UNDER THE PIAZZAS.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 172, 29 December 1883, Page 10

UNDER THE PIAZZAS.

£fe^l r? W£ fi?: : ;'-; ;*: ■:? ■- ' ;..:■ H;^ In a. ioiie'-0f tlipsQ snug -coffe^-rotons whibl|yiafe|to:.s;bojfouhd in moW<bf, jihe- Cpfe.nt Ga^lfcHibfelf geiftlenien in earnest conversation ovo^S^i^ntS^ojfZport. : . ' -. : ~-':i ■'-; ";If iy^u & are?r done up, lam utterly ruined," said^lie^mllep and more showy, of the twain ; ' '■' I amtnppeles|ly stumped, regularly cleaned out; — haven't -a feather, to fjy with ." , .-.'-,•_, : .~ „ . " We are well matched," said the second man, and had better go through the Bankruptcy Court together.',' ■ . . .'••.■)■ "Pooh," said the other, " why your debts are mostly bets, eh?"' "Thanks, to you, a large portion are turf liabilities." " •■-"Mine are mostly debts of honour. I shall simply re tiro from the turf, which will settle that little nnft.er; I "shall marry Miss Verner, and pay my other debts out of her fortune." ' : The last . speaker was a tall, handsome fellow. At least, that is how most people would describe ajjim. He was one of those fast, big-moustnched gentlemen, who affect a swagger in their gait and a rose in their button-hole ; a bushy-haired, carefully be-gloved, open-vested, tawny gentleman, who spoke in a loud voice, and demmed his stars at short intervals. His name 1 was Harman Hiltz, and he resided " somewhere in the West End." " Why, you have not met the lady three times," -said Mr Quelks, his companion in misfortune. "My passion will seem all the more iutense ; she will pity me and i be mine." " Doyou know her father ?" , ~ i "Rather! He is one of those club-headed! fellows who make money for others to spend — architect of his own fortunes, and all that sort of thing — glad to have a nod from a swell — gives rare dinners, and praises his own wine all the time you are drinking it. Demmie stars, if I ain't a match for him I'll swallow my gloves." Quelks had been kindly ruined by Harman Hiltz. That clever jockey, Tim Jiggs, had pocketed three thousand pounds to pull in Madcap, just before she passed the judge's stand, and instead of winning fifty thousand pounds by Madcap,. Hiltz, and Q.uelks had lost half that sum, und this put an end to their career. When the whole truth took possession of the little mind of the little Mr Quelks, he resolved at once to drown himself in the Thames, but Mr Hijtz had induced him to dine at the Bedford instead, and under the influence of some fine old port, Quelks resolved to place himself under the Commissioner in Bankruptcy instead of figuring as a helpless body in a coroner's inquest. " If ever I come across Tim Jiggs, however, I'll break every bone in his skin," said Hiltz. " How do you know he sold the race ?" asked Quelks, " Know it ! How the deuce could you help but know it, to say nothing of the young brute's father, having won two thousand pounds on the Bee, he, demme stars ! was not worth sixpence." Although lie was utterly ruined, as he said, Mr Herman Hiltz had still a few hundred pounds to meet present necessities, though he did not take the trouble to communicate this fact to Mr Q.uelksl Mr Harman Hiltz strolled into a friend's box at the opera. ' " Fortune favours me," Jic said, as he scanned the house; "fortune favours the brave, demme stars!" On the first tier opposite to him sat old Verner, Mrs Verner, and the rich City gentleman's only daughter. ,Mr Harman Hiltz presently found himself in Mr Verner's box,paying special attention to Mrs Verner and Alice. The mother was a weak, silly woman, whose chief care it was to see her daughter married, and whose next object in life was to be dresaed always in the height of the fushion. Tt was easy for M: 1 Jliltz to win-over to Jus side such a mother, and he possessed all that ou'tn-urd show of courteous consideration for ladies which speedily secures favours from the sex. On this night he •was particularly gracious, but in a more impressive way than usual. There was a gentleness in his manner towards Alice which could not fail to set. Mrs Verner thinking what kind of match he WDuld-be for her daughter. . : Poor Alice! she had been so. thoroughly educated by her mother up to matrimonial pitch, that so soon as she saw that this showy fish nibbled she began to give 'him line, and iingle . for him with little or no consideration for her own feelings in the . matter. "Mr Harman Hiltz gorged the golden bait' without hesitation, and suffered himself to be caught ; nay, he asked to be hooked as plainly as could be, following Alice to her carriage, squeezing mater's hand, toadying the father, and saying such tender things to Alice, that Mrs Verner called for her landing-net, and began to feel all the. pride of conquest. MABBIED. "He has asked my permission to marry Alice, and I have forbidden him the house," said Mr Verner, at dessert, a few days after the events juat recorded. "Forbidden him the house!," exclaimed his wife, tossing her head up defiaatly, and putting - down the wine which was 1 on a journey to her lips. "Forbidden him the house!" said Miss Alice, in a languishing, deprecatory tone. ... "Forbidden him the house!, Yes, damme !" said the irate head of the household j " the infernal adventurer ! " " Oh, papa ! " said Mrs Verner. " Oh, papa ! " exclaimed Alice. "Don't papa- me! This Hiltz is a bad lot; and, with my consent; he does not marry my daughter. , Should he marry her without it, she is no longer my ; " daughter," said' Mr Verner ; " I shall be elected M.P. for Rpttenborough by-and-, by, and' fclien 'you 'shall botli^have., introductions j into such society as shall ; enable Alice to ; ma'rry whom shepleas.es ';.. with. the setilemeiit' that I can make, shie "ought to marry a lord at least."---"I don't want to marry; ; a lord," said Alice. pnsjjpmestic. breeze only made. Alice Verner tKinfeo||Harman Hiltz all the more. She looked '.■ugo^fi^ip^perfecut^u gentleman j : sheregardetl ;. ;Eertef f^^tteligh^f a* lll-usecLih^icten- .locked ,v . iLffw'^&niify.ii aiiHec's.:Qastle.': cfe <Hilfcz,v who ■ } r : fo|l^wed^^eje,of v»«y wbie^e/:^ and .obtained. . stolen :V;inte J rv:i&w|^ifeli^b6io $?< Vfctdria'/Hquaej Kenstftg-

if lie lost the few pounds he had, he should come back no more, and she might go home to her beast of a father. Wifely, womanly appeals had no elfect upon Harman Hiltz, though Alice grew quite eloquent in her distress, off ering to go with him to beg, slave, starve, so that she might be by his side. . " You should have obeyed your father," said Hiltz ; " why the divil didn't you, oh ? You knew his beastly temper; you knew he would never relent ; you knew he would never shell out one stiver, demmie stars ! and you hang yourself on me like a whelk. Why the douce can't you go home and honour your father and mother, and all that sort of thing ? I'm off, so there's an end of it. It's one thing or the other with mo — a prison in London or freedom in Germany. Go home to your father, and fall in love with some other fellow as soon as you like." Harman Hiltz disappeared from London. ! This was in the autumn, when short days and cold nights pinch the hungry, and give terrible warning of the winter that is to come. Alice had determined to try and maintain herself without further aid from home. DESERTED. As the winter came 6n,-Mrs Harinan Hiltz found it impossible to exist on the miserable pittance she. could earn by her needle.' The sale of her last trifles of jewellery- had only brought suffi-; cient money, to .buy clothes" for the infant that was. bonvat the. lattqr end of a ,-dreaiy November day. 2£rs" Hiltz : found hejrseif . a . mothe.r, in debt to the landlady, and half dad, when ' the first snow? of winter fell,' making the glooniy ; garret clarker and. colder, anddharp'ening thekeeri edge, of her adversity until She had died of apprehension for her baby, whielr was the, only - tMng:nowv.y?di^h:liying,fo«./:!,T o;,-; -'/:•(•'' o f.J? I At length, came: Ohftstmas-eVei' with^its * tender - ; ChristianAmeiriorjalHiW The bells of an adjacent church -..were ringing pleasantly. Their music seemed to.. part^heccisspj frosty^air,*aucUbr3ak in

rushing past him and dashing into the dining-room | at the extreme end of the hall. " What's this ? What's this ?" exclaimed Mr Verner, who had been sitting over his porb, and thinking how happy Victoria House was last Christmas', and what a desolution it was now. . "It's your daughter and her child !" Baid the wretched woman, falling at his feet ; " oh, have mercy ! bave mercy !" " Mercy !" said Mr Verner, knitting his brows, and standing aghast at the wretched woman before him, whom he had hardly known but for her voice and that shower of dark brown hair which had escaped from her bonnet ; " mercy, indeed ! Had you any mercy on me ? — on her who : lies dead— on your mother ?" " Oh, no, no, no ! Don't say dead !" exclaimed the woman, ia an agony of grief. " Dead ! I say dead !" exclaimed the father, feeling to the full the desolution of his house; "killed by you — by you. Away with you!, — begone, ungrateful, wretched matricide. A curse upon' you ! G-o— go— go !" He thrust her out into the hall, and that gorgeous flunkey speedily banged the door upon her. - It was only the crying of her child that k<>pt the unhappy woman from losing her reason;' With a dull, heavy sense of what had befallen her, she staggered out into the open air. The snow fell upon her, but she heeded it not; it fell in dull heavy flakes, shutting out the gas-lights with a soft, fluffy curtain, and muffling the footfalls of passengers on their way to friendly firesides. That poor woman, with the .child in her arms, hurried 1 on "like the rest, but to no friendlyshelter; she harried on through the snow with"a beating heart/ They knew it not,' those people j who passed lie?, or the wtirld is not so bad but that;, she\ jw^uld; >havQ< lmdj.qffers vof /pecuniary relief. Ten minutes after her departure Mr Verner callfe'9 ; the' ; mah* who' hW'let'tlie" beggar Yoman^nJ'gave'himitwcntyisovereignsi and^bade llitn hurx-y after. that' vwbman J; with. ; - . this money j

"arid get her affdressj'.'Jhb said/ as ftbe '.servant * left the room ; but tho poor woman Had scraiublfcL into a 'bus near the; iqrj the r jpurpoijQ^ of sheltering her child.-tha/ifor hastening her journey towards Drury' jjane. So the man returned to Victoria House with the money. . :. . ■..; >^:/ ;;.; ;ii'>:-}i..:O^l On any other morning the piazzas in -Qovent Garden would have concealed. what a pohVeman found huddled up in b corner theve.^ ' But Christmas eve coming on .Saturday, i:berp was: all that strange, solemn repose in Co.vent, garden on nexfc morning, which contrasts so remarkably with the customary noise, arid bustle, : and excitement, which is it normal condition on every day in the week, Sunday exceptcd, from the • earh'estj hours till after midnight. Sauntering along, glad of being under cover for a time, a policeman suddenly found his foot in contact with 'a' heavy bundle under the piazzas leading to' Bow-street. Turning on his bull's eye, he saw a woman lying dead on the pavement. Ciosply folded in her 5 arms was an infant, whose little eyes. blinked in the glow of the constable's lantern. , Obtaining assistance, the officer took the woman to the deaol^ house, and tne baby to the workhouse. In due course an inquest was held upon the mother, a verdict of found dead was returned, and the body buried — Mr Jonathan . Verner ;being too much engrossed with the gorgeous ceremony of his wife's interment, even to notice the brief paragraph in the papers which chronicled the " Social Tragedy on Christmas eve." The infant thrived amain under the dominion of the Poor Law Guardians, and grew to be a bright, quick, intelligent child. As years sped on Bessie began to think seriously of her position, and to take a deep interest in that long-past incident of Oovent Garden. Often in her dreams she could see the pictures of that terrible winter's night ; for the matron had or»fc day taken her to the place where her mother was found, and had giren her the little frock, and shoes, and pinafore, which she had worn ac an infant. These tbings haunted poor. Bessie day and night ; and on Christmas eve, when the pauper children had a feast, and were merry once in a year, she was sad, and spent the night; in prayer. When at last the time came for Bessie to leave the Workhouse, and to go out to service, she was engaged by the housekeeper of a philanthropical gentleman, whose good deeds filled, every one's mouth with his praises. This gentleman's housekeeper had noticed Bessie's good con* duct at the workhouse schools; and when: an assistant kitchen maid was required at Victoria House, the old lady had mentioned her to the master, and she was engaged. . .-.. ■ Bessie had hardly been in her new home an hour, when the cook, taking a fancy tocher round pretty face, gave her a marked proof of her confidence. "Lor 1 bless you, I should never .have, known -us you come out of the work'iis. There ddn't cry, child ! There's nothing to cry about. Why, I declare, you have got long, beautiful cur:s, tied up in that net. I thought they cutoff your hair in work'uses. :i l " The mistress let mine grow," said Bessie, wfyh tears in her eyes. " There, don't cry, for goodness' sake. Your betters have been inVork'uses for the matter of that, I dare be bound. Who knows but master's daughter herself, poor soul ! died in one." "Why?" enquired Bessie. "O!i ! I don't know as I shall tell you that ; but I like you, somehow. Bless the dear child. Wliy do you cry ? There, I'll say no more about thafc horrid work'us ;" and the cook patted the young girl's hei'd, and sat down by the fire. " Who, is she like ?" exclaimed the cook, as soon as Mrs Mart hers entered. - . ':" The housekeeper looked anxiously from one to another. "Whatever put it into my head, God, only knows," said the cook ; " but if this ain't the lose young missus's child, my name ain't Sarah Smith I" • . ■ " Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Mrs Marthers, starting back. ■ : " What's this round her neck ?" said the cook, undoing a piece of faded ribbon; "a weddings ring ! And. what is this engraved on it ? — Amce n* " Have you anything belonging to your mother — your poor, dear mother ?" " Yes," said Bessie ; " a handkerchief,, and the clothes 1 had on when they found me in Covenfc Garden." They all went upstairs together, and Bessie opened her poor little box, and in a very short time Mrs Marthers noticed, by the aid of her spectacles, the letters A. V. upon the. handkerchief which was found round the foundling's, neok on that b'tter night years ago. "My poor dear," said Mrs Marthers ; "you have found your home at last. Mr Verner is your grandfather ; come and I will take you to him." Bessie suffered herself to be conducted to the master's room. When she entered hand in-hand, with the housekeeper, an old grey-headed man looked up from his desk. Bessie trembled witli sensations of fear and wonder and apprehension, ' "What's this? what's this.?" 'said the oldjir man ; but oh, so tenderly, so gently, so meekly." f " Your grandchild," said Mrs Marthers, "triumphantly. She ought not to have been so precipitate ; the shock nearly cost Mr Verner his life. For many days he was very ill, and Bessie waited upon him almost day and night. He called her Alice"/ his poor dear Alice, in his delirium, and JimpTorec£"/ her forgiveness a hundred times. At length hf> „ recovered and came fully to' understand &i<F* Bessie was, and then the thanked God fervently., for sending to him this token of his forgiveness," % and lived long enough to feel that it is neve*too ■ ■ late to repent of r the greatest wickedness, Jind/ ' never too late for heaven to i'd ward a sinner w!ho .m strives to atone for the _pa.sf. -Bessie Verner^ lived with her grandfather ten- years,; when, he; died with his head in her arms^bl^ing her; and thanking.' God for his goodness. lte£was sincerly.^-' mourned by the poor, who happlfsfound ajn^ojl. less generous. friendip^his^hejre^s..' .. Bessie f Verner never married ; bub devpjt^her' whole J liiEe l to J the cause of . true charity, .and Jn Jhe^nresent } d.ay ( sh© is known and belovediaU^oJzg£ England 'for "her gco,d : and:graciou| deedsjf % £g_ f <% •_ - ' „ -,

feeling. He descfibjjd his own unhappy position"; in glowing coloursjisaidf life, liad* beenitraduced by jealous persons. Harman Hiltz was not long in persuading Alice to elope with him. His only daughter Hiltz argued ; old Verner will ;be very savage at ilrstv but in a very short time he will receive back the penitents, and all will go merry as a marmge bell. Aliio never doubted that she would, be recei ved , back again, by her father ; but Mr Jonathan Verner was a man of his word, and he prided himself upon that, above all things. Just as he had returned home from his success-' ful contest for Rottenborough, he learnt of his daughter's undutiful conduct, aud he vowed, with a great -bath, that; she was no longer t>. daughter of Jonathan Vernev. Nothing could expiate the sin she had committed. Her mother pleaded in vain ; friends threw out gentle hints ; Harman Hiltz wrote Cue specimens of the letter pentitential ; Alice assured him in a reaily affectionate letter that he had misunderstood her dear Harman, but the member for Rottenborough was obdurate. Months rolled on, and the name of Alice Verner was not permitted to be mentioned at Victoria House. Jonathai' Verner had blotted her out for ever; he swore, it, "and impiously called upon heaven to witness his vow. Discovering soon afterwards that his wife had been in the habit of supplying her daughter with money, he kept such a check upon the purse of Mrs Verner as precluded her from any important repetition o£ her generosity. Meanwhile, Harman Hiltz appeared in his true colours to Alice, his wife ; coming home to their wretched lodgings at all hours of the night, and often in a bi'awhng state of intoxication. Three months had, not elapsed before he upbraided her with being penniless, and in less than six months he had deserted her, saying that he .was going to travel on the Continent. There were gambling-houses in Germany, he said, where a fellow might replenish his purse or ruin himself quite. If he made his fortune he would return ;

* sweet, hopeful. tones ag&inst tlio panes of the little HvindW in Diniryiane. ;■ i. :... '.? "I -will go I I -will go !" said the poor, pale, hungry woman, clutching her child closely to her , bosom, and looking out into the darkness. Then sho laid the; little one gently down, lighted .the remains of a rushlight, and dressed the child with the care and fondness of a mother who hoped that its bright, round, cheerful face would exercise a favourable impression whither it was going. "There, there, nay pretty !" sho said, as the baby whimpered at the extra tying and fastening and folding to which it was being subjected; "there, there ; it shall see grandpa, and soften his heart, and go home to a warm fire ;" and her own | dull eyes lighted up with a strong but transient hope.*. The snow fell pitilessly as the woman hurried along the Strand with the burthen. The i lights in the shop windows iiung illuminated protests out into the streets against the great flakes of. snow that darkened the windows. There was no soiind of wheels, but the busy hum of many voices seem to hurry Alice on to her destination, and the sound of -bells now .and then fell ixpon her ear and nestled in her beating heart. A weary, weary, way it was, by Westminster, on past the Houses of' Parliament,' over the bridge beyond, and by the dull, fierce river ; but at' last she stood at hoi' fathei-'s door. She did not notice that all the blinds were down. She was desperate, in-bo-half of that sleeping infant, which would presently cry of cold and hunger. By-and-by the door was opened by a strange servant, who knew her not, and would have forced her back into the street. " This ain't a time for beggars," he said. " Where is Mrs Marthers, the housekeeper ?" said the woman. " Upstairs, along of tha dead," said the flunkey with solemn grandeur. : » Who's dead ? Who's dead ?" asked Mrs Hiltz. " Oh, come, none of that, you know," said the man, taking her by the arm 5 " I wouldn't h.V let you in if I thought you'd been up to that game. " Oh, mercy I mercy I" exclaimed the woman,