LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1202, 10 January 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

FOUND IN THE SNOW. Paut I.

' Guess again, Mrs Baker.' 1 1 can't. I never was a good one at guessin'. A Chrihtmas present 1 Maybe it's a turkey, sir ?' ' JS'o, nor a goose.' ' Alive, did you say, sir ?' ' Yes, as alive as you or I at this moment.'

' And you found it in the snow V ' Yes ; in the archway leading from the street. You like children, don't you, Mrs Baker? Tattle girls, especially about four years old':' ' Lawks a merssy, sir! You put all over in a tremble. Likes children! In a way, I do—and girls—' But here poor Mrs Baker threw her apron over her head, and began to sob. Mr Carlyon laid his hand gently on her arm.

' Don't give way so, Mrs Baker, but listen. When I saw the little creature, lying half covered with snow, that had drifted on to the doorstep, I thought of your little Bessie, who died last year, and I lifted the mite up, and brought her home. She is lying on my couch in my sitting-room, Will you come up to her ?' The good landlady got up and followed her lodger to the first floor. ' Poor lamb !' Bhe murmured, as she knelt down by the little child, a tiny mite, with flaxen hair all knotted and tangled, and a pretty face, that would be white when it was washed, and all the covering, a little red patched frock and slip. * Did you give her anythin', sir ?' ' A spoonful of weak brandy and milk. She was almost insensible with the cold,' said Mr Carlyon, in a whisper, for the little one had fallen into a sleep. Mrs Baker, however, insisted that she should be aroused, and began rubbing the poor little waif's hands rapidly. •She'll maybe never wake again, Mr Carlyon, if we let her sleep.' The action roused the child, who looked about her, and stared with surprise. But there was no fear in the large blue eyes ; only a look of wonder. First at the large fire that was burning brightly ; then at the pictures on the walls, her eyes resting finally on a large photograph of the ' Angel of Death' bearing away a little child in its arms. Then she gave a deep sigh, and looked at Mr Carlyon and Mrs Baker.

' I t'ought it was heaven ; but there's no pictures in heaven.' ' Bless the child! you're right enough ; 'taint heaven, though it's as nice a room as is to be seen in all this part, an' Mr. Carlyon hisself says so.' 'l'm so sorry! said the child, sighing again. ' Sorry ! Now what for, my pretty one 1 That you've found a nice shelter ?' ' I t'ought, when I lied down on the steps, an' the stars were lookin' at me an' s'nin', that they were comin' to fetch me away, up to heaven, you know, where father told me mother had gone.' James Carlyon moved away, and left the two to talk alone, though he could hear every word that was said. ' And your father, what was he about, to let you wander in the streets this time o' night, dearie ? ' ' He's gone to heaven too. He went away one morning—oh, so long, long ago!-and they brought him back in a big black box. Mrs Carter says he's put in a dark hole ; but I know better, he's gone to mamma.' ' An' who's Mrs Carter ?' The child shivered and looked round in terror.

'She—she's father's wife-Mrs Carter—and she didn't like me, because she said I was always in her way. An' she used to beat me. Oh, so hard! See here.' ' No, no, don't show me!' moaned the poor womam ' I can't look at it. omy poor Bessie ! if you'd only come back to me!' ' Bessie ! who's Bessie ?' asked the child tenderly. 'Never mind,' said Mrs Baker; 'l'll tell you another time.' ' Poor t'ing! I'm so sorry. I won't s'ow you my sore places. But she beat me, an' wouldn't give me any bread, that I ran all the way, an' walked an' walked till I came near the shops an' the streets. An' I didn't eat any thin' from yesterday.' • God be good to us !' said Mrs Baker, rising quickly and giving her some more milk. • Take care, Mrs Baker,' said her lodger; • you must administer very small doses at first.'

' Leave it to me, sir. I knows all about it. An' now, dearie, I'll carry you downstairs with me. You shall have a nice warm little bed all to yourself, where my Bessie used to sleep ' ' Oome up to me when you have put her to bed, Mrs Baker. Wo must have a talk over what is to be done with the little maid.'

' You won't let the gentleman send me away from you ? I'll be so good, if you'll keep me !' pleaded the child, as Mrs Baker lifted her up to carry her down-stairs. ' No, my poor lamb, you shan't be taken away, as long as Elizabeth Baker has a voice in the matter and a crust in the cupboard. Say good-night to the gentleman as brought you. A nice Christmas present truly ! May the Lord be good to me I If my Bessie had lived, and been in such a plight!' she said to herself, as she carried the child dow into her snug kitchen. « Well, Mrs Baker, I hope you have forgiven me for bringing such a present to you on Christmas-eve.' ' 'Tain't forgivin' in the qustion, sir. When you knocked at my door, I was greetin' for my lost Bessie, and the child seemed to come straight from the Lord. It would make your heart bleed, 6ir, to see her little bones, and the marks that Jezebel. Mrs Carter, has made upon her. It's nothin' less nor murder. She did her best to kill the child outright.' • Where do you think she comes from ?' • I should say from the north of London, somewhere, poor lamb. Anyhow, Mr Carlyon, you've brought her to mo, and 1 intend keepin' her, an' bringin' her up as my own.' • Very well, Mrs Baker, just as you like. I confess it would have been an awkward charge for a young man of my age, not twenty-one yet, to mind a little girl.' 'True enough.' 'My good character might have been, called into question,' he added laughingly. ' I am dining at home to-morrow, and hope you will have something i* l *^ e shape of a

Christmas dinner for me. Stop, Mrs Baker, you haven't had my Christmas present yet;' and he handed an envelope to his landlady the contents of which made her eyv glisten when she got down into the kitchen. 'Five pounds and a little child! Well, it's a rare Christmas find for Betsy Baker.' Little Amy Carter grew up iDto a beautiful girl. Mrs Baker declared, however, privately, she was not like other children, and that there was something uncommon about her. ' Leastways,' she would add, not like ordinary folk's children. She's never happy unless she's wi' a book in her hand; an' whenever she can get the chance, she's up in your room, sir, looking at your books. But, for all that, she's a real help to me, and does more nor I wish her to do.' ' How old is she now, do you think ?' 'About eleven I should say. It's nigh six years since you found her, Mr Carlyon.' ' What do you say to sending her to a school ?' You wouldn't take her away from me ?' said the good woman, in a fright. ' Well, not if you don't wish to part with her. Still she ought to be learning, like other children of her age, now.' ' Bless you, Mr Carlyon, she knows a deal more than other gals ! You should hear her talk; but there, you do hear her.' ' I tell you Jwhat, Mrs Baker, we'll try and find some young lady to teach her.' y To be continued.)

Japanese Enjoyments.—Music, dancingand the theatres (says Macfarlane) are favo, rite amusements with all classes of JapaneseMummers and mountebanks paraded the streets. Tumblers, conjurers, and all manners of jugglers exercise their callings to the great delight of the common people. We do not see any mention of Punch; but, as that mysterious personage—that great universality—flourishes in China, and has been traced in Tartary and all through the Asiatic continent to the Bosphorous and Constantinople, there can be little doubt that he has some modified form of existence in the island of Japan. Besides thronging the public theatres, the Japanese very frequently get up plays and farces among themselves in their own houses. Private theatricals, indeed, seem to be more fashionable with them than with us. Fun and drollery appear to be very liberally diffused. Their beggars are merry rogues. The mendicants exhibit touches of humour; a troop apparently of "halt, lame, and blind," will one moment solicit alms in doleful strains, and the next, throwing off disguise, leap about and chant merrily, in return for the guerdon that may have been bestowed on them ; or, calculating that they are more likely to gain their object by mirth than by persisting in the assumption of distress the unreality of which can be easily detected. During fine weather, junketing parties in the countries are universal. The more wealthy place themselves under the direction of a professional master of the ceremonies. He amuses the company by retailing the tattle of the town, by his "squibs and cranks, "and by a certain degree of buffoonery. Yet, should any of the party, in the exuberance of their spirits, encroach on decorum, he immediately interposes his authority, and is implicitly obeyed. Their theatrical entertainments are said to be far superior to those of the Chinese in respect to scenery, costume, and decoration. Their theatres have usually three tiers of boxes, in the front of which all the ladies who are young and pretty, or fancy themselves so, take care to show themselves. The milliners of London might derive great benefit if our beau monde would only adopt a Japanese fashion during the opera season. "The ladies," says M. Fischar, " who frequent the theatre, make a point of changing their dress two or three times during the representation, in order to display the richness of their ward'obe ; and tney are always attended by servants who carry the necessary articles of dress for the purpo»e/