"BABY'S TEXT."

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume 11, Issue 838, 26 March 1867, Page 3

"BABY'S TEXT."

(From " Once a "Week," December 15.) " Going to be married, are you ? The girl has money, of course ? " " Not a penny, uncle." " Are you mad, sir ? " And as he spoke, the elder man faced round and struck his walking-stick into the turf. " Married, no money, and a curacy of £100 per annum ! How the deuce do you intend to live? No church interest either ; and a baby before you know where you are ; expensive things, babies ; the doctor always wants his tenguinea fee, I am told, to say nothing of nurses and clothing. You must give it up, Willie." "That I cannot do. I've asked her to be my wife ; she knows exactly what I have, and is willing to work with me. Besides, there is some church interest ; Kate has a cousin a barrister, and intimate with the Chancellor ; she thinks he'll do what he can for us. I shall write, too ; and, if ifc comes to the worst, I'll take pupils. We won't starve, uncle." " If you do, don't blame me," said Captain Jackson, testily; "I wash my hands of you. I never married, couldn't afford ifc when I had full pay, and now that I've only halfpay, I cannot afford to help you to the luxury." After this speech the two men walked on a considerable distance in silence, until, just as they entered the village, Captain Jackson asked, " Is she pretty ? " "Come and judge for yourself," replied Willie, glad to have such a speedy chance of showing what a fair excuse he bad for the folly his uncle denounced. "Hei'e's the house, she'll be delighted to see you." And pushing open a little gate, he led the way up the flower-garden towards a cottage, from an open window in which came a sweet voice, singing "The Last Rose of Summer." "Is tbat. her voice?" whispered the captain, pulling up his shirt collar, and settling his chin in his cravat. Willie nodded and rang the bell, and presently

t^tmtammmmmmmtmamimimamammacmmtamtmmaßmmmmamamaamm I • - 1 ■ they were Ushered into tbe drawing-room s where sat the ownetf of the voice, Kati 3 Vickers. , Kate's colour brightened considerable J wben, keeping hold of her hand, Willi* i presented her to his uncle; who, accom- , plisbing a very elaborate bow, in that styh b which was fashionable in the days when he . joined the Duke of York's army in the NeI therlandsj said, , "Proud to make your acquain tance,. ma« : dam. Ehem! Miss! no, tbat won't dc s either, — Kate, that's your name, I believe, 1 my dear. Kate Kearney ifc should be, • Kate Constable it is to be. We heard you , singing as we came up the garden ; Willie • knew your voice 5 he'd just been telling me , what a fool — what a fortunate fellow he'd , been. Don't blush, my dear, I am not i clever at pretty speeches ; but please da not lay the blame of my being an old bachelor to any want of admiration for your sex, I never could afford to marry." Willie looked appealingly afc his uncle, who, feeling he was getting out of his depth, pulled up, and with a tremendous effort fco retrieve bis position, said gallantly, " But tben, Miss Kate, I never met you," j adding, sotto voce, as tbe door opened to admifc Kate's mother, " There, Willie, you dog, will that please you ?" Willie was pleased, and so was Kate, who decided tbat Uncle Dick was the nicest old man .she. had ever seen. And as for that gentleman's opinion of his nephew's choice, ifc would indeed be difficult to find words warm enough to tell half what he felt ; and, in good truth, all tbis admiration was no more than Kate deserved, for a better, purer-hearted, or prettier girl was not to be found in the country. Everything came naturally to her, unlike the famous wife of the unhappy *• Cooper of Fife." Kate could " bake and brew," and, had spinning been necessary, I am sure she would have both " carded and spun," without any fear of spoiling either her pretty fingers or her complexion. With all her talents and accomplishments, Kate, though modesty itself, possessed an extraordinary amount of self-reliance, and that rare gift with women, the power of decision and action. She could make up her mind and act up to her standard without throwing down her weapons and flying off upon a different tack because tbe result was not altogether what she anticipated. And having said all tbis for Kate, the reader will understand how it was that Mr. Constable had asked her to marry him and his poverty. Also, how it was that he looked forward to the life before them without any of those misgivings his uncle had given utterance to. Well, the wedding was over : the curate and his young wife had settled down in lodgings at a pretty little bouse outside tbe village. Willie was not one of those who are content with a church-and-Sunday-school acquaintanceship with his flock ; he knew every man, woman, and child in the parish ; and as the- rector was always either ill or absent seeking healtb, and left all the duty to the curate, Willie was doctor, lawyer, and peace-maker; and when the winter ; came, and brought sore throats and colds, Kate, who generally accompanied her husband, always carried a little basket containing creature comforts. Time went on, and Uncle Dick's prophecy came true ; and, although the advent of the baby did not exactly take Willie by surprise, still in a manner ifc did. He had watched the mysterious preparations with a strange quiver at his heart. They had been so happy, he and Kate, that anything, even a baby, would make a change — and no change could be for tbe better. He had never felt especially attracted towards babies, and- rather shirked the baptismal service ; then again he thought of what; Uncle Dick had said ; there was scarcely a margin left oufc of his slender stipend for incidental expenses, and "babies were expensive things." Willie was out a good deal alone in those days, and thought a good deal too, as he trudged homewards through the dark, muddy spring lanes. And yet the time came when all his fears made themselves wings, when reaching home, late one evening, from a distant parfe of the parish, he found the small servant-maid of the house standing at the garden gate, her apron twisted tight round ber head, and altogether in a state of breathless excitement, as, starting forward, she barred his progress, blurting oufc in a stage whisper, "Oh! please sir! it's all over. Missus have got a fine little boy, sir ! and is as well as can be expected, and you're not to excite yourself." The blood rushed to Willies heart, and a great gush of happiness came over him ; he stood, looking up at the bed-room window, where a faint light was burning. " Well, my dear boy," said the doctor, coming striding along the walk, "let me wish you joy : splendid child, and mother a marvel ; don't disturb her, she's asleep, first sleep of great importance, God bless you." And with a hearty clasp of the hand the doctor passed through the gate. Willie never remembered anything about the tenguinea fee ; there was nothing to remind him of ifc in the good doctor's voice ; and after another look at the shrouded window, Willie rushed away into the darkness, and — but we have no right to follow him — when he came back to the house he was caught in the passage by the landlady, and pushed into the parlour. " The finest babby I've ever nussed, and I've nussed a many — thirteen on 'em my own." " May I see her ?" asked Willie, humbly. " It's a boy, sir, just as ifc ought to be — first alius a boy." " I meant my wife." But even when he spoke, Willie flushed with a strange pleasure, as a new feeling of responsibility awoke in him: there were two to think of now. "The missus 'ud like to see master," said the girl, peeping in at the door, and speaking in a whisper. Willie was up-stairs in a moment, quietly enough too. "Have you seen him, darling?" said Kate, after a little time of silent joy. "No ; where is he ?" "In the basket — be careful, dear." Willie went over to the fire, beside which standing upon two chairs was the berceaunette sent by the rector's wife, a mass of lace, muslin, and pink silk. Very carefully did the newly -made father lift the muslin and gaze with awe upon his first-born ; and then, covering him up, he came to the bedside. " Well, dear ?" asked Kate, eager to hear the baby extolled. "He's very small," was all poor Willie found voice to say,, and Kat| began to, laugh; on which the'nursei who had been

- -y- -":",.■- ■• "y, : . J -ryp^m^^^ym^^ :, watching outside the dpojfr-i;bu'ssfe^^ 9 , turned bim out of the room^ ■: : 'J:'y€iM^y:oW ' . " Didn't I tell you^ yWd; f said Uncle Dick, wben he ; wrote 3 gratulate Willie. "You can ; make7 m 6 ;".'%' * _l> . godfather-; and as j don't suppose, you wanti^S s a silver mug.for pap,, rU:give;yofl-;a^6(|u^';;"j,s j to buy the pap itself," 7 7 7.. -y^y^iy :yy'^,i : s.l It was tbe last cheque Capt.^^Acksbri^i drew, as a month* after, ; the;; terribly .panje ■ wbich seized the; money market, ii. JLBS-t~^ j > began. Bank after bank stopp.3 payment \l^ , and, amongst others, tbat in whibb '.^.^igoidyM , soldier had invested his sayings-HnOv^ijcbj%i( i certainly, but still just enough tb igiye-bimi) " : kjf : \ the power of doing a kindtbingsuoh 6_ that ! ;i; s just told. The same shock that swamped X.y [ Capt. Jackson's small fortune, beggared- ' ; Kate's mother, who went to live with her; 1 eldest daughter in a distant county; and ■.: although Willie had never permitted him-. > ; self to look for any help from either side, as; ; far as bebimself was concerned, it had been , a scarcely recognised consolation that if any : - unexpected illness or accident shortened his 7 1 life, Kate would have a home ; and it was the 7 .-.:.: sudden shattering of tbis hope that brought the first shadow upon his. path. We know bow the cloud, no bigger than a man's hand , ab first, warned the prophet to gird his loins ; and flee. gillie bethought him of the barrister 7 7 cot-Sin/, and went up to<VLbndon'tpi: aae „ ■ what could be done. The .cousin ;was a,,7 good fellow; he bad no objection to use •■' what influence he possessed ; he had simply:, forgotten his pretty cousin and. her curate husband; he liked Willie, too, andintro- • duced bim to the Lord Chancellor, who put. his name upon his private list, and in eight months Willie was presented with the : ; Rectory of Deepdean ; the living,was small — 150 Z. per annum-r-but there was a house and garden, and he was bis own master. . They furnished the little rectory ,as ; plainly as possible, yet still it cost nearly :,.. £100, and that left £50 only, for all other '-' 7expenses.. Willie tried to look at the bright side ; he was not naturally desponding, and > besides, as winter was nearly over, (the ' 0 second winter since they had been married), there seemed less cause for fear ; tbe garden, . though not ai fully stocked as it might have '].-■ been if they had come earlier in the year, ,c 7 was still an infinite help ; and although there .... I was no sumptuous living, there was: no::;.; visible narrowness. Kate was always the 7 same; bright, hopeful, and careful to keep. .;-.-'• oufc of sight the little shifts and contrivances with which she was compelled to eke out their money ; and as she sat crooning over 7 the little bit of flesh and blood so peculiarly 7 : her own, listening to the parish news, and ready with her sympathy for those, who. wanted ifc, Willie had no notion how busy . she had been all day, and thought tbe little ... maid, who served as sole servant; and went , home at night, because, as Kate said, it ; j would be too lonely for her; was a; perfect I paragon of a domestic. 7 j The year was one that will be long re--1 merabered ; not only was our blood curdled 1 and our horror roused by the tales of murder and cruelty that came thrilling over the sea from the mutinous plains of India ; but tbe late bank failures and consequent distress in various branches of. business, werereaping a sad harvest. Deepdean lay in the north of England, in a district and county over which the stoppage of the Nr — • Bank spread like a flood of destruction. Landlords were ruined, or paralysed ; the rents that might have saved them had been carried away by the current, and, as they were unable to employ their usual amount of labourers, whole families were thrown outof work. Short means often ends in sickness ; and when the harvest was in, and the damp autumn weather came, a low fever broke out, and Kate's wits were taxed to the utmost to supply her husband's frequent demands for gruel, broth, and pudding-r----calls which she found it hard to answer, and yet, at the same time, keep up even the semblance of sufficiency in their own establishment. And Christmas was close afc hand, . when one afternoon Willie came to his wife with a piteous face. " Kate, darling, I haven't a shilling left, arid poor old Scot is in distress for his rate. Will you help him out of the house-keeping money ?" "I cannot, dear, I've been out of funds for a month; I only was waiting forthe stipend coming, not caring to worry you." Willy said nothing ; a cold hand seemed^ — -^ clasping his heart, a giddiness was in his brain; he could not see Kate's flushing, frightened face ; he only felt her clasping arms and then all was dark. When he came round, Kate was kneeling beside him bathing his temples ; and there was a white set look in her face that tells of intense fear. She had grown so used to think hopefully, even though she had not a shilling in the house-keeping purse, that she never calculated upon the effect such a disclosure might produce upon her husband, whose attention — partly by reason of his necessary duties, but more by her own clever, loving management — had never been roused. As a man, too, Willie felt differ- . ently; he saw plenty of starvation and poverty in the parish, and among the labourers ; and now the spectre was come to sit by his own hearth, armed, too, with the treble sting that straitened means always must bring upon those in a similar position. His first care was for Kate ; but one gaze into the steadfast eyes banished the horror that had been creeping oyer him : tbere • flashed upon him, as flashes upon a drowning man, an instinctive knowledge of her devotion, and ofher work ; and Willie, knew it would be presumption to doubt or fear her. " You are one of God's angels, Kate," he whispered, turning his cheek upon ber hand as it lay upon the sofa pillow. But Kate would not trust her voice to reply ; the effort to remain calm was as much as she could effect ; she dare not trust her lips to speak. " You must not be frightened, dear," . went on Willie. I have been sitting too 1 much in the poor folk's cottages; but what less can Ido when they are in trouble ? I " am all right now;, Kitty ; an hour's rest will ■"■': put me straight. I'd like 1 a cup of tea. ih- 7^ : 'X stead of dinner, if you'll make one." „ .7; 7 Willie wanted to .get Kate to moy^; he;,:7;i;i; was afraid lest her control should give; way. ' V 77 A shrill cry from the baby had the desired* 7 effect ; Kate was on her feet in a moment^ 7^ and away up-stairs. The. child's helpless 7; 'y^M plaint shattered the little stock; <)f co^^^v^ drawn from Kate's eyes. It earned upon; \SX~y him that, after all, it was the;.b'aby:.that'gi^^^ him oause for arixiety-^the.baby that mu^|jS7||| be clothed j warmed, and fed, : and : ; :?tQpkfflj^;#>^ so much bfKate's /time ; his tvbrkl^d dc^^77«| bled since the baby cauiej for Ka^]pi^7:7i|^ went outside th^gardcMexcepfc He thought of all ■&€»e J 7-*ti_MM^aft^lTO*sl^§t^^l^ -. . - -7 ... ■ ''y-j-y;yjj"y^ y f§i^soyM&&^:

ig^'".'*':V.-.--.. ■,-•-■■,.:,; — 7 . ■ Etti^,^dfb_ the firat time something apl^proaoMng a regret that he had married enIp^ered his mind : it was not for his own sake, || he* yot Kate's ; it was for the little child's |||akej;the forerunner, perhaps, of others, li'each-adding to Kate's anxieties and labour lp. ;i-~eacfc requiring raiment and food ; and &: the scalding tears welled over, staining the '% :pretty sofa-cushion. From that day Wilf^lie's lot had a new temptation, and that was 7 the baby. He shuddered when he heard its |7 briesY and sometimes lifting her eyes up £7 suddenly, Kate would find him gazing at y the little one with an expression that woke k new fears in her heart—a fear, whioh though 7 she could give it no name, was her first experience of real suffering. "He doej not understand you, my prei oious comfort," she whispered, laying the I [■ baby's soft cheek against her own, wet with tears; "he does not know the strength, j and courage, and faith you've brought into ? my heart. How can he, poor fellow, work--7 ed to death as he had been in the parish ? and now, sinee -he knows how difficult my work is, even home will be a dread and burthen to him !" But though the pain caused by this discovery of her husband's despondency was a sore trial* Kate put it far away out of sight, and secretly set herself to watch and ward against anything that might increase the anxiety ; and thus the Christmas-tide came. The advancing winter had brought no diminution in suffering. Winter, at all times, is but a hard season for the poor, especially in the North, where farm-servants are hired by the year, and the occasional labourer has to run his chance of work when labour . is at a premium, and the work of a farm beyond the hands regularly employed ; but as a set-off to 1 this state of things, the cottagers, generally having a good supply of po- ; tatoes, and often a pig, can fight through ■', the year. The time of sorrow and priva- " tion comes when sickness enters a house. And pickness had ridden rampant in the '■■■- parish since Wiilie had been inducted ; and until the neighbouring lord of the manor 7 came down to the castle for Christmas, the only help that reached the poor folk was 7 from the parsonage. With Christmas came Christmas bills ; and Willies eyes grew hollow and his hand shook as he lifted the letters from the . breakfast-table. The proverbial last feather which, we . are told, broke the laden camel's back, was but a small thing in itself ; and a very slight retrospective self-examination will prove to us that it has often been an event of but trifling moment that has shown us the character of the calamity, or trial, or sin (which ever it has been), that has overwhelmed us. Willie had kept his heart up, and meant to bear on ;-but the last feather was coming, : and it came by means of an invitation to : dine at the castle. The note arrived on 7 Christmas Eve. i "I cannot go, of course," said Kate; "I have the baby." The blood rushed to her husband's face. "Always the baby ! " he said, pettishly. "No, not altogether the baby ; I haven't a proper dress to go in, that's the real truth." " Why, Kitty, you have your weddingdress ! You've hardly had it on once ! " " But Tve not got it," and Kate's cheeks grew hot ; " I wanted a warm winter-dress and shawl, I couldn't go to church in a white silk, so I exchanged it. There's a ■ woman comes round buying ladies' wardt robes, 1 and I got that nice dress you like so much from her. I was quite proud of my bargain, too; so don't laugh at me." But poor Willie was far from laughing ; the muscles of his face were working passionately. He did not in the least care to accept the invitation ; but to bave to refuse it because his wife had no gown to go in, seemed to give it a different aspect, — this , was the last feather. He wrote a refusal, pleading work ; and shut himself up to write his Christmas sermon. Kate's busy fingers had decked the room witb holly, and wherever his eyes turned he saw traces of her handiwork. Kate made _ Jhe curtains — Kate nailed the red baize along the deal book-case — Kate framed the pictures, — it was all Kate: and Willies heart grew full as he thought of the wise King's words— "Who can find a virtuous woman: her price is far above rubies? The .heart of her husband doth safely trust in her; she will do .him good, and not evil, all .f his life." that would not do for his text, and he must, think of his sermon. In vain he tried to fix bis thoughts — in vain he ran over, mentally, tbe parish work of the past few weeks, hoping something might then, as it often happened, suggest a text and subject. But it was no good ; the unlucky invitation, and the train of events following, bad crushed his power ; in vain he turned over tbe pages of the Bible and cudgelled his brains, until with aching bead und weary heart he laid his head upon the desk, and prayed bitterly and despairingly that "light might be given him." It was striking midnight when he lifted up his face. Kate had stolen in an hour before with a cup of y. tea, which stood cold and untouched beside ,-; him: he drank it off eagerly now, and 7 turning up the lamp, opened the Bible. A soft touch was on his forehead ; two tiny warm hands clasped his heavy eyelids, and the baby, secretly trained by Kate, lisped its first word in his ear — "Hallelujah!" The next moment baby and mother were clasped in Willies arms, and the little one, half-frightened , at his vehemence, babbling over and over again the holy word. "It is Christmas morning, darling," said . Kate, after awhile; "you must come and • rest." " I must write my sermon first." _.."■ "But you a re jaded, and you have not y.y even put down a text ! " WilHe ; looked up in her face, and the :.. light she bad missed so long was back in j bis eyes again, as he said — ■ r "Bj|by has given me my text—the best --the: only one-~-- Hallelujah!" I. D. Fenton. yy r". . . ' . ***■