Our Cousin from Home: A Family Sketch.

Evening Star, Issue 9324, 23 December 1893, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Cousin from Home: A Family Sketch.

[By G.- Clyde/)

(Specially Written for the Evening Star.) E were all sitting down to tea, wondering if it would rain to-morrow, , for we were rather doubtiful about our prospects of picnicking on that day. A mg cloud was gathering towards the west, looking, as Charlie said, "just Kke the cloud that went before -Elijah into the den of lions." It is astonishing what a knowledge of biblical history Charlie has ; even mother is frequently surprised at the extraordinary Scriptural information he has acquired. Having spoken, Charlie sat down, opened his mouth wide to accommodate, a quarter of a round of bread, overbalanced himself in attempting the feat, and sat down suddenly on the floor. But we were all so accustomed to this sort of thing that we would only have been startled if it had not occurred. Even Ben's baby understands its uncle's peculiarities, and when an earthquake shock happened lately, and all the crockery fell down on the pantry floor, that child simply murmured "Tarlie, Tarlie," and looked round expectantly for the noisy youth. "You have not put so much candle grease in tho tea as usual," 3aid Charlie cynically to Matilda. " You needn't talk," said Matilda, sneeringly, "You know you're not a proper member of this family at all—you're the youngest; you were only an afterthought. "Second thoughts are best," replied Charlie, and proceeded to remark that the toast tasted of kerosene.

Then Matilda got hold ;;f Charlie, and when he tried to get awaj she banged his head against the wall, and called him a coward for fighting with a girl, upon which mother remarked that if Charlie couldn't behave like a gentleman he had better take his tea in the kitchen ; and Charlie revenged himself by crunching toast audibly during the remainder of the meal. We were going to a picnic next day, if Mr Paulin proved kind, and we began discussing our intended party. Outside our own family, including our married brother Ben and his wife, Nelly and the baby, and our other brother Dick with his best girl, there were only two or three who need be mentioned—namely, Mrs Mann, wh'o belonged to the Woman's Franchise League, and who was training up her son to be a " husband and a father " by making him take the baby whenever he came home from school, a proceeding which.always resulted in the boy voluntarily making mistakes in his lessons in order to be kept in. Then there was young Mr Martin, who posed as a woman hater—which is what a man calls himself if he thinks the women don't pay him sufficient attention ; and, lastly, there was a young man of the name of M'Ewen, whom Dick had invited on his own responsibility. Nobody knew much about M'Ewen, but some of us had a prejudice against him—mother because he was the son of a publican. Ben because he wont to church twice on Sunday. Ben said a man must be feeling pretty wicked if he had to go to church twice on Sunday, which reminds me of the logic* of country people when their town visitors ask them for the loan of a tub : " What, do you need to take a bath sometimes ; what dirty people you must lie." "What else is he," asked my mother, for the third time. " I cannot help having a prejudice against people who are engaged in the trade." " Oh, no need for that," eai.i Ben. " I know a lady who gets all her income from hotels, yet she takes precious good care that her sons don't enter one."

"Is he married ?" asked my mother. "No ? I'm sorry for that. Married men are usually more trusty." "Oh, no, they aren't," Matilda interrupted. " Married men are just as bad, only they sneak in by the back door and tell the barmaid not to let on. You take my word for it, I know a lot about the wickedness of this wicked world."

" Matilda," began my mother severely ; but here a diversion was created by my youngest brother catching fire. Instantly there was a confusion. "Now, Charlie," said my mother, who prides herself on her presence of mind, and on always saying the right thing in cases of this kind—"now, Charlie, just keep prfectly cool, and every thing will be all right"; but, as Charlie subsequently explained, "it's all very well to talk, but it's not very easy for a fellow to keep cool when his trousers are beginning to blaae." However, we took turns in sitting on Charlie ; and as that is a process to which he is only too well accustomed, we put the fire out first, and then proceeded to do likewise with Charlie.

" I am perfectly ashamed of that boy sometimes," said mother, as we all sat down once more. " What do you think our Cousin William will think of him." William is a long-expected arrival from the Old Country, and we were at that time looking for his appearance any day. We did not know by what ship he might arrive, for we have never kept up much communication with our relatives in distant lands. Charlie says they are too " toff" for us. Charlie is a Socialist, and refuses to wear-collars. Ben says they are a poor-spirited lot When a colonial man gets rich he does something with his money—builds a hospital or travels about and enjoys himself; when a man in the Old Country comes into something he buys a carriage; when lis gets richer, he buys another carriage; and -when he gets richer *till he buys another. They have no idea how to spend their money. Thtiy are so stuck up also. This is tiie sort, of letters they send, full, of their grand expeditions : " Gerald has been -doing a

niee Utile trip all by himself. He took a •boat over to New York, stayed there a few .months with Mb cousins, the Fifcqpatricks j he "then took- a sailing vessel for Hamburg, jwbich is in Germany, you know"—they evidently think us ignoramuses here in New Zealand—' spending more than a month o» Iward ; after which he sailed over to Leitb, stayed a day or two in Edinburgh, and contrived to see a little of Stirling before he returned home/' This is thedetter we wrote in answer : " Our little brother Charlie has been having 4 grand time of it in his holidays. He took a sailing vessel across Pelichet Bay, and spent some little time at Ravensbourne, a very picturesque little town, where he rested from the fatigues of the journey. He then went by rail to Caversham* where may be seen the remains of an ancient brewery, and returned home much invigorated by his tour." We embellished it a good deal more than this, and when we next heard from our aristocratic cousins we learned that they had sent our description of CharhVs tour to the local papers, and that the editor had published it under the title " Young New Zealand, or a Boy's Journey through Maoriland." Though it was a holiday it did not rain next day. Our party soon gathered into one of the two buggies. I sat next Mr Martin, and We amused ourselves reading the embarrassing remarks on conversation lollies. M'Ewen drove our buggy, and at our feet lay M'Ewen's dog, which lay ou everybody's toes in turn, and sat up and scratched himself whenever anyone directed attention to him. So we careered along, scattering largesse in the shape of lollies to all the little boys along the road. The drive was unmarked by any exciting incident except when M'Ewen's dog in the fulness of its heart, got up on its hind legs and laid its curly head down on Matilda's shoulder, which M'Ewen said made him feel quite envious, a remark which I remember thinking rather wicked. We alighted at a beautiful gully covered with curly fems, with a background of bush*—a" cage, as it were, of a solitary bellbird, whose chime sounded somewhere from its depths. A shallow stream of water ran down the rocks and bubbled and hissed over the stones like a rivulet of boiling snow. When we landed we younger ones started off for a game of rounders—all except M'Ewen, who said .that the only game he cared for was " kiss in the ring," and if he could not get that—well, he had been lured to the picnic on false pretences, and was not going to stand it. He offered to make the tea, however, and went off with Mr Martin to the : creek to get the water. They seemed to find tea-making rather an amusing occupation, to judge by the frequent bursts of laughter that we heard, combined with a curious popping noise, which Charlie said reminded him of the time when Ben and Nellie were engaged aad used to sit in the parlor together, and forgot to shut the door. Then we sat around in various uncomfortable attij tudes, and ate sandwiches and spiders I and cake and ants quite impartially ; and i afterwards we had another game of ' rounders, and sampled the scenery, and then it was about time to go home. Everybody agreed it. had been a very successful picnic—Charlie had not fallen into the creek more than three times, and the baby, in spite of hairbreadth escapes, still breathed, and very audibly, too, at times. It was on account of this small creature that Ben judgfld it advisable to take his party home a little earlier than the others. Dick, who had an engagement in town, went with them, and one or two others. There was only one buggy left for the rest of us, who were mostly of the gentler sex. Then M'Ewen was in his element. He insisted on driving us home, and grew quite angry when Mr Martin, whom Matilda took to task for interfering, tried to get the reins from him. M'Ewen said he knew all about it—he was a grand hand at driving ; he would show us some fancy styles of driving, and so saying he drove us right into the bush ou one side, and, to make things equal, nearly toppled us over the bank on the other. He said we ought to sing a chorus—it was the regular thing to do coming home from picnics; and he started ' Oh, Liza, won't you share my 'uml/lc 'ome f in such a peculiar manner that I thought Matilda would never have stopped laughing. He certainly was a very amusing young man, but oomehow some of the other young ladies seemed rather fright- ! ened, and Mr Martin again tried to induce Mr M'Ewen to vacate the leadership. It was in vain, and we went on in the same magnificent style, dodging into bushes on either side of the road until we neared the town. At tins point we approached a -part of the road that was very narrow, with a high bank on one side. Seeing this, Mr Martin again eudeavorcd to persuade his companion to allow him the management of the reins. This made M'Ewen angry, and he rose up in his seat to explain that "he was a very go —— driver; knew all 'bout it" While saying these words, which took a considerable timer one wheel of the buggy went over the side of the bank. Someone screamed; the horse plunged forward. Another moment and we should have gone over together, when suddenly a firm hand was on the reins, someone cried "all right," and we found ourselves in safety.

A young man stood at the horse's head. He was about twenty-three, very fair, and at the present moment rather red. We had no time to comment on his appearance, however. He offered to drive us nome, and it was arranged that he and Mr Martin Bhould sit on each side of .ilMEwenon the box seat, to which even MTJwen, who had grown very quiet, not to say cross, did not object He gave us no more trouble, indeed, till we passed the Octagon, when he expressed a fear that poorßobbyßurns most be feeling cold, and wanted to get oat and wrap his handkerchief around him, which Matilda thought Father funny. "Wasn'tit exciting!" said she, when we reached our journey's end, and Mr Martin had taken our. obstreperous friend away.

"Mr M'Ewen was so amusing ; I do like him so much."

Then my mother. rounded on her. "Oh, you great fool!" she cried, with withering emphasis; u if you could not see that that disgraceful young man. was more than half drunk you don't know much about the wickedness of the world." And Matilda was crushed.

Meanwhile we were asking pur rescuer to come inside. He consented, and added, with a blush: " I dou't think you kiiow me. lam your cousin William." "Matilda," said my mother, in a whisper, "put down tho tablecloth that has only three holes in it." Then ho told us that he had landed that morning, and lost no time iu finding us out, or rather our house, and been informed by the neighbors that we were all picnicking, and had gone off to review fche town, when he chanced upon us so opportunely. After a little further conversation mother and Matilda went off to see about tea, and Charlie and I were left to entertain the visitor. Charlie being only a boy, did not count. I did not know what to say to Cousin William 5 , and he did "not know what to say to me.. It usually happens in such a predicament that, after keeping silence for five minutes, both burst in with a remark at the same time. This confuses them, and they laugh in rather an embarrassed manner, and wish someone would conlo in. When wo had got through this performance, and ho one came in, I went up to tho mantelpiece and showed him a photo of Ben and his wife. It was taken on their marriage day, and represents Nellio standing behind her husband holding an umbrelja up in a threatening manner.

" That is Ben and his wife,"■ I said. " Is it r

" You see we've left a spaco along the wall for a photo of Dick and his future wife, and for Matilda and her future husband, and " "And for yourself." K Oh, no ! •my future husband died when he was a baby." " Oh, I'm very sorry," said Cousin William, looking somewhat bewildered.

"He was takeu away from the evil to come," quoted Charlie, solemnly. "You don't approvo of weddings, I see," said Cousin William, with a smile. "I suppose it would never do to ask you to mine."

"Oh, no, thank you," said Charlie, politely ; " I don't liko to gloat over these sort of things." And then we were fortunately called in to tea.

Cousin William is still residing with us, and growing more in favor with society generally. I hope he does not find it too trying on his nerves, though it must have upset him a little the morning after his arrival, when Mjitilda, forgetting all about him, and thinking ho was only Dick, banged at his door and said : " You fool, you donkey, get up." One thing that astonished him is that people who know nothing else about him always seem to seo at once that he is a new chum. But, as I informed him, anyone can see he is out from the Old Country, because he always remembers to take his hat off when a lady enters the room, and to open the door for her when sho goes out. The colonial young man is above all that sort of thing. So mother remarked after one of our evenings, when Mr Martin had distinguished himself by preceding instead of following a girl with whom he was leaving the room. "Look at your cousin William," she said. Needless to say Cousin William was not present. " Look how different he is from the average young man hero. Ho never forgets those little things—colonial men are always doing so." Then Benjamin smiled sarcastically, and gave forth as follows : " Look here, old lady, you needn't come down upon the colonial men in that way. I tell you I've tried often to keep up all those little forms and ceremonies, and I cannot do it. The girls themselves won't let you. Before you are half off your chair they are out of the room ; and if you do open the door they look surprised, as if you had done them a great honor. And if you rise up and offer them your chair—oh, they're taking your seat, and they couldn't think of such a thing, so you stand bandying words about it for half an hour. The colonial girl doesn't know she should get those things done for her, and is quite uneasy, and perhaps laughs at you and looks at you as a prig. And then because we men can't stand being made to look like fools people say how rude colonial young men are." I don't care much about those abstract questions, but I must say I am interested in Cousin William. ... I wondor

now did my future husband really die when he was a baby ; anyhow, if he did, I daresay a woman can have more than one.