LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1396, 6 August 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MRS F.TZGFRALH.

By Frank Barrett,

( Conti nurd )

Mary prayed she might never again see her husband ; but Hcav n disregarded her prayers, and seemed minded to try how much one heart coukl suffer Before the el 'se of the holidays, Hednald Fitzgerald stumbled up-stairs and lurched into his •wife’s orderly little room, drunk. He was dressed now in the very unbecoming undress uniform of the 1 oudon Militia. His boots were very Blusher ; his jacket was beerstained and d’rty ; and his cap was tilted on the hack of his head instead of the side, which is the natural position of the military headdress.

‘ I wish you would not live so high np, Mary,’ he said, in a tone of mild rebuke ‘ These stairs are very inconvenient to a military man when he's been —been—been— feasting.’ * What do you want, Reginald ?’ ‘ There now, that’s so like you women — always so good natured and kind. Come to the point at once, without any ’dulous beating about the bush. Since you wish to know what I want, I will tell j ou—can refuse a female nothing I want you, if you’ll be so good, to lend me fourpence. A ’ticklar friend of mine advanced mo small sum to buy a little refreshment, and now he wants it back again for same purpose. Debt of honor, Mrs Fitzgeld, which I should like to discharge at once, as my friend’s a heavy man. Avoid bloodshed if possible, is my principle as military man.’ ‘ You promised to come here no more.l ‘ I did, Mrs Fitzgeld ; but nccessitas non hahet leges, —oh, I know Latin. I’m a gen’lman and a scholar, though I am compelled by adverse circumstances to accept her Majesty’s kit and bounty, and risk my life in the service of my country for a ’diculously small remuneration.’

‘ What have you done with the notes ?’

‘Lost ’em, every blessed one. Imprudently taking a little refreshment with a friend unworthy of the name, I partially lost consciousness under social influences, and my friend took advantage of the c’mstances and the hank notes at the same time. If I meet him again and recognise his features. lie shall restore them.’

‘What is that noise?’ asked Mary, in allusion to a noise on the stairs, similar to that which had preceded Fitzgerald’s entrance.

‘ Daresay it’s my friend—friend that advanced me fourpence. * ‘ He shall not come in hero ’ ‘ ’Course he shan’t.'

Fitzgerald rose, and opening the door, cried, *ls that you, Thomas!’ ‘ Yes, it is me- number 39, and I want my joey.’ ‘Go down. This is a lady’s apartment, and she says you most not came in here. Go down. Tom, there's a good man.’ ‘Can’t go down back’ards ’ remonstrated ‘ r homa.s. ‘ Must come up and turn round,’ ‘ Turn round tideways,’ suggested Fitzgerald. “'ialto this sixpence and show him the way,’ said Mary eagerly ‘Anything to oblige a lady. I haven’t any change.’

* Never mind ’ ‘ Oh, this is indeed kind ! Never trouble you again, ’poumyword Stop where you are, 1 homas. What a thing ignorance is ! Poor uneducated man, let me show you how to turn round sideways.’ George Montey told Mary she should not have given money to her husband He would certainly come again when he was drunk and wanting money. ‘ Hend for me next time he applies to yon. When he finds it useless to make demands, he will cease to trouble you.’ It was not long after that that the landlady’s daughter summoned George to Mrs Fitzgerald’s assistance Me arrived to find her husband and his friend both in Mary’s apartment, the latter lying speechless on the floor. Fitzgerald resented interference, swore he had a light to remain, and refused to go. A policeman was sent for, and friend Thomas was with difficulty removed. Reginald Fitzgerald was in that state of intoxication when the disposition fluctuates between maudlin good humour and savage ferocity. At one moment he declared he would go quietly and return no more; in the next he swore he would stay and not move for a hundred policemen. Had ha shot Mexican bullies to bo frightened by blackooated English gentlemen ? He had killed representatives of many nations, and ho failed to see why England should not contribute her share of victims to his hand. As he talked of violenee his excitement grew. He staggered about the room, and all the evil passions of his nature appeared in his face. When the t ead of the returning policeman w«*s heard upon the stair, he hastily unbuckled his belt and s‘rrde toward* the door. Mary screamed with terror. George Montey stepped quickly forward, and, catching Fitzgerald by the waist, threw him upon his back; but the man, possessed with the abnormal strength of a maniac, disengaged himself from Montey s arm°, got upon his feet, and caught up a chair and dashed it at Montey. It was light, and George fending his head with his arm. was not greatly injured; but the missle turned as : de, fell upon Mary’s cheffonier. scattering the little gimc-acks there The sound of the smashing furniture was a suggesti n to the infuriated Fitzgerald, and dashing his fist through the glazed door of the bookcase, he wrenched it open and tore down the shelves. But now Montey and the policeman grappled with him, aid presently carried him away. •t was left to the policeman to charge the men with being drunk and disorderly, and ho<h were looked up iu default of paying the fine, A messenger took a note from Fitzgerald to his wife, in which he told her that he was penitent; that all he wanted in Ibis wor’d was her forgiveness and five shillings to save him from th« infamy of imprisonment. ■ nee more the wife was perplexed, and hal ed between the promptings of instinct and the dictate of reason. George was not there to bid her be wise, so she sent the required five shillings The next morning quite early—she had not finished her breakfast—there was a tap upon her door. She rose trembling with fear, and opening the door perceived her husband standing outside, his cap iu one hand and a carpenter's bag of tools in the other. ‘ I am ashamed to look you in the face,’ he said abjectly. ‘ I’m regular cut up, with that glass door for one thing and remorse for another.’ He held up his hand, which wrs swathed in rag. * Serves me right, ’ ‘lf you are sorry for what you have done, you will have the grace to leave me now, ’ said Mary.

‘ I’ll go away if you tell me to, Mary. But I came to do what I could in reparation of the injury I have done; just to show you that I have a little goodness in me, that I’m not a’together a right ou'-md-out bad lot. Didn’t I say that 1 always have respected wonv n ? I never lifted my hand acainst you, drank as I was. And this last act of v urs this fetching me out of prison when I was at my worst, ha’ got hold of me wonderfully. I think it was that as much as this d (heg y ur par ion), blessed pain in my hand that kept me awake through the night, I do. I shall he so glad if you will just let me show what I can do.’

* What do yon wan’. ?’ ‘ Well, you see, Mary,’Fitzgerald spoke, in a drawling hang-dog manner, suitable to his looks, still standing in the shadow outside the door, ‘I was always a clever man, too clever —that’s what got me into mischief. I was clever with my pen, at billiards, at; thurible rig -I mean dominoes, and at nearly everything where genius and talent are required. But out in the scattered settlements nf the West, intellectual cleverness is at a discount, and mere manual dexterity at a premium, I became a handy man and a household treasure. I was always doing lit le jobs for the women folk ; for somehow I never could help being g ’-od and kind to a woman.’

• Ah !’ exclaimed Mary, in disgust, ‘You don’t know me, Mrs Fitzgerald. You see. I tell you I reverence and ad ro women, if they’re good, and most all of ’em are. Well, I b ing so handy with my hands, I thought 1 would just borrow some tools and come and repur the furniture, which perhaps I unsettled in an inadvertent moment; that is, if you would be so kind as to let me do so.’

If Mary had refused to forgive this repentent sinner she w u'd have ceased to be hemic. She suffered him to show his contrifi m, and was rvwardeded by seeing tin man g-ow enthusiastic in his good purpose, He sa ; d nothing about his hand though it puined him; he said nothing about his thirst, though it parched him ; but he hammered and 'crewed, and scraped and puttied, and fins’ly swept up his chips in a dustpan, never ceasing to work until at

eng h he was able to say, as he regarded his work with an eye of satisfaction, There, I think that’s a good job.’ (To ho continued )