LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1653, 7 June 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

LOVE IN A COTTAGE. By Katk Lavoe. [Concluded.) I stood in front of ray house, and just as I mounted the steps I became awaro of the fact that dear Fannie had her little h*ad poked out of the window, in the thick fog. I forgot to mention she uttered a cry of joy, wheu she beheld me, and said in a tearful voice—•Oh ! Tom, is that you ?' with a stifled sob. ' yes, love; what's the matter ?' was my reply to this rather incoherent question. 'Oh! Tom, don't you hear Barbara? She has been acting so dreadfully. I got so frightened I ran up-Btairs and locked myself in I believe she has broken everything in the kitchen.' Hear Barbara T I did with a vengeance ! The noise was deafening —loud thumps mingled with clinking sonnds and heavy f tamps relieved by tho voice of a darkey I ' beard her complain.' Fannie ran down to let me in, and stood white and trembling while I laid aside my hat and coat and braced np my nerves to 'face the music' ' Bless my soul, is the nigger mad ?' was my pious ejaculation. ' I don't know. She has been going on like that for two hours. She asked me to let her go out for some medicine early in tho afternoon, and she seemed vexed when she oame back, and began to rage and throw things about that way.' ' I'Jl medicine her, the blaok idiot. She mußt be drunk.' I ran down stairs and found Barbara seated in front of tho cooking-stove, hammering away with a poker at tho extinct fire. A black bottle stood on the kitchen table, and the combined odors of tobacco and fire water perfumed the air. She roHo when I entered, and brandishing the poker, exclaimed—'Keep your distance, man—keep your distance.'

* What do you mean, you black fool ?' I inquired. ' Who does you call black ? I'll have you up fore de judge, and de just ass. I'se a member of the church, I tells you I ain't going to work for you no more. You ain't got no business to ax no company to your house. sTou is too—too—poor for cumpany ' I could not restrain my laughter. The nigger had hit the right nail on the head. ' Barbara,' said I calmly, looking her full in the eye. I have read some where that the human eye has great power, and if properly used can subdue the lion in hia native j"ingle ; this may be the case, but it had no effect on Barbara.

' I does not want none of your sas and impedance. lam a full, an' 'sponsible member of do church. Get out ob dis kitchen.' This command reminded me somewhat of the female parents of the 'young man by the name of Guppy,' in one scene from ' Bleak House,' I lost all my temper and forgot all about the power of the human eye. I answered Barbara in rather strong language, when to my astonishment she rushed, at me with the poker, and I vetily believe would have struck me if I had not adroitly dedged on one side

* See here,' said I, for this was too much of a good thing,' 'if you dare to lift your hand to me, I'll beat you to a jelly.' This was of course merely a threat, but it had a good effect, for it made Barbara retira to the other side of the kitchen—there she stood a picture of ebon indignation—'ar from a pretty picture, it was; her eyes flashed tire, ber woolly braids stood on end with rage, and her lips were shot out to an incredible s'zo. I kept still and studied her attentively, and one part struck me as very odd. When white people become intoxicated, as a general thing, their powers of speech are impaired, but with blacks it is different. I believe their tongues are loosened and go much faster when they are under the influence of liquor; at all events Barbara's eloquence was really wonderful, as I heard an enthusiastic young lady say of ber favorite preacher, 'The word painting is so beautiful.'

Barbara's word painting was vivid. She called me names which did not sound like terms of endearment, oiten telling me to keep my distance, a request I very readily acceded to. As I watched Barbara I became a convert to the theory Darwinian with slight alterations. For instance, Darwin'■ idea is that the negro is an improvement on the monkey. He Bays the ape lost his tail and gained the organ of speech, Now I think the negro has lost more than he gained. The tail of tho ape is very useful to him in climbling trees, &0., and as the negro and the ape are both from a hot climate, if Darwin could give them back their tails, and take away the power of Bpeech, and put them all back In Africa, what a relief it would be to all of us. I thought so that day at all events, for anything to surpass the powers of abuse with which my black help was gifted, I do not expect to meet with in a hurry. When her breath gave out I mildly remarked—- ' Now you have got through plea3e tell me what it is all about.'

' I wants to go. I didn't hire to wait on company, l'ae got religion, I has. I am not in dia worl ob sin. I'll go. Glory, glory ! I 'nouncod Satan an' all his works. I'll go.* 'Very well, go—''stand not upon the order of your going"—go at once.' ' I will, sar. I come in a f renly spirit. I also departs derin. Glory, I can't stay in a house full of cumpany an' sin. I got religion, I'se got it bad 1' The help departed and my wife came down. I took off my coat and made the fire, and we cooked biscuits. Yes, nobody ever knew that secret before. Fannio knew how to make hot biscuit, of course she did. She got a big pan full of flour and a jag of butter milk her mother cent over, and baking powder, and lard, and a table full of dishes'. I looked on. ' Fannie, I think roda is very unwholesome, dearie,' said I. 'I once heard my mother say that they don't put soda in oat cakes.' 'Soda unwholesome, indeed,' replied Fanny ' Don't people take it for the heartburn ?' ' Yes, but we have not got the heartburn. Now listen to me and don't put any more in —that makes four spoonsful.' • Now, dear Tom, you can't be so nnkind as to think I do not know how to make biscuit." Fannie seemed so hurt I turned away and left her. We had bread and butter for tea. I could not help saying when she examined the biscuits, 'Jacob's cattle—ringstreaked and strip ' I never got any further. ' Now, Tom '—in a tearful voice from my dear little wife made me stop sKort, ' Well, my dear, it is a pity we don't keep a pig. I wonder if soda will kill li3ns." Oh, dear, many a laugh had Fannie and I before we learned how to cook, for cook we must sometime, or else go hungry. I did not like going out to meals, it is an hateful and unhomelike (I find I must coin a word), performance. I could not reconcile my Scotch Presbyterian mind to it at all. The shade of my great grandmither would rise up in my dreams in all the terrors, of her white mutch if I ever gave up to such innovations. We learned to cook in timo, thouffh it would have paid to keep a pig to eat up cur failures, if they would have agreed with him. I cannot take time to tell of our helps, they were ' numerous and highly aggravated.' as a fashionable preacher said about Job's boils. Wa had a variety, and I srappose if we live we will have many more ; but we are now more independent, and can afford to laugh when they ' strike' and go. Fannie does not feel sorry she has almost forgotten her a-JCO'nplishments, and I have given up talking of what ' mother used to do.' We like ' love in a cottage,'and if a rich uncle Bhould die and Icavo us lots of money we would not move into a big brown Btone front—anyhow not till spring I advise all old bachelors to get married—if anyone will have them —start love in a cottage in the suburbs, learn to cook, keep a pig, and live happily ever after. Ton't say, ' I told you so,' and never mind about the last word, the women like to have it, ble*s their hearts; and let me whisper a secret, it don't cost a cent. No ono but a hardhearted, freckled-nosed Scotchman would think of that,