LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1053, 12 November 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A DAY IN BRIAR WOOD. (Continued.) 'lf it'a only a broomstick,' acquiesced Miss Deveen, ' or a man no better than one Yes, Helen, you are right .- and it has occasionally been done. But when we fly antagonistically in the teeth of circumstances, bent on following our own resolute path, we take ourselves out of | God's hands —and must reap the consequences.' ' I—do not—quite understand,' slowly spoke Helen. • Suppose I give you an instance of what I mean, my dear. Some years ago I knew a young lady ' • Is it t r ue ? What was her name ?' ' Certainly, it is true, every detail of it. As to her name —well, I do not see any reason why I should not tell it; her name was Eliza Lake. I knew her family very well indeed, was intimate with her mother. Eliza was the third daughter, and desperately eager to be married. Her chances came. The first olfer was eligible; but the two families could not agree about money matters, and it dropped through. The next olfer Eliza would not accept—it was from a widower with children, and she sent him to the right-about. The third went on smoothly uea'ly to the wedding clay, and a good and suitible match it would have been, but something occurred then very unpleasant, though 1 never knew the precise particulars. The bridegroom-to-be got into some trouble, or difficulty, had to quit his country hastily, and the marriage was broken off— was at an end. That was thelast offer she had, so far as I knew ; and the years went on. Eliza gadding out to parties, and flirting and coquetiiv-, all in the hope to get a husband. When ; she was in her thirtieth year, her mother • came to me one day in much distress and : perplexity. Eliza was taking the reins into her own hands, purposing to be married in i spite of her father, mother, and friends. Mrs Lake wanted me to talk to Eliza ; and I took an opportunity of doing so—freely. It is of no use to mince matters whm you want to save a girl from ruin. I recalled the past to her memory, saying that I believed, judging by that, Heaven, did not intend her to marry. I told her all the ill 1 had heard of the man she was now choosing ; that she had absolutely thrown herself at'him, and he had responded for the sake of the little money she possessed ; and that if she persisted in marrying him she would assuredly rue it. ' And what was her answer to you ? Helen spoke as if her breath were short. ' Just the reckless answer that a blinded, foolish pirl would make. ' Though Heaven and earth were against me, I would marry him, Miss Deveen. I am beyond the control of parents, brothers, sisters, friends; and I will not die an old maid to please any of you.' Those were the wilful words she used, I have never forgotten them ; and the next week she betook herself to church.' '■ Did the marriage turn out badly V 1 A v. it did. Could you expect anything else ? " Poor Eliza supped the cup of borrow to its dregs ; and ah 3 brought sorrow also on lier family. Thar, Heleu, is what I call taking oneself out of God's hands, and flyinf leterminately in tho face of what ia right, and aeeoaingly, and evidently appointed. ' You say yourself it ia hard not to he married,' quoth Helen. c No, I do not,' laughed Miss Deveen. ' J say that it appears hard to us when our <J*y* of vouth are'passing, and wa see our com pa-cna chosen xad ourseh:? left: Ut, rely

upon it, Helen, as we advance in years we acquiesce in the decree; many of us learning to be thankful for it.' ' And you young people little think what cause you have to be thankful for it,' cri< d Lady Whitney all in a heat. 'Marriage brings a peck of cares: and nobody knows what anxiety boys and girls entail until they have th"in.' Miss Deveen nodded emphatically. 'lt is very true. I would not exchange my present lot with that of the best wife in England ; believe that, or not, as yon will. Helen. Of all the different states this busy earth can produce, a lot such as mine is the mostexempt from trouble. And, my dear, if you are destined never to marry, you have a great deal more cause to be thankful than rebellious.' ' The other day, when you were preaching to us, you told us that trouble came for our benefit,' grumbled Helen, passing into rebellion forthwith. ' I remember it,' assented Miss Deveen, ' and very true it is. My heart has sickened before now at witnessing the troubles apparently unmerited, that some people, whether married or single, have to undergo ; and I might have been almost tempted to question the loving-kindness of Heaven, but for remembering that we must through much tribulation enter into the Kingdom.' Anna interrupted the silence that ensued. She came running up with a handful of wild roses and sweetbriur, gathered in the hedge b»dow. Miss Deveen took them, when offered to her, saying she thought of all iiowers the wild rose was the sweetest. ' How solemn you all look !' cried Anna. ' Don't we !' said Helen ' I have been having a lecture read to me.' « By whom ?' ' Everybody here—except Johnny Ludlow. And I am sure I hope he is edified. I wonder when tea is goiog to be ready!' ' Directly, I should say,' said Anna, ' for here comes Mrs Ness with the cups and saucers.

I ran forward to help her bring the things. Rednal's trim wife, a neat, active woman with green eyea and a baby in her arms, was following with plates of bread-and butter and cake, and the news that the kettle was "on tbe boil.'' Presently the table was spread ; and William, who had come back to us, took up the baby's whistle and blew a blast, prolonged and shrill The stragglers heard it, understood it wag the signal for their return, and came flocking in. The Squire and Sir John said they had been sitting under the trees and talking : our impression was, they had been sleeeping. The young Whitneys appeared in rarious stages of heat; Tod and Featherstone's nephew smelt of smoke. The first cups of tea had gore round, and Tod was m»king for Rednal's cottage with a notice that the bread-and-butter had come to an end, when I saw a delicate little fairhaired face peering at us from amid the trees. ' Halloa !' cried the Squire, catching sight of the face at the same moment. ' Who on earth's that V * It's the child we saw this morning—the gipsy's child,' exclaimed William Whitney. ' Here, you little one ! Stop ! Come here ! We only meant to give her a piece of cake: but the child ran off with a scared look and fleet step, and was lost in the trees. ' Senseless little thing !' cried Bill: and saw down to his tea again. ' But what a pretty child it was !' observed the Ma er. ' She put me in mind of Lena.' 'Why, Lena's oceans of years older,' said Helen, free with her remarks as usual. ' That child, from the glimpse I caught of her, can't be more than bve or six.' ' She is about seven, miss,' struck in Rednal's wife, -who had just come up with a fresh supply of tea. 'lt is nigh upon eight years since young W&lter North went off and got married.' 'Walter North!' repeated Sir John. • Who's Walter North ? Let nrj see. The name seems familiar to me.' ' Old Walter North was the parish schoolmaster over at Easton, sir. The aca turned out wild and bad; and at the time hg father died he went off and joined the >ipsics. They had used to encamp about here more than they do now, as Rednal could tel.you, Sir John ; and it was said young NortL was in love with a girl belonging to the tri»e Bertha Lee. Any way, they got marfed. Right-down beautiful she was—for a gipsj • aiid so young.' ♦ Then I suppose North and his wife are here now-if that's their child V remarked Sir John. | ' They are here sure enough, sir ; somewhere in the wood. Rednal has seen him about this day or two past. Two or three times they'll be here, pestering during the summer, and stop ten or twelve days. Maybe young North has a hankering after the old spots he was brought up in, and comes to see 'em,' suggestively added Rednal's wife ; whose tongue ran faster than any other two women's put together. And that's saying something. {To be continued.')