LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 227, 21 July 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

THE SACKFUL OF SOVEREIGNS. [From “ London Society.”] Chapter I. THE SUMMONS. A snnny garden slope upon the southern side of Highgate Hill ; at its lower end a delicious tangle of orchard, long grass, and underwood, ruseet tinged briers, and common ferns. Higher up, the gnarled and twisted old apple trees, thick with rosy fruit, give place by degrees to s strip of gooseberry and currant bushes and kitchen greenery; until these, in their turn, edged by a high boxed border, sweet and gay with waving lavender, gillyflowers, cabbage roses, sunflowers, hollyhocks, and the homelier order of garden treasures, terminate in a smooth and well kept lawn. Upon this look several windows of a quaint, old;fashioned, irregular red bricked cottage, partly thatched and partly tiled ; with honeysuckle and many a sweetscented creeper clambering round the angles, and even going some way up a little stack of twisted chimneys ; the whole —cottage, garden, and orchard—surrounded by an old moss-grown wall which, on the front or high road side of the domain, 1s bright and odorous in spring with overhanging lilac and laburnum, whilst where the antique iron gateway makes a gap a great arch of Ivy marks the entrance to this pleasant home—one of those homes, indeed, which, rural and unpretentious, might have been found in many a London suburb a quarter of a century back ; but which, alas, have well nigh disappeared new, since the overwhelming wave of bricks and mortar has swept out from the great city, like the ever-widening eddy on the surface of a lake, when rising fish or idly-thrown stone disturbs its placid waters There is a wooden summer-house, also in perfect harmony with its surroundings, save that part of Its roof has been recently repaired with a patch of somewhat too new aud over-bright red tiles. Nestling snugly under the shade of a big elm tree, midway on the slope betwixt orchard and kitchen garden, it overlooks that well-known view which terminates with St. Paul’s, dimly looming—with chimney stacks, towers, and spires—through the long line of murky, dusky sky A sweet retreat for toil-worn citizen, or any caring for the gentler, simpler ways of life.

Particularly suited as a background does it scorn to the figure seated at the rustic table in the little arbour on the soft September afternoon when our tale begins. He is an aged but tolerably halo-looking, broadshouldered man of about seventy-five, with keen brown eyes, and having that smug, oldfashioned aspect in dress and mien befitting tke retired well-to-do man of business, that all who have any acquaintance with Matthew Eickman know him to be. Open before him lies a small memorandum book, in which he seems to be adding up some figures ; and beside him, wi'h ink bottle and tray of pens, are a few scattered papers. Now and then, in the pauses of his calculations, he strokes his clean-shaven chin, or toys with his mutton-chop strip of pure white whisker, and the quiet expression of satisfaction with which from time to time he looks out upon the view, tells of contentment with both place and circumstances. Yet in his eyes and round the corners of his mouth a very close observer might detect some signs of waning health, and there is at times a knitting of the brows and a raising of the garden hat, which might suggest occasional twinges of pain passing across the forehead. The clock of the neighboring church chimes out the half-hour past five, and whilst the sound dies away on the delicate air, he draws from his fob, by its broad ribbon and bunch of seals, a large old-fashioned gold watch to compare the time. Presently he la deep in his figures again, when footsteps approaching along the winding gnvel path that leads down irom the cottage to the summer-house divert his attention, and hastily gathering up some of the scattered papers he places them with a certain air of secretiveness under the book he is examining. ‘Yea are home earlier to day, George,’ says Mr Matthew Eickman, looking np towards the figures of a young man and woman, who had by this time come within speaking distance.

* A little, sir, perhaps ; we have had rather a slack day at the Bank,’ answered the former, a pleasant, blue-eyed, fair-haired young follow, albeit with a somewhat weak and changeless expression of face. His tall hat and tight fitting black frock coat, apart from his remark, prc claimed him straight from the city. ‘I am not sorry either,’ he resumed, stretching himself with an air -f weariness ; ‘and 1 have been a little disappointed and vexed.’ * Ah ! how so V ‘ Why, father,’ quickly answered the young woman, as she entered the summerhouse, and placed her band gently on the old man’s shoulder, ‘ don’t you remember I told yon George was hoping to get a step through Mr Gore’s retirement ? And now it has been given to George’s junior— and, of conraa, he feels it hard.’ * Well, well, I am sorry for that,’answered Mr Rickman somewhat vacantly ; ‘ but it will come, it will come. He’s better off where he is, anyhow, than if he had been in a Government, office.’

* Oh, I quostioulthat, sir,’ broke in the younger man. ‘But I don’t,’ was the rather sharp respose. ‘Yon have at least the satisfaction of working with a clear conscience ; you are not idling your time in reading the newspaper all day, wasting stationery, and robbing your country, aa you would have been if your father had got you a post under Government. You know my opinion of the way Government offices are managed, and Government too, for the matter of that- I have no patience with the waste and reckless expenditure that go on in all department, whilst wo hard-working folk have to pay treble the taxes wo need. No, George, I really don’t think I should ever have consented to your marrying my Alice here if you had been a Government clerk. ’

‘ Than, sir, I am very glad things are aa theyj are,’ said Mr George Wcodwyn, smiling, whose position In tbis family group is thus made evident.

‘ Here, Lily,Jcome a'ong, here’s daddy,’ he went on, as a sweet little curly-haired girl of about three came toddling down the path, and im into her father’s arms ‘ Shall wo go in now and have tea ? and grandfather will come In at six. won’t he ? ’

The father, carrying hia child, strolled up towards the house. Hia wife lingered to say an affectionate word or two, and to kiss tenderly and with solicitude her parent’s cheek. He patted her hand kindly, but with some anxiety, evident in hia action, that she should not catch sight of the contents of hia memorandum book.

Alice Woodwj* was a tall and graceful woman of about five arid-twenty, having her father’s eyes and mould of features. Her pro f ueion of warm brown ringlets were restrained in their evident tendency to fly out wildly by a cunningly-devised band of delicate blue ribbon, ending in the neatest and most coquettish of bows. There was a rather sad expression on her gentle comely face as she joined her husband in the little parlor giving upon the lawn , and as she busied herself in making tea and arranging the details of the ample meal spreid upon the snowy table-cloth, she said, *1 don’t think father seems quite bo well as usual, George; I have noticed for the last two or three days something rather strange about him. I feel a little amicus.’ ‘I don’t see it,’ answered her husband from the easy chair into which he had thrown himself, whilst dancing the little girl upon his knee. * You know ho is at times somewhat petulant in hia manner, especially when he gets on the subject of taxes and the Government. It was a great pity he retired from his business so soon ; he has never been quite happy since.’ * Ah, no, indeed ; but hia unhappiness began some time before that. It was poor dear Tom’s rash determination to go to sea that was his first great sorrow; I mean hia first great sorrow since he lost my dear mother. Silly lad; only to think of his turning his back upon such good prospects, such a business as my father’s was for him to step into, besides causing so much“grief and anxiety.’ ‘ Yes, he was a great fool, no doubt, ’ answered the husband ; ‘ but it’s an old story now. it’s no use talking of that. Why, Tom has been away more than ten years, I suppose.’

{To ho continued,')