LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2715, 21 December 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

BOH AND I—'ARCADES AMBO.' A Story oy London Bohemia.. in TWO PARTS. Part 11. (Continued,) He told us he had come to London about ten days before, and was about to commence an extended ' Europian' tour when the summer was fairly set in. He certainly had taken to us, to Bob especially. I could see that, although we and our way of living were a source of continual astonishment to him. One day, when we were all sitting in Bob's room, we two smoking, and our visitor chewing the end of an uulighted cigar, he burst out with :

' I can't make out what you chaps stop here for.' ' Here ? Where Y

' Why, in England ; in this used-up overpopulated old country. Why don't you come over to America '!'

Had he invited us to accompany him and M. Jules Verne on an aerial voyage of discovery to the moon, I could not have been more utterly coufouuded. We simply sat and stared at him.

'To America ! Why ?' I ejaculated at last, seeing that Bob was utterly beyond the power of speech. ' Why, to stretch your limb 3, to be sure. To snuff the air of freedom which you can't breathe iu this tyrannical old country. To get on —to make your way. There ain't no show for you in this old Europe of yours ; there's too many of ye, and you don't get a chance ; but come out to America, sir, where every man, if he's got the right stuff in-him, is bound to come to the top. That's the land for a man, sir; there every man is as good as another.' ' That is a dubious recommendation,' I observed.

' I mean, sir, a man's respected there for what he is, and for what he's done, not 'cause he happens to be rich, or 'cause he's got a grandfather. We take off our hats to brains, sir, in America,' •' And. to money,* interpolates Bob. • * Yes, sir, if the brains have made the money, and I tell you it takes a smart man to make money in New York, sir. But out "West every man has his chance. There's a future for every man there. You don't have to wait for opportunities there as you do here ; the opportunies are waitin* for you.' ' Very kind of them,' I murmured, but he did not hear me. He waxed eloquent in his theme. • Yes, sir, out West a man has room to grow; he can spread hi 3 wings. It don't matter a snuff whether you've got a grandfather, nor yet a father ; it's you we look at, and if you're of the right grit we'll find it out pretty soon, I guess. How in thunder a chap like you,' looking at Bob's six feet of bone and sinew, ' can sit there paintin' them things on a bit of canvas I can't make out. Now, how long have you been at this ?' asked he, poking a finger at a sketch on the wall. ' Seven or eight years.' Bob replies. ' And you ain't makin' more money than when you started ?' ' No, not much,' says Bob rather dolefully. ' Why, it's almost past belieyin'. I tell you, sir, when I was seven-and-twenty I owned half a ranch. Now, see you here. I'll teli ye what I'll do. I've taken a fancy into my head, and I can afford to gratify it. I've got a farm out in lowa, and a good farm too. You go out there, both of ye; I'll give you soinethin* a year—not much ; but you'll have free livin', and learn the work, and after four years I'll give ye each a quarter share. Now, what d'ye say ?' The situation was an extremely awkward one. Our patron's offer was so kindly meant, and so extraordinarily generous, that we -felt at a loss how to answer him. Not that I had the slightest intention o£ accepting it. Apart from all other considerations, the facts that, hi the country to which we were invited to migrate, one man was as good as another, and the possession of a grandfather was of no account, were of themselves sufficieufc to determine me not to set foot in it. I may mention that I am connected, and by Ijo means distantly, with the Macphersons of Loonie, or Clan Rattan, who trace their lineage back to the times of Alexander 111. of Scotland, and whose motto, * Touch not the cat, but the cheese,' i 3 of world-wide renown ; indeed, my father's third cousin (thrice removed) wa3 a scion of that ancient house. I looked at Bob, and Bob looked at me, but we said nothing. ' Wei), what d'ye say V repeated Mr Capen, a little surprised at our silence. ' It's a good offer—perhaps better than you think; but I can afford it. Ye're safe to get on, if you only work hard enough : ye're bound to make your fortiu.' 'But we—we don't want to,' said Bob diffidently. ' Eh ! what?

'No, my dear Mr Capeu,' I replied, having had time to form nay speech. 'lt is just as Bob says :we do not want to. We are very well as we are. We do not make much money, it is true, but we make a little, and that, I think, in a very genteel, gentlemanlike way. Your offer is a most kind one, and we are very grateful to you for it. Coming as it does from a comparative stranger, I can hardly say how much we feel his kindness.

' Don't say nothin','says Mr Capen. 'I took a fancy to you, and to do ye a good turn.' w

' You did, and we are truly grateful. But wecaunot accept your generous—nay, munificent—offer. The fact is, we neither of us have any desire to make our fortunes. There is, to my mind, something plebeian in the very idea, something that smacks of the vulgarian, of the tnovus liomo. And as for getting on, does it not strike you that there is too much of that already—too many people wrestling with one another, pushing this way and that, perspiring, struggling, all on account of their insatiate desire to get on? We have do desire to form part of this pushing, perspi'ing crowd. While they are hurrying :arough life, crushing and trampling under foot the delicate flowers of pleasure and enjoyment, and breasting the rough waters of a stream that almost carries them away, lucky indeed if, when their hair is gray and their faces worn and wrinkled—no offence, dear Mr Capen—they reach the other side, wayworn and weary ; while they I say, are struggling and striving, we are content to float gently down the stream, culling the flowers, weaving the garlands, and (affording to mankind the rare and exalted spectacle of men 'who have chosen a better part, and who do not desire to get

Mr Capen had listened to me in silence, astonishment apparently struggling with his habit of self-control. At last he could stand it no longer, and burst out, ' Well, that beats all!' ' It must seem surprising to you,' I continued calmly, much pleased with the impression I had made, ' that 'we are not anxious to make our fortunes but we are not. The fact is, we are thoroughly unpractical ; idealistic, not material; poetical, not prosaic. We look upon life as a friend to be entertained, not an enemy to be grappled with. Besides, we live for oar art, aid that alone. And this desire to gee on would be totally subversive of all artistic success. An artist, to succeed as such, should be entirely unaffected by pecuniary considerations. No thought of lucre must influence him in any way.' That perfectly unbearable smile began to show itself on Mr Capeu's face. I continued, somewhat more hurriedly. ' At all events, we are content with things as they aro. We may not get on, as you call it; but we are satisfied. Do not, I pray you, introduce unquiet longings into our tranquil bosoms. Do not stir strange desires within us. In a word, ne inoveas Camarinam. Don't you think so, Bob V Bob nods; he is evidently impressed by my eloquence. ' Well, that beats all !' said Mr Capen a<*ain. ' But if you « out, you won't : and so, enough said. And now,' changing his posture and the subject at the same time, • about these pictur's. Are they ready V ' Jenks promised them by six o'clock,' replied Bob. ' Well, 1 guess you may as well bring 'em round with you this evenin.' We have supper at seven : they call it dinner here. Bring 'em around with ye ; there's my address.'

1 At seven, did you say ?' ' Yes ; you'll come, won't ye '!' ' Yes,' 1 think so,'replied Bob ; and, ' Yes, 1 think so,' said I too ; or if we find we can't well send the pictures, in any case.'

' Yes, mind you send them. My daughter 'll be glad to see them. I told her about 'em.' 'O, you have a daughter?' we both cried in a breath. Mr Capen looked amused. ' Yes,' he said slowly, ' I have a daughter. Well, you'll both come around at seven, I guess.' ' O, certainly— with pleasure !' 'And our patron retires, smiling to himself.

We listened to his retreating footstep, until assured that he was out of hearing, and then Bob said, ' I say, Sandy, who'd have thought the old chap had a daughter ! What's she like, I wonder': 'O, like himself, I suppose. A raw-boned, sallow-faced, vulgar creature, as long as a maypole, and as clumsy as a coalheaver.* 'I suppose so,' sighed Bob. 'But I'd like to see her, just for the fun of the thing.' 'I don't care about going,' said I indifferently. 'lf it weren't that I told him I'd go, I would stop at home. I suppose she'll talk with that terrible Transatlantic intonation, like her father.' 'Yes, I suppose so : we'll have the twang of the silver bow all around us.' ' Well, we must make up our minds to it. Good-bye, old boy ; I'm off.' ' Where are you off to now ?' cried Bob. * To—er—to the hairdresser's ; hair wants

curling.' s ' Here, stop a moment; I'll go with you. I may as well get shaved. We'll have to make ourselves decent anyway.' At a few minutes before seven, Bob and I, in a hansom cab, with our respective pictures on our knees, arrived at Mr Capen's door. The address was that of a large house in one of the West Central squares, probably let out in apartment. Our patron occupied three floors of the house, we found out. He liked to have room to breathe in, he said. Stephen C. Capen came down stairs to receive tts, and ushered us into a room on the ground floor, half library, half smoking room, where we deposited our treasures. He looked at them critically, and then said, ' They look mighty well in the frames, don't they ?' Which they undoubtedly did. Then we went up stairs. [To be continued.)