LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1386, 25 July 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

IVY. [" Cassell's Family Magazine."] {Concluded.) Chapter the Foueth. "somebody else." You know tliia is not a fairy iale ; if it were there would be nothing sad in it, for fairy tales are always happy, lid you ever know one that did not end happily ? The right people always marry each other, the good are rewarded, the wicked punished, the princesses disenchanted, the monsters turned into princes But my story is of rr.al life, and it is sad, and if you do not caro to hear a pad story do m>t road on, but stop here and imagine r, happy ending for yourself, stospy of real life cavi be without some sadness, and if you expected this to be a f dry tale, and therefore to end happily, I am afraid you will I e disappointed. I told you that Ivy had outgrown the fairy days, and that she had become an ordinary mortal in everyday life. (Do you remember no days in your life that now seem to you your brightest and happiest ? and were not those when you were an iauo cent and joyful child, living from moment to moment, with no sighs for the past, no longings for the future ? Ah ! you were happy then as you never wdl be again). Ivy's was very ordinary every-day life too, with the usual round of breakfast, luncheon, live o'clock tea, and dinner; letters and vsits to and drives, aud walks, and parties. And Christopher's coming home was just a little event in Ivy's world, that made a stir for the moment, and then faded into the past. It was not the Chris she had parted from seven years ago ; not the Curia whose pho-

tograph and letters she had kept for seven years ; not the Chris she had been so nearly married to one d-iy ; not the Chris who had sworn never to love anyone else, but to be faithful to her .ill his life. No ; it was anoth. r Chris who somehow impersonated him, who had his blue eyes and his ha;r, his smile and his voice—in fact, nil but his heart—and had come heme instead of bun.

Ivy's Chris. Ivy's own Chris, wa<» a Cbris of the past, wh/m she kept locked up in her heart, never to change.

I My poor little darling!' said Aunt May, who somehow understood it all.

Oh, Chris ! Chris! why did you ever come back ? Better that you had stayed on the other side of the sea, and let Ivy suppose you faithful to her, than that you should return so!

Before another j'ear had gone, Chris was again on his way to America, but not alone this time. Some one went with him, to whom he had bound himself by promises (such as he had once made to Ivy. ar.d broken) and a golden ring. And he left behind him, instead of a bright little maiden, full of joyous hope, smiling through her tears at his departure—a quiet, pale woman, with a pain at her heart, so deep down that few knew of it; a gentle, loving little woman, on who c e life he had (let us say unwillingly) cast a shadow that darkened it. I do not say that all the brightness was gone from it; she wa* too brave and unselfish for that: but she never found any one take the place of Chris in her true heart. And thus the years went on. Chapter the Fifth, "not so very long ago " More years have passed, even ten, since we last saw Ivy—years that she has lived quietly and uneventfully, with no great change in her life. I ought not to say uneventfully. What life is uneventful? for the smallest events sometimes influence our whole life, turning the whole course of the stream. But Ivy is still the same ; she has not changed; fair and «weet as ever, her name, nature, and circumstances are still the

same. Aunt May's children grow up around her, and there is one almost as fair, and sweet, and gentle as Ivy at her age, and she is Ivy's P p t. We do not find them at the castle again, though that is Rtill their home, hut away in the sunny South just those two, Ivy and Lily: because Lily, like the flower whose name she bears, is fragile and delicate, and must go where England's wintry f and damp caunot harm her; and Ivy—who better than Ivy oan care for her in the strange land where her mother cannot come ? A fair Italian city, and a bine Italian lake; a soft, eweet evening, and they are sitting together in the moonlight. 'Whatare you thinking of, Cousin Ivy ?' asked lily, looking uji into a pair of eyes like her own. Ivy smiled. ' I am thinking ' said she, 'of long ago, Lily—long, long ago.' And in truth a memory of long ago had risen to her mind—a memory of the dead past that had lain sleeping. Only a name she had heard had roused it—a name that long ago she had known and loved. She had heard it that day from the lips of a little child, a little fair-haired boy in deep mourn ing, who had made friends with her, and when she asked him his name, he said, '< hri-i," and then ran away, leaving her thinking, recalling, dreaming, and thus her little cousin found her- ' You are always thinking of ' long ago,' " said Lily, ' yet it cannot be so long ago, for you are not so very old.' Not so vry old, perhaps, in years, but old in evp'rionce of pain, of disappointment, of suffering, flow the sound of thai; name had brought it all back ! Instinctively she felt there was connection between the little child with that name, and him she had once known, and loved, and parted from ten years ago. And then she thought of the child's black clothes. Could it be ? Her heart beat fast; but his death should ba nothing to her. What right had she to dread to hear of it? it was another woman whose heart must achf, whose eyes must weep, not hers. She need not dread it; what difference could it make to her ? her life would not be changed by it. ?'ut she must know, she must hear it, she would hear it. * Now don't look so grave and sad, dear Cousin Ivy,' said Lily's voice again, * Talk to me. Don't sit thinking of long ago ; think of now.' 'I am thinking of now,' said Ivy. 'I am thinVing of that poor little boy, Lily, in such deep black :it must be for his father. He is a dear little fellow. Come, I think it is time to go in.' She propared herself to hear it, but she learnt that i'; was not Chris who had died, but his wife; and Chris himself was in the hotel with his little son, • I cannot be so long ago, for you are not so very old.' Het cousin's words rang in her ears. No, after all it was not so very long ago, and at thirty-four one need not consider oneself so very old. Ivy would have been no woman if the fact of Chris being free again, and under the same roof with her, and every chance existing of their meeting, had net raised up old feelings and revived old hopes. But they did not meet for several days. At last, one afternoon, just as she and Lily were returning from a walk, thoy saw a horse at the hotel door, and beside it a gentleman preparing to mount ; Ivy saw that it was Chris. His little son was near him, and he made some remark to him, which Ivy overheard, and then he sprang on his horse. He looked back and nodded to the child, and then rode slowly off. As he passed Ivy, his eye> rested for a moment on her face. Slowly a look of recognition came, he lifted his hat to be? and smiled his old sweet smile, and then he rode. 'Do you know him?' said Lily, 'that handsome man ? how funny I' 'Yes, I know him," said Ivy quietly. ' And be is t'ne father of the little boy.' Of course they met after that ! not only once or twice, but often, again and again. He sought her out, he made friends with Lily, they all three were great friends. They walked together, drove togt her, and spent many happy hours together. Whether it was that t.imo and trouble had softened him, Ivy knew not, but he fceemed now more like the Chris of old than he had seemed when he come home ten years ago. It wa« like the old time come back again, and Ivy was was almost as happy as she had be&n then. Her old feelings for him were rekindled; she felt young and light hearted again. And, almost unawares, there crept back into her heart the sunshine of a bright beautiful hope, that 'long ago'had dwelt there; and she knew that now, as then, she loved him, and with the same deep, true love—perhaps stronger —that had lived all these years, and now need never change or die. ****** Homo again ! When summer began in England they wove back again at the castle, and again 'ivy sat at the window and watched, for he had said ho would come, and she fancied herself back.aijain in her days of hope, and youth, and happiness, which Lily had said could not be so long ago. And when the day 3 were warm and bright, and the evenings sweet and moonlit, Chris came. I to'd you my story was a sad one, but perhaps you have thought that I was mistaken, and that you would find it end happily after all. Well, it is not too late now to turn back, if you would rather imagine Ivy happy at last. Do not even peep on any further. At least do not say I have not warned you. Chris is walking in the moonlight now, but it is not by Ivy's side, it is not roand Ivy he winds his ami, it is not in Ivy's ear he whispers lovingly, it is not Ivy's cheek he kisses tenderly. iTet the moonbeams fall as brightly on that pair. Ah, Chris ! what aro you doing ? 'I am so happy!' Lily says, throwing herself into her oousin's arms—her poor, loving, faithful cousin— little knowing how exquisite the pain she causes, whispering of her own new new : *lam so happy! he aaya he loves me.'