LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VIII, Issue 1087, 22 December 1877, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE WRONG PICTURE. ‘ A pretty face ; a very pretty face, indeed !’ I turned the little photograph upside down, held it off at arm’s length to get a perspective view, and scrutinized it closely with my eye-glasses. Henry Wallis looked pleased; a man naturally likes to have his “ intended” admired and appreciated. ‘So this is the Bessie Armitage I have heard so much of! Really, Willis, she does credit to your taste. A blonde, I suppose ? ’ ‘ Fair as a lily leaf, with blue eyes and the sunniest golden air!’ It was all very well for Henry Wallis to go into estacies about his pallid, fair-haired little Bessie Armitage ; he had never met the glance of Cecilia Vernon’s magnificent dark eyes. Yet, after all, Henry was better off than I was ; for he was securely engaged to the dimpled, yellow-tressed little object of his affections, while I was yet, as it were, in outer darkness, uncertain whether my peerless Cecilia returned my ardent devotion, or whether she secretly inclined toward that unprincipled fellow, Hugh Trefoil. ‘ There is no sense in procrastinating matters any further,’ I said, half aloud, as I walked up and down the rather limited domains of my little study, ‘ I have been a doubting fool quite Jong enough.’ I’m afraid I wasn’t a very amiable member of the domestic circle that afternoon. * I think Paul is growing crosser every day,’ said my sister, shrugging her little plump shoulders. ‘ Mamma, I wish you’d speak to him.’ But my mother—bless her wise old soul ! —knew better than that. She only looked at me over the rims of her spectacles, and went on darning stockings. ‘ Paul is worried with authorship, I suppose,’ she said apologetically. ‘ Paul will I do well enough if you only let him alone.’

I went up to my room after dinner am" made an elaborate toilette ; but all tbe pain I bestowed upon it served only to heighten the general effect of my awkwardness.

‘ I’ve two minds to wait until to morrow, quoth I to myself, abruptly stopping, witl my cravat half tied. No; I might be a coward, but I was not such an unmitigated paltroon as that. 1 had begun the enterprise, and I would carry it through if it cost me the last drop of my heart’s blood. Moreover, I had an iuspira tion. An entirely new and original method of putting the momentous query had occurred to me. * Hang Hugh Trefoil !’ I exclaimed gleefully, half aloud, though there was no ear to hear my ejaculation. ‘ I’ll win the darkeyed treasure yet, in spite of him !’ I opened my writing-case, and carefully took out a little carte de visite wrapped in tissue paper, and tenderly laid it away with a pink silk perfume satchel that Minnie had made for me once. It was Cecilia’s picture ; she had allowed me to steal it away from her, with scarcely a remonstrance a week before. Then was the time I ought to have proposed; but, like a timorous, doubting moon-calf, as I was, I had let the golden tide of opportunity slip unimproved away from me. I drew Bessie Armitage’s vacant, doll-like face from its envelope, and compared the two with a thrill of triumph in my heart. ‘ Colorless water beside crimson, sparkling champagne ! a pale violet in the shadow of a royal rose ! pearls eclipsed by the fiery Hash of diamonds !’ I exclaimed. ‘ Henry Wallis’s taste may be very correct and classical, but give me my radiant brunette ! Those bleached out beauties don’t correspond with my ideal of perfection,’ It was a lovely spring evening as 1 entered the wide gravelled path that led up to the broad portico of the Vernon mansion. Mr Vernon sat there smoking his meerschaum. ‘ Won’tjyou sit down and have a smoke ?’ he demanded hospitably. ‘ It’s a real luxury to be able to take a whiff out of doors after being shut up in the house all the winter. Or may be you’d prefer going in to see Cecil V Sensible old gentleman, he had not forgotten his own young days. I intimated, not without considerable awkwardness, that the special object of my visit had been to ‘Cecil.’ ‘Well, she is in the parlor, all by herself,’ said he, good-humoredly, motioning me in, ‘ Walk in—walk in.’ Cecilia Vernon was sitting in the parlor alone, as her father had said, the bright centre of a cheerful circle of lamp light. A bit of crochet work was lying in her lap, and an open volume of poems—that I had sent his - was on the table. Cecilia Vernon was always lovely to look upon, in my sight ; to-night, however, she seemed more than ordinarily beautiful. I sat down, and began hesitatingly upon the never-failing topic of the weather. A proposal had seemed the easiest thing in the world as I walked along the dewy hedges of the peaceful starlighted road, contemplating it from afar off; but now that I was face to face with it, Alps upon Alps of difficulty and perplexity seemed to surround its accomplishment. I would have given all that I was worth to postpone the evil day but twenty four hours—all but my self-respect, and that was imperilled now, Cecilia tried her best to keep the ball of conversation in motion ; she introduced new subjects, asked leadingquestions, and feigned deep interest in the most abstruse topics. But even Cecilia couldn’t talk on for ever ; and with a little sigh of despair, she relapsed into silence. Now was the eventful moment] of my destiny. ‘ Cecilia!’ I said, softly. She raised the liquid brown eyes to mine. I I want to confide in you to-night. Have I your permission to speak ?’ ‘ Certainly, Mr Markham.’ ‘I am very much in love/lCecilia. In fact, my heart has long ago gone out of my possession into that of— ’ I stopped, with the fatal husky feeling in my throat. Cecilia was blushing divinely. I drew my chair close to hers, with the sensation of a man who has Just pulled the string of a cold shower-bath. ‘ VVho is the lady ?’ faltered Cecilia, as if she didn’t know perfectly well already, ‘ Shall I show you her picture, Cecilia ?’ Miss Vernon inclined her head almost to the level of my shoulder to look at the little carte de visit I drew from my pocket. I skilfully stole one arm around her waist, ‘See, dearest.’ But to my horror and dismay, she snatched her hand from my clasp, sprang up, and started away, like some fair avenging goddess. ‘ How dare you insultgme thus, Mr|Markham?’ ‘ Cecilia 1 How—what—’ ‘ Don’t presume to call mo Cecilia, sir !’ sobbed the indignant girl, bursting into tears and sweeping from the room. I sat like one palsied. What had I done ? Why was the gracious mood of my enchantress thus suddenly transformed to gall and bitterness? Surely she would presently return and apologise for her capricious exit ? But she did not |return ; and, after waiting long in vain, I sneaked out of a side door, and crept dejectedly home, my heart burning with wonder and resentment. I had no mind to meet the assembled family group; so 1 admitted myself with the latchkey and stole noiselessly up-stairs, where my lamp still burned—the lamp I had lighted with such high and bounding hopes. I threw off my coat viciously. As I did so, Jthe forgotten carte de visite dropped from my pocket. I stooped to pick it up. It was the portrait of Bessie Armitage ! And there on the mantel, where in my heedless haste I had left it, was |the divine countenance of my queen, Cecilia ! I had shown her the wrong photograph ! All was clear now. Her indignation and resentment the whole tangled web of mystery was unravelled now. I caught tip my hat to rush back to her; but at that moment the clock struck eleven ! It was too late now. All apology and explanation must be deferred until the morrow. And with a discontented spirit 1 sought my couch. Early the next morning 1 walked over to the old Vernon mansion ; but expeditious a? 1 was, Trefoil had been there before me. 1 met him coming whistling dow r u the walk, as self-possessed as ever. ‘ Good morning,’ I said, briefly, endea voring to pass him. But he detained me. ‘ Congratulate me, my dear fellow. lam the happiest man in the world. Cecilia Vernou has Just promised to be my wife.’

I stared blankly at him, and, with one or ;wo unintelligible murmurs, turned short round and went home again. My rival had unproved the propitious opportunity, and caught Cecilia’s heart in the rebound. Well —so goes the world, and I am a bachelor yet. There is but one Cicilia, and she, alas ! is married to Hugh Trefoil. Moral. —When you go courting, be certain whose picture it is that you are carrying next your heart.