LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2139, 3 January 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTERY OF LORD BRACKENBURY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIA B. EDWABDS. Author of "Barbara's History," *'Debenbarn's 'Vow," &c. ( Continued. ' That is lady Fymes—a delightful old woman—witty, wicked, and devout. She was a great beauty in her day. Sir Thomas Lawrence painted her as Helen of Troy ; and it is whispered that the Prince Regent played Paris to her Helen ; but, of course, that's scandal. She is strictly orthodox—gavo a thousand pounds last summer towards the new church at Bcsmere; subscribes to all the best charities ; is charming to talk to; and has a wonderful memory. I'd give anything to write her Life and Recollections. ' 'Divided, like the History of England, into the period of the Conquest, and the period of Reformation ?' Mrs Pennefeather laughed. ' If you make epigrams, Mr Cochrane," she said, ' you must expect me to steal them for my next book. Am I to goon? Well, then, that intelligent-looking man with the beard is Dr. Saunders —physician, traveller, ethnologist, naturalist, with an alphabet of honorary capitals at the end of his name. He has been twice round the world, and has lately settled down to practice his profession in Singleton. Of course, he is too good for the place, and our people don't know what to make of Mm. The two other men at the bottom of the table are Major Biewitt and Captain Bryce ; ' heavies' from the barracks. Major Biewitt distinguished himself in India—that shy little girl in grey satin next to Dr. Saunders Is Mrs Biewitt. Captain Bryce plays the cornet, and hasn't an idea in his head.' 'Perhaps he has blown his brains out,' suggested Cochtane. ' Mr Cochrane, some dieadful tragedy will happen if you p-;mst in these courses. You are positively too clever to live.' ' You are phased to be satirical, Mrs Pennefeather. But you have told me nothing abent the one person who most excites my curiosity.' And he glanced in the direction of the Countess Casteirosso. 1 Impossible, in such close neighborhood. You must wait till after dinner.' Other conversations mora or less desultory weie meanwhile going on round the table. The fair Countess flirted with her host ; Mr Fink made himself Hurriedly agreeable to Mrs Biewitt ; Mr Pennefeather and Major Biewitt were talking about the climate and resources of the Punjab ; Captain Bryce was manfully eating his dinner. As for Lady Symes, she looked so nndisguisedly bored, not to say irritated, for the third 'entreV had made its appearance, and still Sir Grimsby Turnbull was grinding his measured platitudes in her unwilling ear. ' Show me aDy other remedy,' he said, ' I say it again—Show me any other remedy. The labor market is overstocked. In other words, the supply exceeds the demand. Now this is a matter upon which not only the present, but the future commercial prosperity of the country unquestlonally depends. What is to be done with the underpaid and unemployed masses ? I ask what is to be done ? ' ' Give 'em plenty of work, I should say, and pay 'em good wages,' replied Lady Symes, sharply. ' But—but my dear Madam—we have to legislate for an immense surplus population.' ' My dear Sir Grimsby, I am a stupid old woman and I know nothing about political economy ; bat its my belief that cannibalism is a fundamental law of nature, and that whe-e there's a surplus population it's a pity it shouldn't be eatea.' With this Lady Symo3 turned her back upon the Liberal member, and, passing an easy transition from cannibalism to piimitive man, began talking to Dr, Saunders about the Monbodclo the »ry. •I had the pleasure of his lordships acquaintance,' she said, ' centurios ago, sir—before you were boru. Ho was amusing to talk to; but he rode his hobby to death. In a cDTjpany where I was present one evening at my Lady Oarneaio's, he used an ingenious argument comparing the race of man to the breed of Maux cats, which doubtless owe their taillessness to accident, and originally descended from ancestors with tails. Be would have it that such was our case, and thit m-n of the primitive pattern might yet be found in some nndisoovered island of the Paoiric. 1 laughed at this, and whispered Mr Brummoll that my lord probably had hereditary reasons for his views. This came to his ears and he never spoke to me after. Yet, though I laughed, I inclined to his opinion. Sure some old travellers testify ta

having Been men with tails ? Tell me what you think. Dr. Saunders ?' ' Madam/ said Dr Saunders, ' I think

I they were travellers' tales.' ' To beg tbe question with a joke, sir, is not to answer it," retorted the old lady, somewhat tartly. ' But to answer it seriously, in the present stage of physiological science is impossible." ' Ah. well, I am no physiologist.' said Lady Byrnes; ' but it's my firm oonviction that Adam and Eve had tails ' Now, as ill-fortune would have it, there cbauced at that moment to ba a lull in the general conversation; so that Ln.dy Syme's opinion upon this delicate prehistoric point was distinctly heard by the wbole table. An awful silence followed. The ladise looked shocked ; Mr Pennefeather looked scandalised ; Captain Brvce laughed outright ; and Mrs Pennefeather bit her lips, les-, ihe should follow suit. Then, as by common consent, every one began talking at once. and Adam and Eve were drowned in a sea of commonplaces. Lady Symes meanwhile went on chattering, not only to Dr. Saunders, but to all within a long range of speaking distances, 1 I saw you the other night at Grasslands, Mr Fink,' she said; 'you and your wife. How late you arrived ! And what a r-nuh it was 1 I hate house-warmings—don't you ? However, I waß one of the chosen few who dined ;so I ought not to grumble. I managed to get into a corner before the fie .-o began, and looked on in safety. How hand some Lsdy Violet grows ; but so frigid ! She takes after her mother in that—the Jungfrau and the " Mere de Glace," I c»Il 'em. Did you see Lord JEverton of Toffee ? Oh, yes, he was there ; and without his better half. The poor man seemed ta be en joying his liberty. I had a long chat with him, and with the new Dean. I don't fancy the new Dean. His opinions are like his clothes—they fit so badly that they must have been picked up at second-hand. I'm no logician ; but I hate a slovenly thinker. Mr Pennefeather says nothing ; but I'll warrant he loves the Dean no better thaa I do.' ' I beg your pardon, Lady Fymes ; I have no acquaintance whatever with the Dean,' protested Mr Pennefeather. ' But you have read his book, I presume ; and that is enough. "What do you think of the Dean's book, Dr. Saunders ?' ' Indeed, Madam, I cannot say. I tried to dip into it; but it was so dry that dipping was Impossible.' ' Dry ! 'lis drier than the African desert. They say Moses had a copy of it in his pocket, and that was why tbe Bed Sea divided. As for the critics, they have all taken to drinking since they reviewed it.' 'I will take care never to offend Lady Symes, lest I should some day write a book,' said Cochrane, in a whisper, Mrs Pennefeather shrugged her shoulders, 'Friend or foe,' she said, 'it makes no difference.' she oat yonr books up, then?' ' Cut them np! She makes micros pocic mincemeat of them. Bat she can't help is, you know—she's bo terribly smart." 'lt is easy to be smart if one does not mind being spiteful,' said Cochrane ; ' and I'm not sure that her ladyship's good things are original,' (7V) be continued^