LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2379, 17 November 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

RATHER FAST. I have pasted many yea r a of my life in India and other tropical climea, which fact m«y not oily account for my being rather behind the times, but also for my looking and feeling considerably older than I really am. Yon would’nt think'it to look at me, wonlJ yon ? but I'm only jmt turned fortyeight. Now that’s not ‘old,’ yon know, is it? And yet when I come to think over the way in which I am sometimes treated, I begin to seriously imagine that I am rapidly approaching the most honible of all states—ola fogydom. The experiences I am about to relate go to make up only one_ of the many instances in which I have, since my return to civilized society, felt the full burden of the years I have lost, never to regain. But I am getting rather maudlin ; so he*e goes; I hid been In London somewhere about two or three months after my return from comparative exile in the hill country of India when I met, quite by accident, at the club, an old schoo’fdlow of mine named Kichard Hare. I had lost sight of him for many years previously, and as he was very anxiona to know my adventures and experiences, ns ho was pleased to call them, it was sometime ere we separated, and when we did, he was very pressing in an invitation to me for a ball which was to be given at his town house in the ensuing week, on the occasion of his daughter (an only child) ‘coming out.’ I accepted the offer, and on the appointed§ night arrayed myself in the orthodox, but highly uncomfortable, funeral garments prescribed by society, and presented myself ‘up to time.’ as I have said, I had not seen Haro for many years, and as I loft him a happy bachelor, I was somewhat interested, not to eay curious, to see what sort of a person his wife might be, to say nothing of his daughter. I was introduced, and did my best to render myself agreeable, and to make a long story short, I finally no -opted an invitation to stay at their house in London in place of my hotel, for the remainder of the London season. While there I saw, very naturally, a great deal of the young lady, Clara Haro. To say that she was a lovely girl would not, strictly speaking, be the truth ; but there was a piquancy of manner and an expression of jolly good humor on her really pretty face, set off as that face was by a pair of sparkling hazel eyes, and a complexion which was as near perfection as possible, that rendered her almost irresistable. I fonnd her quite so. I had not been in the house ten days before I became aware that I was constantly doing things that were quite foreign to my general habits. For instance, I found myself loth to remain over mv wine when my hostess and her daughter had rotired to- the drawingroom. I caught myself on more than one occasion sitting b;-fore my bedroom fire with one boot off, a half-smoked cigar entirely out in my hand, and my ‘ night-cap ’ getting rapidly cold, gazing abstractedly at the expiring embers; and on one occasion, after a long fete a tete with Clara in the drawingroom, I found myself with a «heet of writing paper before me, jotting down the various items and the expense of housekeeping. Here was a pretty state of things. This wouldn’t do, so I set myself seriously to work to find out what was the matter. After profound cogitation, many ‘ night-caps,’ innumerable cigars, and two sleepless nights, I came to the conclusion that I had done what I never had been guilty of before—fallen in love. When I had once arrived at this conclusion it did not take long to discover who was my enslaver. Of course, it was Clara. As I was what is usually called well off, I didn’t make myself unnecessarily miserable, but decided within myself that I would have a quiet chat with Hare m the morning, and if he should make no objection, to forthwith ask Clara straight out if she would make me happy and be my wife. I knew there was some disparity in our ages, but more unlikely things had happened; and without flattering myself at all I really thought she had a liking for me which might readily ripen into love The following morning after breakfast I called Hare aside into bis study, and after a little rather natural hesitation I launched out into the subject which was nearest my heart.

Hare was delighted. ‘ What, my dear boy,’ he said, ‘ do you really mean it ?’ ‘ Yob,’ I replied, ‘I most certainly do; that Is, if you and your good wife see no objection, lam aware that our ages —’ * Ages bo—blessed !’ broke in Mr Hare. * Why, this is just what the misses has been dinning into my head for the last fortnight, ’ ‘ You don’t say so,’ I exclaimed ; * then I need not fear any opposition on tho part of yourself or Mrs Hare ?’ ‘ Opposition, my dear boy! Quite the reverse, I assure you. But we must talk tho matter over with my wife.’ He rang the bell and sent for Mrs Hare, and when sho came we all three had a long and rather excited, not to say complicated, confab. All spake together, and nobody seemed to pay any S'Tt of attention to what anybody else said. When we had somewhat cooled down, it was settled that as Mr and Mrs Hare were going to leave town for their country house in the ensuing week, I should say nothing to Clara just at present, bnt should at the end of a fortnight pay them a visit in the country, where tho surroundings and quiet would be more favorable to my project. I saw them off at tho station on their departure and obtained a sweet smile, and what I construed into a reassuring squeeze of tbe hand from Clara, I accepted wi;h eagerness the innumerable commissions with which she charged mo, and bound myself to perform miracles and do impossibilities in the matter of procuring unattainable bonnetts and gloves with the incalculable buttons.

At last they were off, and I felt as if a good half of my being had gone with them. I returned home to mope; but as tho days slipped by, and tho time came around for mo to follow them my heart grow lighter and lighter, until at last I stood upm the same platform no longer a seor-eff, bnt a gay passenger, with rny seat secured, tho guard feed, and nothing but pleasant prospects before me. The line was the Groat Western, the train an express one, and as I took my seat and lay back on the cushions, I made up my mind for a nice, quiet two hours run and a comfortable smoko.

I had already nipped tho end off' a cigar, tho starting-boll had rung, and the guard’s flag waved; tho train waa just commencing to move, when there was a sudden rush along the platform, a frantio porter tore open the door of the compartment lo which I waa

seated, ond chucked in a travelling bag and a bundle of ruga, the advent of whioh was immediately fallowed by a scramble and a struggle. I lost iny cigar and my presence of mind at one and the same moment, and by the time I had recovered them the train war fast, and I found myself confronted by a fashionably-dressed young lady, who sat and surveyed mo with the utmost nonchalance.

I am not, as a general rule, easily 7 taken alack, 1 ut on this occasion I confess I was not only dumfouuded, but annoyed. I had made np mind for a quiet smoko and a good read, and here, at tho last moment, 1 was fixed up with a horrible young lady—a regular girl of the period to look at—who would probably talk and be sure to object to the fumes of tobacco, besides being otherwise annoying. I determined not to speak first, so with a slight bow I began to cut the loaves of a periodical I had purchased. 1 had hardly well settled myself to reading when I was interrupted by the young lady — ‘Awful slow, don’t you think? Will you kindly let me see one of your papers ? ’ I handed her the 1 Queen,’ which I bad purchased for Clara’s special behoof. ‘Oh, no! something lively 1 “ Bell’s Life,” if you ’vo got it, please.’ I did happen to have it ; in point of fact I was at that moment engaged in perusing it—so with another bow and a faint smile I delivered it over to her ladyship. 1 Don’t let me prevent you smoking ! If you’re dying for a weed, don’t mind me 1 I smoke cigarettes myself sometimes, and shouldn’t object to one now if you’ve such a thing about you ! ’ • Well, no, I haven’t,’ I replied, ‘ I only carry cigars, and those I am afraid would be rather too strong for a young lady.’

She gave me a half-smiling glance, and turning to ‘Bell’s Life, soon became apparently immersed in its columns. I proceeded to light my cigar and read a book which I had with me. We had travelled some twenty miles or so when ehe again spoke. ‘ I say! those are not bad weeds by any means! I don’t mind if Ido try one.’

• As you please,’ I said, ‘ but I warn you they are considerably stronger than cigarettes.’

She took one, and after biting off the end with an irresistibly provoking air, proceeded to light it and smoke with the greatest sang froid imaginable. I was dolighti d, for I thought the time for my revenge was at ht.ud, and she would inevitably soon be sick, but I was mistaken. Not a muscle of her face betokened her distress—not a shade of paleness came to her rosy cheeks. I was astonished —more, interested. (7b be continued,')