THE WIDOWER’S SECOND WOOING.

Patea Mail, Volume VIII, Issue 1041, 30 May 1883, Page 4

THE WIDOWER’S SECOND WOOING.

LITERATURE.

It was a bright spring morning, when the air was what the poets call genial, that, in high spirits, and half-mourning, I set out from the metropolis to seek, in the Isle of Wight, the yonng lady to whom I had been somewhat permanently engaged in the lifetime of my lamented Becky. That unfortunate impediment to our union was now removed, and though she had been gone many months, I clung to my semi-sables, because, in my singular case, I thought that on my again beholding Anna Maria and her mother my black gloves and the crape round my white hat would speak volumes of love, hope, and constancy, and serve as signals for rejoicing. As the train to Portsmouth flew rapidly along, I gave myself op to blissful .anticipations, and though it did occur to me that upwards of two years and a half bad elapsed since I had heard of Mrs Millington and her daughter, and that such a. lapse of time brings many changes, still the small cloud turned to me ‘ its silver lining,’ and the anxious flurry of my feelings made me think my train, though it went at the rate of forty miles an honr, a slow train. The Cowes steamboat vividly revived scenes that were past, and 1 sat upon the deck recalling one by one the events of first union with Becky, my imaginary widowhood, our reunion and my second bereavement, about which there could be no mistake; I saw her as she sat for herpifcture; I saw her seasick oh board the sinking Duck, and then, dreadful' retrospeciidh 1-- I saw her in her private box which she now occupied and she could never again come forth to claim me, so I lightly stepped upon terra firma, and looked about me at Cowes, with the air of*a.singlejrnan witVioat encumbrances. • My first walk was to the post office, to ascertain the address of Mrs Millington ; 1 I then returned to the , hotel,; dressed myself with great care, and, having cast a glance at the lung mirror in the.coffee room, I drew on my black gloves, and, with a palpitating heart, proceeded to the house to which I had been , directed. It was a very small quite in the cottage style, standing in an extremely little bit of garden—one of those slim dwellings which indicate the slender means of the proprietor. Ibad been aware that Anna Maria was dependent on her mother, and that her mother was not rich, when*! had been' so nearly .united to her two years and a half ago. Bat on very long voyages, when two people are thrown together as we were, they are apt to forget earth and its dross, while fullyengrossed by amorons anticipations. Besides, though I should certainly have liked my wife, just for the look of the thing,-to have bad a little independence of her own, still, 1 could afford to marry whom I pleased ; and though 1 stood for a,moment-at the door of the exceedingly small cottage, with the knocker in my hand, before I gave the signal which was to summon the servant, I cannot allow it to be supposed that the idea of withdrawing from the pursuit of Anna on account of her humble abode, entered ; my imagination. After twice repeating my knock, a foot-woman opened the door and apologised for delay, saying that she was ‘.awashing,’ to the truth of which statement; her, red hands and arms, lathered and sloppy up to the elbows, bore ample testimony, ‘ls Mrs Millington at home?’ I falteringly inquired. r* No,r sir,? not at home,’ replied the maid* ;■ - i; ,, r " ‘ Is—Miss—Millington within ?’ ‘ Both gone oot, sir.’ ‘ I should be sorry to disturb them if they are engaged, but l am so old and intimate a friend, that if they are at home, and visible to anyone, I’m sure they would see me.’ * Oh, they’re not visible nowhere today f ,to : n.q one here,’ said the maid, * shaking her head. . ■ t ‘ take my card,’ said I j and shblookefTat her wet finger and thumb with some corapnnction as she took it. ‘ And, here’s ha|f-a-crown for yourself,’ 1 added, and she took that without hesitation or compunction, for halfcrowns are not the worse for wetting. ‘ Thank ye kindly, sir; missis shall have'your card when she do come back from Lunnon.’ *What I’ I exclaimed * gone I’ ‘ Went this morning to meet Missis’s maiden sister. Miss Champs, what is just come from the Injies.’ * This, {morning 1 and how long will they slay?’ ‘A week, Missis said, or, ten days at he longest.’ .‘ Oh, well, it can’t be helped,’ said I; ‘x shall remain at Cowes till they return. Are they quite well ?’ ‘.Why; tollable. Mrs Millington has had the flenzy, and was so bad Sunday come se’nnight, that Mr Morbid, the potecary gave her epidemic in her gruel; but she be better and stronger now, and means to Jnsnlt somebody in Lunnon.’ ‘ And yonr yonng mistress, how is she?’,,: *Oh 1 she’d a touch of the flenzy, too.’ ‘ Not serious, I hope ?’ ‘ Ob, no ! young folks don’t so much mind. Mr Morbid said her’s was little more than a common gnitnr; but then he told her a cold ain’t a thing to play with.* ‘ And is she looking as lovely as ever?’ \ Oh, charming 1 such a face ! and then her figure’s perfect scymitar ! You heard of her luck, I suppose ?’ ‘ No, what luck ?—unless you mean—my arrival.’ f I thought everybody knew. My missis’s maiden sister, Miss Chumps, brought home.the news from the Injens.’ ‘ I’ve beard nothing. ’ * Only to think ? and an old friend too ! and I to have the telling on’t 1 Why, Miss Anny Marier’s father’s only brother who sqrwived, had died at some queer place in these parts, and he’s left all his fortune to she ?’ ‘ To Miss Millington ?’

1 Oh, yes !—no end to it Y 1 You don’t say so I have you their address in London ?’ * Oh, yes. The B Hotel, Cstreet. ’ ‘Very well,’ said I, ‘ and now can yon tell me where I cnn find furnished lodgings ?’ r ‘ How luckily things do turn out ?’ replied my interesting friend. ‘ There’s Mr Morbid has just the apartments to suit you, there, up the street, he’s missis’s ’potecary, and you see blue and red bottles in his shop window.’ : (To he continued.)