LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1943, 17 May 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE SONG OF THE PEAR TREE. [From the French of “ Paul Feral,”] i, There stood at the end of a village a large pear tree ; in the spring time it became a beautiful mass of flowers. The house of the farmer was on the side of the road ; it had a portal of stone, similar to that of a chateau. The daughter of the farmer was called Perrine. We were good friends. Since when? Ah! who knows ?—for I am ignorant. ii. She was sixteen. What a dear little heart beat under her blue bodice embroidered with black velvet. What roses on her cheek. How brilliant her laughing eyes when from her window she sang to me. Sang to me that it was time for our meetng under the pear tree, to talk of our marriage, in. Under the pear tree there was green grass. In no other place could you find grass so sweet and fine to sigh on, and repeat those words that are said a hundred times, yet are always new. She laughed with all her heart. ' Perrine, my Perrine, when will you marry me ?’ IV. Everything about her laughed—her caressing hair which played with the wind, her round waist, the little red shoe which oeeped forth from its hiding place, her lands which lowered the pendant branches of hawthorn to inhale the perfume of its flowers, her pure and joyous face, her pearllike teeth between her red lips. V. When the conscription came I burned a wax taper to the Virgin. The thought of leaving Perrine, of going far away from her, perchance never to return, slilled my heart. Praise be to St. Mario! I drew the highest number. But Jean, my foster brother, fell a victim to fate. I found him weeping, saying: “My mother! my poor mother !’ VI. * Console thyself, Jean ; I am an orphan.’ Ho wonld not believe me when I said to him —“I will go for thee.” Perrine came under the pear tree; her eyes were wet; never before had I seen her weep; but her tears were more lovely than her smiles. She gave her cheek to kiss, and whispered to me softly, ‘ Go, my Pierre, I will wait for you.’ vn. Right, left, right, left, drums beating ! Forward, march! Thus we went to Wagram. Pierre, be firm ! There is the enemy ! A lino of fire is visible—five hundred cannon speak at the same time ; smoke oppresses the lungs, and the feet slip on blood-stained ground. I was afraid, and thought of the past. VIII. The past was France, the village, and the pear tree, on which the flowers were now fruit, I shut my eyes, and saw Perrine praying for me. Praise be God! lam brave again! Forward i march ! light, left ! Fire! Charge bayonets ! Ah, ah! How well he does, the conscript! ‘ Young man, what is thy name ?’ ‘ Sire. I am called Pierre. ’ ‘ Pierre, I make you a lieutenant.’ IX. Perrine, O my Perrine! Lieutenant I ‘ Vive la guerre !’ It is a feast day of battles, To rise in an army is but to put one foot before the other. Right, left. ‘ Is it still thou, Pierre ?’ ‘Yes, your ilajnaty., ‘ Take an epaulette.’ There were plenty on the shoulders of the dead. X. * Sire, I thank you !’ And now forward to Moscow—but not further ; through great plains of snow is a route marked by corpses ; hero the river, there the enemy—on both sides death! ‘ 'Who placed in line the first bridge ?’ ‘ I, sire. ’ ‘ Always thou, captain.’ He gave me the cross of a chevalier. vi. Praise he to God ! Perrine, my Perrine, you will be proud of me. The campaign is finished; I have my leave. Sound the chimes, the bells for our marriage ! The road is long, but hope travels fast. Already I see the country; behind that mountain is the valley. I recognise the bellringer. He is ringing. XII. He is ringing. But the pear-tree. The month of flowers is here, but I see not the fragrant mass. Before, it was visible from afar. They had cut down the tree of our young tenderness! It had its flowers, its flowers so gay, but its branches were strewn on the grass. xni. ‘ Why do you ring, Mathieu ?’ ‘ For a wedding, captain.’ Mathieu no longer remembers me. A wedding ! He spoke truly. The couple came down the steps of the church. The bride was Perrine; my Perrine, laughing, 1 and more lovely than ever. gßJean. my brother, was the bridegroom,J

Around me the good people said — 11 Thej love each other.’ ‘ But Pierre’’ I asked. * What Pierre V they answered me. They had forgotten. xv. I threw myself on my knees in the church. I prayed for Perrine, and I prayed for Jean —all that I had loved. The mass finished, I picked up a flower from the pear tree, a poor dead flower, and retraced my ronte without looking behind me. Praise be to God ! they love each other ; they will be happy. xvr. ‘ You have returned, Pierre ?’ ‘Yea, sire.’ * You are twenty-two years of age ; yon are a commander, and a chevalier. If you wish, I will give you as your wife a Countess of my Court ’ Pierre palled from his breast the dead flower picked from the felled pear tree. _ ‘Sire, my heart is like that. I wish a post in the advance guard that I may die bravely.’ XVII. He had a position in the advance guard. Praise be to God ! At the end of the village there is a tomb of a colonel, dead at twentytwo years, on a day of victory. It is the place where stood the pear tree; and it is not a widow who comes there to weep and to pray. AN EMOTIONAL FAMILY. Another Crisis Safely Passed at tub Tibbatisks’ [From the “ New York World,”] There is a great difference in families in several respects. For example, in some families the current of life runs smoothly on like a canal. In others the stream of existence is full of cataracts, snags, and sandbars—so to speak. There are the Tibbattsc-s, There is not a week but that events really momentuous takes place in that family; events which are not only Intensely absorbing to themselves, bat whose interest ramifies through the entire length and breadth of their acquaintance. Last week, for instance, Susie Tibbatts had her ears pierced. On Thursday her brother John Henry, who was to give her a pair of diamond ear-rings provided she could make up her mind to endure the operation, which for soma time had been doubtful, felt her pulse aud remarked seriously : ‘ You must brace up, Susie ; to-morrow is the day. Mother, feel her pulse and tell me what you'think of it.’ Mrs Tibbatts laid hold of Susie’s wrist, and taking on a listening and meditative air for some seconds, said with affectionate solicitude :

‘ I’d be careful of my diet, my child. Maybe you’d better take a little of my tonic throughout the day.’ * I don’t know, mamma; I feel quite calm now, I’m getting familiarised with the idea.’

Mrs Tibbatts shook her head doubtfully and slightly smiledatthe ignorant confidence of a young girl. Her fister-in law Annie, James’ wife, who had come down from the country to be present at the operation, Mrs Tibbatts not feeling herself equal to it, added encouragingly : ‘Oh 1 it will soon be over. I have gone through with it, you know.’ ‘ Oh, I don’t think I’ll be much frightened. But don’t forget, Annie, you’ve promised to hold my hand. ’ ‘ No, indeed, dear. And don’t you think, mamma, Susie had better go to bed now 1 She will be so much stronger to-morrow for a good long sleep. ’ ‘That is an admirable suggestion, Annie. Good night dear. Jast let everything pass out of your mind and shut your eyes and you will soon be asleep.’ The next morning the family appeared heavy-eyed at the breakfast table, no one of them having slept a wink, and each began in turn to relate their bad dreams. Mrs Tibbatts, whose mind finally began to act, thinking that these might have a bad effect on Susie’s nerves, made warning faces all around the table, accompanied with glances at Susie. John Henry, who is very quick of thought and the wit of the family, broke into such a gale of laughter he could scarcely speak, * I must tell you of such a good thing I heard yesterday. Ha, ha, ha! Such a good thing! Why is an old dog like an inclined plane ? Ha, ha! the best thing. No. Give it up ? Well, ha, ha ! It’s because it’s a slope-up. See it ? Slo-pup. Slow-pup, ha, ha! Good, isn't it?’

The whole family immediately fell into a state of reckless gaiety, which more than anything else revealed the tenseness of their feelings. When the carriage came to the door John Henry brought out the foot-warmer, James put on Susie’s arctics, Annie buttoned up her seslskin sacque and Mrs Tibbatts brought her fur cloak as an overwrap. * See that there are plenty of robes, James, and, Annie, yon had best take my vinaigrette,’ said the anxious mother. ‘John Henry, I wouldn’t excite her more than I could help.’ 4 Ho you think, mamma, it would be better to leave her to her own thoughts in the carriage, or to try and beguile her so she won’t think ?’

4 I really can't decide, John Henry. Watch her carefudy and be governed by the indications.’

‘ I’m ready now,’ said Susie in a faint voice beneath her wraps, ‘ Farewell, dear one.’ Mrs Tibbatts kissed her passionately and pressed her to her bosom.

‘ Come, Susie,’ said the stout-hearted James, with tears in his eyes. ‘ Hew shall I bear the suspense ?’ cried Mrs Tibbatts as the carriage rolled away.

By lunch-time that lady was iu an agonizing frame of mind at the delay, and waved away with dramatic horror Thomas’ offer of a cup of tea. She walked once more to the window and there saw John Henry carrying into the house the bundle of furs in which Susie was swathed.

‘My child! my child T Here, John Henry, place ner here.’ the swung around an eaay-chair. ‘ I fainted, mamma. Only think, I fainted! Didn’t I faint, Annie ?’ 4 Fainted 1’

‘ Yes, indeed, mamma, she really fainted, and I was alone with her.’

‘ Except the clerk, Annie.’ 4 Yes, Susie ; except tho clerk, mamma.’ 4 Alone ! Oh, John Henry, my son, where were you ?’ 4 I’d gone round the corner to see a man. Phe looked so calm and composed, mamma, and I was horribly afraid I’d see her suffer. ’

4 Oh, my cruel neglect! I should have sent a physician with her. Tell me about it. I must know all. I thought I could trust you, John Henry.’ Mrs Tibbatts drew her handkerchief across her eyes. 4 But Annie did remarkably well.’ 4 A! one! What a fearful ordeal! Annie a s ono with this lifeless child! Tell me all about it.’

‘Let me tell, Annie—that is, until I fainted-thon you can tell.’ ‘ They were very kind, mamma. I sat down in a chair and Annie took my band. I felt a little nervous, but I had determined to be brave.’ ‘ Dear child 1 ’

‘ I only said, ‘ Don’t let me see the instruments.’ That was [all, wasn’t "if Annie 1 ’ • Yes, love ; I think that was all.’ ‘ And the clerk—such a nice clerk, mamma—he laid my head against his breast and took up my’ear and placed something behind it. What was it, Annie ? ’ ‘Cork, dear.’ ‘And then,’ said Susie solemnly—--4 What, dear ? Oh, don’t tell me ! ’ Mrs Tibbatts shuddered with horror.

•He jabbed right through ! Now, Annie.’ * Then she fainted. I saw the color leave her lips.’ •My cheeks didn’t get white at all, Annie says. Did they, Annie ? ’ No ! just her lips. And then she sank back and closed her eyes.’ • Oh, how frightful ! ’ * We laid her gently—the clerk and I —on a sofa, for I had learned what to do before we went, I feared as much. Then 1 applied the vinaigrette and the clerk brought water. As soon as her eyes were open we set her up, hut she asomed so weak I told her I would got some brandy before the second operation was performed. I ran to the nearest drug store and said, • Give me some brandy, quick —some of your best brandy 1’ They wanted to know whether I wanted a pint or a quart, but I said, * Givo me some in a glass ; it is important.’ They quickly poured me a half-glass,land I flew back, and she drank it.’" j L

* All, mamma every bit; I wish you could have seen those clerks look at lue. Such astonishment! I couldn’t have done it, of course, except under such extraordinary circumstances.’

You jo or dear! You may well say extraordinary circumstances.’ .* Then,’ resumed Annie, * we persuaded her to undergo the lecond operation.’ ‘ I made a great effort, mamma; you fenow my brothers say I have the strongest will of any woman in the United States. ‘ Yes, she got through it admirably, and they then inserted the gold wires cf the purest possible gold.’ * And they didn’t charge a cent, mamma, for all that trouble ! Wasn’t it kind ?—as we only bought the little gold rings there ; not the diamonds ’

‘ Now, dear, don’t yon think you had better lie down and keep quiet ? What did they prescribe as subsequent treatment, Annie ?’

Oh, mamma, mayn’t I have some lunch 1 I feel really unusually exhilirated.’ ‘lt is the brandy ! ’ said John Henry, laconically. *lt is a reaction, dear, and will socn pass away. What did you say, Annie ? ’ * They thought she had better not expose herself for several days.’ ' There is no danger of fever, then ? ’ ‘They didn't mention it, mamma.’ That evening a number of friends who knew that Friday had been appointed for the operation, called to inquire about the result. Several were invited for Saturday—that is, enough to make the day pass and not prove {oo exoiting. On Sunday the confinement was quite trying, but on Monday Susie was permitted to take the air, being well wrapped up. as the crisis was thought to have passed. She met on her walk old Mrs Robinson, her Sunday school teacher, who, strangely, hadn’t heard of the affair.

* I didn’t see yon out yesterday, my dear ?’ inquired the kind old lady. ‘ I have been quite ill for several days, ’ said Susie, with some dignity.