LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2686, 16 November 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

A TRIP WITH ST. SIMON’S CHOIR. AND WHAT CAME OF IT. (Continued.) Everythin" in connection with St. Simon’s choir was always done in good stylo, for thev wore important personages. Thu dinner was no exception to this rule. The choir boys brought eager faces and appetites sharpened " by the journey and the salt breezes. Beef, mutton, and pigeon pie disappeared in amazing quantities. Triggs, moie fussy than ever, presided, with Mrs Malony on his right. The choir boys ranged themselves promiscuously on each side of the long table, and I sat at the foot, more than satisfied at having Maude Malony next me. Various plans wore proposed for the afternoon’s amusement. Practicable or impracticable, it was all one to Triggs, for they provoked mirth and discussion, and ho was ready to oblige every one as far as in him lay. As for me, 1 had no voice in the matter, for 1 determined beforehand that Maude’s wish should be mine. I listened eagerly to what passed between her and her sister, ready to give my vote to whatever she proposed. ‘ What do you wish to do, Mr Cookson ?’ she asked suddenly, lifting her laughing eyes to mine. ‘ Whatever you like,’ I returned for answer. But Triggs knew better. I had had not come there to amuse myself, hut to amuse the choir. I was only junior curate, and he was bent on making me feel it too. The choristers were all clamoring for commencing the afternoon’s proceedings with a sail. 1 foresaw the doom that awaited mo. In vain I set forth the merits of donkey-rides, ponyrides, castle building on the sands, or, in default of all these, a visit to the pier and the light-house. Triggs seconded the sail at once. They should have that first, and the donkey-ride and the sands afterwards. ‘ Cookson, you are a good sailor.’ I knew what that meant. Bitterly did I rue the moment when I boasted of that lamentable fact in his hearing. Mrs Malony hated the water. A sailing vessel crowded I with ‘ cheap-trippers,’ not over nice in their language or manners, was a vulgarism not to be thought of. A drive in a genteel little carriage to an interesting church in the neighborhood, remarkable for its antiquity and Anglo-Saxon work, was far more to her taste. Messrs Spinks and Pulling, the churchwardens of St. Simon’s, at once offered their services as her charioteers, and their daughters volunteered to make up the complement of inside passengers. Was it in pity for my blank looks that Maude said something about liking a sail herself above all things ? I hoped and believed so. But if it were so, her wellmeaning mother nipped her kind intention in the bud. It would he worse for her daughters than for herself, she said. If they did not wish for the drive, they had better join the party Mr Triggs was making up for visiting the lighthouse and returning by the sands. I felt I owed Triggs a grudge. The choir, however, had certainly not been a heavy charge to me that day, and it was only right I should take my skare in endeavouring to amuse them. . The sail, like everything else earthly, must come to an end some time, and then I could meet the party returning from the lighthouse, and sun myself once more in the fair Maude’s smiles. So, when all had literally eaten ‘ as long as they were able,’ with a heroism worthy of the early martyrs, I prepared to attend the impatient youngsters in their expedition on the waters. As I put on my hat Triggs came up with his parting admonition. ‘Cookson,’ he said confidentially, ‘mind you look well after the choristers ; whatever you do, don’t lose sight of Salter ; remember he is the mainstay of St. Simon’s choir.’ Trig'gs was musical—or thought ho was, and that comes to pretty much the same thing in people’s estimation of themselves—and Salter had a splendid treble voice. He always took the solos in the anthems at St. Simon’s, and Triggs had once declared that that boy was worth half the offertory in himself. But we lived in daily dread of the execution of his father’s oft repeated threat to take him away from Avonfield, and send him to try for a place in one of the cathedral choirs. According the boy was treated with an absurd amount of consideration that would have been the ruin of him if ho had not already previously been too much spoilt to be capable of any further spoiling. Twelve unmanageable choir-boys to look after on the sea 1 Who would envy my position '! Tire sea went out a very long way at Stanton, and as ill. luck would have it, this afternoon it was just low tide, so that no sailing vessel could approach within a hundred yards of the shore. The carts which conveyed the passengers to the boat was just starting as we came up. There was room for all our party but three. I dared not let Salter out of my sight after what. Triggs had said, so he and 1 and one more hoy stood and watched the rest of the boys departing in high glee. The tormenting propensities seemed to have been increased a hundredfold in Salter this afternoon. He was not more than ten years old : but he was far beyond that in impudence and audacity, and as brimful of mischief as a hive is of bees. Even in the ten minutes spent in waiting the return of the cart he developed it in pursuing his companion, with the malicious intent of hurling at his head a star-fish abstracted from same adjacent pool. I succeeded in capturing him, and in duo time we wore carted off to the sailing vessel. Then my troubles began In real earnest. The afternoon was all that could bo desired ; the sky was a perfect blue, not a cloud visible anywhere; the atmosphere was crisp and clear, the sun was bright, and we scudded along before a fresh east wind. If only Maude had been there it would have been perfect, I thought. But the heavy responsibility involved in having on hoard such a valuable piece of goods as our solo treble singer, to say nothing of the charge of the other eleven troublesome choristers, was quite another thing. The small cutter was crammed with trippers, as Mrs Malony had foretold, and standing room was all that could be obtained. But even if there had been a seat for me I should not have occupied it long. _ A man on board was driving a flourishing trade in apples and gooseberries ; and with a sense of relief 1 watched Salter produce his pennies and fill his pockets with a store of fruit. This surely must keep him quiet for a little while. Vain hope ! My attention had been attracted by an organ-grinder, who was grinding away at some popular airs at the stern of the boat, with a largo group of bystanders collected round him, among whom were several of the choristers, when I chanced to hear la familiar voice sing out, ‘ There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.’ There was no mistaking it. Imagine my horror when I saw our treble soloist perched at the top of the main-mast deliberately throwing down his gooseberry-skins on deck ! How he managed to get there must ever remain a mystery. What would be the anguish of Triggs if he were to see him now V What if the child should turn giddy and lose his balance '! Where would St. Simon’s choir be then ? Comparatively speaking the mast was of no great height ; but if it did not actually kill him, a fall to the bottom of the boat would maim the boy for life. The organ-man ceased grinding, and he and a little crowd of people collected at the foot of the mast, prepared to behold a tragedy. I tried to command my voice so as not to startle Salter, and quietly asked him if he thought ho could manage to get down. Unheeding the question, ho gave me a wink, made up of comicality and impudence, and called out in the coolest way possible, ‘ Oh, my cyo ! What a pretty rose 1 Did Maude give it you A titter ran round the bystanders, and there was a murmur of ‘ His sweetheart 1’ as every eye turned to look at the offending crimson rosebud in my coat. I had picked it that morning out of my own (or rather my landlady’s) garden, I believe with some vague hope of being able to present it to Maude later on in the day. What would this terrible boy say next ? By what inspiration (surely direct from Dante’s Inferno) had my tormentor guessed at the truth ? I felt my cheeks redden, I fear as muck with anger as with self-consciousness. For with infinite pleasure I could have thrashed that wretched Salter within an inch of his life, and reserved a few lashes for Triggs, for spoiling my holiday in this way. And then, too, the sacrilege of naming Maude in that company ‘ Maude, ’ a name to me so sacred that I invariably winced when Triggs

casually mentioned Maude Malony just as if she were any ordinary girl, instead of the divinty I thought her. And there stood the choristers eagerly drinking it all ia, and positively exulting in the poor curate’s discomfiture. But a display of anger would he inconsistent with my clerical profession. I gasped out with dignity, even if my voice wore a little shaky,

‘ Salter, I order you to come down instantly. If you cannot get down yourself I will send some one up to fetch you.’ And I turned to one of the sailors who shood gaping at my side. But with an agility I had no notion ho possessed, Salter clambered down again, and as ho touched the bottom of the boat I once more breathed freely. Punishment at that moment was out of the question, and this the young rascal knew very well. All I could do was to increase my watchfulness over my state prisoner, and see that ho did not repeat the experiment. Troubles trod on one another’s heels that afternoon. We were now fairly out of the shelter of the land, the east wind was very strong, and the boat tossed about accordingly. The consequences on board were what might naturally be expected. One by one of the St. Simon’s choir succumbed. The poor little fellows held out as long as they could, but seven of their number had to give in at at last. I was malicious enough to have re joiced if Salter had been amongst them, as it might have sobered him for the time. But the mainstay of St. Simon’s choir was impervious to the effect of wind and wave, lie only grew yet more troublesome if that were possible. He jeered at his miserable comrades and furtively abstracted the contents of their pockets—if they proved to be, edible, devouring them himself—the owners being far too wretched to make any resistance. If I tried to divert their minds by telling them little stories, Salter mocked me, and when I threatened punishment defied me to my face. It would be difficult to say what mischief he did not attempt. He teased the little children in the boat most unmercifully, and pulled faces at their parents when they remonstrated. He quarrelled with the rest of the choristers, he got into every one’s way, and made my life miserable by hanging over the sides of the vessel, keeping mo in a perpetual fear lest I should see him the next moment struggling in the water. Was there ever, since time began, so long an hour as that hour’s sail. I began to wonder if time had not stoppled in order to lengthen out my term of torture. Who can describe my joy as we once more neared Stanton, and figures were discernible on the cliffs and shore. Could one of them be Maude T To be continued.