LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1026, 9 October 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

TWELVE OUNCES OF BLOOD. [ “ Dublin University Magazine.”] {Oi'Utinvtd.) So saying, he q.dekiy shut and Iwred the door, tim had nor, had the wit to intercept him in time ; and so he was left ounside, impotent ; all his b'ood at fevei Imat, the v.-ui swelling on his temples, his hands clench' d fiercely, and his heart heaving turnultimusiy within him He waited and waited out i e that door, but th ugh he lingered there aT through the night and on into the next day, it was useless. No Jacob came out ; an iat last '■ im came to the reluctant conclusion that once more Jacob had outwitted him and ha I escaped unhurt. Tim’s mind was becoming ca able, iy his late experiences, of understanding something or what unjust suspicion is, and of the cruel cowardice which must prompt any man who can throw it upon another. His soul was filled with horror and disgust at his bro her’s deeds; but that soul was only a poor, blind, halfdeveloped existence, and was capable of no loftier result from this horror and disgust than an abandonment 1o rage. Blinded, absorbed by his burning desire of revenge, he lost the reigns over himself ; and when, in the noonday sun he left his lurkingplace at last, and staggered up the street with wild eyes and burning head, the people stood aside from him, remarking that Tim Turner was either mad or very drunk indeed. He was neither, according to their meaning. He was both in another sense. He was mad with impotent rage, he was intoxicated by the su ging of the h ghly vitalised blood that boi ! ed in his veins. His was a physical frame that, once < xcited, was excee.liugly difficult to control, because of its great vigor. V\ ith a powerful mind to govern it, poor Tim might have been a hero, but as it was, he only belonged to that class of mankind whose bodily pov ers are out of proportion with their spiritual strength. Tim, in his pre-ent state, had no resource. He had no home to go to and get quiet in, no fri rids to reason with him and help him to govern himself. His pockets were empty and he was not in a condition to turn and earn even enough for a bed ; so he had no choice but to slouch through the streets, under the hot sun, during the day, with no prospect of any more pleasant mode of passing the night. He wandered into Regent street and Piccadilly, and looting at the fine ladies and gentlemen, cursed ti em from his soul, because Jacob, to his understanding, had become one of them. But soon, foi ling out of his element, he s’unk back into regions where beings not unlike himself were to be found.

The whole day there was no thought in his mind but of the wrong he had suffered, and of the wnuig-doer, Jacob. He did not know he was hungry, though he h d no food since the previous day, he did not know he was thirsty, until, in the evening, a carter offered him “ a drink ” if he would hold his team a moment; then he discovered he was parched. That draught of ale had a surprising effect up n him. His brain reeled ; he no longer distinguished persons or things Jacob was everybody, and ever' thing was Jacob ; and he was prepared to fight everybody as Jacob. A firebrand when cast among inflammable material is apt to create a fire; therefore it is easy to imagine how, some half hou later, Tim had become the hero of a street light Two adversaries had be si demolished, and a frantic crowd of admirers had laid their m *ney on Tim, when the police appeared. But there were only two : and Tim, game si ill, though his head was bleeding and his nose had suffered, defied two policemen contemptuously. Every nerve in his body was alive; he was bke a lion at bay. VVhilo the police shrilly whistled for aid, the crowd parted, and hustled l ira through : their favourite should not end his t i m h in a police-court. A doctor’s cai r age which was passing had been stopped by the crowd dim, as, in his half-stupid way, he suffered himself to be hidden behind it, looked up and seeing the d ctor gaz ng out of his carriage wiudow at him, w-;s startled in recog using a look of nterest upon his face that was of a very different kind from that shown by his surrounding adnvr rs. The crowd was dispersing as rapidly as might be, so the carriage drove off, and Tim, being told to run for his life, for some mounted police were coming down the next street, took to his heels and followed the carriage, much as a stray dog might have followed it, merely because it was something to ruu after ; partly, perhaps, because the doctor’s face had impressed his now cooling mind. Dr. Featherstone had indeed admired the phisique and pluck of the street hero ; but still he might not have cared to think of Tim sleeping that night in his wood-yard Tim did it though, and the following nuht, too ; but on the third morning, seeing the Doctor walking about in his little garden, he came innocently to the front gate and asked for work.

Dr. Featherstone recognised him. and was interested. Tim, looking into his face, thought he was sympathetic, but he was mistaken. Dr. Featherstone was always interested in everything on principle, but he had scarcely a grain of sympathy in his composition. He was a ‘clever’man, rising into notice prin ipally through his wide and ruthless experiments for the obtaining of medical and surgical knowledge. He drew from Tim his whole history ; and saw, by his emotional face, that the tale was a true one. He heartily despised the great stupid fellow, but it occur-ed to him that such a brawny martyr might be of use to him some day. He was a bachelor, and reigned supreme in his little demesne ; so there was no one to object to his making Tim temporary unper-g-ird ner, wood chopper, &c., &c. I im had the making of an excellent servant in him. We could get through a wonderful amount of work ; and was of a g ateful, humble, dog-like disposition towards anyone who treated him fairly. He lept like a king on a straw bed in the woodshed ; and for a while he contentedly received some old clothes and his food as wages ; so he kept sober perforce. Dr. Feat' erstone soon found he had made i good investment Tim would do anything; having given his allegiance to the Doctor, whose intellectual powers oppressed and i.wed him, he obeyed like a well-trained Newfoundland. At the -same time there vas a sullenness still upon him, a inanne' is if an angry temper and a desperate ibandonment were only held in reserve, which made the Doctor think it wise to

keep him as far as possible without any mmey in his pockets. Six months of Tim’s life passed quietly away in this fashion. Re had then become such an invaluable factotum to the Docto (who had found he could so train him as save himse f many disagreeable portions his various experiments) that he raised him a step in the domestic wmld, and Jim became a quiet, respec'able servant, with a bedroom and a suit of clothes of hi* own. Dr H eatherstone could not discover that he any other ambili >n. A certain sullen sobr ety to have c me upon him a- a tint! state in place of his old joviality and happy t-mpered recklessness. And so the m mth passed by and gradually added up : until the lapse of a couple of years made Tim’s presence in the Doctor’s queer household an old and recognised fact. One dreary autumn evening the Doctor came home from his rounds, and passing Tim, who was sweeping up the fallen leaves in the garden, paused. ‘ Tim,’ said he, * I want to speak to you. will you come into my study in a few minutes ?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said Tim; and went on sweeping, as Dr. Featherstone proceeded to the house Tim’s dull brain was not set thinking by this request. Dr. Featherstone often had him in his study, to explain something which he wanted done, bo he quietly completed his leaf-heap, and put by his broom and went in. Dr. Featherstone looked at the big fellow with more interest in his eye than usual, as Tim entered the room. Tim, by-the bye, had given up slouching now he had taken up a respectable avocation, although he had not regained the expression of face that had been his before he had seen the inside of a prison. 4 'I im,’ said Dr. Featherstone, with an air of wisdom which he had found out impressed the man greatly, 4 Tim, I am going to try and explain someth ng to you, oecause you can be of great use to me, and to a patient of mine, as well as to yourself, if you are willing.’ Tim placed himself in an attitude of attention and the Doctor proceeded. 4 A gentleman who has been under my care for so ne little time is now in such a state of weakness that medicine is useless. He seems to have no living blood in his veins, no vitality in his body. There is no life in him to be aroused ; he is now in a state of sync ipe—that is, he is quite unconscious—and I am afraid he will hardy live another day, unless I am enabled to try a last resource This resource is the actual mtr 'duction into his veins of s >me blood from the arm of a living man such a man as you, Tirn,’ said the Doctor, looking nt him with s me admiration in his cold eyes, 4 a man who e him d has plenty <>f life in it. and who has plenty of it to spare. I think a little blood-letting might improve your health, Tim ; you haven’t indulged in it, I think, since that memorable day on which I first saw you.’ The Doctor smiled, but Tim did not: he only looked attention ; so the Doctor proceeled. 4 Now it struck me you were the very man for the purpose ; twelve ounces of that red blood of yours ought to give mv patient a fresh lease of life. You shall have tea pounds down, Tim, if you will be ready to go with me to his house in a couple of hours,’ 4 Certainly, sir,’ said Tim. Ten pounds ! when had Tim possessed such a sum all at once? Kot even iu the old days when he was his uncle’s favourite. But the Doctor could afford to appear generous, in a small way, in the face of the fee which was held out to him by his rich paDenfc, who, in agonised terror at the thought (f approaching death, would have bartered his whole possessions for the chance of life. The Doctor knew very well that a tenpound note would be an event in Tim’s existence, and would put him into a propitious mood. And in this he calculate I well. While the Doctor had his dinner quietly, Tim went into the kitchen and regaled himself with unwonted joviality, and about seven in the evening, when the brougham waited a* the gate of the little suburban garden, both were ready. They drove into London, and stopped at a house in one of the most fashionable streets. Dr Featherstone and Tim entered; the Doctor turn'-d into the open dining-room, which Wis lighted, and apparently occupied by several gentlemen who were laughing and talking ami drinking wine This seemed a little odd to unsophisticated Tim, in the house of a dying man, as he stood in the hall and listened. (To he rnnfifivfid.)