LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1055, 14 November 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A DAY IN BRIAR WOOD.

( Concluded .) ' I am going before God new, and I’m no 4 , lit for it/ he mod, a shrieking tone, born of emotion, in ins weakening voiee. 4 Can there be any mercy for me ?’ The Squire seemed to feel it—-he has said so since—as oneof the most solemn mo nents of his life. He took off his spectacles—a habit of h s when much excited dropped them into his pocket, an 4 clasped hia hands together.

4 There’s mercy with the Lord Jesus always,’ he said, bending over the troubled face. *He pardoned the thief on the cross. He pardoned all who came to him. If you are Walter North, as they tell me, yon must know all this as well as I do. Lord God have mercy upon this poor dying man, for Christ’s sake!’

And perhaps the good lessons that North had learnt in childhood from his mother, for she was a good woman, came back to him then to comfurt him. He lifted hia own hands towards the skies, and half the terror went out of his face.

Somebody once said, I believe, that by standing stock still in the Strand, and staring at any given point, he could collect a crowd about him in no time. In the thronged thoroughfares of London that’s not to be surprised at; but what I’d like to know is this—how is it that people collect in deserts ? They do, and you must have seen it often. Before many minutes were over we had quite a levee : Sir John Whitney, William, and Featherston’s nephew ; three or four labourers from Vale Farm; Harry Vale, who had outran Featherston; and one of the tall sons of Colon*)1 Leonard. The latter, a yonng fellow with lazy limbs, a la/.y voice, and supercilious manner, strolled up, smacking a dog-whip.

‘ What’a the row here ?' cried he : and William Whitney told him. The man had been shot: by whom or by what means, whether wilfully or accidentally, remained to be discovered.

‘ bid you do it -or your brothers ? ’ asked Harry Vale of him in a low tone. And Leonard whirled round to face Vale with a haughty stare. * What the devil do you mean ? What should we want to shoot a tramp for V * Any way, you were pactising with pistols at your target over yonder this afternoon.’

Leonard did not condescend to reply. The words had angered him. By no possibility could a shot, aimed at their target, come into this direction. The dog.whip shook, as if he felt inclined to use it on Harry Vale for his insolent suggestion. ‘ Such a fuss over a tramp !’ cried Leonard to Sir John, not caring who heard him. * I daresay the fellow was caught thieving, and got served out for his pains. Look here!’

Catching hold of the bag to shake it, out tumbled a dead hen with ruffled feathers Sir John looked grave. Leonard held it up. 4 I thought so. It is still warm. He has stolen it from some poultry yard.’ I chanced to be standing close to North as Leonard said it, and felt a feeble twitch at my trousers. Poor North was trying to attract my attention ; gazing up at me ’with the most anxious face.

‘ No,’ said he, but he was almost too faint to speak now. ‘ No. Tell them, sir, No.’

But Harry Vale was already taking up the defence. ‘ You are wrong, JMr Herbert Leonard. I gave that hen myself t • Norch half an hour ago. Some little lads, my cousins, are at the farm to-day, and one of them accidentally killed the hen. Knowing our people would not care to use it, I called to North, who chanced to be passing at the time, and told him he might take it if he liked.’

A gleam of a smile, checked by a sob, passed over the poor man’s face. Things wear a different aspect to us in the hour of death from what they do in lusty life. It may be that North saw then that theft, even of a fowl, was theft, and felt glad to be released from the suspicion •'“•ir John looked as pleased as Punch; one does not like to hear wrong brought home to a dying man.

Leonard turned off indifferently, and strolled back across the held, clacking his whip ; and Featheraton came pelting up. The first thing the doctor did, when he had seen North’s face, was to take a phial and small glass out of his pocket, and give him something to drink. Next, he made a clean sweep of us all round, and knelt down to examine the wound, jo at as the poor gipsy wife, fetched by the child, appeared in sight. ‘ls there any hope ? ’ whispered the Squire. ‘ Hope ! ’ cried Featherston. * Injhalf an hour it will be over.*

‘God help him ! ’ prayed the Squire. ‘God pardon and take him ! ’ Well, well—that is about all there is to tell. Poor North died there as he Jay, in the twilight; his wife’s arm round his neck, and his little girl feebly clasped to him.

What an end to the bright and pleasant day. Sir John thanked Heaven openly that it was not we who had caused the calamity. , ‘ For somebody must have shot him, lads, he observed, *' though I daresay it was accidental. And it might have chanced to be one of you there’s no telling; you are not too cautious with your guns.

The ‘ somebody ’ turned out to be George Leonard. Harry Vale (who had strong suspicions) was right. When they dispersed after their target practising, one of them, George, went towards Briar Wood, his pistol loaded The thick trees afforde I a promising mark, he thought, and he carelessly let off the pistol at them. Whether he saw that he had shot a man was never known.; he denied it out and out: didn’t know one was there, he protested. A waggoner, passing homewards with his team, who had seen him fire the pistol, came forward to say so; or it might have been a mystery to the end. ‘ Accidental Death,’ dec : ded the jury at the inquest; but they recommended the supercilious young man (just as indifferent as his brothers) to take care what he fired at for the future Mr George did not take the rebuke kindly. For these sons had hard, bad natures ; and were doing their best to bring their father’s grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. JOHFFY Lvkxjw*