LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 202, 17 August 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A FORLORN HOPE. It was down at the docks by the North River, New York, where the streets are dingy and narrow and wear a permanently blackened look—where the houses are curiously jammed together, clinging to one another like irregular teeth. Seafaring men stood talking in groups at the corners of the crossings and beneath the awnings on the sidewalks. Every pair of trousers was more or less danhed with tar, and the men bore on their ruddy cheeks the kisses of the snns of every clime nnder high heaven.

Thews and sinews were to be seen there toiling doggedly and perpetually. Steam engines of various forms and uses were toiling also after their fashion—hoisting goods, pumping water, driving piles. Horses were dragging enormous loads, calmly, as if they were used to the engines, and cared less than nothing about the noise. The workers were pushing out groins and breastwork and piles and dams, which must have astonished the river as they gradually forced it out of its old landmark. Here and there might be observed thoughtful looking men, standing, watching keenly and with contracted brows the progress of things. Standing apart, with folded arms and a profoundly discouraged sir, a young man was likewise gazing around him. He was broadshouldered, tall and muscular. He had full bine eyes, a quantity of hair of a tawny red, a large mouth out of which glittered a superb set of white teeth. Naturally his smile was bcustant, bright and jovial; but now it was considerably overcast. He walked up to the contractor with the air of a man who had made up his mind to a last effort. * Then there is no chance for me on the job, Mr Broadslip 7 ’ * I guess not, Berthfield.’ The other was silent. ‘ You see, continued Broadslip, * Bedford manages it all, and he has the stamps. ’ * The position would have just suited me.’ •Down to the ground ; but you ain’t Bedford’s nephew. It’s not the right man in the right place, Joe, But the man is in the place, and right will not turn him out while might keeps him in. It ain’t my fault you ain’t fixed, Joe, and I’m real sorry. If I was boss I’d fix you right off.’ * I’m obliged, Mr Broadslip. I’ll see you at Engledell Sunday,’ and Joe Berthfield turned on his heel, * « * *

It was Sunday in Engledell and on the Hudson—the quaint old town of Engledell that overlooks the North River from a snug little aerie up in the rock-ribbed Balisades. The cracked bell of the church was clanging forth its open doors. It was an old church. The windows were cob-webbed and dirty, with here and there a pane of stained glass in strange pattern. These were distributed with perfect irregularity. These windows looked on the worn gravestones where the forefathers of those who now stood there slept. Long, tangled, siotly-looking grass twined about the gravestones, and one or two were ornamented with rose bushes and oyster shells. Some trees of smoked, dried green slowly grew and slowly decayed by the side of the old church.

The bell rope hung into the body of the building, and a stove reared its unsightly pipe in the centre, supported by iron bars that radiated from it in every direction. Just as the service commenced a pretty, dark-eyed girl glided down the aisle, with a rather conscience-stricken air, opened with some difficulty one of the doors, and hid herself immediately in one of the pews, her blushing face closely pressed against her hands, which lay on the woodwork in front of her, as she knelt down to say a short prayer. The two behaved very well during the services, taking only stealthy, innocent glances at each other, and even then at long intervals.

Bnt when the service was read and the benediction said, the girl remained a little longer than usual on her knees, and Joe was waiting for her when she arose. They walked silently together out of the church and turned into a broad walk, shaded with trees, which led down zigzag fashion to the river. As they got further and further away from the departing congregation, Berthfield being an enterprising youth in all ho undertook, possessed himself of her hand, and put his face so close to her hat that she could not choose but look at him. And he looked long, but not apparently making himself the happier for doing so, for at tho conclusion he gave a great sigh. ‘Hattie, darling, ’ he said, ‘l’ve no good news for yon. I’ve been to the dock works at the North River, and the position Broadslip hoped to give me is filled, and there’s no chance of another opening. They don’t want young, untried hands there, yet they might have given me a triaL” ••But, Joe,” said the girl, and her voice faltered as she spoke, * you know what you wish cannot be. You wish me to take the chances of life. I cannot leave my father. Ho is ageing sadly. I think his poor eyes are growing dim, and now he would rather have all his beautiful music played to him than to do it himself. Joe, my great hope is that I may be able to take his pupils for him.’

‘ You would do well, Hattie. Yon have a wonderful knack of managing people.’ The girl smiled, and in her smile there was a peculiar mocking expression which seemed like a ripple about the month. She became grave again. ‘ He has worked for me, Joe ; it is fit that I should work for him.’

‘ Bat, if I could got work near, you need not leave him, Hattie. We would marry and all live together.’ ‘No, Joe ; we are too young to fetter ourselves with each uncertain prospects. Alone we may struggle, and if we fall we fall alone and drag down no other; but were we married and your employment so uncertain, cares would come on ns more quickly than we could meet them. Believe me, Joe, we are best single." There was no selfishness about the young fellow yet, man-like, he could not forbear the answer.

‘Hattie, you think more of your father than you do of me. My young life—.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘ I should be no good wife to you, Joe, if I failed as a daughter. Do not press me more. God knows I am sorely tried already,’ and the pent up tears came at last. Then Berthfleld inwardly called himself many, many frightful names, of which * Unmanly wretch' and ‘ Brute ’ were the least severe. But he said audibly, 1 1 know, Battio. Forgive me. ’ And the words were scarcely out of his mouth before he was forgiven, for the warm, round, white hand was again placed confidingly in his. He continued, ‘The worst Is yet to come, Hattie,’ His words came slowly, as If dragged up by the roots. * I have undertaken to work my way to Japan, and the captain of the steamer has promised to get me work as soon as we arrive. I did hope to have begun higher up, bat I’ve never

shirked work, and I’ll show that I can do a good and earnest day's work. I’ve toiled with dust and dirt and oil and what not, and I’ll do it again. I know my t-ade thoroughly, the lowest as well the highest part at It, and—and—l’m young and strong.’ * Yes, it’s all true,’ said poor Hattie, and these four words were all she could say. ‘I shall not forget you, Hattie. It may be twenty years before we meet again, but even then I shall be yours only.’ Hattie smiled, but this tinu it was a poor, worn, wan, struggling smile. * I shall be old and faded then, Joe.’ ‘lt does not matter,’ be r<turned with a loving gaze. ‘ You may bj old and faded, worn and shrivelled, but you will be more to me than any other woman.’ A great mist seemed to have come over the river, as the girl said : * We must part now, dear Joe. 5 They walked on silently f< r a little time. ‘I said to-morrow, Hattie,’ be siid, aa they reached the old church. ‘ I’ll bind yon by no promise.’ * Wa have the world before gj and God tc aid us, dear heart,’ she replied They stood and gazed sadly on the gravestones ; there seemed nothing but an atmosphere of dampness and decay amongst them, only the warm love and young hope in their breasts, but these triumphed even in the sadness of the hour. He held her in his arms f r one last caress, and then released her. In another minute be had gone. {To he continued )