LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1341, 1 June 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

FROM JOY TO SORROW. [“ Danbury News.”] Chapter I. This is a most dismal day, to be sure! Rain, nothing but rain, and the sullen, gray clouds above look as though no sunshine will ray out and gladden us. It is too bad that it is thus, especially as it is my seventeenth birthday. I wonder if I have changed any within the last year ? My little, mirror tells me I am considerably altere' , . What do I see in its mirrored depths ! A round face, rather brown than fair, a mouth that has caused me many a secret heart-pang —it is so large—a nose of the ao-so order, eyes of no particular color, and thick hair of rich brown. This is what my mirror has shown me all these years. Of l&te days, however, I have lookd into its depths expecting to meet the familiar expressions, ana I gaze and gaze, searchingly, intently, intently, but something strange and novel looks out of my eyes back at me. What is it ? Eyes of mine, please tell me why you reflect back that strange light! Pray, what may it be ? I wonder if it is in any manner connected with that young man I have sometimes seen when going to the village ? But I hardly think it can be.

Certes, he is very handsome. I feel it, although I have not yet dared to lift my eyes to his face and have one long look. Bow it rains I Hanging my head out of the casement under the overhanging lichencovered caves I watch in dreamy mood the rain as it falls in heavy drops on the beds of early da*sies in the garden below, Heigho ! Now, I suppose I muse run down stairs. What will Aunt Leah think of me if I am not down to help her with breakfast ? I did not think I should be back in my room so soon. Aunt Leah is very cross and out of tune this morning, and her sharp discords jar on my nerves, and do not well harmonise with the refrain that sings in my heart to day. I daresay Uncle Ssth’s telling her to make better bread in the future is the cause of her ill-temper. She ordered mo away, upstairs, anywhere ; and lam somewhat glad to hide myself. I confess frankly that I despise to wash dishes and sweep the dirty hearth neat and clean, I find it a genuine pleasure to be relieved of my usual formula this morning. Pity it is bad weather! If it were dry and fair I would go to the village and chat with Fanny Barrow. I fear I cannot do that, however, the road is so wet. I wonder what that strange gentleman is doing here ? Surely he must find it very dull here. His eyes are mournful in expression, but a gay, rollicking look would become them very much better, lam confident. He looks as if he had bad trouble, and had not yet rid himself of the gloom of it. I fear it is wicked for me to think so much and often of a man I do not even know. I shall banish him from my thoughts, pet mo see, what shall I think about ? About myself ? All right. I doubt if anything could be more interesting and charming.. As we sat down to breakfast, Uncle Seth laid his big red hand gently on my head, and gave me a tender look, ‘ Girl, this is your birthday, isn’t it ?’ he asked.

‘ Yes,’ I answered. ‘ How old s,ra you R*- ‘ Seventeen, Uncle Seth.’ ‘ Seventeen i Well, now, that is woman’s age, almost. And you’ve grown up very finely, niece. You will bo a splendid woman soon, mind that. What would you like for a gift ? Tell me. I’m certain you deserve one, for you are always gentle and good. I have never heard you complain. What will you have ?’ I blushed, and thought there was no one in the wide world as kind and gentle asjmy uncle.

'Undo Seth,’ I said, rising from my feet, and going round to him, ‘ i will take a kiss, if you please I’ ‘ II a 1 ha ‘ What a girl! There it is, dear! Good-bye !’ And he ran out of the room laughing. I felt him squeeze something in my hand as he went. Rather timidly I glanced at it. Lo I I beheld a new sovereign. Let me take it and look at it now. How it glitters 1 I should like to have one to spend every day. Fanny Barrow says with a whole sovereign one can purchase almost anything. I wonder

if I could buy me a dress ? There was a beauty at the haberdashery yesterday—a beautiful, thin, white stuff, flowered with pretty pink Mosaoms, I want something like that for Sundays, and I think I shall get it. Would Aunt Leah permit me to go out to-day in the rain? At any rate, I shall ask her ; she can but say nay to the wild proposal. ‘ Auntie I Auntie ! ’ I cried from my room door—l am half afraid to go down to her—- ‘ Will you please let me go out ?’ * Out ? What, in all this wet? Are you crazy, girl ?’ 1 Oh, I shall put on my goloshes and don the waterproof you gave me last Christmas. I cannot get wet so attired.’ * Well, yon may go. Wear your oldest dress and hat.’

I run back to my room joyfully. lam delighted at the prospect of a tramp in the mud and through the rain. lam speedily down stairs ready for the start, the shining sovereign securely knotted in a corner of my pocket handkerchief. ‘ Can I stop at Fanny Barrow’s ?’ I ask of my aunt as I take the huge cotton umbrella and open the door. * Yes, if you wish,’ Is her reply. Then lam off lam very glad to be out even if the rain does fall in blinding showers. I hurry along the road to the village. I pass the mile stone, almost overgrown by tall grass, by the side of a babbling brook. It was here that I saw the strange gentleman the other day. When I reach the village the sun gives a sudden start, rents the heavy, sullen, grey clouds asunder and comes out warm and bright. Despite my fears I am to have a pleasant birthday. I close my umbrella. I decide to go to the haberdasher’s before going to Fanny’s. Mr Ramble, the haberdasher, bows and smirks as I enter the shop, and overwhelms me with polite inquiries in regard to what I desire. I tell him, and he brings the goods and ho 1 da it up for my admiration. I buy it. I turn from his establishment with the fixed intention of crossing the village street to reach my friend’s house ; but I conclude instead to go into the churchyard and look at my father’s grave for a few moments. The sun’s warm rays have already dried the grave stones. My father’s grave is behind the church, out af sight and hearing of euerybody. I sit down on the head stone of an old lady who had rejoiced in the name of ‘Betsey Bonnet,’ and who, it seems, * Dy’d in 1800;’ rest my head on my hand begin to muse. I am fast drifting into the hazy realms of reverie, when I hear quick footfalls coming towards me. I glance up. The strange gentleman—the inti resting possessor of the * mournful eyes’—is standing at my aide. Why do I blush, snatch my bundle from where I deposited it and try to run away ? He stops, however, and gently pushes me to my seat on the old lady’s grave. ‘ Please do not run away,’ he says, and, oh I his voice is so grandly beautiful, * You need not feel afraid. Why, lam old enough to be your father, my child.’ I look at him quizically and smile. ‘Do you know how old lam? lam seventeen years old this very day.’ He laughs, bends forward, and looks in my face.

My eyes droop immediately. ‘ I did not take you to be so old as that,’ he says, * though that is very young. Do you know,’ he went on pleasantly, ‘ it seems to me that you resemble some one I knew.’ * And who was that ? ’ I demanded, most eagerly. Perhaps it is forward in me to demand it, but Ido not much care. I want to know who it is that I am like.

‘I mean a lady,’ he answered, hesitatingly; * You do not know her. She is dead. ’

I fancy there is a rebukiug sound in his exquisite voice j and I therefore feel somewhat piqued, so I rise, bundle in hand, to leave him.

4 Are you going ?’ he exclaims ruefully ; *Do stay a little longer! What can I say to make you sit again ? Nothing ?’ *1 am sure I do not know,’ I say, very much pleased with his pleading tone j * I must be going, sir I’ 4 Why hurry ? I want you to tell me all about this stupid, ugly place. Sit down, please ’ I obey him. 4 You call dear Leigh ugly, stupid !’ I crk, blankly; 4 Pray, why nre you here then ?’ He gazes at me a second or so before replying. ‘ I do not know why I came,’ he says finally; ‘I wanted rest, and consequently left town for a time.’ 4 Do you reside in a large place ? Is it as beautiful, as wonderful, as fall of people as the magazines say large places are ?! ‘I dare say it is all that,’ he replies, languidly ; 4 but I am tired of it. lam tired of it all!’ he murmurs wearily, gazing at the fleecy white clouds that hurry over the azure vault. ‘Tired !’ I ejaculate ; ‘Why I do not think I could be tired in a city. What is the name of the one you came from ?’ * London.’ * Is it much of a place ?’ I ask. He looks at me sumpreme surprise. Does he imagine I speak in fun ? I repeat my question. {To he continued.)