- se dreary years of my childhood spent at Fulham. Most boys are fond of holidays; it was not so with me. Dr Blither's academy for young gentlemen (for the advantages of attending which, see advertisement) with all its terrors had yet greater charms for me than Rose Tree Cottage. On Sundays, for instance, my aunt, who was of a severely religious turn of mind, would insist on my accompanying her no less than three times to the Rev Moses Hundrum's chapel in the Fulham road ; and upon our return home I had to write the sermon from memory, or to be sent dinnerless to my bedroom. Oh how I hated that man. How I have longed to rumple his oily, flatly brushed hair. This was the insane desire that possessed me every Sunday when after about three-quarters of an hour's sermon, sleep would mark me for its own, and I would nod from my scat in the high pew and dream perhaps, poor little (.-inner that I was, about being out in the open fields picking wild Mowers and hunting for bird's nests. And then I would wake up with a start, to find my auut regarding me with a shocked look which said as plainly as look could speak, ' No dinner for you to-day, you wicked boy.' And she always kept her word on those occasions. Now although my aunt was not partial to boys, she was to cats. She was a patroness of the Metropolitan Home for Destitute Cats, to which deserving charity she was a liberal subscriber. She had one especial favorite (the object of my intense detestation), a sleek, fat tortoiseshell called Tom ; a spiteful, overfed brute that hissed and growled if you so much as approached the singly snugly lined basket he reclined in before the parlor fire. I hated that cat; firstly because he was such a favorite of aunt's, and secondly because his seek, well-fed appearance reminded me of the Rev. Moses Humdrum. I was not naturally a cruel boy, but I delighted in tormenting that eat. One day my auDt's cross grained attendant, Sarah Crabtree, caught me at it, and at once informed my aunt. Then the amiable domestic gave a highly colored description of how she had found me " a-pinching Tom's tail, Miss, a-making the poor thing 'owl dreadful,' Then there was a row ; it was Christmas time, and the holidays had only just commenced, but that very afternoon I was sent back to school, with a note to Dr. Blither begging that in future I might be detained at the Academy during vacation time, and requesting that I might receive a Hogging for my cruelty to a ' poor dumb animal.' With what a bland smile—giving place to a look of gentle reproof —my worthy preceptor read my aunt's note, and with •vhat alacrity (he said it ' pained him '—it certainly did me) he prepared to oi ey the last request. j I didn't mind the pain, but when that Hogging was over I thirsted ' for the blood I of that wretched cat—the cause of all my woe —with a thirst that knew no quenching. Ah, well, those were sad times, and are not easily to be effaced from my memory. When I was fifteen I left school by my aunt's direction, and was sent to London. A situation had been obtained for me in a Wood street warehouse; and so my school days ended. I remember as if it was but yesterday when the letter came. How I was called into Dr. Blither's private-room, and told of what awaited me ; and how I blushed when next morning the doctor referred to me in the presence of the whole school as 'our young companion in the pleasant paths of knowledge, who is now leaving us for England's commercial metropolis.' (I don't think he could have said Loudon to save his life.) Next day I left ; how the fellows cheered as I drove off in a fiy to the railway station ; and how they envied me ! but I wasn't very happy, and I am not at all sure that I didn't envy them. And then came that dusty, dreary warehouse life in the city, with its long hours and its small pay. What drudgery I thought it at first. But I persevered; worked my way up by degrees, until I held a position in the house. Still my pay was small. Oh, parents and guardians, beware how you doom your wards to servitude at the desk — better to make bricklayer's of them at once. I had been in London about five \ears when I got into a little monetary difficulty. The f ict is I had been foolish enough some months previously, to lend my names to a bill to accommodate a friend, and now (of course), I was responsible. I must borrow the money, I told myself. But of whom ? I knew of no one to whom I could apply in my dilemmia. Stay-there was my aunt Deborah. True, I had only heard once from her since I had been in London. Although I had heard that she wrote periodically to my employers to know whether I was ' still conducting myself with propriety.' I also received ail occasional tract from her by the Rev Moses Eundrum bearing sonic such startling title as:—' Koom for one inside!' or 'How ara you off for spiritual soap ?' 1 hesitated whether 1 should apply to ray aunt, but not for long; my want was a pressing one, and money 1 must have. So 1 obtained a day's holiday, and thinking it would do ino' good, determined to walk over to Fulham. It was a, beautiful spring morning and the walk most enjoyable ufti-r being shut up for so many mouths in the city as 1 had been. At length, after an absence of more than five years, 1 found myself standing once more at the gate of Rose Tree Cottage. I ram' the bell ; it was answered by lny old acquaintance, Sarah Crabtree, who was not lookiu" a day older than when 1 saw her last. , ~ . My annt, she informed me, was out, but would you like to step into the parlor, sir, aa I don't think Miss Lovcjoy will be long ?' I must have changed a good deal, at any

as ever. The furniture was unchanged. There was the same row of hard, black horsehair seated chairs; the same solemnticking clock on the mantle-piece, and the well-remembered features of the Rev. Mo a es, in a gilt frame, staring at me from over it. On the table were a few books of the dry and heavy kind—chiefly theological—my aunt had little taste for any other kind of reading. Fiction was her abomination. Amongst three books was a volume of the Rev. Humbruin's sermons, and a subscription list for the presentation of a testimonial to that popular divine. Heading the list was my aunt's donation of teu guineas. If it bad been a subscription to have shipped the rev. gentleman to the Arctic Regions or the wilds of Auffcralia, cheerfully would I have contributed my mite. IT" he. conthived.)