LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1569, 28 February 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A BUNCH OP DEAD VIOLETS. By Mrs, Alexander Fraser. Part I, Greenway’s Royal Hippodrome. The largest and most wonderful circus in the world! Jumbo, the eccentric elephant, and the extraordinary peacock, Mules, donkeys, dogs. Banco the Clown and his inimitable jokes. Startling and unparalleled feats of equest'ianisra. Mademoiselle Lucille, the Wonder of the West, on her trained horse Spitfire. Doors open at seven o’clock. Entrance, sixpence; reserved seats, one shilling. It was a very exciting bill of fare for a dull cathedral town, in which mundane amusement was believed to pave the road to perdition. And so thought Charlie Wilmot, a captain in the K.D.G., whose regiment had been quartered five dreary months in York. He glanced at his watch. * Five o’clock!’ he said to himself, half aloud. * Just time enough to dine comfortably, and drop in about the middle of the mummery. I’ll go. Anything is better than the routine of this horrible place.’ ‘ The largest and most wonderful circus in the world,’ to be viewed for the moderate expenditure of one shilling by the upper current, and for sixpence by the so-called ‘ caterpillars ot creation ’ was a temptation of Beelzebub that the rigid Yorkitea could not resist Even before the utterance of ‘ Sesame ’ the entrance was besieged by a mas-) of impatient counter jumpers, milliner girls,groceis and bakers, soldiers, tinkers, tailors, with an occasional piough-bey and thief. It was a common medley enough—unredeemed by a single creme do la creme with his spotless shirtfront and his fragrant gardenia Nevertheless the orchestra, compo ed of some shrill fifes and wheezy flutes, a cracked violin or so, a loud-sounding drum, and a couple of jingling triangles, struck up with enormous energy ‘ When the band begins to play and Jumbo, the eccentric elephant, a huge beast with cropped ears and lengthy trunk,

flo u.dered intone middle of the sawdust. Poor much-abused brute! if hh had pos sessed a reflective soul, how nnfla L tering he would have contrasted the f'hri tians, who ruthlessly stuck sharp skewers into his nisty hide, with the heathens of his native clime 1

Jumbo having plunged and waded through his performance, the extraordinary peacock, the mules donkeys, and dgs were put through their tricks and paces ; while Banco the clown uttered his imbecile jokes, and evoked roars of laughter from the rough and bigbly-appreciative audience. After that a man, habited half Turk and half harlequin, ambled, on a * milk white palfrey,’ six tim n s round the arena in six grotesque attitudes. This accomplished, Banco t,he clown remained again in possession of the field.

After turning sundry somersaults he perched himself on a barrel. ‘ Friends, countrymen, lovers, look here !’ he cried. ‘lf there wws an island with a stack of bay upon it, and a donkey on the mainland, bow would that donkey reach that hay without wetting his feet?’

A dead silence. Grocers, bakers, soldiers, sailors, down to the p’oughboy a r, d thief, considerably im pressed by the enigma, regarded each other inquiringly, while Banco, with a twinkle in his eye, regarded them en masse. ‘Give it up ?’ he asked of a rosy-faced country bumpkin in a blouse, who sat opposite with wide-open eyes and gaping trioutli. ‘ Ve es, I does 1* ‘And so did the other donkey,’ Banco answered, with a chuckle, bringing down the house in the midst of which Charlie Wilmot strolled into a seat as much aloof as possible from his kind. It was not a pleasant seat. It was next to the gate that gave admission to the ring. A strong equine odour, varied by puffs of lamp-oil and musty hay, pervaded the atmosphere, hut the man, indolent and ennuied, dropped into his chair, wrapped in true insular reserve, and shrinking into himself from the proximity of an objectionable neighborhood. Once more the orchestra, after two discordant crashes, struck up a monotonous, hut not unmelodious, air. The gate opened wide, and Mademoiselle Lucille, the ‘ Wonder of the West,’ on her trained horse Spitfire, appeared. In she came amidst clapping of hands—a bit of a girl, scarcely more than a child ; a slight figure in a tightly-fitting dark green habit; a figure lovely now, but giving promise of perfection later ; a face beautiful as a houri’s, pure as an angel’s ; great innocant blue eyes, very sad and wistful, a sorry contrast to the stereotyped smile that rested on the soft red lips ; tiny features, chiselled like a cameo ; a skin as though she had been dieted on milk and roses ; and hair that was a positive glory—long, rippling, shining, straying over the delicate temples down to the slender supple waist. Spitfire was a good-lookiog bit of horseflesh, and merited the puffing he got in the bill. There was no vice in his eye either, in spite of his dangerous cognomen; and he waltzed and capered, pirouetted and vaulted, at the will of his rider. Mademoiselle Lucille was a decided success. As she went round and round, the audience cheered and bravoed, while a deeper rose flush tinted her cheek. A smile still beamed on her ha ! f-parted lips, and the same sad wistful look dwelt in her large eyes; and Charlie Wilmot, roused out of both indolence and ennui, sat with his gaze fixed on the girl’s face. That face had fairly fascinated him when the last round was completed.

The ‘Wonder of the West* flew down from her steed as lightly as a bird, and bowed and kissed her tiny hands to the audience she had taken by storm. Then, as she turned to go, Charlie Wilmot learnt eagerly forward, and, taking a bnnch of violets from his coat, he flung them down. They touched Madem iselle Lucille’s glitter* ing hair in their fall She quickly lifted up her face : two pairs of eyes met. Then the girl stooped, picked up the violets, and thrust them hastily into her bosom Charles Wilmot strolled home through the silent York streets. The ‘Wonder of the West’ had bewitched him. The demon of ennui was exorcised by Mademoiselle Lucille’s face.

Young, handsome, heir to an old baronetcy, and an eligible, the fair Vorkites had pulled caps for him at the staid highly respectable, and wearisome assembles of the town. But Charlie was impervious to their blandishments. He was of a peculiar temperament too. Impulsive, yet strong of will; pasaionate-natured, yet full of selfcontrol ; too indolent to flirt, too fond of independence to marry, yet withal experiencing a strange sorb of void in his heart.

The honest truth was that no woman’s face had ever really touched him until he looked on Lucille’s,

Was he really caught at last P The thought struck him ludicrously, and he laughed aloud. * Mademoiselle Lucille’ forsooth ! Probably a Jemima or a Betsy sprung from the lowest depths—a girl who plied her trade for the amusement of a grovelling mass, whose very features and form were to be commented on and criticised by vulgar tongues. But what a figure she had! So fragile and yet so rounded ; so replete with soft curves and supple bends. What a face she had ? Pure and white as a snowdrop, tinted like a sea-shell. What glorious tressei—waving and rippling and shining like burnished gold I And what eyes ! Charles Wilm t fell asleep, with the bine eyes, so sad and s wistful, of Mademoiselle Lucille looking into his. Part 11. The two following evenings found Charlie at the ci’-cus. Immovable, almost spellbound, he watched Lucille in her flying rounds. Was it only a fancy, he wondered, or did the bine eyes that had haunted him perpetnaßy turn his way ? On the third evening with his hat slouched over his forehead, he waited in the shadow, near the b»ck entrance of the building ; and his heart beat very fast when a little figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, came nut and slightly touched him in passing. That touch sent quite a thrill through him, and, starting forward he laid a finger lightly on the girl’s shoulder. She shrank away without glancing towards him, and hurried on as if afraid. Bnt Cha ley felt that he mnat speak to her. ‘ Mademoiselle Lucille !’ he murmured, in a low voice, that shook a little in spite of himself. She paused. Her face, smaller, whiter, lovelier than ever in the starlight, was turned fully to him. But she did not apeak He stood awkward and speechless for a moment. He had never lost his presence of mind before a countess ; bnt now he was abashed and tongue-tied bo f ore a mite of a girl whose sad solemn eyes were lifted to his own.

‘ Forgive me,’ he said at last - * forgive me for having drained you ; but— ’ She recognised him at this minute. He was the man who had flung violets at her—the handsomest man she had ever seen.

* But what ? ’ she asked, in a shy voice. And a warm pink colour surged over her face, two broad white lips drooped, and long curling lashen cast a shadow on her cheek.

* But I could not help it,’ Charlie answered deurecatingly. No answer ; but she stood still. It was no conventional wooing this. A handsome man, a lovely girl, a myriad of twinkling stars laughing in the clear sky, solitude, and —proximity.

Charlie never knew how it came about But Lucille’s hand, looking like a small snow-rift, wa» fast imprisoned in his clasp, and Lucille’s beautiful face was very close to his own.

‘Lucille,’ he whispered, ‘I Eve you.’ He felt the hand flutter in his. He could hear her breath come fast, her heart beating in unison with his own ; and all this emboldened him.

‘ it isn’t strange, is it Luc'lle, that a man should lose, not only bis head, but bis heart, to a face like this ?’ And putting his hand under her chin, he gently raised her face. Lucille did nob shrink away from him now. Her lids slowly opened, her lipa bad

lost their stereotyped smile, and wore the same w istful Lok as her glance Sh- wa no high born lady, and this rapid wooing did not offehd her. Thoroughly guilelets and frank herself she believed in the man whose eyes had met hers —not boldly, but soft’y —almost tenderly. Her heart beat quicKer under Charlie’s ferment gaze. It was growing late; the by street was deserted The two were as virtually alono as though stranded in a dese't. [To he Continued.)