LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2043, 10 September 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A CONFIRMED BACHELOR. [Abridged from " Chambers' Journal."] Every city man must know Mole's Buildings, Great Tower street; a substantial block of houses entered by a spacious, courtway into a paved quadrangle, with a gas lamp in the centre, every office within its precints being tacred to the wine trade. Not the least pretentions of these offices were those occupied by the well-known firm of Strangways and Co., an old house in the Madeira trade.

The head of the firm was Joseph Strangways, my uncle, a type of the old school, with his well-ordered wig, frilled shirt front, and small clothes, whose word was his bond and his promise, as readily honored on the market as its equivalent in Bank of England notes.

The firm had been Strangways and Co. from a very remote period, long before the ravages of oidinm had rendered Madeira a rare article in the market.

The junior partner of the firm was Biobard Braithwaite, a man of some fifty summers, who, in addition to his partnership, was the book-keeper of the firm, and my uncle's echo in everything. They were both bachelors, and, as far as oould be foreseen at the opening of this narrative, with every prospect of continuing so. A* the time of which I write, early closing was a thing of the future The business premises of the firm were opened at eight in the morning and closed at eight p.m.—not a moment before. There was no need of any one pertaining to the firm seeking the culinary uid of any of the numerous restaurants of the neighbourhood, seeing that a luncheon at one and a dinner at six was punctually prepared for the employes by the portly housekeeper. The day's business concluded, my uncle and Braithwaite proceeded to the Salutation, a well-known hotel in Tower street. The place of honor was always occupied by Joseph Strangways ; indeed, eo thoroughly was this seat recognised as his that had illness or any untoward circumstances prevented my uncle from being present I firmly believe the seat would have heen religiously kept vacant from sheer respect. Here the main subjects of discussion were politics and the unfortunate oondition of married men. My undo energetically de-

nominated all married men as either henpecked or fools, an opinion always forcibly echoed by the junior partner of the firm, Mr Braithwaite, who, however, It must be confessed, had one weakness, and that was playing on the flute. Whenever, in spore moments of business, Mr Braithwaite wished to indulge in this luxury, he always deemed it prudent to retire to the top storey of the business premises in Mole's Buildings, for fear of bringing down npon his devoted head the withering earcasm my uncle would be certain to hurl as him.

After a time it was noticed that, on one pietexfc or another, he would absent himßelf from the conviviality of the Salutation. On bt ing taken to task, when these absences extended to say three nights out of the six,_ he confessed to my uncle that he spent the time in enjoying a musical feast at the honso of Sternhold Capias, barrister-at-law, in Crosby square.

* Ah,' aaid my uncle, with a withering sneer; I see what it all means ; Capias intends one or the other of his daughters shall play or sing herself into being made Mrs riichard Braithwaite. You're a fool, Dick, an arrant fool; at your time of life too. I suppose you take that flute with you ?'

Mr Braithwaite pleaded guilty to the indictment.

' Then more f icls the Capias's to listen to such an infernal noise,' rejoined my nncle.

It was noticed, too, that on the evening when Mr Braithwaite did grace the Salutation with his presence that he was silent whenever old Joe Strangways delivered a fiery dial r be against women. At lass the truth oozed out. With a shamefacednes?, only becoming that of a beardless boy, Richard Braithwaite screwed up courage one fine June morning to announce to my uncle that he would be married to the youngest daughter of Sternhold Capias on the ensningj Wednesday week, and inviting him tc the wedding. ' What!' growled my nncle. ' Isn't it enough for one partner of the firm to make a consummate ass of himself without being satisfied unless the other partner be a witness of his folly ? No, sir. I'll do nothing of the kind ; and, harkey'e, Braithwaite, she must not live here—she must not cross this threshold—for, by Q—d,' continued my uncle, striking his office table in his wrath, ' so suro as she comes in at one door, Joseph Strangways walks out at the other.' Mr Braithwaite hastily assured my uncle that nothing of the kind was ever thought of, in fact, that he had already taken a house in America square. There is no denying it. After Braithwaite's marriage, my nncle missed him, missed his familiar echo at the Salutation, where it was coarsely insinuated by one Wilkin?, a master butcher from Leadenhall, " That as one of the firm had ran his head into the nooao, it was possible the other might follow "

At this all eyes were turned towards my nncle, who, to the surprise of all present, made no reply, but Bat sipping his grog as if not a word bad been spoken. 'lf it's the question of finding a wife, you haven't far to seek ; look at home, for instance, there's yonr house-keeper, Mrs Brocklebank. she's a fine woman —an uncommonly fine woman," continued the butcher ; ' and there's enongh of her. Why not marry her?" A.t this juncture a chorus of voices cried "i-i name " on Wilkins, whoae remarks were not replied to by my uncle, who, a little before his usual time, rose from his seat, and having wished the company a collective "Good night," wended his way to th 6 old houss in Moles Buildings. Arrived there, he was met in the passage by Mrs Brocklebank, who, as usual, tendered him his chamber candlestick, which he took mechanically, with his eyeß fixed on the comely widow, whilst, instead of immediately ascending the staircase, as was his wont, he stood irresolutely, his eyes still fixed on Mrs Brocklebank, who enquired if he wanted anything. 'No 1 Mrs Brocklebank. No.' replied my uccle ; then he exclaimed suddenly, ' Was yonr late husband kind to you, Mrs Brocklebank ?■

'La! Mr Strangways,'replied the widow, • what a question to ask. Well, yes. sir, pretty well, as far as that goes ; though he might have been kinder to me.' ' How long has he been dead, Mrs Brocklebank ?' rejoined my uncle. 'Seven years, come next Christmas, sir.' replied the widow, with a sigh; ' and, although Brocklebank might have been a kinder husband, as I was saying, yet I sadly missed him for a long time, for a husband's faults appear less [after he's dead and gone than when he is alive to bother one. Von are quite sure there's nothing I can get you.

' Nothing, thank you, Mrs Brocklebank, replied my uncle, who, as he went up-stairs, soliloquieed—' Yes, Wilkins fine woman.' *****

The next day, very much to Kichard Braithwaite's surprise, my uncle enquired after the health of Mra Braithwaite ; and, after the junior partner had assured his senior that Mas B.'a health was all that could be desired, he ventured timedly to remind my uncle that he had not yet visited tem in the new house in America square. ' You have never asked me yet,' rejoined mv uncle.

Upon this Braithwaite assured my uncle that had he dreamt there was the least probability cf his accepting the invitation it would have been given long since, and finally inviting h'm to drive with them the day after the morrow.'

* Well, if I do csme/said my uncle, ' will you give me my favorite joint and a roly poly pudding V ' Certainly, replied the junior partner. • Why, it was only last evening my wife expressed the wish that you would favor us with your company.' 'And'added my uncle, 'you won't bore me to death with your root toot toot ting on the flute ?' The required promise was given. ' Then,' said my uncle, 'l'll come.' I need hardly say how surprised Mrs Braithwaite was when told by her husband that evening of the invitation given and accepted, nor need I add what a fluster the little woman was in prior to the advent of the notorious old woman hater in their cosy little hocse in America square. The da/ arrived, and with many misgivings a 3 to the success of the dinner, Mrs Braithwaite awaited the expected arrival of her lord and his partner in business. On his entrance, my uncle very gallantly kissed the lady of the house, adding, ' Don't mind me, my dear, you know I am old enough to be your grandfather.' The dinner was a success ; and when at last the time came for my uncle to go, he again gallantly kissed the hostess - like a gentleman of the old school—saying, ' My dear, if you write me again, I'll come.' Ono thought seemed after this to take possession of my uncle, and I think It was born of a ohivalric feeling, that idle tongueß must be silenced about Mrs Brocklebank, and that he must provide her with a husband.

On his entering the courtyard of Mole's Buildings a few nights after the dinner at Braithwaite's, on his return from the Salutation, his quiok eye caught the form of a man emerging from the doorway of his house of business. The glare of the bull's eye denoted it was the policeman on duty, who wished my uncle good night. ' Stay, policeman, * said my nncle ; ' All right here—is everything all right V ' Yes, sir,' added the policeman; 'I jnst called in to say a word to Mrs Brocklebank.' Mrs Brocklebank ! Was it possible the policeman was a suitor for the comely housekeeper. After a moment's pause my uncle said—- * Mrs Brocklebank is a fine woman.' •She is, sir,' rejoined the policeman. ' Marry her,' said my uncle. ' What I ' replied the guardian of the law-

•Marry her,' cried my nncle; 'l'll make it worth your while.' At this the policeman burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, ejaculating in broken scnsences, 'Why! Lord, sir, I can't do that. She is my aunt.' Again my uncle took his chamber candle from the hou-ekeeper, and after ascending a few otairs, he turned round and said, ' Mrs Brocklebank! this state of things can't last any longer. Yon must get married.'

• What, me, Mr Strangways V cried the widow. * Who ? why V 'Who?' erclaimed my uncle, 'anybody. Why ? because things can't go on, this coupling of names I hear, any longer. Nothing can put a stop to it but a marriage certificate.' • Is he mad ?' thought Mrs Beooklebank. Then seeing my unole disappearing at the

top [of the stairs, she called out, ' Will yem. have the warming-pan to-night, sir ?' 'Dama the warming pan,' roared my uncle.

still impressed with this idea of a husband for Mrs Brocklebank, my uncle descended next day to the cellars to tas'e some Madeira the cellarman had called hi* attention to.

Bat, tho ceUarman, was an odd-looking individual, and a character; his appearance was anything but preposseßßing. An accident with a gun in early life had deprived" him of one eye, and. as he stood with the cellar candlestick in his haud, dressed in aa old pair of cord trousers, and wearing tho leather apron usual to persons cf his calling, his head surmounted by an old fur cap, helooked little calculated to be selected by any one as a bridegroom eleot They were in council respecting the merits of a recent consignment of a late vintage of Madeira, and, after a silence of a lew" minutes, my uncle remarked—- ' Bat, you know Mrs Brocklebank ?' ' What; your housekeeper V replied Bat. • Yes,' replied my uncle. ' i r es, guvnor, I know Mrs Brocklebank.* • A fine woman, Bat ' 'Yes,' responded Bat; 'a fine woman; plenty of her.' • Pull of body,' interrogated my uncle. ' Yes, fuil of body ; rare and crummy,* was Bat's reply. 'An uncommonly fine woman,'mused my nncle aloud ; then in a louder voice, * Marry her, Bat; she will make a good wife.' 'Marry her,* ejaculated Bat, letting fall his cellar candlestick in sheer attsnishment.

'Yes, marry her,' said my unce; 'l'll make it worth your while. I'll you a thousand pounds the day yon marry her, and then you could take a public-house, and. live comfortably. Think of it, Bat, a thousand pounds.'

'Well, guvnor,'slowly replied Bat, 'l'll think of it, siaca you ask me, and,, If it come to that, if you very much want it done, I'll marry her; but,' he added, in. a lower tone. ' there is one obstacle.'

' And what is that ?' aeked my nncle. 'Why, guvnor, I've got a wife and five children, that's all; but, still, there's the £IOOO ; it's worth risking.'

' You married, * roared my uncle. * How dare yon to be married ? didn't you tell me yon were a single man ?' ■So I did, gavnor; bo I did,' was the reply; ' but the reason I said that was because yon told me when I applied for the situation of cellarmen that you would have no married men on the premises ; but I suppose yon bave altered a bit since Mr BraithwaiteMias bin and gene and married that eer young woman ; but stil there's a way.' ' But,'roared my nncle, *if you dare to propose any mere of your bigamous, villafious schemes, I'll knock you dawn as flat as a pancake.' ' Easy on, guvnor,' cried Fat, 'easy on, sir, if I won't do I can find a sabstitne ; there's my son. * ' Your son.' ' Yes ; the young fellow that drives yonr cart—the town carman, Jim. ' Is ha your son ?' 'Yes ; one on 'em,' said Bat; and as he's turned twenty, I reckon he'll do. If yon like I'll speak to him about it to-night, and if him and the missus is willing, why the thing can be done.' Next day my nncle descended to the cellar at the very time Jim was engaged loading the cart with the well-known wine baskets. He was a fresh-colored young fellow, bnt somewhat uncouth in appearance. My uncle approached him, and Jim awkwardly saluted him by tagging at his forelock. 'Did your father say anything to yon. last night about marriage,' asked my uncle. ' Yes, eir,' replied Jim, with a grin on his face.

' And are yon prepared to marry Mrs Brocklebank ?' added my uncle. ' I a'pose so,' said Jim; ■lt eeems as hoir you wants it, and she wants it, and father wants it, and of course I wouldn't object for the world; but, sir,' added Jim, with another vigorous tug at hia forelock, ' Father was a saying as how you'd give me a bit of money as ud. do to set up in the public line j I s'pose that's all right.'

'As soon as Mrs Brocklebank is married to you I will give a £looo.' ' Thank you, kindly, sir,' said Jim.

On his way to his office it struck my nncle that perhaps the lady herself might object to be disposed of by private contract, bnt dismissed his fesrs till his return from the Valuation that evening. He stopped short, as Mrs Brocklebank handed him his chamber candlestick, and Baid, hesitatingly—' Mrs Brocklebank ?' ' Sir,' replitd the honsekeeper. ' I've found yon a husband.' ' Me, Mr strangways,' cried the widow. * You ! Mrs Brocklebank,' said my nncle. ' A good, steady, honest, young fellow, who will be a good husband to you, and I shall give you a £ 1000 as a wedding present.' ' La! Mr Strangways, you astound me. I don't want a husband. Who on earth is it?'

Here my unnle hesitated again, and said. ' You know him. Jim, the town-carman, in our employ' ' What!' exclaimed Mrs Brocklebank, with an indignant tone, 'me marry that child ? Never, sir !' She burst into tears, and having wiped her eyes, and adjusted, her cap, said, with dignity, ' I don't know, sir, what I have done to desarve this unmerited insult. I have remained too long in your service, sir, but that can be remedied. Will you be good enough to take a week's notice, sir.'

•Oh, well! oh well! just as yon like," exclaimed my uncle, testily, as he walked hastily upstairs. A few nights after this, on his return home, my uncle noticed some corded boxes in the passage. He looked inquiringly at them as Mrs Brocklebank stood with his candlestick.

*My boxes, sir,' said the widow. ' I leave to morrow morning. Here is the best of all the linen. It's all in the proper places, except the week's wash, which is not home yet from the laundress; but if you find anything wrong I shall be glad to give you any explanation. I shall be at my married sister's for a little time. This is the address, sir,' handing my uncle a card, which he did not notica.

' Doa't go; there's a good soul,' said my uncle ' I don't want you to go. Stop here, not as Mrs Brocklebank, but as tao mistress of the house. I love you, there ; marry me ; stop as Mrs Strang ways.' 'Oh! lal Mr Strangwaya,' began the widow—

' Don't call me Mr Strangwaya ; call me Joseph; kiss me,' he said, throwing his arms round the buxom widow, and, suiting the action to the word, kissed her. ' Oh ! I declare, Mr Strangwaya—Joseph. I mean—l am so agitated that I hardly know whether I am on my head or my heels.'

But the marriage did not take place. The license was duly procured and notice given to the clerk at the churnh of St. Mungodown at Hill; or, as It had been irreverently called by the larrikins of the neighborhood, St. Mungo down at heel. Joseph Strangways was found dead in his bed on the morning of the day that was to have been his wedding day. Passed away in his sleep, with a placid smile on his features, as though at rest and on good terms with all the world. It was a sad blow to all of us; a sad blow t 3 Mr* Brocklebank

• Not that I pretend to have been violently in love, Bir,' she said to me on the day the will was read ; ' but still I had always respected Mr Strangways, and though I could not understand why he wanted me to marry Jim, the carman, I knew he had a kind heart.' She was remembered in his will—an annuity of £2OO a year and an expressed wish that she should always remain the housekeeper, if she wished it; so ran the clause.

*He was a good man,' exclaimed Mr Braithwaite, ' and a great loss to all of ns, and a great loss to the wine trade. There aie mariy men in the world but none left to take Joseph Strangway'a place, and I can only account for his intense deßire to get Mrs Brocklebank married to the fact that Wilkins, the bntcher, had made his mind uneasy as to how the world might couple Mb name with her's. A confirmed bachelor he was till his visit to ua at America square, where I flatter myself our domestic happiness made him think better of women than he had ever done, and his respect for what the world might Bay made him loath to recant his oft-expressed opinions. Still hiss feelings led him to wish for this union which death has only jußt prevented. He was a just man, and a strictly honorable one, and In the words ot our grea": bsrd shall. never see hia liko again.'