LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2160, 27 January 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

OUK HERO IN BLACK. (From “London Society.”) We always spoke of ourselves as a ‘ garrison town, ’ we good folks of Donjonville. And why shonld we not ? Had we net barracks and a company of Foot, and, more than all, a Government chapel and a Government chaplain ? What more would you have to constitute a garrison town? We had no fortifications, it is true—nothing, in fact, that, strictly speaking, could be garrisoned —but then we had onr noble and massive old castle, with its walls nine feet thick, which had stood a siege of six months by Robert Bruce, and a bombardment of six minutes (two shells did the business) by one of Cromwell’s generals. We swo'e by that castle, we swelled with conscious pride as we spoke of it; and a cynical tourist, who was overheard to describe it as * a gray squat building,’ narrowly escaped being lynched upon the spot. This ancient fortress had, indeed, degenerated into a common gapl, a fact which somewhat detracted from the romance of its associations; but, despite the painfnl penitentiary cleanliness and order of its interior, there was still a fine old feudal look about portions of its exterior, and we Donjonvillites could, at any rate, boast that there was not in the three kingdoms any castle of its age in snch per. feet preservation. We were a trifle dull, perhaps, at Donjon ville—prejudiced persons from neighboring towns, tnvions of onr historical prestige, sometimes pronounced ns stagnant; indeed, a distinguished novelist, who once honoured ns with a flying visit, afterwards described Donjonviile as ‘ probably the dullest spot on the habitable globe.’ £nt, then, how could he possibly be able to judge from seeing Donjonviile for a few hours on a miserably wet day ; and what weight, after all, does any sensible person attach to the flippant utterances of a shallow scribbler 1 Not, mind yon, that we were not sometimes conscious onrselvea of being dull, and at snob times we were wont to execrate the dnlness of Donjonviile with singular unanimity and forcibleness of expression.. But then it was one thing to pass unfavourable (criticisms upon Donjonviile ourselves, and qnite another to tolerate such strictures from strangers, On the whole, a pretty wide experience of English provincial towns inclines me to think that Donjonviile was, after all, not so dull as many places which makes far greater pretensions to liveliness. We rejoiced of coarse in a plethora of a, for you will generally find that the ir the town the bigger the gossip ; and we had an admirable assortment of gossipmongers of both sexes, the male element, however, being, 1 am bound to say, the preponderat'ng one. We had an American ‘colonel,’ a retired sea captain, and a militia major, whom I would have backed both as retailers and inventors of soandal against any three in the world. But rich as we were In accomplished gadabouts, we were even richer in original * characters,’ whose eccentricities kept ns constantly tprovided with entertainments. Foremost amongst these, by right of his individuality not less than by right of his social position, stood our Government chaplain, who was also practically the vicar of Donjonviile, there being no other ‘ Established ’ place of worship within a mile of the town. The Rev. Joseph Stickler—‘the last of the lers, ’ as he used, half-prondly, half pathetically, to style himself, for he was a widower, and his only son had been kii’ed at sea—was a remarkable man in many ways. In height he was not more than five feet throe inches, but in girth his proportions were gigantic. I have never seen so short a man carry the middle bntton of his waistcoat in anything like snob an advanced position as Joseph Stickler carried bis. Gis knees had been hidden from his sight for years. Be bad a leg—or I shonld say two legs, for he possessed the normal complement—of perfect shape. If Mr Stickler had any mundane vanity, and even the best of men are not without it, his legs were the object of that vanity. It was because he was just a little vain of them, I suspect, that he clnng to the good old fashion of knee-breeches, black silk stockings, and hackled shoos long after the rest of the civilised world had discarded those integuments, though probably, if all the leaders of fashion had possessed such elegant extremities as onr Government chaplain, the modern trouser would have been unknown. In deportment the Rev. Joseph Stickler conld have given Mr Tnrveydrop a lesson. He carries himself with such dignity, that when he stood talking on tne parade with * Cnnnle ’ Hiram B. Fulton, a lanky ‘ Down-Easter ’ of six feet three, the parson struck yon as being by far the bigger man of the two. His florid clean-shaven face would have been handsome had It been a trifle less fleshy ; and, at any rate, no one conld deny that it was a good resolute English face, full of courage and sense. So mnch for the Rev. Joseph Stickler’s physique. Bat his manners wore even more remarkable than hia figure. He had a blunt

forcible way of calling a spade a spade, both in the pulpit and in private life, which often shocked persons burdened with a particularly squeamish sense of propriety. I heard him once pnt an extinguisher npon an affected and foolish lady, who was expatiating on the virtues of the son whom she had just sent to school, by blurting out gruffly and brusquely! • Humbug, madam, humbug I There never was a boy yet vjho wasn’t a thief and a liar. A good boy is a monstrosity, madam, a lusus natures, sure to come to the gallows or some equally bad end. There's some hope of a bad boy ; flog the vice out of him at school, and it’s ten to one he’ll turn out a decent man when he grows up. Bo far yon will say that there was not much that was heroic about Joseph Stickler i and possibly, had you 'sat under him' and listened to his pulpit utterances, the sound common sense of which was constantly marred by his grotesque babit of stopping in the full flood of his discourse to remonstrate, in the homeliest fashion imaginable, with the drowsy or heedless members of his congregation, you would’ have probably found it still harder to see anything heroic in our eccentric parson. But for all that he was a hero, and this fact I am sure you will admit readily enough before you reach the end of my story. For, whatever Ouida and ‘Guy Livingstone’ may try to persuade you to the contrary, a hero need not by acy moans be a giant in height and a Hercules in strength, with Norman brow and Grecian nose; indeed, I take it that there have been far more heroes under five feet six inches than over that standard, and far more saub noac-s among them than even Homan ones. However, to come back to our muttons, you

shall hear why and how Joseph Stickler came to be considered a hero. It was with the younger male portion of the community that he first established his o aim to that title, and the manner of it was remarkable. I have already mentlohed that our parson’s propensity to administer homely, but at the same time fearfully impressive, rebukes to those of his congregation whose conduct seemed to him indecorous during divine service The most frequent recipients of this verbal chastisement were the unhappy Sunday school children, whose horribly tin comfortable pens—l cannot call them Beats —were immediately facing the pulpit. But the punishment of these unfortunates was not confined to words. The Her. Jo-?epH Stickler had a sturdy henchman who was as vigorous a disciplinarian as his master, and a scarcely less original and eoo-ntric character. Billy Marks —for snob was tne somewhat undignified name of this repro sentative of Donjon ville Bumbledom —fil.ed a rather nondescript, ecclesiastical position : i before service he acted as verger, during

prayers he acted as dork, when the sermon commenced he vacated his desk and went aloft to the gallery, where, armed with a long cane he stationed himself immediately behmd the school children. Heaven help !^,K a f P ir b £ y . or Birl who dared t 0 doze or xhibit the slightest symptoms of inattention during tbe preacher’s discourse! Softly would the artful an d lynx-eyed Willa,’\ ® re ®P along the cocoanut matting until he was within striking distance of “i? ' a t^3en 011116 was cautiously raised, to descend upon the head or shoulders ot the luckless victim with a thwack that sounded all over the building. And if the watchful Billy, whoso attention to his master s homily must have been of a rather divided sort, failed to detect a delinquent, vo ‘ ce from the pulpit, which he sv. wel1 ’ w . oa ld at once call his attcnturn to the omission. It was on one of these Hctfnn nf’7e en W3a E uil ty of a derehction of duty, that the first memorable exP rhp.lln ot, f hor ° 1Q black was achieved, ■fhe circumstances were those _ ° mC6rs . ° f the ‘garrison,’ four in number, occupied a pew in the gallery, nofc H-n f T , h |° cn f (lnU terrible * who wereBilJy Mark* h special charge during sermona warm da y iQ summer, and, what with the heat and the so orous eloquenceof the preacher, there was a general disposition to drowsiness among the congregation: wh , lcb B °thing but a strong sense of duty and the exercise of considerable self-control could overcome. Even the vigilant custodian, of juvenile morals nodded at hie post, and hini that thera was an ea gle eye upon

Suddenly the preacher paused, and, in a voice that had more of sorrow than, of anger in it, called ‘Billy Marks !’ Dp to his feet in an instant sprang Billy, conscious ot his own backsliding, touched with remorse by the repioaohfnl accents of his master, burning to atone for his fanlt by some extraordinary display of zeal. The first object which met the z-aloos and repentsnt WiHiam’a eyes, as, confused and only half awake, he glared around him for & victim, was the head of a very young ensign who was peacefully slumbering in the corner of the officers’ pew. Without pausing to think of the consequences, Billy brought hi» cane down, thwack ! right upon the sconce o£ the sleeping warrior. That gallant yonth sprang instantly upright at the touch of this ra -.u .FI 6 ] 8 B P e4r « and gazed round him. with a wild bewildered stare. On all sides, he saw grinning faces-an audible titter ran through the schoolchildren— sounds sug* gestive of suppressed caohinnation cam© behind pocket-handkerchiefs applied osteosibly to their normal use ; the cheeks of his noble officers were nndistinguishable in color from their uniforms, and their heads wore bent m an attitude which could scarcely be accepted as devotional, A ghastly and horrible suspicion stole into the mind of the young ensign that he was the object of all this unseem y mirth, and that ho had somehow, though he had not the faintest idea how, made himself supremely ridiculous. With crimson and perspiring countenance he sat as rigid as the tinted Venus for the remainder of the sermon, suffering all the agonies of a maityr at Smithfield. Whether*J*f. Bev Joseph Stickler had perceived Billy Marks’s mistake or not, no one could tell; he went on imperturbably with his sermon as if nothing had happened ; bnt if* he had thoroughly realised all that had happened. and I am inclined to suspect that he had, the control which he exercises over his nerves was of itself heroic, and worthy of an ancient Stoic or au Indian brave. Be this as it may, however, the sequel was a scene which none who witnessed it would ever forget.

The barracks were but a short distance from the chapel, both being sitnated in the impoßing and spacious square which Donjonvillites spoke of proudly as * the parade,’ and which was pronounced by a Donjoaville cabinet-maker, who had once visited London, to be far superior to even the world-famed Trafalgar square. The officers had marched the ‘ garrison ’ back to barracks, and had retired to their own quarters, before one half of the congregation had emerged from Bt. Mary’s. In the privacy of their own apartments they at once began to * roast ’ their juvenile and verdant comrade. 7he senior captain, Spofforth, a portly floild man, who belled his appearance by being really ‘the coolest hand going,’having dosed the d' *r, addressed the young ensign with great seriousness. ‘Yon know, Sparkes,’ he said ‘this Is not the first time the regiment has been grossly insulted by the chaplain. This abominable outrage is simply the culminating point of a long series of deliberate insults. But now the thing must be promptly stopped. I must insist npon your demanding a public apology at once from Mr Stickler.' ‘Ye-es.’ stammered Sparkes,’ who was exceedingly angry still, and very red In the face, but didn’t quite see how his senior’s injunctions were to be carried out. ‘ You will oblige me and your brotherofficers, Sparkes, by meeting Mr Stickler as he crosses the-parade from the chapel to his house, and immediately demanding an ample apology on behalf of the regiment, wich has been outraged in your person.’ The i eoollection of that sounding thwack from Billy Marks’s cane rnshed into Ensign. Sparkca's mind; his blood tingled at the thongbt of that monstrous indignity, and he answered firmly, • Yon may trust me. Captain Spofforth, The dignity of the regiment shall not suffer mmy hands, 1 will go at onoeand confront Mr Stickler, and extract an apology from him on the spot. ’ Big with self-importance as the accredited champion of the regiment. Ensign Sparkes clapped on his shako fiercely and strode out into the square to exact prompt reparation from the iusulter. Meanwhile, unconscious of all these machinations, the Rev. Joseph Stickler quietly disrobed himself in the vestry, and then proceeded to cross the parade to hla house. Just as he was opposite the barrack gates and in front of the barrack windows, he became aware of a tall figure, in scarlet, approaching him with rapid steps. In another instant the Rev. Joseph found himself confronted by the insulted subaltern, who, with glaring eyes and flaming cheeks, addressed himself thus :

* Sir, I have been most grossly insulted and assaulted by your orders. Xhe whole regiment, sir. has been affionted in my person. I demand an apology !' ‘ A what !’ exclaimed the chaplain, falling, back, and surveying his Interrogator with a look of supreme amazement, ‘An apology, sir; an ample apology!’ repeated yonng Sparkes hotly. ‘Young man,’ said the Kev. Joseph Stickler severely. * I don’t know what that buffoonery means. If it were not so early in the day I should say that you were drunk, sir.’ • What, sir!’ exclaimed the enraged ensign ; ‘ yon refuse to apologise—yon dare to add to the insult by insinuating that I am not sober ! Let me tell yon, sir,’ assuming an air of bellicosity that might have awed even a bubbly-jock, * that if it were not for your cloth, sir, I would give you the d—dest threshing you ever had in your life !’

The face of * the last of the Sticklers ’ grew black as thunder; lightning blazed from his eye ; hts whole body heaved with the volcano of indignation that raged within him. For an instant he seemed petrified, but only for an instant; then, with an agility quite extraordinary in a man of his obesity, he divested himself of his coat, planted his feet firmly and defiantly, and. said, with grim irony, * O, don’t let my cloth for a moment interfere with your desire to inflict corporal chastisement. sir ;. you are quite at liberty to thrash me, sir—if you ca,n.’ A peal of laughter burst like a volley of musketry from the vicinity of the barracks, i-parkes glanced hurriedly round ; there was the whole ‘gamsuu’ crowded at the bar-rack-gates, convulsed witn merriment, and there, in the windows of the officers’ quarters, was—no, he must be mistaken—yea, a fact! there 'was Spofforth himself, holding his sides while the tears ran down his purple face. Too late it flashed upon the unhappy Rparkea that he was both making a fool of himself, and being made a fool of. Eharp’y turning on his heel with a araothcicd anathema, which, like tho piiish-clerk’a. sweeping curse, seemed to include 4 all per» sons that on earth do dwell,,’ Ensign Sparkes hurried hack, a piteous spectacle of mingled shame, rage, and discomfiture. Whilst the Rev. Joseph Stickler, as he struggled back into his coat, was distinctly heard to ejaculate, • Preposterous young pnppy ! Talk of thrashing me. indeed 1’ And so, amid the ill-suppressed applause of tho lookers-on, the parson strode, fuming, and furious, to his house. (To be continued.}