LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1945, 19 May 1880, Page 4

LITERATURE.

OMPHALE, Chapter L On a vary luxurious couch in a richly furnished drawing-room of a New York City City banker reclined his youngest daughter, •ne of the most beautiful women of that large city. For an hour she had given little ■ign of life, save when she turned the leaves of a book, or yawned audibly over its dull pages. At length the book was thrown violently from her hands across the room, and immediately after she stood erect in the prids of her imperial beauty. The effort feat a passing flush to her cheek, and her eye flashed with a momentary brightness, and loveliness as she remained motionless, with one hand resting on the edge of a table covered with books and prints, and the other hanging list’osaly by her side. * Oh, 1 am tired ! tired ! tired !’ and her voice sank with each successive utterance of the woM. * I really that thia listless life of mine will kill me. Here I am, and have been ever since I can remember, in the midst of splendor and comfort, and perfectly satiated with luxury. My father gratifies my every wish, and oven imaginary wants are created far me and instantly supplied. And yet I am so tired, tired, tired. I am like the captive god of the Aztecs. Fed on dainties regaled with music and flowers and worshipped with abject idolatry, I only differ from him in this, that while his life was terminated after a year’s experience, by the sacrificial knife, mine will end by sheer fatigue. I’ll try what a little music will do to end this dreadful ennui,' And seating herself at the piano, she dashed with what energy she could into that giand old recitative, which happened to be open, and which she -sang with a voice of great sweetness : ‘‘Oh bright was the day and red was the morn, On the rosy hour when I was born. And the whale it whistled, and the porpoises rolled And the dolphin bared his back of gold. And ne’or was heard such an outcry wild As welcomed to life the ocean child.' ‘ Well done, Barry Cornwall! I believe I do feel a little better from your spirited versa, and —and I wish I was a whale, I could at least whistle. I have never done anything in my life, and I believe I could do that; and now’ that 1 think of it, I could do something like a whale—l could blabber. Pshaw 1 I haven’t energy enongh to laugh at that atrocious pun. “ Ah moi, ja m’ennuyo jasqn’au mort.” What shall 1 do? Now there's John, my brother, only tour years older than I am, who is overwhelmed with business, never so happy as when employed, and everybody predicts for him a brilliant career. Now, how can I make myself brilliant ? Join the Woman’s-Bight3 Sisterhood? No, that won’t do. I can’t rival their orators, and I won’t play aecird fiddle. Go out to Africa as a missionary ? Unfortunately my faith is scarcely strong enough to carry me farther than the church every Sunday, and then these limbs of mine, which I feel to be so st'ong and furnished with power for some hitherto unexplained reason, to be torn asunder like Hypatia’s, or go to be devoured by some hungry cannibal ? Oh, that’s too horrible. Go noon the stage? Pa would never consent to that. Turn lectarer? Paternal objection in the way again, Study law or medicine F No, I cannot nnser my-elf, in the present state of public opinion on these subjects. Oh, I must d > something. The impulse to free myself from the thraldrom of social slavery comes over me irresistibly, as I remember soma verses of Barry Cornwall which run in this wise—- “ There is not a man from the scoptered king To the peasant that delves the soil, That knows half the joys existence can bring, That does not partake of its toil.” ‘ Bravo! I would bo delighted to try some of the j »ys of honest toll. The experiment would certainly bring with it the merit of novelty. I am pining like that old Eomau Emperor for a new sensation. I'll go to the window, and, perhaps, the street may give an accidental direction to my ambition,’ And. parting the heavy folds of the curtain, she watched the busy stream of human Mfe that toiled and plodded and fretted be iteath her. ‘ Well,’ she continued, * I don’t see anything down there by which I can make myself particularly brilliant or even useful. JTI try the newspapers. Here is the “ Herald.” ’ In a few moments her eye glistened, and her face, under the influence of the excitement, glowed with marvellous lovlinesa. * Bravo 1 I have it, I have it at last. I’ll write to K ate at once, stating that I’ll be in Philadelphia to-morrow accompanied by John, who will only be too glad to go. I’ll atay with her two weeks, and apologise for my broken engagements here at home. And to-morrow Kate and I will arrange everything. Really I have, at last, some selfrespect. Hurrah 1’ And the excited beauty danced to and fro ever the room to the sparkling accompaniment of an improvised melody, ' Who knows half the joys existence can bring, that does not partake of its toil.’ Chapter 11. The door-bell of a retired mansion on Walnut street in Philadelphia was answered by a servant girl, who reported to her mistress that a young woman at the door wished to see her. * Ask her to walk into the sitting room, Jane, and I’ll be down In a few minutes.’ When she entered the room she was accosted by a young woman, very neatly sad very modestly attired, who at onoe inquired ; ‘ Is this Mrs Henderson, the mistress of the house ?’ ‘lt is,’ was the answer; ‘ what can I do for you ?’ * I have come,’ the stranger replied, * to make application for the situation mentioned in the advertisement this morning in the "Ledger.” Is it filled?’ ‘No.’ ‘ May I ask yon to give me the position P ’ ‘ Have yon ever cooked ? ' ‘ Never as a regular business.' * Have yon ever served as a housemaid ? ’ ‘No, madam.’ * Have you any references ? ’ * I am sorry to say no again. Never having served, I could not obtain any.’ ‘ Well, what can you do ? ’ ‘Anything in your household that a determined will can accomplish.’ 1 Are you a resident of the city ? ’ ‘ No, madam, my parents do not lire in this State.’ * Then, to speak frankly,’ said Mrs Henderson, rising, ‘ I don’t think that yon will suit me. My work is not very heavy, but my husband is rather particular in the quality and preparation of his food, and I fear that— ’ ‘Ob, madam,’exclaimed the yonng applicant, seizing the lady’s hand, ‘Do not refuse mo. I have come determined to please, and I know that I can and will please. At all events, give me a trial, at least until some more fortunate applicant shall appear. I feel assured that you will not regret it. You can discharge mo at your will.’ The earnestness and self-reliance of the girl had their effect, and, after a pause, the lady of the house said—- ‘ Well, let it be so. I’ll take you on trial. What is your name ? ’ ‘ Mary Carter.’ * Are you single or married ? ’ ‘ Single, modam.’ ‘ Then, Miss Carter—’ ‘ Oh, please, stop; don’t call me that. Call me Mary. It will help me in my duties, and that is my name at home.’ ‘ Well, Mary, come on ; I’ll show you your room, and then, if you say so, you can go to work on our dinner. Bring your bundle along. ’ Mr Henderson came home at four o’clock and inquired of his wife if ehe had obtained a cook. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘a yonng thing evidently unused to hard labor, but with the moat earnest resolution to please that I over saw in anyone. She is exceedingly neat and remarkab’y p••tty. I he pedhertho gh her du’ies and she was so grateful for aid and advice that I have spent the whole day in the kitchen. She has an attraction about her that I could not resist, and really I have spent a charming day. But dinner is ready and you can judge for yourself if she will suit us. Her name is Mary Carter.’ . . , , Mr Henderson’s present family consisted of himself and hie wife, and two young

daughter®, who were grown up, and who in ■ few momenta had arranged themselves at a table spread with remarkable neatneu and with well-cooked food. * Be ally, Sarah, thia is a good beginning for your protege. Will she have any objection to waiting on the table ? ’ ‘ It is really,’ said his wife, ‘ not a part of her duty, but I will aak hor.’ * Mary,’ said Mrs Henderson, * will you wait on the table for us, to-day ? ’ ‘Certainly, madam, with the greatest of pleasure.’ And in an instant the new cook made her appearance. ‘ This is my husband, and these are my two daughters, Mary.’ The gracefulness of her manner and her beauty, made more manifest by the deepened dash of her complexion and the honest satisfaction that beamed from her face, won the heart of the assembled family. ‘ I congratulate you on your dinner, Mies Carter.’ * Oh, sir, please don’t say Miss Carter. Call me Mary.’ * Then, M»ry,’ continued Mr Henderson, * allow me to thank yon for this corn bread. 1 so seldom see a cook that can satisfy me on this point. Where did you learn to cook it so well ?’ , 1 At home, from my mother, and a’so in Virginia, where corn-meal is so generally used.’ * Well, Mary, for this reason you will amt me.’ Dinner was over, and the two girls, Minnie and Bose, partly from curiosity and partly from a rising admiration, insisted on washing up ‘ the things ’ and setting the table for tea, and long before the latter meal was announced the three girls were sworn friends. After the latter meal was over, Mary was asked to join the family group in the parlour. « Mary ’ said Mr Henderson, ‘ we are all pleased with yon, and hope you may stay with ns. My wife has told me that you are not a Pennsylvanian, and yon mentioned at dinner that you had been in Virginia. Are you a native of that State ?’ * Mr Henderson,’ said the new servant, * I must ask of you and your family a favour. I am anxious to preserve my incognito, and have gone into service for a special reason, which at some future day, if I continue with yon, I will explain. This special reason will, I am sure, not lesson me in yonr estimation, You will live to honour me, and perhaps thank me for it. To carry it out fully, I am compelled to adopt a partial disguise. If, in doing so, I shall offend you, as I am here only on trial, I will leave at any instant, how painful soever to mo may be a separation from your family. While I am in your service may I earnestly request that all of my new and kind friends here will abstain from all inquiries about me, for they would moat assuredly lead to our sepa-ation.’ A request so earnest was at once accorded. At nine o’clock, when the service of prayer was over, Minnie and Bose, at their father’s request, seated themselves at the piano. They played well and sang with spirit. * Thank you, my children,’ he said, and turning to Mary, asked her if she could play, and if so, would she add to the enjoyment by taking her place'at the piano. ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied; ‘I play sometimes. What kind of music do, you like, sir ?’ ‘ An Irish melody or a Scotch ballad, I can understand them.’ With a few rapid touches to test the keys, and after an overture of exceeding beauty and harmony, the new domestic struck the chords of “The Last Rose of Summer,’’and threw into the sweetest of Irish melodies the richness of her full soprano voice. She sang it with all the earnestness of her nature and with a determination to please, and her little audience was breathless with attention. Mr Henderson, after a pause to recover from the effect of the music, thanked her for the pleasure that she had given him. ‘ Oh don’t get up. Mary." said Mrs Henderson, “ Sing something for me.’ And without further invitation the fair girl sang to the air of ‘When the Swallows Homeward Fly," that touching hymn, ‘ Jesus, Saviour of My Soul.’ Not a sound was heard save the accompaniment of the piano and the full tide of song into which the whole soul of the musician was thrown r and when her voice trembled on the lost words : “ Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of Thy wing." Some departed memory, or -some future need floated with sombre hues over her al ready strained powers, her head sank upon the piano and she sobbed audibly. * Don’t cry,’ my dear,’ said Mrs Henderson laying her hand on the soft hair of the weeping girl. ‘ Don’t cry ; God will surely shelter all His true hearted children. Good night,’ and she kissed the upturned face of the soiling girl. No more was said and the three girls with saddened hearts retired to their couches, where, thanks to their health and their unburdened hearts their pure spirits were soon in the land of dreams. Chapter HI, The next day and the next went on as usual and the new domestic continued to give increasing satisfaction to the family aJinnie and Rose insisted on learning to oook and be useful and made astonishing progress. Mrs Henderson, at their request, kept aloof from the kitchen, and Mr Henderson seemed delighted with his food so skillfully and so variously cooked. Thoir assistance rendered so promptly and so cheerfully gave Mery ample time to sing and to p’ay, and to whirl in the waltz, to overlook the wardrobes of the two sisters and to suggest improvements and to retouch the drawings, to which the girls submitted with a consciousness of inferiority. On the evening of the third day, when tea was announced, Mary fonnd that another plate had been added, and very soon the girls entered with their consin, Colonel Frank Payton. * Frank.’ said Minnie, ‘letjmo introduce to you our friend, Miss Carter, Mary, this is onr consin, Colonel Peyton.’ A momentary flush as of shame, but then a high sense of duty and Mary was herself. She steadily refused to take a seat at the table while her term of service lasted. So she waited on the guests as usual, but in proper time joined the family circle in the parlor. Colonel Fajton, who had been prepared for her advent, soon fonrd himself seated by her side, and a similarity of tastes soon manifested itself. The gentleman was evidently pleased with his new acquaint ance. The conversation, joined in occasionally by the family, was at last left to the two strangers, who roamed over suggested subjects of art and literature, and Anally fell into that exhauetless subject of interest —foreign travel. The colonel, soon after the w»-, bad spent a year or two in Europe, and his fair friend had been over the same f round some years later, and comparison and escription and anecdote and jest followed each other with rattling speed. At last Colonel Peyton, after a slight pause in the conversation, said—- ‘ 1 understand from my nncle, Miss Carter, that yon have visited Virginia, my native State. May I ask what part of the State did you visit ? ’ In an instant the whole nature of the girl was changed. Her face, that had been radiant with animation that rendered her beauty sublime, at once assumed an expression of serious earnestness, and fixing her dark gray eyes on the astonished Virginian, said : ‘ Col. Peyton, let me tell you a story When Eric, a Norwegian pirate, was about to make a descent upon England he consulted Hedda, the most celebrated of the sagas of Scandinavia, as to the success of his voyage. Amid the most fiendish of incarnations and the flaming accessories of a spectral visit, and amid shrieks and continuous screams, to which the terror of the attendants lent additional horror, with hands upraised and eyes glaring, from a month covered with foam, she uttered these words : * Eric of Dronthlem, two things stand in thy way. Avoid them as you hope for success ’ And the earnest girl paused, her eyes still looking into the yonng man’s. ‘ And what were they ?' ho askedShe gave no answer. ‘Ob, Mary, what were they ?’ asked the sisters in one voice. ‘ Do tell ns what he had to avoid to be successful. ’ ‘ They were idle curiosity and sadder confidences.’ * t'h ! what a lame and Impotent con —’ began the gentleman, but he paused, for something in the fixed gaze of the beautiful girl told him that he had gone too far.

Before h« could recover from his confusion the yonng girl arose and said, gaby : ‘ Bless me, I did not-know It was so late, I must go and see about my biead. Goodnight, Col. Peyton.’ And she left the room with a dignity that gave to her surpassing loveliness and inexpressible charm. Col. Peyton saw her no more that r ight. Chapter IY. JgOn the next night the Virgin! n Colonel dropped in, and amid dancing, and song and mnalo, Peace spread her balmy wings over the happy household. Every night found him in attendance. One day, about ten o'clock in the morning, ho entered the parlour unannounced and asked the girls who were at the piano if they had found any of his papers which he had mislaid, and which were valuable to him. The irlik was too transparent, and the sisters laughed in his face. The poor fellow blushed crimson under the detection, ‘Girls,’ said Mary, ‘our morning sports are over. It is high time we were getting dinner. Allans, mes enfans. Good morning, Colonel Peyton.’ ‘Oh, stop! please. Miss Carter; I have come to-spend the day, and I have a request to make. Will you grant it ?’ * Gela depend.' * I want to go into the kitchen, too. and help to get dinner. I’ll work bard, too, if you’ll let me. I know how to oook. On the Rapidan and the Appomattox 1 have cooked my meals too often, that is, whenever I had anything to cook. Let me come, and if I am disobedient, or too awkward, look me out. Please say yea. ’ * What do you say, girls ?’ asked Mary. ‘ Oh, yea,’ cried both, ‘ let him come.’ ‘ We'll put him through his best paces,’ added Rose, ‘ and he shall be a hewer of wood and a drawer of water to his heart’s content.’ A grateful look rewarded the merry cousin, and Colonel Peyton, taking her arm, was led to the kitchen and to the soene of his new duties. (2b he continued .)