LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1725, 30 August 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

AN UNEXPECTED BEQUEST. A bright fireside, with fender and fireirons shining like gold, windows hung with drapery of Turkey red, walls of crimson flock paper, starred over with gold, and a little walnut stand of books opposite—Mrs Milford's parlor was a cabinet gem in its way. Not that the Milford's| were rich. the contrary, Merton Milford was a bank clerk, on a salary so small that it sometimes became an almost insolvable problem to make both ends meet. Almost, we say, but never quite; for Lucy Milford had learned the lesson of household economy, and it was her pride to be able to say that they had never been in debt. Yet Lucy had a woman's taste and a woman's cravings after the beautiful and the costly; and on this special evening, as she sat by the fire leaning one cheek on her hand, her foot mechanioally agitating the rocker of her baby's oradle, she was thinking of the possible—the unattainable. 'lf I were only rich,' thought Lucy, as she gazed across the room, ' how I would like a Persian-patterned carpet, instead o£ this staring red and green ingrain And a little oil painting, or a bunch of watercoloured flowers over the table, where the map of the city hangs now. And then I could afford a Valenciennes cap for the baby, and a real ponson silk for myself ; and I could surprise Merton with half a dozen silk handkerchiefs, and I would send papa a new ' meerschaum, real sea foam, with an amber mouth piece and odd carvings on the bowl, and mamma should have an Indian bordered shawl, and— * Bang went the front door. Tramp, tramp, came a well known footstep along the hall, with just enough pause zo fling the hat carelessly on the little circlet of pegs, which in that unpretentious household took the place of a marble-topped, mirror-backed hall rack. ' It'B Merton,' said Mrs Milford, starting np ; and Merton it was. •Hallo, Puss,' said Merton, coming in, flushed and breathless. ' And. how is the little kitten V • Kitty is well,' said Mrs Mitford. ' Shall I order tea, dear ?' 'Yes.' The little maid-servant Lucy Milford only kept one—brought in the urn, and when she had tip-toed out again, Mrs Milford looked her husband in the face. 'Merton,' she said, ' something has happened. I can read it in your eyes. What is it V

' What a little fortune-teller you are, to be sure,' said he. 'Yes, something has happened. I've got a telegram from Fortley, and old uncle Jessie is dying. Uncle Jessie, the rich old miser. And Wirt informs me that hia last will, made In a fit of pique against the directors of the Fortley Orphan Asylum, leaves everything to us.' •To us, Merton?' Lucy drew her breath with a little gasping sound. .„. , •Why, it must be half a million of money 1' • That at least. We shall be rich people, Pass.' ... , ' Oh, Merton, it scarcely seems possible! It's like a dream.' ' It's a dream with a pretty solid vein of reality running through it, you'll find, my dear,' said the husband. 'And just before you came in, I was sitting here and thinking what I would do, and how I would ornament my home if only we were rich!' cried Lucy, clapping her hands. Mr Milford pinched her cheek, and laughed complacently. Evidently he was in the best of humor. ' Half a million, Lucy !' said he. ' You shall have a set of diamonds that will rival those of Mrs Merriwell, the banker's wife, and a real cashmere shawl. And I'll order a pony phaeton for your own driving, and you—' • But we shall buy a country place, shan't we, Merton?' wistfully asked Lucy, the soft carmine shadows deepening over he,cheek. • A country place ! What for V said Merton, a little contemptuously. 'What on earth shall we bury ourselves in the country for, when we can buy a place at the Weßt End, and surround ourselves with all the refinements of city life V A shade of disappointment came over Lucy's face. • Oh, Merton, I have always dreamed of a house,' sighed she. ' With burglars and mildew and spiders thrown in, eh ? Nonsense, my dear, nonsense ! The city is the place to live in.' ' And we can have papa and mamma to live with us, can't we ?' ' W—, well, I don't know exactly about that, said Milford, thoughtfully stroking his moustache; ' I'll buy 'em a snug little place, if you say so my love; but I never did believe in fathers and mothers-in-law living with their children.'

' Oh, Merton, how can you talk bo !' cried Lucy in a pained voice. ' Oh, Lucy, there's no use in sentimentalizing on these points,' retorted her husband, a little brusquely. •I don't care to be rich If I can't enjoy the pleasures of my money,' said Mrs Milford, pouting. ' So you may enjoy them if you only will be reasonable with me.'

•Better leave off thinking of it, then,' said Milford, lighting a cigar and leaning baok in a chair, the better to enjoy it.

• I suppose I can have as many servants as I please, now ?' hazarded Mrs Milford, wisely steering the conversational barque away from the shoals of dispute. • Twenty, if you like, my dear,' replied Merton.

• And a housekeeper, like Mrs Miller's ?' ' Not a housekeeper,' said Mr Milford, shaking his head 'No fine ladies for me, disguised as dependents. As many servants as you like, no one to domineer over them—a proxy for yourself,' • I will have a housekeeper,' said Lucy, excitedly. ' No, you will not, my dear—not in my house.'

< And can we have a cottage at Brighton?'

' Why do you say Brighton ?' gravely questioned Merton. •To my mind, Puss, Brighton is nothing more than a hot-bed of folly and flippery. At Hastings, now V ' I don't care for Hastings,' said Lucy, moodily ; ' the air never did agree with me.' Lucy burst into tears. Mr Milford got up and strode out of the room.

' Merton, Merton!' cried the wife, ' where are you going V 'To the billiard room at the corner,' said Milford, hotly. ' I can find friends enough there I dare say, to give me the sympathy my wife seems inclined to withhold." Lucy cried bitterly. In all the bright years of their married life they never had any serious differences until now. Was it possible that riches were destined to bring them only a meed of misery instead of the expected rush of happiness ? Next came a feeling of bitterness and resentment. She would show Merton that she was not to be treated like a child. He came home, but Mrs Milford feigned to be asleep. She did not come down to breakfast next morning, making an excuse of a slight headache, the effect of last night's tears, and Milford ate and drank alone.

• Humph !' commented he, swallowing his ceffee in a succession of dyspeptic-breeding gulps. • A pretty sort of a life this.' For three days Lucy cried and Merton sulked. At the end of that time he came home with a curious expression on Mb face.

' Puss,' said he. Lucy looked up, her pensive faoe brightened at the old, caressing pet name. ' I've just had a second telegram—Uncle Jessie is dead.'

' Poor old man,' said Lucy, soberly. *Do you know, Merton, I begin to doubt whether Uncle Jesse's money will do us any good.' ' I don't think it will,' said Milford, ' because you see the old man rallied at last and mad a new will in favor of the Refuge for Old Men.'