LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1270, 13 April 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

CAROM FL’S FARM. BY JOHNNY LUDLOW, (Con chided.) ‘Johnny,’ said 1d», thoughtfully, as we went along, ‘how curiously .Nash Caromel is altered 1’ ‘ He seems rather—down, sir,’ I answered, hesitating fo r a word. _ ‘ Down !’ echoed the Squire, slightingly ; ‘it’s more than that. He seems lost.’ ‘ l ost, sir ?’ * His mind does. When I told him what I had come about—that it war time, aud long ago too, that my interest was paid, he stared at me more like a lunatic than a farmer—as if he had forgotten all about it, interest, and money, and all. When his wits came to him, he said it ought to have been paid, and he’d see Nave about it. Nave’s his father-in-law, Johnny, and suppose w ill take care of his interests : but I know I'd as soon entrust my affairs to Old Scratch as to him. ’ The Squire got his interest paid. The next news we heard was that Caromel’eFarm was about to give an ent> rtainment on a grand scale : an afternoon fete out of doors, with a sumptuous cold collation that von might call by what name you liked-dinner, tea, or supper-in the evening. An invitation printed on a squa’e card came to us, which we all crowded round the Mater to look at cards had not cmsne much into fashion then, except for public ceremonies, such as the Mayor’s Feast at Worcester. In our part of the world we were still content to write our invitations on note-paper. The Mater would not go. She did not care for fetes, she said to us. In point of fact, she did not like Mrs Nash Caromel any better than she had liked Charlotte Nave, and she had never believed in the cow. So she sent a civil note of excuse for herself. The Squire accepted, after some hesitation. He aud the Carom els had been friends for so many years that he did not care to put the slight of a refusal upon Nash; besides, he liked parties if they were jolly. But now, w ould any rational being believe that Madam Nash bad the cheek to send an invitation to Mrs Tinkle and her son Henry 1 It w«s what Harry Tinkle called it —cheek. When poor Mrs Tinkle broke the red seal of the huge envelope, aud read the card of ' invitation, from Mr and Mrs Caromel, her ■ eyes were dim. j ‘ I think they must have sent it as a cruel < joke,’ remarked Mrs Tinkle, meeting the i Squire a day or two before the fete. ‘ She 1 has never spoken to me in her life. When i we pass each other she picks up her skirts as 1 if they were too good to touch mine. Once she laughed at me rudely. ’ ; ‘ Don’t believe she knows any better,’ 1 cried the Squire in his hot partisanship. < ‘ Her skirts were not fit to touch y .mr own Chariot ie’s ’

‘ Oh, Gharlotte 1 poor Charlotte !’ cried Mrs Tinkle, losing her balanca of equanimity ‘ I wish I could hear the particulars of her last moments/ she went on, brushing away the tears* ‘lf Mr Caromel has had details— and that letter, telling of her death, promised them, you know—he does not disclose them to me.’

‘Why don’t you write a note and ask him. Mrs Tinkle ?’

‘I hardly know why,’ she answered, ‘I think he cannot have heard, or he would surely tell me; he is not bad hearted.’ ‘No, only too easy; swayed by anybody that may be at his elbow for the time being,’ concluded the squire, ‘ Nash Caromel is one of those people who n«ed to be kept in leading-strings all their lives. Good morning.’■ it was a ffite worth going to. The afternoon as sunshiny a one as ever Augmt turned out, and the company gay, if n't numerous Only a sprinkling of ladies could be seen ; but among-it them was Miles Caromel’s widow, with her four daughters. Being women of consideration, deserving the respect of the world, they went for much, and Mrs Nash had cause to thank them They showed countenance to her for the sake of the honor of the Caromels. .Archery, dancing, promenading, and talking took up the afternoon, and then came the banquet. Altogether it must have cost t aromel’s Farm a tidy sum. “It is well for you to he able to afford this,’ cried the squire confidentially to Nash, as they stood together in one of the shady piths beyond the light of the colored lanterns, when the evening was drawing to an end ‘ Miles would never have done it.’ ‘ Oh, I don’t know—it’s no narm once in a way,* answered Nash, who had exerted himself wonderfully, and finished up by drinking his share of wine. * Miles had his ways, and I have mine. 1 ‘ All right; it is your own affair. But I’d not have done one thing, my good friend—sent an invitation to your mother-in-law.’ ‘ What mother-in-law ? ’ asked Nash, staring. ‘Your ex-mother-in-law, 1 ought to have said—Mrs Tinkle. I’d not have done it, Farotnel, under the circumstances. It pained her.’ ‘ But who did send her an invitation ? git is likely 1 I don’t know what you are talking of, squire.* ‘ Oh, that’s it, is it ?’ returned the squire, perceiving that the act was madam’s and not his. ‘ Have you ever had those particulars of Charlotte’s death ?’ Nash Caromel’a face changed from red to a dead pallor ; the question unnerved him—took his wits out of him. * The particulars of Charlotte’s death ?’ he stammered, looking ail abroad. ‘ What particulars I’ ‘ Why, those promised by the man who wrote—Munn, was his name ? Charlotte’s diary, and letters, and things, that he was sending off to New York,* ‘ Oh—ay—I remember,’ answered Nash, pulling his senses together. ‘ No, they have not come.* * Been Pst on the way, do you suppose ? What a pity!’ ‘ They may have been. 1 have not had them.’ Nash Caromel walked straight away with the last words. Either to get rid of the subject, or to join some people who just then crossed the top of the path. ; Caromel does not like talking of her ; I can see that, Johnny,’ remarked the squire to me later. ‘I don’t believe he’d have done as he did, but for this second Charlotte throwing her wiles across his path. He fell into the snare and his conscience pricks him. * I daresay, air, it will come right with time. She is very pretty.’ ‘ Y es, most crooked things come straight with time,’ assented the squire. ‘Perhaps this one will.* * Would it though ! The weeks and the months went on. Caromel’s Farm seemed to proper, its mistress being a most active manager, ruling with an apparently soft will, but one firm as iron ; and little Dun grew up to be about fifteen months old. The cow might have behaved ungeiPeelly to him, as Miss Bailey’s ghost says to Captain Smith, but it bad not hurt the little fellow, or his stout legs either, which began now to be running him into all kinds of mischief. And so the time came round again to August j ust a year after the fete, and nearly two years after Nash s second marr age. One evening, Tod being out gnd Mrs Todhetley in the nursery, I was alone with the squire in the twilight. The great harvest moon was rising behind the trees ; and the squire, talking of some parish grievance that he had heard of from old Jones the constable, let itTiae ; while I was wishing he would call for lights that 1 might get on with ‘The Old English Baron,’ which I was reading for about the seventeenth time, 1 And you see, Johnny, if Jones lq*d been firm, ns I told him this afternoon, apd taken the fellow up, instead of lettipg him slope off and be lost, the poachers Who’s this coming ip lad ?*. xhe squire had caught sight of some one turning to the door from the covered path. I saw tne fag end of a petticoat. * I think it must be Mrs Scott, sir. The mother said she had promised to come ove.r 083 ol these first eveyjcgs/

* Ay, paid the squire, ‘ Open the door for her Johnny.’ I had the front door open in a twinkling, and saw a Jady with a travelling cloak on her arm. But she bore no resemblance to Mrs Scott. ‘ Is Mr Todhetley at home ?’ Ihe soft voice gave me a thrill, and a though years had elapsed since I heard it A confused doubt came ru«hing over me ; a perplexing question well-nigh passed my lips ; ‘la it a living woman or a dead one ?’ For there stood Nash Caromel’s dead wife, Charlotte the First.