LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2336, 29 September 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

LOVE ON CRUTCHES. AS OLD STORY IS A NEW WAY. Persia came hopping in like a bird. ‘ Dear, dear ! ’ said she, presently, peering cut from a cloud of silks and laces, ’what shall I do for a dressmaker ? ’ ‘ Why, where ia Khoda Tracy ? ’ * Gone to fill a vacancy, mamma. In other words, she has married a widosver. Mrs Talbot laughed. « Well, let her go, my dear; yon can have Mrs Blake,’ ’Oh, bnt Khoda is batter. Only think of her leaving ire and becoming somebody’s second wife ! For my part I would’nt thank any man for his affections warmed over.’ < My little Persia. don’t fret. No man will ever oil r you his affections, either freshed or warmed over, you may depend on that.’

* Then ho need’nt, and I shan’t have to refuse him,’ retorted Pei sis, gaily, as she dipped, swallow like, this way and chat, laying away the silks. But there was a painfni flush on her young cheeks, and a moment after she swept gracefully out of the room. Unless you looked twice yon would never have divined the cause of her peculiar sideways motion The gold-mounted crutoh which peeped in and out of the folds of her dress was like a wand of enchantment, and, as was said of Mile, Salle, ‘all her steps were sentiments.’ When Persia was a baby her perfect beauty had well-nigh wrought her ruin. The nurse, proud of her superb little figure and graceful poses, was accustomed, with criminal recklessness, to perch her on a broad mantle and show her off to visitors. In this way the little creature had a fall which made one limb shorter than the other, and lamed her for life. _ Persis had suffered very little physical pain, but the mortification had bean intense, it had given a morbid coloring to an otherwise rose-colored life. ‘ No man will ever offer you his affections, yon may depend on that,' repeated she, burying her face in a sofa-pillow. ‘ Mamma says it, and it is true ; I knew it all before. Stanley Warner means nothing by his tender words and glances. He is as proud as Lucifer, and would never abide the mortification of a lame wife. It does seem cruel ! But I will not eat my heart for any man,’ exclaimed she, spiritedly, springing up and dashing off the unshed tears. * And now for the party, and a gay new dress ! I’ll send for Mrs Blake forthwith.’

It so happened that Bhoda in flying away with her widower, had dropped her mantle on Mrs Blake, who used her needle and scissors like a fairy straight frem the land of elves. How marvellous a dress she fashioned out of ‘such stuff as dreams are made of,’ and how Persia fl >ated off in it like a vision of beauty ! A a fair and sweet said Celia Warner, as a ‘wounded dove.’ Persia caught the words, and the little morbid spot in her heart ached afresh. ‘ No, Mr Warner,’ said she proudly, as he asked her to dance. * I prefer to ait in this window ; it la so pleasant to watch the crowd In motion ’

‘Pardon me,’replied Mr Warner, biting his moustache, and moving away with a graceful flourish. ‘ I was thoughtless to make the request.’ And ha never dreamed that his words hurt.

‘He forgets sometimes that I am a “wounded dove,’” sighed Persis from the window seat, ‘ bat sooner or later he always comes to his senses.’

Thera was one man who did not forget, and that waa Ephraim Zelie. Bat, then, Persia did not care very much what Ephraim remembered or what he forgot. He was a worthy yoang man, and she said in her girliah intolerat ca, *if there’s one thing stupider than another it Is yonr worthy young man!’ He taught school, studied law, and I am not sure but he ‘carried on’ a a large farm at the same time ; but when you tried to draw him out in a general conversation it was like drawing a tooth. He wan the moat Industrious of men, and the kindest of sons to a widowed mother; but, then, his eyes were sea-green, under rugged cliffs of eyebrows ; hia hands were horny, and all his angles as acute as a lawer’s wits. Seeing Mias Persia alone in the window scat he ventured to go up and address her, though his heart thumped a loud opposition to such boldness. ‘ How do you do, Mias Persia ?'said he, offering his honest hand, while his plain face narrowly escaped becoming expressive * Very well, Ephraim ; and how are yon ?’ replied she, rousing from a sad reverie. She always calls him ‘Ephraim,’ because she had known him from a boy. He had lived a year at her father’s and worked for his board while attending the academy. How Ephraim at this moment envied other youths their nonchalance of manner ! Hare way he standing betide the very woman he wished moat to please, but he was tongue-tied. She sat there selfpossessed and fce-iutiful, scanning him from head to foot, ha thought. She was not haughty in tho least, but she might have placed him at his ease, and she did not care to do it. If she had once turned the conversation to “old times,” and the wellremembered incidents of that too happy year, Ephraim would have been himself in a moment. Would he ever forget the afternoon on the “basin," and tne efforts he made to teach her how to skate, having first modelled for the shoemaker a pair of little skates which wore mismated to fit her unequal feet. How carefully he had guided her over the ice 1 He kept the precious red comforter still, tho “ life preserver ” she had ealled it, by which she had clung to him in her timid efforts to stand upright. In those old times Persia liked him ; he was sure she did. He had sat in tho kitchen while he plodded at hia Latin grammar—he was a hard student always—and her bright face had been as good as an extra lamp. She had confided to him her childish sorrows, which generally sprang from one cause—her lameness ; and he had pitied her with all his heart. Then his awkwardness and ugliness had raised no barrier between thorn; but latterly it seemed different. Persia as a young lady was much admired. She had learned to set a high value on wealth and appearances; much of the childlike simplicity was gone from her character. Ephraim never saw her now but ho thought of his ungainly hands and feet, and every mole hill of a defect loomed up like a mountain. Persis had spent years at a boarding-school forming her mind and manners, and though Ephraim was fully olive to all the required elegance, he mourned for the old-time cordiality. He was rising in the world; he thought that she mit>hc see one day that he had not been laboring for naught; but his hope of winning her for a wife was dying a slow, hard death. While be was still stammering before her, trying to find words for his thoughts, Stanly Warner approached, sparkling with exhilaration of hia dance. Persia had been watching him while the talked absently with Ephraim ; and now, as he emiled down upon her graciously, she looked up at him with a glow in her eyoa which the poor young lawyer could not bear. He turned on his heel and walked away, grinding some resentful thought under the solo of hia big boot. Persia scarcely noted tbit he went. Some time hance, when years of experience should soften her harsh judgments, she would learn to appreciate a lump of gold, oven though Lilf-buried in quartz ; not yet. ’ Was it a plearant dance, Mr Warner F ’ sale, she, playing with the delicate fan she had inst rescued from the clumsy clasp of Mr Zu.ie. ' ludiferently so, Mias Persis With another ’.ady I might mention as partner it would ha-o been impcsaible to say how charming. ’ Per»ia blushed, agreeably to expectation. Mr Warner liked to play with those blushes; it was delightful to call them up at his biding ; such bright, shy things that even the odious crutch was lorgotten, or glorified, in their rosy light. ‘ So, in spite of ipy neglect, yon were not left to play the wall flower,’ continued he, taking a seat beside her and boldly possessing hlmrclf of her little hand. ‘No, not a wall-flower,’ repeated she, timidly, half withdrawing her hand, half yielding it to his clasp. * It seems to me, Persia, that young lawyer hovers about you very persistently.’ waa the slightest touch of pique in Mr Warner’s tone, and it thrilled the simple heart of Persia.

He la a worthy young man, mamma says, and I must like him,’ replied she with a reassuring smile, 1 He does not smoke cigars, like the beasts that perish,' added she in her quaint way. Mr Warner off ered a correction. * Man is the only animal that smokos,’ laid he, with a wise smile ; for he never understood Persia

when she talked playfully. Mr Zelle had the advantage of him. 'He Is a tremendous worker, that Zelle ; began at the foot of the ladder, and is steadily climbing up. Forgive me. Perns, but seeing how he presumes upon your old child friendship, I have sometimes feared— ’

* Oh, Stanley! ’ The frank, guileless eyes which looked up In honest surprise at the unspoken suggestion of attachment for another, how could Warner mistake their meaning? He did not mistake their meaning it. The heart of his little friend had long been to open book, and very easy reading. Not that Persia was by any means forward and nn maidenly ; but she had not yet learned the woman’s lesson of concealing her emotions. Perhaps if there had been a trifle more of the blindness of love athwart the young man’s vition ho could not have seen to read so clearly. He sincerely admired Persia : he thought he ioved her, or that he should love her if he dared. But then that terrible crutch I It swung over his head like the sword of Damocles. To-night he seemed for the first time to forgive it. She looked so unusually beautiful; how could ha resist the attraction ? * Persia,' said he, in low, thrilling tones, * words cannot say how dear you are to me. May I hope,’ &c , &c. A commonplace love scene. Another was going on under the same roof that very evening, and not a pin’s choice between the two; but yon may be sure it was all as fresh and glorious to Persia as if the world had just been created, and she and Stanley were alone in it. The little hand which lay in his was not withdrawn, nor was there the faintest sign of indifference in the eyes bent timidly on the floor. It all ended in the most orthodox manner j they left the party betrothed. As Persis passed Ephraim on the stairway he faltered out a hurried ’ Good night, ’ and she beamed down upon him so graciously that he walked home on a bed of roses, and never really came to his senses till Mrs Blake dropped into tea a week afterward and said her charming now friend, Persia Talbot, was going to be married. Now Mrs Blake was own aunt to Ephraim. (Think what a plebian he must have been to have a relative who took in sewing !) She was a quiet, sensible woman who attended strictly to her own biulneps. and had almost prioked away her left forefinger down to the bone. What she said was usually the simple truth, and you might depend on it Ephraim’s heart stood still, 1 Persis Talbot, did you say ?’ asked he, picking a currant out of a bun with the coolest deliberation.

« Yes, to Stanley Warner ; the affair is cut and dried,’ replied the not over elegant Aunt Blake, as indifferently, her nephew thought, as if ehe had been alluding to a, bushel of pippins. MrfZelie sat late at his desk that night, and scribbled a black ” Ichabod " on every blank slip of paper at hand. It was all the outward sign he ever gave to the hidden wound. His own mother observed no change in him except that “he fell away from his food,” and stood in daily need of camomile tea.

Even Persia herself, “ walking on thrones,” never once suspected she was tramping over a heart. The happy young creature was bat one shadow, and that was the shadow of her crutch. It might now be supposad to grow less; but on the contrary, it rather increased.

• Oh, mother,’ she sighed, one day, ‘ Stanley says it is all the defeat I have—this lameness, I mean. ’ ‘Does ho?’ remarked Mrs Talbot, dryly and with a set look about the Ups ehe always wore when Stanley’s name was mentioned. • Does he ? Then I suppose he is thankful for that one defeat. Not being anywhere near an angel himself, he can’t wish for perfection in yon.’ ‘ Oh, mamma, ho knows I am very human indeed; it is only his way of talking.’ said Persia, with one of her quick blushes. ‘ I should be glad for his sake to walk like other people. Do you know there is a w.iy—a terrible way—l hardly dare to tell you— ’ ‘ A terrible way to what?’ * To walk,’ gasped Persis, the color dying out entirely, and her white lips trembling as she spoke. ‘ Amputation—as far as the ankle. Then when the time comes, a cork foot. Yon know, mamma, a cork foot walks beautifully.’ ‘ Persis Talbot! How could you conceive such a dreadful idea ?’

‘ Oh, I heard of a girl once who had it done. I have seen her —Abby Harlow. You would never detect the slightest limp. You know, mamma, all the patent contrivances for the feet do no goad. I must always swing this cruel, detestible crutch unless — (To hr continued.')