LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1284, 1 May 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

SUNSHINE AND SHADE. By F. Garrett. [Tinihy*] (Concluded.) Part V. Long years rolled by after this parting, bringing changes in their train. Quiet Jane Cantuare, in her turn, found a lover, who in due course carried his bride to her new home ; and soon after Mr Cantuare died, ' full of years and honour, 1 as was set forth in his funeral sermon, while his wife shortly after followed him to the grave. Mrs Dodson grew old as well. Time traced many wrinkles on her once fair fac?, and left a plentiful sprinkling of gray hairs among the brown ones. Much too of the strength and ardour of youth had vanished. She could look back now, almost calmly, on the long-past days; nay, she sometimes even marvelled how that one great early grief could have so possessed her. True, she had never loved her husband ; but the nature which was fretful and discontented under small provocations had a hidden spring of endurance to meet and grapple with a heavy sorrow. And as; days flew by she grew so accustomed to her chains that at last she almost ceased to feel them. Her old lover she had never seen since the day they parted ; but she still heard of him sometimes in an indirect way, and dear to her woman's heart were these stray tidings, telling, as they did, of a life of patient, noble, and active service. For Tom Hunton was not the man to be overmastered by his grief, or mourn in solitude and seclusion his b'ighted hopes. True, he left the navy, for the quiet routine of sea-life in peace was more than he could bear, but the Bystem of purchase in the sister service was still in use, so he bought a commission in a marching regiment ordered on active service to India, and for years he had been foremost in battle and skirmish, and had so held himself during the horrors of the Mutiny that his name was familiar in England as a ' household word.' Yet he never applied for leave to visit his native land; and gay young officers marvelled wherefore their famous senior never claimed his hardly-won holiday. Yet at last his well-sustained apathy was broken. One evening, Colonel Hunton, as he was called now, was sitting in his bungalow at a distant Indian station, when a parcel of papers and letters was brought to him, just arrived by the English mail. Among them was an old "Times," and the colonel, bronzed by exposure and wrinkled by bard service and the flight of years, adjusted his spectacles and prepared to begin his reading, as he always did —why, he could scarcely have told you—with the column devoted to births, marriages, and deaths. He had never found anything specially interesting in it before, but to-day, as he glanced slowly down the column, one short announcement caught his eye and riveted his attention. And this was the tiny paragraph :

' May 2nd, aged 70, John Brinsley Dodson, Esq.,'of Moat House, Standrop.'

Six months afterwards the colonel was a passenger by the English mail from Calcutta. It Jhad taken a long time, as it seemed to him, to obtain leave of absence and arrange for a lengthened holiday ; but the worry and waiting were over at last, and as he paced the deck of the noble vessel the foolish old heart, which even the weight of years could not still, was beating high with visions of a future which might yet be all brightness. The on-coming spring was awakening all Kature from her winter's sleep when Colonel Hunton landed again in old England. He remained a day or two in London until a letter could reach Mrs Dodson ; then, with out waiting her reply, he journeyed north to her home.

In the same room where long ago he had parted from her he waited to see her once more. She did not keep him long this time, for the door opened almost directly, and a gentle lady glided in and came up to him as he stood on the hearthrug. They were old people now ; but a vision of bygone days came to both of them as they gazed once more upon each other's altered faces.

Mrs Dodson laid her hand, the hand ■which bore her wedding-ring, on the colonel's arm.

* I am glad to s»e you again,' she said. His eye glanced an instant on the golden hoop which had been once an impassable barrier between them; then it travelled upwards to her widow's cap and rested there

' I have come for you, Mary. There is no let or hindrance now,' he whispered, as he drew her towards him. 'I have waited patiently all these years. You will not deny me now ?'

We will drop the curtain on these two foolish people. The actors have played out their parts, and the romance of two lives culminates for once in a quiet English home and a happy old age.

CHILDREN OBJECIED TO.

[Tinslcy.] « What I Going to marry ? Sure, you are jesting, cousin Augustus.' 1 No, cousin Austin, I am not jesting. The sweetest, brightest, dearest little girl has consented to make me unspeakably happy by bestowing upon me the blessing of her heart and hand ' 'Make you unspeakably happy—bestowing upon you the blessing of her heart and hand ! W hat ravings have we here ! lam beginning to be afraid it is a case with you, my poor Augustus. Why you seem to have gone clean daft.' * You will think quite differently, my dear Austin, when you have seen my darling. I must introduce you next Sunday. I reckon on you for best man on the interesting occasion. ' ' Best man, indeed ! No, no, Augustus ; put that out of your head. If you are bent upon making a fool of yourself, you must even be permitted to do so. It is no business of mine, and I ought not to trouble about it; only that we are brothers' children, and have been brought up together as brothers. But I have no hand in the fatal act. 'Oh, yes, you will, dear old cross-patch. I know you will gladly consent when my little fairy asks you in her irresistible sweet way.' ' If I do. I'll be—' 'Stop, stop ! no need to anticipate the sad future which may await lis, as poor aunt Jane used to say.' ' Well, never mind ! We shall see. As at present advised, I can tell yon I feel the reverse of inclined to act as best man, to sanction your folly. If I make so bold to ask j'ou, Master Augustus, who may this sweetest, dearest, brightest, &c, fairy be, to whom I am to be introduced next Sunday, and who is to persude me, willy nilly, to be your best man '! I hope, at least, she is an eligible match in the main point—the mopusses.' * She has not a doit, my boy, so far as I am aware of. She is governess to Lady Barton's children.' ' How ! A governess ? A penniless governess ! Augustus Smith, lam amazed at your folly! What! marry a pauper!' ' Never use that word again in connection with my bride, Austin, as you love me. I forgive ycu, as you are my nearest and de;ircst relative, and a good fellow in the main, with all your seeming show of ness. But I cannot permit even you to slight my darling. Why, man, she is "rich exceeding" in the highest gifts and most endearing charms of person aud mind. I am the pauper, if you will—l, with but poor advantages to boast of beyond the vile dro33 which —'

' She'll make tfy, my boy, I warrant you, like wild ducks and drakes —else she is no true daughter of Eve. Poor Augustus ! you'll soon be taught the cost of female finery and frippery—sweeping trains, my child, two yards" long ; and dresses no end of dresses—morning, luncheon, dinner, and

supper dresses; walking, carriage, racing, aud visiting dresses; evening, ball, opera, church, and—'

' Stop, stop—for gooduess sake, stop, Austin ! You are simply horrible. Let me tell, you that a more plainly and economically, yet withal more tastefully and charmingly, dressed girl than my darling Eiisa you would look for in vain anywhere.' 'Of course, I grant you. The poor governess is obliged to cut her attire according to her scanty stock of material. But you jast wait until she is Mrs Augustus Smith, and may freely plunge her dainty little hands into her fond husband's long purse, and you'll soon see what she'll do. And wouldn t she indulge in the feminine delight in sparkle—that's all! She is safe to go in for lots of diamonds and pearls, and precious stones of all cuts and colors. Depend on it, Augustus, " Surpassingly rich and rare Will be the gems she'll wear."

She'll make the mopusses dance like one o'clock, and poor Augustus Smith will have to pay the piper. Ah, cousin dear, believe me you'll find matrimony a bitter pill, the surface coating of honey once licked off—which proverbially it takes only one brief month to accomplish. Aloes, jalap, and oxgall compounded will be found as nothing compared to it. And then—ponder on this and tremble, my good fellow—in a few years you'll have a houseful of squalling brats.'

' Children, my dear Austin, children, if you please ; the highest and purest blessing bestowed upon mau by an all-bene'icient Providence —connecting links between our sinful selves and the aDgels.' ' Stuff and nonsense, Augustus! Unendurable plagues, you mean. I well remember, and sha'n't forget to the last day of my life, when, some years ago, I had slipped down [at Itutter's door, and sprained my ankle, and they kindly took me in, and I had to remain there a whole month lying on my back. I had ample occassion then, unfortunately, to enjoy the soothing charm of that blessed " connecting linkship" to considerably more than my heart's content, Those three young fiends of Itutter's made my life a perfect hell on earth. Let anybody ever catch me again at a trial of family life, and I'll give him full leave to tell me of it, and call me a fool.' ' You were nervously irritable at the time, my dear Austin. The poor children loved you dearly, they were so eager to liven you a bit.'

' Eager to liven me ! Humbug I They nearly finished me, I tell you. No, no. No children for me. Nasty brats 1 I will have none of them come near me. They shall never find their way into any house of mine. Why, Augustus, you ought to know that, in all agreements referring to the letting of houses on my Kensington estate, I make the absolute absence of children a condition precedent, as lawyers say. No, no, Master Augustus, no "connecting links" for me. I object to them even prospectively. There is a clause in all my agreements compelling the tenant to give up possession the instant he introduces a child into the place, to stay there even for one night, in whatever way or under whatever pretence. I'd rather have my houses stand empty than allow children in them. Thank God, I can afford it I'

'Well, well, Austin, have it your own way. We need not discuss this question. As I have some eligible houses of my own, I do not wish or want to rent any of your childless residences. All I wish of you at present is to let me introduce you on Sunday next to my charmer. Will you, now, dear Austin ? She is not a child, bear in mind, but a full-grown young beauty with most bewitching eyes, which I would advise you ut to brave too boldly—for fear of accident to your susceptible heart; for a susceptible heart you have, cousin Austin, I trow, in spite of all your cynical professions of superb indifference to female charms.'

'No danger of that, Augustus. lam proof against all charms and witcheries of the case. Bat a wilful man must have his own way, they say; so I suppose I must even let you introduce me to your fair enslaver. You may call for me on Sunday any time after eleven o'clock in the morning. I must bid you good-bye now, as I have business to attend to '

'All right, Austin. I knew you would not prove obdurate. Good-bye, old fellow.'

Augustus Smith and Austin Smith were first cousins. They were both young men about thirty, both of them orphans, with large fortunes left them by their deceased parents. Being thus well able to afford it, they both of them indulged in the fiction of business avocations in the City, which were strictly confined, however, to a few occasional operations on the Stock Exchange. They occupied offices on the same first fioor of West Australia Avenue, Leadenhall Btreet. This floor is reached by two staircases from opposite directions. There are ten offices on each side, but one of these, occupied by the superintendent of ths avenue, (is not numbered; the others run from 1 to 9, on the one, from 10 to 19 on the other side, so that when you oome up by one staircase ycu have No. 7, when you come up by the other staircase No. 17, the third door oa your left-hand side. No. 7 was occupied by Augustus, No. 17 by Austin Smith. ' Eliza dear ! can this be you ?' ' Dear Emily ! What a happy chance !' These were the words of greeting addressed to one another, with delighted surprise, by two ladies meeting accidentally before the Langham Hotel. They were both of them beautiful young women. The one, a charming blonde of about twenty or twenty-one, was dressed with extreme simplicity, in cheap materials, almost poorly, yet with an unmistakable stamp of elegance and refinement upon her. The other, a graceful brunette, a year or two older, was most expensively and fashionably attired. ' Eliza, dear,' cried the latter, casting a rapid pained glance of scrutiny over her friend's dress, ' I trust no misfortune has happened to you. How is this dear ? You, less than two short years ago, the undisputed leader of fashion in Saratoga, in this —disguise. And where have you been all this long time ? Why have you been hiding from your friends ?' 'O, Emily dear,' cried the other, leaving the question unanswered, ' I am so pleased, oh, so pleased, at this unexpected meeting ! You spring up in the very nick of time, like a veritable dea ex machina to me. Dearest, never before in my life was I in such need of a trusty friend and confidante.' ' You are in trouble then, poor child I But the street is not the place for an interchange of confidences. Come up to my apartments. I am staying here, at the Langham,' ' Yes, I am in sore trouble, dear,' said the one addressed as Eliza, when, a minute after, they were comfortably seated in an elegant boudoir ; * but not in the way you seem to suspect. This is indeed a disguise,' glancing at her dress ; ' and my present trouble ia that I should ever have put it on. I must tsll you all about it from the beginning, dearest Emily. You know it had always been ucderstood that my father's great wealth would be left to my younger brothers and my stepmother; and that I had to expect nothing beyond the ten thousand dollars left me by my own mother. Poor dear father, it would appear, had acted in this with a prudent view to shield me from the obsessions of fortune-hunters. Well, when it turned out after his death that he had made an equal division of his estate among my stepmother, the two boys, and myself, and that I was heiress to half a million in my right, suitors crowded in upon me from all sides. I felt bitterly annoyed and offended by their interested professions of admiration and their cavetous protestations of devoted attachment, and I shortly resolved to give the whole pack of them the slip, to try in some other part of the world, where I was unknown, whether I might meet with some one whom I could love, and who would love me for my own self alone. So I came to London, I have been staying now nine months as governess in the family of a rich alderman.' (To be continued.)