LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1537, 21 January 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MASTER OF THE GOLDEN HOUSE. ["London Society."] (Qwtmued.) ' I think that sketch will do, mother.' ', Yea, dearest; it is very pretty.' ' I wonder if I should be able to sell it.' 1 1 almost think you would, Nellie You have taken great pains, and improved very much.' ' Do you know, mother, I rather wish that we were rich people ?' 'lt is of no use wishing, dearest. We must make up our minds to be quite poor people, perhaps struggling people.' 1 1 hope it is not wrong to wish we were better (ff; at least that we were as well off as when poor father was living.' ' I am not sure that it is not wrong, dearest. I have heard it paid that there is nothing so sweet as an accepted sorrow. That is to say, that when we find ourselves in a trying position, to make sure that it is for some wise good purpose, and to do our best in it. Then things often come rigit in a wonderful way. How could I bear things as they are, darling, unless I had such a belief V I thought I distinguished a sound, as of the rustling and mingling of delicate raiment, a meeting of matron and maiden kisses, and Ittle cob.

Thou the clear young voice broke forth again. ' How exquisite are these water-lilies, mother ! I think I must put them iu a corner of my sketch.'

I should have left the shelter of my creek, only there was a silence, during which I judged that the sketching was going on. ' Your poor father told me once that he dreamt an angel stood by him and said, ' Consider the Mies.' He felt sure that there were flowers in heaven.'

'"Pure lilies of eternal peace,"' murmured the girl. I recognised the line from one of my fa - 'oritee poems.

I now took up the oars and prepared to push off from the shore. As I was doing so, the young lady said, in quite an altered voice (it was wonderful how she went from pen serosa to allegro),

' I wonder if that advertisement will ever come to any good.' 'lt was a very curious advertisement, my dear '

'I have a greifc impression, mother,' with a merry laugh, ' that this will make our fortunes yet. I am sure I often hea'd papa oay that he came from this family.' ' I fancy so too, my dear. But I was so stupid that I never cored for any relations beyond those who I have known and loved.'

At this point I shot out swiftlly from th* bank. • Apparently uiy movement had somewhat startled the ladies ; for as my boat cleared the corner, they too approached the angle of the shore. I obtained a full view of them both, although I must confess that I concentrated my attention for the short time that was allowed me on the younger lady. She was a noble-looking girl, tall, lithe, and graceful. Talk of 'angels bright and fair,' ic was a phraße invented for her ; she was bright and fair as an angel.

It was a case. I was in for it at once. T.ove at first sight. I had dropped at Cupid's first shot. I had heard of such things, and had classed them as old wives' fables I had heard of the alleged phenomenon and had disbelieved it, and now I was confronted with it. It wao, as philosophers say, an ultimate fact.

I made guarded inquiries respecting them. I could only make out that it was a lady and her daughters, the name being TSgerton. They lived in a pretty cottage, in what was doubtless a cheap lodging, but, covered with ruses and honeysuckle, it appeared to me to be a paradise. I understood that they were about to leave immediately. 1 made my way to the railway station, the midsummer sky being all aglow with a divine radiance, tender aud prophetic with a happy meaciug. The fogs and smoke of London seemed translated into a divine ether. 'My heart was as a prophet to my heart,' and told me that we should meet again. For some timo past I had been residing in London, having availed myself of a grace ; for I really found that I mnst do Borne work. Oxford was a very jolly place, but then its jollity was disturbed by those beastly periodical examinations which mar the happiness of the place. I never had the least chance of doing any good at Oxford. I was a public school man, belonging to a popular set. I believe nearly five hundred fellows called on me. There was so much feeding besides, that all this ran away with my time, and left little opportunity for reading. Then I had to give return parties, which ran away with my money. I bemoaned my perplexities with a triend.

'Tell you what, old man, I'll put you up to » good thing; you must leave Oxford. Oxford is not a place to study in. It is a very nice place, but not a place for a student. Get leave to stay away for a term, and come up to London.' ' I should think that would bo worse.' 'Xot at all. It would bo a good deal better in every way ; get a reading-order at the British musaum. Lots of fellows have worked there, and got, no end of good. There's Jones, who's got an Indian Civil Service, entirely through the Reading-room ; and I kEOW two or three fellows who have bagged a first-class cut of it. You rco you have every book you want close at hand, and bitter bccriH not allowed there ; and fellows can't propose cards, or even chad you there.'

I at once s'vw the obvious advantages of such an arrangement.

' And your tics can't come and dun you cither.'

This was better and bettor. I was already to experience what philosophers call ' a di sipaticn of energy,' consequent on those same ties.

' I'll take your advi ie ; I'll aik t 1 e Master wf my college to give me a recommendation,

'The Master of the college! Fiddle-de-dee ! He's no good ; yon must get a London householder. The householder swamps everytbing in the British Constitution jnst now. I'll ask my tobacconist in Bloomsbury. He'll do the trick for yon.' Those were happy days which T spent at the great Reading-room : I came quite to love the place. In the violent flush of virtuous effort I set it before me as a great moral object to be there at the opening of the gates at nine o'clock. Sometimes I stopped till the bell of the Eeading-room announced the hour of closing. There were great annoyances. I lost my ticket once or twice, and received an official slanging before it was renewed. Then I had to show my ticket every day before entering. The Keading-room attendants knew my face perfectly well, but still I had to show it—in consequence, I was told, of some miscreant who had stolen or ill-used soma bookn, the said miscreant being supposed to have stolen the ticket of some legitimate reader. I wonder if he had picked up the ticket which I had lost. I should not at all mind the trouble if it answered any good purpose. But the plan is utterly nugatory. The obvious plan would be that the doorkeepers should admit those whom they knew perfectly well, but that in in the ease of a stranger they should examine the tickets. The might then find that miscreant who has possession of a ticket which belongs to somebody else. Tableau. But when once a ticket is produced, which might easily be forged, the official mind is satisfied.

Here is the working of the system— Ent°r a learned and illustrious archbishop. He has seized a few leisure moments in order to verify a passage in German theology. We all know the archbishop, if only by his gaiters and hat. But he has not brought his ticket, and is firmly and respectfully refused admittance. He returns to his carriage, not having time to waste on the form of obtaining a special admission. Enter your humble servant. The attendants know me, and not being proud, do not repulse my attempt at a little conversation ; but I am nevertheless sent to the secretary's office, where I consume a certain amount of Government paper and time, and then the doorkeepers are assured, which they knew perfectly well before, that I am a reader. Enter miscreant, who blandly holds up a ticket, and walks rapidly into the room and selects a book. Being greatly pleased with it, and thinking that it has a tendency to improve his mind, he takes out his penknife and cuts away the part which he admires. It is a very fine example how not to do it in a public office. One morning I came to the Museum later than usual, and found the most of the seats at my row were occupied. I could hardly believe my eyes. I was sitting at G 16, and there at C 15—0 blessed letter, 0 blessed numeral! —Was the bright fair lady.

One would have thought that those light fairy fingers would be occupied with tiny duodecimo, with books whose color, binding, illustrations, would constitute them works of art. In strange contrast with the slight girlish form and the sapphire eyes was an immense mass of huge folios. My own few books on logic—Mill, Manscl, and the rest—were quite diminutive in comparison. I saw at a glance that hers were works on county history, archaeology, biography, and the like. Phe did not seem very much accumstomed to this heavy sort of literary work ; still she perserved very nobly, and as the morning wore away to the afternoon, and the afternoon to its close, she appeared to be able to report progress. 0, how my heart rebelled the etiquette and usages of society! Here was the maiden whom I loved sitting on the very next chair to my own, and yet she wan as much separated from use as if mountains rose and oceann rolled between us.

But my chance came, the happy chance which always comes to those who have sense to wait for rnd wit to use it. The little bell sounded its warning, and there were all those big boobs to be moved. Now the day before I had wanted some help ia taking back some big books. But an attendant, who was busy in discussing a murder case with another attendant, politely but firmly informed me that attendants never took boiks back, and resumed his interrupted conversation. 'I am afraid you will find those books very heavy. The attendants do not take books back. Will you allow me to carry them for you V She looked a little distressed at the prospect of an unusual weight, and glanced wis fully at the unoccupied attendants. But no sigri of help was given. So I took up the books and carried them for her. The pleasant labor was light indeed. Heavy books they were, though—acrtularies, county histories, genealogies. She herself gathered up the tickots, and I did not catch her name. But I had no need. In that lovely fishing village on the Thames I had heard the name of ffgerton, and had learned to love it. So when she gave me a demure little bow of dismissal, 1 could not resist saying, ' I am very glad if I have been of any use to you, Miss Egerton.' She looked a little conscious, a little frightened, but did not vouchsafe me a single word. In the hall I saw her again quite by accident. Her mother met her. I I recognised the mother at once ; she might have been recognised by the likeness to her daughter.

' 6, you precious mum !' I heard her eay ; and then again, ' I think I see a little dayH s hfc -' . L , L There was a private carriage at the foot of the steps. They entered and drove rapidly away. ' I shall see her again,' I murmured to myself. ' I shall see her to-morrow.' I need hardly say that next morning I was at the British Museum as soon as the gates were unclosed, and I remained till the gates were closed again. But during tint whole day I saw nothing of Nellie Bgerton.

That evening I had to go out to a party. Student and recluse aa I choose to consider myself, I went out to a great many parties during the London season. I noticed that I always worked much better in the day if the party had been a pleasant one. I know fellows who will go away from parties aud hang about bars, where attendant sireus administer restoratives. I don't pretend to understand such bad taste. It must be owing to the defects of early training. Let young people have plenty of good society in early life, and they will not care for society that is indifferent.

That very evening I went to a great crush party. I went late. When the Mtuieum was shut, I went off to dine at a club with some friends. After dinner there was the Opera; after the Opera I had invitations for two parties—one was a ' small and early,' but showed every sign, that it would be large and late. I had a feeling of wonderment whether I should meet Mi3S Egerton there. r J hen I went to my other party, and arrived about midnight. My name was proclaimed, and I exchanged Bslu'iations with my hostess. There was a long suite of rooms thrown open. In one of them there was skilful playing on the piauo, and a superb voice was rising. I knew that voice at once. It was none other than Klcanor Egerfcon'a. She vras lisitoncd to with rapt attention. I had hardly heard a finer voice at the Opera which I ha>i. so lately left. I made my way towards her, but there was a great clusser of people round her, and I felt very shy, as I had not baen formally introduced. But I saw her, and I thought she looked a little surprised and not uapleased. Then I went back tu my hostess. I knew her so slightly that J, w-aa surprised at her kindness in seadicit rne a curd of introduction. But I managed to ask her, with an air of ignorance, who the young lady was who sang so admirably, 'O, that is Miss Egerton ! ller father was rector of a parish in the division of the county which my husband represents in Parliament. Boor girl, I believe this is the first party which she has been at since she lost him But you should see her drawings, Mr Stuart. She as exquisitely as she sings." {To be continued.)