LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2224, 13 April 1881, Page 3

LITERATURE.

DESPERATE DOVES. Sylvius Squab married Octavia, daughter of Samuel Jones, a respectable citizen, whoso name has been long in everybody’s mouth, and as soon as the honeymoon had waned, took her to a hewer on Stamford bill. Their first serious effort was to come to a proper understanding respecting the relative privileges of each—a term I use adviaed'y, as it is mostly about the lady’s mamma and the gentleman’s pretty cousins and their privileges that this understanding is necessary. But ‘proper understandings,’ alas, are attained only after many and bitter improper misunderstandings ; so that for|six intensely exciting months Mrs Squab was in tears and

Mr Squab in a fine frenzy. Then, when their bones of contention were fought into nothingness, they settled down and became rational beings, and as rational beings they lived together for six years ; but at the enl of that time, as Mr Squab was but twentysix and his wife twenty-four years of age, they were, it will be seen, still blessed with you’h and a capacity for folly. Samuel /ones was dead and just buried, and the young couple were sitting In their darkened i itting- room pulling off their mourning gloves. '1 h<-y had returned from the dwelling that now contained only the widow of the late Samuel Jones and his seven single daughters It wts a solemn moment, and both husband and wife were depressed ; for Mrs Squab’s c:ok had chosen this melancholy and inappropriate season to ‘give warning,’ and Squab had received an old man’s blessing, and nothing more, by the will of the depa ted Samuel. ! ‘ Poor papa!’ said Mrs Squab, tenderly. ’ ‘ Very, ’ said Mr Squab, spitefully flinging his gloves into the depths of bis hat, as if they were the remains of a departed citizen, and his hat a grave. ‘ What do yon mean, Sylvius ?’ asked Mrs Squab. * What I say, my dear. He’s left yon nothing, although yon always made out he lib ed yon better than the other girls, and that is why I acquiesce when you Intimate your papa’s poverty.’ * This is no time for irreverent levity. If yon have no feelings yourself, you might at least respect the feeling of others!’ Mrs Squab sighed, to indicate that she was the unhappy possessor of feelings, and then said : ‘ I shan’t think of giving Elizabeth a character.’

‘Of conrse not, my dear. That’s only consistent with the family generosity—especially as poor Elizabeth deserves it !’

* I wish you would hold your tongue if yon can use It only to revile the dead. I wonder you don’t attempt to conceal your mean mortification in receiving what you deserve from the ‘ family generosity.’ ’ * I’m afraid you’ve lest your temper, dear.’

•I do not regret if I have, Sylvius. My losses don’t affect me 1’ [This in allusion to Mr Jones’ will]

‘ Evidently, though, you always professed a lasting regard for the poor old man.’ (This in allusion to Mr Jones.] * Are you bereft of your senses, or what, Sylvius ?’ ‘ The latter, I think, my dear. When does Elizabeth threaten to leave you 5* ‘Her wages are due this day month, and not one instant —’

* Hush, dearest; if yon scream like that she will hear you. I must talk to the girl and ask her to stay-’ * Ask her to stay ?’ * Well, if you like to eat humble pie anl apologise to her, why —’ I Do you think I would condescend to apologise to a servant ?’ ‘ I wish I could think yon would. It is only right that yen should ; and in my opinion there is as little condescension required in apologising as in quarrelling and fighiing with the cook.’ ‘I request to know, Mr Squab, when you have seen me fighti g with the cook ?’ ‘I have seen sufficient to make me blush for yen, and to make my heart ache for the poor girls who, one after another, come here to be annoyed and affronted by you.’

* Don’t make yourself ridiculous 1 Me affront a common servant girl!’ * I wish you would not annoy me by misusing your pronouns, dear. I’vo noticed that: you never visit your friends or your mother but you return with some fresh vulgarism.’ * Oh, dear ! I am surprised that, since you are so fond of tervants, you should be annoyed by what you must hear so frequently in their society. I am quite amused—ha, ha! Bot I know your despicable motive; you think you can hurt me by speaking disrespectfully of dear mamma. However, you waste your small invention by setting it to that work ; for both mamma and I regard your opinion with the contempt it merits. When, I should like to know, has she done anything to offVnd you P lam sure she loves yon as if you were her own son.’ * Thank heaven I’m not.’

‘ But yon are, Sylvius; and when she comes to live with na— ’ ‘ Live with ua !’

* Tea, Sylvius. I had Intended to tell you when you were amiable ; but since yon place that beyond my power by continually being a brute to me, 1 must tell yon now. Papa has left nothing but unpaid bills behind him, and mamma and my dear sisters have absolutely nothing except a few hundred pounds that mist be kept for their dowries; and so I have ashed them to come and live with us until the girls shall marry, and Uncle John dies and leaves mamma sufficient to live upon with comfort.’ ‘ Why, your Uncle John is as young as I am, and your sisters are older and plainer than you.’

‘ Mr Squab!’ ‘Now listen to me, Mrs Squab. That woman —’

‘ Whom do you mean by "woman ?” ’ • I mean your mother ; and I say woman in charity, for her temper entitles her to a very different definition. I say that she and those women, your sisters, shall never darken my threshold.’ *Am I to have nothing ? le not this house as much mine as yours ? Do you suppose for one instant that I married you for yourself ? Do you think I was won by the name of S —quab ; by your personal beauty; by the charm of your intellect, or the amiability of your temper ? Ha, ha 1 Faugh !’ ‘ You oannot tell me anything (hat can further convince me of the sordid nature of your motives, madam. And don’t think your remark about my personal appearance affects me. But I can tell you this much—not one of your vulgar crew shall live in the same house with me !’

‘ Then I, too, am nnfit to live in the same house with you. But if not I consider such a monster as you unfit to live in the same house with me, and I demand a separation and a settlement.’ * If you please, madam.’ * And I shall quit this house forever tomorrow morning.’ * If you please, madam.’ * I shall go to mamma.’ ‘ I have not the slightest objection, madam. My solicitor shall wait upon you there.' * And I shall take the dear children.’ * Yes ; but you shan’t leave Georgy behind you.’ Georgy was an infant at this period, cutting his teeth under ad' -ae circumstances. ‘I consider you a brute.’ * My opinion of you I keep to myself.’ ‘Yon are not a man ; you are a—O you—’ And then Mrs Squab left the room, slamming tho door so vigorously that Georgy was awakened, and convulsions ensued. The next day, true to her word, Mrs Suab, with her children, departed from her husband at Stamford Hill, and threw herself into the a’ms of her mamma and Bisters at Ball’s Pond, There in due course Mr Squab’s solicitor made his appearance. Mrs Jones and her seven daughters sharpened their wits and set them against tho lawyer, who shortly after left the house with a conviction that any one of them wonld make a better lawyer than he was. A very hard bargain did those fine females make with the man of tape, as little Mr Squab rmfully discovered. Tho only consolation the little man could give him was conveyed In this paradox—that though ho had got rid of his wife and her family he would have to keep them Very probably the deed of separation would have been put away in the drawer with the wedding-cake ornament, and the whole family would have lived together In varying misery under one roof with the peocant Squab, bad Mrs Jones lost her faculties. Bat that astute woman

knew she was well off, and determined to keep bo if possible. She saw her interest lay in keeping alive the animosity of Mr and Mrs Squab, and to stir up and feed the flames of their wrath, she applied herself with the diligence of a practical stoker. The desire of her soul was to be so situated that she conld give her unhappy son-in-law a ' bit of her mind’ at any moment that her mind had anything worthy of his acceptance; but this pleasure she denied herself for the good of her family, confining herself to keeping up a bitter epistolary warfare between wife and husband." The most biting sarcasms she dictated to her daughter ; but much of their force she felt was lost by pausing for syntax and orthography. A year passed in this manner; and though then Mrs Jones was unwearied and fresh for further fight, the rage to subside. Finally Mrs Jones had the mortification to find a letter embodying her most caustic sentiments, and which she had proudly regarded as her masterpiece, returned unopened to her daughter. Mr Squab bad not seen his wife during this period, but he had thought of nothing but her. Every Monday’s first post had brought up a rancorous budget. At first he had looked for this letter of hate with eager expectation, and gloated over its scathing contents, from the aggravating note on the flap of the envelope to the abusive postscript at the foot of the letter.

Why ho exposed himself to the whips and scorns of his mother-in-law is as inexplicable as the motive that leads moths to barn themselves in a candle flame ; bat in this stupidity Mr Squab was not at all exceptional. If I hear that a critic has thought me worthy of his spiteful notice, shall I wisely avoid the critic’s obnoxious print ? Bather shall not I send all over London to get it, and read the scurrility through again and again ? When Mr Squab had read and digested Mrs Squab’s opinions of him, he set about putting in black and white his opinion of Mrs Squab, And as this occupied him until Saturday night, when it was sent off for Mrs Squab’s Sunday reading and meditation, his mind was pretty fully occupied. But even these delights are finite, and Mr Squab, who had no tender mother or gentle sisters to stir up his bile when it grew quiescent, was the first to find the practice of impolite letter writing monotonous. So, as has been said, he returned Mrs Squab’s letters unopened; and instead of looking through the dictionary for suitable expressions of rage, he devoted himself to reading the ‘ Christian World.’ His study, however, did not inspire him with cheerfulness; and where his hate had been there was an aching void of a vacuum. Gradually this began to fill with roseate recollections of past bliss ; of children in clean pinafores, sitting around the social board, and Mrs Squab at the head smilingly presiding over the teapot; of himself In clean sheets with a cold in the head, receiving unctuous gruel and tender kisses from a compassionate wife. This last vision it was that caused him to do that which Mrs Jones would have given her top and bottom teeth to have effected—he wept. The next evening he wrote a conciliatory epistle, begging his wife to return to her unhappy Sylvius and all would be forgiven. But to his affectionate invitation was this addendum—* P.B.—Your mamma and sisters can inhabit your present apartments until they find a suitable home elsewhere.’ Mrs Squab never received that letter, but it was answered by Mrs Jones in propria persona. She stated her daughter's ultimatum, to which Mr Squab listened in dignified silence; then, when he had asked if, and had been answered that Mrs Jones had nothing more to say, ho opened the door, and, with a very stately bow, said— ‘ Good evening, madam.’

4 What am I to understand is your reply ?’ asked Mrs Jones, with one foot on the doormat.

4 I choose to make no reply to you, madam; but this yon may understand, if you are capable of understanding anything ; if ever I find you in this house again, I’ll have yon removed to the police station for trespa-s.’ A version of this interview, in which all reference to the letter of conciliation was suppressed, was narrated to Mrs Fquah, whereby she was led to understand that her husband needed only the opportunity to murder her and the whole of her family. As no further answer was made to his overture, Mr Squab became more bitter against bis wife than before, and not unnaturally. It is very exasperating to be told to put your pardon in your pocket when you have extended it with an impression of your own magnanimity. Mr Squab determined henceforth to have nothing to do with nobility of nature, and, like the disappointed lover in a melodrama, he resolved to becor s a villain and addict himself to evil courses. He would forget that he ever had been virtuous and respectable in the riot and excitement of dissipation and vice. Fired with this resolve he seized the newspaper —the idea occurred to him as he was supping—and eagerly scanned the column of amusements, pondering which sink of iniquity held out the greatest temptation to the frail or destitute. A bal masque was amongst the advertisements, and the means of becoming reprobate he instantly promised himself. Hi; dreams were as bad as his intentions, and ho rose worse than ever. On his way to the station he winked at the girls, and when one smiled in return his bosom was moved as it had not been for seven long years. Ho stood in the road and watched the receding fair one ; at the corner she turned and smiled again; from that moment depravity asserted its improper right to his bosom. So facile was the descent to the shady with him that before the night for the bal masque arrived he deemed himself the greatest lady-killer, and was deemed the greatest ass in the neighborhood. When on that eventful night he appeared in a masquerade dress —not as a wretched Punch, as the ignorant costumer had suggested, but in the more appropriate and elegant character of Don Giovanni—this opinion (of his) was increased tenfold. One consideration alone induced him to conceal his face beneath a mask, and that was that a pimple bad made its Inopportune and unpleasant appearance on the side of his nose. But his mouth could be seen, and so too his eyes, and the fiery gleam of the latter :were weapons sufficient to slaughter the hearts of every lady who looked upon them. The partner upon whom he lavished his charms exclusively was a witching Amy Robsart; and the things he said to her and the way in which he said them, his gallantries and wanton wiles, would have made Don Giovanni envious had he been unfortunate enough to be alive and a witness. His partner was no less vivacious and witty, her lips and eyes reflecting the tender wickedness of his. He passed her hand through his arm and led her to a seat. There he implored her commiseration of his suffering heart, and entreated her to complete the sum of his mortal happiness by removing her mask.

The lady sighed and then said, ‘ Alas, air, 1 dare not.' ‘ Dare not,’ exclaimed Mr Squab, ‘ these are words that no lady should use whilst this right arm of mine has strength to defend her cause.’ So saying, he valiantly shook his fist in nobody’s face. The lady smiled and looked full in Mr Squab’s eyes, than sadness played around her lovely mouth. Through the holes in her mask he beheld her lids twitching convulsively. This tore his tender vitals ; a tear twinkled in each eye, and his mouth had that peculiar expression which is exhibited by the bilious navigator off Sheerncsa. The lady was moved by this gentle compassion, aud, rising from her scat, put her baud within his arm and pressed it to her side.

Mr Squab could have ravished a kiss from the rosy lips that pouted toward him, but appearances compelled him to condense his emotions into a sigh, and a responsive pros sure upon the arm within his. ‘Tell me your grief ; let mo share your sorrow that I may know how, if possible, to assuage it,’ whispered he, as he led her away. To this entreaty the lady responded, ‘ Never, never !’ But Mr Squab w«a nt-ither such a fool nor so impolite as to believe her, and gently yet earnestly pressed her to reveal, if not her face, at least her cause rf woe. (To be Continued.)

A little girl of twelve years, the daughter a clergyman, was asked —“Sadie, does your papa ever preach the same sermon twice ?” After thinking a moment Sadie replied—- “ Yes, I think he does ; but I think ho hollers in different places.”