LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1009, 19 September 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

summer’s gulden days. [By Beatrice Dunphy,] {Continued.) Chapter 11. The wedding is over, and I have just sent home an elaborate account of it. Auntie has gone up to her room to shed unlimited tears, for she thinks it the proper thing to do ; and I feel rather dull and lonely now that the excitement is over and Maggie has gone. The wedding was very simple, but we made everything look as pretty as possible, and transformed the house into a perfect bower of roses. The church was crowded, and Maggie was so contented and happy that she looked really pretty. I was the only bridesmaid, and had to do a good deal of signing, so that I felt quite a person of importance. Then there was the breakfast; then Maggie went away; then all auntie’s friends went to their respective homes ; and auntie and I are left alone to enjoy each other’s company. The best man, a young surgeon named Philip Graham, is staying at the rectory and I think he might stroll over to know how wo are after the fatigues of the day. What I have seen of him 1 like very much, for he is tall and dark, an i appears to be of a serious turn of mind; but he is not really serious, for he has an immense land of humor, and generally amuses me to such a degree that I laugh to an immoderate extent, and am always in dread of being reproved by auntie; but she seems to enjoy his conversation, and never checks my mirth as mother would. We saw a good deal of him before the wedding, as he used to come over and spend the day here with Mr Strafford, and naturally we used to go about a good deal together, so as not to interrupt the lovers. I wonder if we shall ever see him now his friend is gone, and how long he will remain at the rectory. With all my self-love I can see that he does not care a bit about me, and that there is no danger of his making iove ; so if he does not contemplate leaving Coolmory at once I trust we shall have some pleasant walks and talks together. Next morning auntie has recovered her usual spirits, and is already looking out for letters from Maggie. Before we h ve finished breakfast Mr Graham comes in, in just the same easy way as if Mr Strafford was following him. ‘ Good morning, Mrs Lisle; how are you after your fatigues of yesterday ?’ he says; and then they begin to discuss the wedding, and talk it all over, which to my mind is very often the best part of entertainments.

I look out of the window and think how pleasant it must be under the shade of the alders down by the river’s bank, and I fervently wish that Maggie was here, and that we might go out and spend our morning there, as we did every day last week. Evidently Philip Graham thinks the same thing, for turning from auntie to me, he asks if it would not be pleasanter tut of doors this lovely morning, and if I will stroll down to the river with him. I look towards auntie and dutifully ask her if she will accompany us ; but she declines, and says she will spend the time we are out in packing up Maggie’s presents. I feel I ought to offer to help her; but the sun is shining so dazzlingly, and there is such a fresh breeze dow by the river, that my good resolution melts away, and in another minute my hat is on, and Philip Graham and I are sauntering through the dewy meadows, and I am enjoying pleasant Coolmory even as I anticipated.

We wander on through a good many fields, and finally settle down to rest in quite a new spot. It is very lovely, and the scent of the clovers intoxicates me to such a degree that I throw myself down in it, and taae a long sniff before I look up to see what my companion is doing. He regards me in quite a superior way, and 1 cannot help laughing, as it strikes me he looks very like Landseer’s dog Dignity ; while I feel like Impudence with my rough hair and my hat very much at one side.

After my frolic I smooth my hair, put my hat straight, open my parasol, and then ask Mr Graham for a remark, He answers me slowly, as he says,

‘1 was th uking what a child you and wondering whether you had say depth of feeling or force of character.’ In a moment I am serious, for his words chill me somewhat; and then I tell him that I am having a summer’s holiday, and am jus a child again for a month, during which turn 1 want to leave all my worries at home Then he laughs in' his turn at me, and inquires my troubles ; and before I know what \ I am saying I tell him all about methei and the girls, and when our walk is over 1 j ieel as if 1 had known Philip Groham all my ; life. The rest of the day auntie and I devoti to paying visits, and in the evening we iaoewer Maggie’s letters.

All our days pass pretty much in the same way. Every morning Philip Graham and I take a w alk —sometimes down to the river ; and occasionally to the little town two miles off, to fetch the letters that arrive by the afternoon’s post. Aunt Mary is always busy in themornin?, and never comes with us. She is such a dear sweet w • man, and always reminds me of father. T have been with her a great deal for the last two days, for it has been raming incessantly, am I I have not been able to Lave the house even for a turn in the garden. Wet days in the country a r e more unbearable than in London, for I feel as if they deprive me of so many modicums of fresh air that legally belong to me. We have seen nothing of Mr Graham, and I miss him very much, a great deal more than I thought possible ; perhaps it is because I have neither Barbara nor Helen to talk to, about little things that do not interest auntie. At the end of the second rainy day there is a little excitement in the house, because we receive an invitation for a dance at the rectory next week. Aunty and I find plenty to say, about what we shall wear and who will be there; and Igo to bed in a pleasant frame of mind, but with an intense desire for the following day to be fine, so that I may go for a walk with Mr Graham. It is just as fine as T could possibly wish, and at the usual hour Philip Graham saunters in; and without waiting to be asked, I put on my hat, and once mo e we are out in the clear fresh air. Everything appears to have benefited by the rain; the flowers and grass look so refreshed that I exclaim, ‘The world seems as if it wis just made, and I am delighted to be out again.’

( To ho continued. l