LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1781, 5 November 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

HOW I MARBIED IN SPITE OF MYSELF. I was a yonng surgeon, just free from college, and walking the hospitals, when I got my first p-actice in the little country town of Dunfield. Dr. Thompson, of the plcae, was an old friend of my father's ; and it was arranged that I should assist him, with an ultimate view to the whole practice. It was a good look-out for a young man just beginning life. Above all, as my friends vehemently prophesied, "Thompson can't possibly live another ten years, you know. So, with many pleasant dreams about dead men's shoes, and other cheerful subjects, I moved myself and my goods and chattels to W—shire.

Most naturally I had a" good deal of curiosity as to my now friends and patients Mine was a sociable temperament; and as I had about two hundred and fifty pounds a year of my own, in addition to _ what Dr. Thompson was to give me, I fancied that I was already in a position to have a little home and a wife of my own, provided of course that I could find some really nioe K ,r j who suited my taste, and liked me. I had a sorb of grand feeling that the medical profession ought to be obliged to me for entering it. , • It isn't aa if I were a fellow who had quite to earn his daily bread,' was a remark I made to my bosom friend, Charlie Somers. I arrived at Dunfield in [the early part of May. It was settled that for the first I should live at Dr Thompson's, whom I found to be a cheery o!d fellow, and his wife a most kind motherly soul. They had bo children! and the household was quiet and

well ordered. The practice, too, -was very good. The town had its Sir WTUttk-m Crow- ' hunt. His wife, Lady (Stowhursf,- was the i grandee of the place ; and, by good lort-nne, their two little girls were £sy first patients, bring conveniently seized with' »' mild f »uoh of measles soon after my arrival, and wi>en the doctor happened to be laid cy with luaabago. This of course gave me a good atari, and was the best introduction I dould wish for to the other swells of the towa, such as the clergyman and his wife, Mr cad Mrs Perkins, who had seven children, of whom one or the other was always ailing, Mr Gordon, the lawyer, who had also a wife and two grown-up daughters, and many others. Ifc is true there was a rival doctor irP the place—there always are rival medical mea in a small town —but then 'he hadn't evea a stray dog to experimentalise upon,' as c3d Thompson chucklingfy told me. Mr Snares was his unlucky name. As, however, I caa only mention one or two of these people again in my story, I will not weary you with a lot of dramatis persona; who will never be accounted for; else the postmaster, chemist, dissenting minister, schoolmaster, and others, are all well worth being described, each in his or her own peculiar way. About three weeks after my arrival, Thompson showed me a note from' Mrs Gordon, saying that her daughter had a bad cough—would one of us come up to see- her ? * Now, Mr Gwynne,' raid 1 the doctor, ' here's a chance of distinguishing yourself. ' Lawyer Gordon is a smart many and making no' end of money. Mrs Gordon is a great .one for being on the sick list Unfortunately she doesn't like me, because she ius'pectted me once of sending her toread pills .and water mixture when her imaginary illnesses drove me beyond bounds, so that .lean and hungry Snares was called'in ; bat he injured his cause by persisting to remain for lunch, which Mrs Gordon thought very impertinent on firft acquaintance, and so it ,wss. Now my firm belief is that this cough is more than half to decide if you will'do, or if she must send to Colchester for Dr. Sims, which will of course cost her a great deal more. They are good patients too good to lose ; so go and do your best for us; On no account be spiring of grave shakes of the head, and plenty of medicine; though it may be as innocent as you like, provided it be judiciously nasty.'' ' All right, sir,' was my reply, ' I'll go up at once,' and as I spoke I rose from my seat, and proceeded upstairs to pot on a clean collar and a better tie, trying to think I wasn't a bit nervous. But I was ; for when I was a young man I was very nervous, and never could, to save my life, give a repirtee answer, or> get out of a mess neatly. I pushed my hair np, then pitted it down again ; it would not look as curly as I fondly fans-red it did, whenever I took the precaution of wetting it well over night, and brushing it np against the grain. ' Come, come, Gwynne, make haste,' at last sounded from below. I ran.down to obey the doctor's call, and soon after proceeded np the town to Mrs Gordon. After I had oonversed with that lady for a few minutes—that is to say she talked, and I listened—she ushered me into a morning-room to see my patient. ' We are quite anxious about dear Hetty,' she'said ; ' she's had a bad congh for some time past, and our home remedies seem to be of no avail." Two' girls rose as I entered, and returned my very nervous bow. I saw that one was tall and graceful, with a mass of black hair loosely drawn from off her face, large, sof; black eyes, a clear complexion, and regular features ; a great beauty, I thought. The otheivwas different, evidently two or three years* younger, with sunny, chesnut hair, that t-ssed in loose waves down her back, blue eyes, a littla pouting mouth, a most bewitching nez retrousse, and a short, slight figure. A more complete contrast oould hardly exist than between the two Bisters. The dark one looked about twenty, the little one- about eighteen. As I eaid, I bowed netTously and coughed two or three times, because I did not quite know what to say. ' This is our dear invalid,' said Mrs Gordon, patting the youngest on the shoulder. ' Oh, we'll soon cure her, Mrs Gordon,' I said, with alarming cheerfulness, and coughed again. ' "Physician, cure thyself,'" I heard the invalid remark, in a mischievous undertone. ' Oh, I've no cough, thanks, only a little tickling,' I said, stupidly, as though the whisper had been for me. However, I plucked up courage, and proceeded to make my professional enquiries, which were diversely answered ; the mother making out tho case to be ' very bad,' * quite serious,' and suggesting the south of France; the daughter quizzing everything, and turning it all into a joke. I wound up my visit again by remarking, as I shook hands), * you've got a nasty cough, Miss Gordon, but we'll soon cure you.' «Pert little thing j' I mentally ejaculated as I left the house. 'The dark one seems nice. How beautiful she is !' After this I paid many more professional visits at the Gordons', and soon found myse"f on a very pleasant familiar footing at their house. So, from professional I began to make friendly visits, and often joined the girls, in leisure half hours, at a game of croquet or-archery, or would take them for a quiet row on the river on wa-m summer days. Had I been a cheeky fellow very likely I might have become far more intimate than I was—might have called them Alice and Hetty, as everybody else in the house did. But I was far too nervous and to) ahy, and so to me they were always the ' Misses Gordon.' Whaa the autumn tints were beginning to appe&s in the woods of Dunfield I discovered that 1 loved Alice, the dark one, and that if she would like to live on thret, hundred a year, in a snug little house of her own, I should like it too ; but I dared not tell her. I coaid laugh and joke with Hettty : but with Alice I was always shy and nervous. Time went on. I perceived that with Mr and Mrs Gordon I was a favorite. I could sea that Hetty, too, liked me, and I hoped Alice did; but she was bo quiet and matronly I could not judge so well. When Christmas approached there was a good deal of sickness about, and I could not go home as I had intended ; so Mrs Gordon kindly begged me to come and dine with l them

* Go, go my dear fellow,' said friendly Dr rhompaon, whoa I demurred at leaving them. 'Go and enjoy yourself, and look out for the mistletoe.' So I gladly acsepttd the invitation. On Christmas Eve I met the girls out walking, and they kindly said they were glad I was coming. ' Cousin Willie is coming too,' ciied Hetty, and she glanced slyly at Alice. • Who is cousin Willie V I aßked, wishing I might mix a pill for him. ' Oh, he'B our only cousin and papa's ward,' was the reply. 'Ho alwayo comes at Christmas.' ' I'll come caTly,' I said, making a mighty effort, ' as I want to speak to Mr Gordon. ' Oh do, come as early as you can,' said Hetty. ' Oid Thompson wants me to look out for the mistletoe,' I said foolishly, by way of Baying something. ' Oh, we've got plenty of that ready—eh, Alice?' said Hetty. * How tiresome you are Hetty !' said Alice, warmly, and blushing a painful crimson. Well, it was silly of Hetty; and before mo t™ 1 But I was so glad to see the blush that I did not notice the little show of temper. Between you and me, reader, she had once or twice before shown she had a temper. I went home, pondering on the way what I should do. I could not dine there with my heart bursting with my secret, and fee'ing it might explore at any moment Then there was Cou- in Willie, too. If he should p->y my beautiful Alice any attention I might not be ab'e to control my feelings. So I determined to write to her, ask my fate, and go up before dinner for my answer. If I were accepted, have a morry Christmas ; if rejected, go home, and—and—Will, nearly die of a broken heart, I was delighted with the idea, and almost ran home to put it into execution. But how easy to get out pen, ink, and paper ! —how difficult to write 1 I tore up letter after letter; again and again I tried, but the hopelessness of expressing my feelings was great. Should I leave it, and go and say my say in person ? No, no, I could not do that. My tongue would cleave to my mouth j the very thought seemed to deprive me of all power of articulation. Here goec, I said at last. I will write it off at onoe, and I won't read it over. ' My dear,' Hera I was at a fall Btop already. How was I to begin ? If I were doing it personally, I might try the effeot of

(' Alice,' spoken J* a low, deep tone, but it looks so cool on p3pei\ Therefore I began again :—' My dear Miss Gordon,'—— I can't remember my words, though no donbt my wife does, but I know my letter was very terdor, and, I hoped, very earnest and impressive. I was once more puzzled haw to end ray epiatle,. but at last decided on—- ' Believe me, dear, dear BMss Gordon, j waitioe in trembling hope and fear, yours in life and death, Joan only and forever, ' Philip GWOTfircs'

This I despatched to Mies Gordon, enclosing a Date for thw young lady's papa, to be delivered at her discretion. Ycrd' may believe I scarcely dosed my eyes aft' that nigh*. Nest day, Christmas Day, I was tr;o Ivasy to attend'ehurah ; : but 1 got cletr about fstir o'clock, and hastily dressisg mys3!f, startad 1 for Mr Gordon's. Ha met ene warmly. 'Come in here, my dear fellow,' said he,. 'I can't Sell yon how pleas*i she is—my jwife, I mean | And Tarn qjoite satisfied as jto money and 1 worldly affairs Quite. Old 'Thompson's is- a gcod practice. We must have a settlement, you Imow; bnt that'll be all right Bather yon Have her t&an an earl. God blefs yon! I ! am proud to call yon son. I've spoken to her. She loves yon, my boy —loves you dearly, and has done- so long. And now that you are one of the- family I may as well tell you a secret?. My youngest daughter is engaged too. Yes-, Alice and my aephew William' are going to- make a match : of it. Don't look so' astonished She'll'make him a good wife;: For though she is a year younger than dear Hetty, she looks older you know, and is more steady and seda f e. But Hetty's a dear girl 1 , and will, lam sure, make you happy. Dsn't don't speak 1 There, I'll send 1 her in.' And off the lawyer bolted in his ÜBsal jerky way before I could speak a word". Was I mad ? Was I dreaming?' Aiice the younger! —Alice engaged !—Hetty loving me dearly I Hetty coming to me I' Ye powers, •what on earth was it all about ? Hbw could I have been such a fool! A thousand' littfe hitherto unnoticed facts crowded on my brain, confirming the statement. How could I have trusted appearances so utterly,, audi taken her for the eldest without being certain ? She engaged ; and wild, merry, sweet Hetty losing me! It still would not enter my brain. What should I'do?" Get npv bolt* and explain afterwards ? ' I sprang up to obey my impulse. Ab F did so the door opened, and. with downcast' eyes and roßy blu«hea, Hetty came inj I rushed eagerly towards her, and grasped' ber-' hands. I would confess all', I' thought: 'Hetty,'l began. She mistook my action, my words, for affection. She came nearer to me, responded to my warm clasp; and then, overcome by shyness, hid : her pretty curly head on my shoulder. 1 My embarrassment momentarily increased. ' Oh, Hetty, Hetty,' I began once more

'Dear Philip,' she whispered, in reply to what »he deemed affdetion,- * I 'am so happy;Philip.' eey What could I do? Tell her ib was all a mistake, and thus blight the bright young fife and heart forever? In that'one second I made a great decision. My- chanoes of happiness had fled. I would saoriflde myself arnd marry her, and she should never know the truth.

I bent down and • whispered, 'God blesa you, Hetty ; I wijl try and make yon-happy,' and 1 kissed the wild, tearing, merry girl, now so gentle, bo winning, so sweet. I could not rudely break her heart. She looked up, and then hid her face again on my shoulder, and clung to me to bide her emotion. Was it not possible to 10-re her? Ought I not to be thankful? Had I married Alice—no, I mean proposed to her—l should only have been Tej doted, and gone away miserable ; now I had a real, true heart to love me.- Surely, surely, in time I might return her affection. ' Can you be happy with me, Hetty ?'- I asked.

1 Oh, Philip, indeed I can,' she replied. "T always feared you laughed at me,' I laid. l

' I only laughed to hide my feelings,' said Hetty. ' I am not rich, Hetty,' I continued. ' I will be a careful little wife, Philip,' she said. ' I : am not worthy of you,' I said. 'Yes, yon are,' Bhe exclaimed ; lam not worthy of you.' There -was no escape for me. She wouldn't see m« in my wnr»fc ligK*. SJao mo;

Wa sat down side by side. She pratt'ed to me how Alice and Willie had long loved each other, bat that it had never been a settled thing till now, for his position had not been such that he conld marry. '■And Alice is bo glad for me,' went on Hetty, little thinking what my feelings were. ' She nays you're just the kind of man she would like for a brother. You know it would not do for us bath to want yon for a husband —eh, Phiiip ?' '■ No, dearest,' I stammered, 'it would not.'

I could not talk to her ; but she ssemed not to mind my silence. We sat hand in hand, dreaming, thinking. Inwardly I was, repeating my letter to Charlie Somers, telling, him all about my love for Alice. Now I must hasten to tell it was Hetty I meant. Oh dear, what a whirl my pear, brain was in!

At last, to my great relief, Mr and Mts Gordon entered. Mrs Gordon shook me warmly by the hand, and said, ' Sear Mr Gwynne, there Is no one I would rather give my wild young birdie to than you. Alice, though younger, is so. quiet and steady, she is far more capable of acting for herself-j but you'll always be kind and tender to Eetty, won't you ?' ' Of course he-will, of conrre he will;*'cried Mr Gordon. ' Come, Gwynne, and: wash your hands.' Deeply grateful for the chance (iiit that my hands were dirty, bnt because I felt I should burst out crying or do something equally absnrd i£ I stopped there)i I followed him.

' What time do you dine, Mr Gordon ?' I

asked. ' Six,' he replied. 'lt is now a quarterpast five.' ' Ah, I shall just have tima,' I said. * I find I have forgotten to leave orders about a certain medicine. If you'll allow me, I'll just ran down to the surgery ; for it will not do to be careless about physic' * Certainly not, cer'ainly not,' said Mr Gordon ; ' though very excusable nnder the circumstances ; make haete—six sharp.' I almost ran off. I let myself into the

surgery by my latch-key. Oh joy ! it was empty. L }cking the door, I sank into a chair and paused to think. What should I do ? The only time for escape was now. Should I send up a note to say I was suddenly called ou\ and see what to-morrow would do ? Should I pack up my things, throw my character and profession to the winds, and bolt? They were not tempting alternatives. I almost did the first. But was I not a mean coward ? —was I not going to act unworthy a gentleman? After plighting my troth and receiving her shy kisses, could I now explain ? And yet —and yet, was it right to marry one sister, loving the other ? Why had they not seen I loved Alice, and told me at once my case was hopeless ? Why did not I open my eyes and see that, contrary to appearances, she was the younger ? No use to ask that now.

My duty was clear, my course plain. I smoothed my tumbled hair, bathed my hot temples in cold water, and determined to be a man, and no coward. I would act my part, and trust to time to mate it natural to mo.

So I retrucnd my steps, and entered the Gordons'drawing-room just as it struck six. I was of course introduced to Cousin "Willie. He was a tall, fair-bearded fellow, looked and epoke like a gentleman, and seamed very fond of Alice, and she of him. Somehow I felt better when I saw them together. After all, Hetty was just as pretty with her wavy, glossy hair, her bright eyes, with their new, softened expression, and that shy smile round her rosy mouth. I declare I found myself comparing them to my little one's advantage, and felt q'.ite proud as I led hor into the diningroom.

What need I say more P Day by day my lot grow sunnier, my little Hetty dearer and dearer to me. I never knew her otherwise than bright and good tempered ; while Alice —but I must tot tell tales—Alice is a dear girl, and I am very fond of her, and of my nephews and nieces; but all my heart and my love is my own merry Hetty s. We have now been married some years, and little ones patter about our homo ; asd as I write, my own sweet wife lean* ovor my shoulder, and reads how out of. my mistake grew my life's best and truest Vppinese ; and she says, mischievously, 'My dear old PMli what a happy man you Bjr«, although you hftn to get married in spite, of yourself! '