LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1462, 23 October 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AN EPISODE AT BLAOKOANG CHINE. ' '• By the Authop, os- ‘Mauley Cattle, 1 ‘-Cojk.baehs,’ Etc, f Continued .) But to return to the night—l must admit that it was not only warm, but exceedingly bright and fine as well, and with such an affluence of light that even the most minute objects were distinctly visible, while as for the full moon, it looked—as papal. Of course, I could say that it was ‘ cold ’ and ‘round,’ like a ‘silver shield,’ and an ‘ isle of the blest,’ &a, as well as others, if I chose ; but the old man who lives in it has so often had his residence described that b fancy he will esteem my reticence of imagery rather as a compliment than Qthegwkze, so I forbear. Now from the moment we started I noticed that was not in her usual good spirits this evening. In fact she seemed so absent i and distraite that I at last began to fancy i that she must haye something to tell me which she waa reluctant to communicate. But, then, what the deuce oould it be '! I asked myself; for she had no relatives to trouble her, and her position in the world was almost as isolated as my own. However, before I had time to answer this question satisfactorily she opened fire herself by infouning me that she had just received a foreign letter, and asking me to guess from whom it came. Of course the solution of suc, * question quite transcended my powers ; so she then told me that it was from her uncle, who waa oa i-is way home from Jamaica, and who, being a childless widower, had i written to say that she must come and live with him, and keep house for him for the future. ‘ Well ?’ I said ; and very thankful I felt that I had thought of so short a word with which to fill up the hiatus : for I was so utterly stultified and astonished by tbi* most unexpected news that T knew 4 should have floundered hopelessly if I had ventured on anything lengthy ov dkjayjjabic. ‘ Oh, of course 1 sqall have to do it,’ she lowered. ‘ Ami do you like the idea of it ?" I asked. ‘Not at all; for ui’ule Will was always extremely croast and sour,’ she said ; ' aud it’s not likely that his temper has grown any i letter/ '

‘ Thou why do you intend complying with his request ?’ I inquired. ‘For very cogent reasons,’ she replied somewhat sadly; ‘I am not in a position to refuse so good an offer.’ Not in a position 1 Hero was a revelation indeed. Then she was still poor ; and what a chance it was for me ! For surely under existing circumstances nothing could be pleasanter than to devote my useless wealth to making her comfortable for tie rest of her life. You see since I had grown older and wiser my views on the subject of matrimony had been modified a good deal ; and often latterly, especially since 1 had come to Blackgang, I had not only called myself an ass for not having gone in for her in the days of my youth, but also felt that I had thus cheated myself out of many happy years by my own folly. Now, however, an opportunity was afforded me, by her own chance admission, of making a tardy amende, but how to set about making it was the question ; and one, too, involving a difficulty out of which I could not in the least see my way. Yes, reader, strange as it may seem, I swear it is nevertheless perfectly true that I, a goldmedal man, who was supposed to know all about quarternions and transcendental mathemathics, who had the reputation at Oxford of being an acute dialectician, a profound thinker, and all the rest of it, and who really was a very tolerable linguist, had no more idea of how I ought to convey my wishes and feelings to the little woman by my side (and she was not by any means a formidable little woman either) than I had of how to make a wig on my head. Meanwhile, I was so long silent, pondering over and speculating about this puzzling matter, that Maida, thinking I had fallen asleep, at length roused mo from my reverie by bidding me ‘Good night.’ Whereupon I said that I was not asleep, and that I had only been thinking. * Of what ?’ she asked.

‘ About you,’ I answered. * Well,’ she said, *of course I think you couldn’t have a better subject. But what was the nature of your thoughts P’ ‘ I was just thinking how little use my fortune was to me, and wishing you would let me share it with you.’ There, the words were said at last; and surely a more abrupt and uneloquent proposal never was made I Furthermore, it left her in the dark as to my real meaning, too j for she exclaimed, ‘ What! endow mo like a charitable institution ? My dear Amory, you are very kind to think of such a thing ; but I’m afraid it would’nt quite do,’ ‘ I didn't mean that,’ I said hurriedly; ‘I meant—that is—l—but—only— ’ ‘ Why, Amory, you are growing positively incoherent 1’ she cried. ‘Has the moon anything to do with it ? What can you mean, or want to say ?’

‘ That I shall he so lonely when you are gone, and that I wish you would stay with me always— ’ But when I had got thus far, the real state of the case having dawned upon her, instead of answering she burst into such a hearty laugh that I felt quite nettled, and, if the truth must be told, rather hurt too.

* Good Heavens ! you surely don’t mean that!’ she exclaimed, as soon as she wag able to speak once more * Exouse me for laughing ; but the idea is sq ludicrous that I cannot help it.’ * Oh, I know, of course, I was presumptuous, ’ I was beginning—for by this time I was reajly angry as well as hurt—when she interrupted me by saying, ‘ Now, Amory, you mustn’t be sarcastic ; and you know very well it’s not a case of presumption, but merely of unsuitability, ’ ‘ In what way ?’ I asked, in a tone which was rather below freezing point; for I had felt so perfectly certain that my offer would be accepted with joy and gladness that the fact of its being laughed to scorn in such a manner mortified me extremely, ‘ I hardly know how to describe it to you,’ she returned ; ‘ but yon would not satisfy mo at all, because you have got such a cold heart. The mild preference, which is all you aye capable of feeling, would’t content me the least in the world. ’

‘ How do you know what I am capable of feeling ?’ I then said ; ‘ and it seems to me you have been thinking a good deal about marrying again,’ ‘On the contrary, I don’t think I ever shall marry,’ she rejeiued. ‘For me to marry again would be really the triumph of hope over experience ; and X assure you I never will do so until X meet a man who loves me with th# most exclusive and rapturous devotion, and who firmly believes only one nice woman in the world, and he has got her-meaning myself. No, Amory, I am very fond of you as a friend, but you wouldn’t at all suit my taste as a lover; besides, it would be a thousand pities for you to spoil yourself by marrying ; you are much nicer as you are. And now I hear the others coming towards ns, so I thiv\h we h a d better go and meet them.’ Saying which, she rose and I rose, and as in a few momenta more the rest of the party had joined na, our moonlight tcte-a-tetc thus cam© to an abrupt conclusion; When we met at breakfast the next morning I noticed that Maida colored as we shook hands, and I certainly felt rather awkward also. But though I started with being silent and glum, and really did feel both out of humor and out of spirits, there was no resisting the effect of her sparkling gaiety ; and owing to \ha efforts she made to dissipate my gloom I certainly did brighten up aft r ?i. a time ; though she could not succeed in banishing care from my heart, or in, making mo forget either the summary way in which she had rejected me, or that X was so soon to lose her society, whjch had become so necessary to that what I should do without it when she was gone I could not imagine. However, no time had been fixed Xor her departure, which was still comparatively in the distance, and of course something might yot happen to prevent her going at all; for instance, the vessel in which the ogre was coming over might go down ; so I accordingly resolved to think only of, and live only in the present; and I did so, enjoy, ing those last days with that superadded zest which we always leel in reference to any precious possesion which we know we are about to lope. But I was at last rudely awakenec\ from my dream; for one day about the middle of October a telegram came from Maida’s terrible relative informing her that he had arrived in Bondon, and begging that she would join him there without delay, as I*6 wanted her to help him in selecting a, house. 'Xhijs was indeed a blow to me; but I was too. proud to let her see how I suffered; and, as if by mutual consent, both she and I avoided the subject of her departure all through the day. That evening, however, when I went in to talk to her in aunt Jane’s little sitting-room—the old lady had gone to bed with a headache—she told me she was obliged to leave so early in the morning that she would have started before I was up, I being still so much of an invalid that I never rose before nine o'clock*

‘ Then I suppose I had better Upave you/ I said, *as of course you have a great deal of packing to do ?’ ‘Oh no ; pray don’t go yet I’ she cried. ‘ I havq over so much to say to you ; and ypV, knot? we are not likely to meet again A)v a long time, as of course you will be too lazy to come so far to see me/

This was an imputation on my activity certainly; but I had not energy or spirit enough to rebut it; and as I sat down once more in compliance with her request I asked myself could those be my pulses which were moving so fast ? could th'3 be my heart which was beating so violently against my waistcoat ? and, this really my usual calm unreliable self, or had I undergone nry metempsychosis before my time ? Yes, a,ll my wonted imperturbability was gone, and instead of being any longer the perfectly ropl hand which I had always hitherto prided myself on appearing, I was now as nerYous and discomposed as the veriest schoolboy as I waited for her to speak again. Indeed I must admit that I by no means distinguished myself as a conversationist that evening either ; and my replica were so very brief and inapposite that Maida at last said,

4 Well, Amo’—this was her old name for me —‘I certainly can’t congratulate you on the brilliancy and variety of your remarks to-night. Four times in succession you’ve said, ‘ That’s very pleasantand on one occasion it was when I was telling you how wretched I should bo when living with my unde.’

‘ Oh. it’s very easy for you to make jokes and talk coherently,’ I rejoined, somewhat savagely, * for you don’t mind ; but though you do not feel for me I cannot help feeling for myself, when I think of what I shall be to-morrow, and indeed for the rest of my life ’

But before I had time to finish my sentence she came over to me, and placing her hand on my shoulder, she said, ‘ Dear old friend, you wrong me ; if you were in need, sickness, or any other adversity, there is no one who would feel more or do more for you than I would, but I know you better than you know yourself; and though to-morrow may seem rather blank, after that you’ll begin to say, “Well, it is very pleasant to be quiet once more, and I’m rather glad that that plaguy little woman has gone. ” ’ And as the 4 plaguy little woman ’ said this she bent down her face, which was still fair and pleasant with the reflection of former beauty, and looked into mine as searchingly as though she expected to be able to read it like a book. But I interrupted her employment by saying that I was much disappointed in her, as I expected that she would at least have been sincere, ‘for,’l added, 4 you know perfectly that I shall never feel glad that you are gone. But your sex are always the same; you have made me like you too well, and now you laugh at me for doing so.’ 4 Self convicted !’ she exclaimed, in an entirely different tone. 4 You like me too well! How right I was all the time! Well, Atnory, I see it is growing late now, so I must dismiss you at last. I shall certainly write and tell you of my safe arrival ; and now good night and good bye.’ I took the hand which she extended to me, but instead of relinquishing it, I said, 4 ls this the correct way for old friends to part ?’ 4 1 think so,’ she answered. 4 1 cannot say about young people, for I had no tender partings in my own youth. Yon know I never was 4 in Arcadia but lam sure that the correct thing for old people like you and me is just to shake hands and say goodbye.’ (To be continued.)