LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 982, 18 August 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MY AUNT DEBORAH. ( Concluded?) In about half an hour, my aunt returned, bhe was not the least altered, either in appearance or in her manner towards me, which was extremely cold .She feared I was neglecting my business, or had I left Wood street—she hoped not ? On my explaining that such was not the case, I received a cold invitation to remain to luncheon. Sarah was now rung for, and my aunt made particular inquiries about Tom, the favoured tortoiseshell. When the luncheon traj appeared, Tom, looking fatter and more vicious than ever, came in with it. As I viewed bis snug basket and the choice morsels from the table, witli which my aunt regaled him during the meal, I compared his lot with mine, and mentally wished that fate had decreed that I too should have been born a cat. My aunt said but little during the meal; aud when it was over she pub on her glasses, and commenced to read the newspaper. Now for it, thought I. Now or never. ‘Aunt.’ ‘ Well V ‘The object I had in seeing you to-day—’ ‘ Oh, I thought there was something in the wind,’ interrupted my aunt. ‘ What is it John Lovejoy Now whenever my aunt addressed me by my name in full I knew that she was displeased. However there was no help for it now. I must try the persuasive. •The fact is,’ 1 c ntiuuoi, “I am in a little monetary difficulty—the sum is very small ‘ Now, John Lovejoy, interrupted my aunt again, sitting very upright in her chair, ‘ if you are looking for any assistance of that kind from me I may as well tell you ouce and for all, that I cannot assist you. And I really do think, that after all I have done for you it is very absurd and very ungrateful in you to expect it. You have your salary—you must have saved money —aud that should be more than sufficient to meet all your expenses now —’ ‘ And so it would be, for one thing,’ I broke in as soon as I could get a chance, ‘ but you see I shall require every penny of my savings now—what little I have saved. This demand is quite unlocked for-—quite unexpected—and I must either borrow the money or else I must do what I should be very sorry to do for many reasons, especially as the day is fixed—l must put off my marriage. ‘ What! you going to be married 1’ exmy aunt, as soon as she could speak for astonishment - ‘ a boy like you ! and to some girl as silly and as poor as yourself, I suppose. Oh, yes, it’s always the way. Well, John Lovejoy, all I can say is that I gave you credit for more sense, aud if you have any respect for me, you will instantly give up this ridiculous idea—a hoy of your ageafter all I have done for you —absurd and to expect me to pay for your racehorses and your gaming tables.’ ‘ My dear aunt,’ I said, and I couldn’t, help smiling, ‘ it is neither a racing nor a gambling debt that I am asking you to pay, I—’ * There, don’t talk to me, John Lovejoy, I shall not give you or lend you a single farthing so long as you persist in this ridiculous scheme—why 1 am old enough to be your grandmother, and I have never been married—absurd. Sarah, show John Lovejoy out.’ And that is how our interview ended. Never mind ; this money must be paid even though Polly and I had to stint ourselves at the very outset. Three week after we were married. It was only a bit of a room in a dingy city street that we could afford ; but Polly was so cheerful and contented, and made so light of our troubles that things seemed better than they might otherwise have been. And so we waited patiently for better times. I was away all day of course at .hardmann and btintem’s in Wood street; but at night, my work over, I had a home humble though it was, aud a cheeful little wife, to go to. We indulged sometimes of an evening in a little aerial castle buildings ; hut we wore not ambitious, I think our castle only took the form of a pretty little cottage somewhere in the country, far away from London, aud ‘that horrid office,’ as Polly would add. We had been married about two years, when one evening, on returning home to tea as usual, I met Polly at the door. ‘I have got a visitor, J<,hn,’ she said, ‘ Can you guess who it is '!’ < >ur visitors were very lew in number, so afHr naming two or fjthree of Polly’s friends I gave it up. ‘ Well then,’ said Polly, ‘ as you are such a goose at guessing, you shaT come up stairs aud see for yourself.’ Imagine my surprise on opening our parlour door to see my amt comfortably installed in my easy chair. She was greatly altered, and had aged very much, since I last saw her. She came forward as I entered and said : I ‘ I have come to ask your forgiveness, and that of your wife, for my harshness to you both—l hope it is not too late ?’ I hastened to assure her that if I had anything to forgive it was forgiven long since, ‘ and forgotten too, ’ I added heartily. From that day to the day of her death, which took place two years afterwards, my aunt Deborah became our best friend. I never saw anyone so altered in my life. She had had a par Jytic stroke soon after were married, she told us, and a long illness, from which she had little hope of recovery ensued. ‘.And it was then, John, that I thought of all my unkindness to you, aud vowel that if ever I got well again I would come and ask your forgiveness.’ I saw Sarah the other day. She is nearly as much changed, I think, ss was her mis tress. Sarah is living in retirement; she rents a small cottage at Fulham, being the fortunate recipient of a small pension left her by my aunt. Sarah is deferential to me now ; bub eireumslauces alter people you know. I was inquiring about Tom. I had never heard my aunt mention him since our reconciliation. ‘ Dead for years sir. To he sure poor mis-is did take on about it at first, but she von got over it, and I think she felt sorry fterwards for having petted that cat as she did, for she never would have another pot. in the house again, sir.’ With regard to the Bev Moses Humdrum, I learnt from the same source, that that

sainted man was also deceased. My aunt had ceased to attend his ministry some time before her death. May he rest in peace. And now I must lay down my pen, for I promised those laughing youngsters of mine a r w down the river this afternoon, and Polly is beckoning me from the garden gate to make baste. •' e have a garden, you ,- ee, for that little cottage, far away from London and ‘ that horrid office, ’ has become a reality after all. C.A.W. A GAMIN’S GENEROSITY. There was crape hanging to a door on Beauhien street yesterday forenoon, and a boy six or seven years old stood at the gate with pale face and red eyes. A ragged, tobacco chewing imp, about twelve years old, came slamming along, and he was making ready to stick his linger into the small boy’s eye, through the bars of the gate, when he caught sight of the crape. * Sumbody dead ?’ ho asked. ‘Yes, my pa !’ gasped the little one. ‘Hokeyl but that’s tuff!’ exclaimed the imp, and he began searching his pockets. After discovering that his personal property amounted to three nails, an old cigar stub and a clay pipe, he said ‘ See here, bub, I'd like to give you candy, or a knife, or sunthin’ to kinder make you feel good, but I can’t do it. I’m dead-broke and feelin’ half sick, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I could chaw you up in one minute, but you can come out here aud I’ll let you take me down and maul me, aud I’ll holler like a loon, and all the boys around here will think you are the wickedest fighter east of the avenue. ’ The small boy might have appreciated the motive, but- he didn’t accept the offer.