Extracts.

Lyttelton Times, Volume IX, Issue 539, 2 January 1858, Page 3

Extracts.

WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? ' (From t !slackwooi,*^aa^azine.) [coKTIKtJSD TUOM OVM XA»T,J / ■ 'BOOlC''f. ? GHiWfca' til.' ' 4 Striking^iiittitrftlioiv*]'of'lawteh ''.tyririny and infttht aviuce^x:efflpHfle4 in t|ie"«ocUl conditions 'of'Gr^t 'BritAiii'.—SupqDitltiona of the Dark'.^ges itilj'iri fdrcfe amongst the Trading Community? furnV-th'ing valuable ;hintt to ccr> taitt'ArtlGfWanjburnaltfits/ftnd.highlyiiuggestive of'reflection! humiliating to the national vanity. •<■[.. Theri'Kißmwfeeless 'Barbny who wa^ no. otlier ,thah th^ minfi'^eVial' proprietor of the' stA^e,1 >\^as') leab'tngi''dgamst a sidescene/^fitpW : pot'or^ortSeriahi^ hand. Thjp Aung's' t*ieutenan^ might' be 's^tt'' in the backgronnd, toaßting a piece of cheese on the point, of ibia loyal sword. The Bandit' had crept into 'ft corner,' and the little girl was clinging- to him fondly, as' hn harid'Wasf stroking her fair haih Vance looked 'tbiin&j'tind 'approached the Bandit —' Sir,' allow r 'me to congratulate you; your/bow was, adpairable^ l I have liever seep Jqhn Kemble—^before,my time'j but I shall -fancy I have seeiv him now—seen him on the' night of his retirement from the'!stage.' }Asto your ' grandchild, Miss Juliet'Xramiiita, she is'a^erfect'chrysolite.' B^fojpe i Mr.,Waife could reply, the Bemor'seless/JElaron siepped'up in a spirit worthy! of. hjs pdious and arbitrary character. /What do.you da here, sir; I allow no gents behind the scenes earwiggihg my people'/ 'I begf'p^arilon'i'tepectfiillyj 'I am an artistr-i-a' pupil of the , Royal Academy; I should'Hke to make a sketch of Miss Juliet Arami'iita,'.' :' Sketch.!, rnonsense/- . ; ..

.' Sir,' said Lionel, with the' seasonable e*travanpahce Jof early youth, 'myfriend wonld, F ani sure,' pay'forthe sitting— haridsoiriely !*' /Ha!' said' the manager, softened, you speak like'a [gentleman, sirj but, sir, Miss Juliet Araminta is under my protection— in- fact, she is my property. Call._and-, speak' to * m»» about' it "to-morrow, before the first -performance begins, which is 12 o'clock. 'Hajapy toTsee any of your friends in the reserved seats. Busy now, and— and—in short —excuse me—servant, sir— servant, sir.'

The Baron's manner left no room for further parleys Vance bowed, smiled, and retreated. But meanwhile his young 1 friend had seized the opportunity to speak both to Waife and his grandchild; and when Vance took his arm and drew him away, there was a puzzled musing expression on Lionel's face and he remained silent till they had got throug-h the press of such stragglers as still loitered before the stagehand were in a quiet corner of the sward.' Stars and moon were then up— a lovely summer night. * "What on earth are you thinking of, Lionel V I' have put to you three questions, and you have not answered one.' ,' Vance/ answered Lionel slowly, ' the oddest thing!1 I am so disappointed in thftt little, girl—-greedy sand mercenary!' ' Precocious villain! how do you know she is greedy and mercenary V 'Listen: when that'surly old manager came up to you, I said 'something—civil of course—to Waife, who answered in a Hoarse broken "voice, but' in very'good lanJ2fua£e.; Well, when I told the manager that Jydu wotifd pay for the sitting, the child, paugh't^nold of' toy arm hastily, pulled,me down^tp her pvyjri height, and whispered, l f How < much will he give V Confused by a question so point-blank, ,1 answeretl at'randdniy *-=I don't know; ten shillings/ perhaps.' You should have seen S^ei^jieji^face, (jradiant~-I slibufd think S.Q, j t Top^u*Qh,by|mtff'es;cUime(i Vance. ' Tea'shillings !e—spendthrift I' • % Tao-mueh«f*sheJoQked a 9' you might 100k1 if[lond|' offered you ten shillings for jatir AieWilre'of,1 * Juliu's-iOaesar considering kVstfm^^Sm crdss toV f Rubicon/ But 'witen ttfa manager nad 1 declared her to, t fte his,p£ppftrsy,, and, appointed yo^ to call,ta-moripw<-^implyimj that lie, was to beipaJd-ibr-fellowmg1 -her to sitr—her connteisstaoe' beoanto "overcast,! fand she mutMH 'sullenly, « VU not sit—Pll not!' Tiiet^ ejitf turned !ib' her -'grandfather, and somefchmg/ar'y, 4Vl'o^ an,^ plo&'wa^ wliispeyed Jo'etweeiii tUe twoj pbcl she "pulled me by thofsleevij, and, said in,my ear—oh^ but Eagerly t—^l want three pounds ; oh, throe pounds V—if he would give three pound 4* i-U&nu come to'our lodgings—Mr. Merle1,'1 Willow Lane. Three pounds— three!*' "And with"thcrte words hissisig in

my ear, '&nd' doming from that fairy mouth, which 6ught to'drop pearls and diamonds, I left her/ adcled Lionel, as gravely ad if he! were sixty, 'and lost an illusion V * Three pounds!' cried Vance, raisinghis eyebrows to the highest arch of astonishment, and lifting1 iris nose in the air to^var^s the majestic moon—'threepounds! -^a 'fabulous sum! Who has three pounds to throw away? Dukes,'with a .hundred thousand a-year in acres, have not three pound.? to draw out of their prickets in that reckless profligate manner. Three pounds!—what could I not buy for three pounds 1 I could liiiy the Dramatic Library, bound in calf, for three pounds; I< could buy a dress coat for three pounds (silk liningI''not included); I could be lojd^ed for a month for three pounds! And a' jade in tinsel, just entering on her teens, to ask three pounds for what? for becoming- immortal on the canvass of Francis Vance ?—brother!'

Here Vance felt a touch on his shoulder. lie turned round'quickly as a man out of* temper' does under similar circumstances, and beheld the swart face of the Cobbler. ' Well, master, did not she act line '{ — how d'ye.like her?' ' Not much in her natural character; but she sets a mighty high Value on herself.'

' Anan, I don't take you,' ' She'll not catch me taking her! Three pounds!—three kingdoms.' 'Stay,' cried Lionel to the Cobbler; * did not you say she lodged with you ? Are you Mr. Merle ?'

' Merle's my name, and she do lodge with me—Willow Lane.'

'Come this way, then, a few yards down the road—more quiet. Tell me what the child means, if you can V and Lionel related the offer of his friend, the reply of the manager, and the graspingavarice of Miss Juliet Araminta.

The eobhler made no answer; and when the young fi-iends, surprised at his silence, turned to look at him, they saw he was wiping his eyes with his sleeve. { Poor little thing!' he said at last, and still more pathetically than lie had uttered the~same words at her appearance in front of the stag-e; 'tis all for her grandfather, 1 guess—l guess.' 'Oh', cried Lionel joyfully, •'! am so glad to think that. It alters the whole case, you see, Vance.' *It don't alter the case of the three pounds,' grumbled Vance. * What's her grandfather to me, that I should give his grandchild three^pounds, when any other child in the village would have leapt out of ; her skin jfco hav<3 her face upon my sketchbook and five shillings in her pocket. Hang her grandfather!'

They were now in the main road. The cobbler seated himself on a lonely milestone, and looked fiist at one of the faces before him, then at the other; that of Lionel seemed to attract him the most, and in speaking1 it was Lionel whom he addressed.

* Young" master/ he said, cit is now just four years ago, when Mr. Rugge, coming here, as he and his troop had done at fair-time ever sin' I can mind of, brought with him the man you have seen to-nig-ht. William Waife; I calls him Gentleman Waife. How ever that mnn fell into such straits—how he come to join such a carawan, would puzzle most heads. It puzzles Joe Spruce uncommon ; it don't puzzle me.' * Why V asked Vance. «Cos of Saturn!'

'Sat&af' ' Salura—dead: asrih his Sfecdnd and

Tenth House, I'll swear, Lord of ascendant, mayhap in combustion'of the sun—• who knows V

' You're not an astrologei* V said Vance, suspiciously edging off. * Bit of itr— no offence.'

' What does it signify V said Lionel impatiently ; 'go on. So you called Mr. Waife, l Gentleman Waife:' and if you had not beep an astrologer you would have been puzzled to see him in such a calling.' llAy, that*s itj for he warn't like any as we ever see on these boards hereabouts; and yet he warn*t exactly like a Lunnon actor, as I've see 'em in Lunhon, either, but more like a clever fellow who acted for the spree of the thing. He had such droll jests, and looked bo. comical, yet not Gbmmonlike, but always what I calls a geiitldmnn—jiist as if one o' ye two were doing ft bit of'sport to please your friends, Well, he drew hugely, and so he did, every tirno he came, so that the fjieat families in the neighbourhood would go to hear him ; and ho lodged in my 2ioum>, aad had pleasant ways with him, and was.

what I call a scollard. But still I don't want to deceive ye, and I should judge mixi to have been 'a wild dog m his day. Mercury ill-aspectedr^not a doubt, of it. Last year it] so Happened that one of the ; great gents who belong to Lurinon theatre was here at' fair-time; Whether he had heard of Waife chanceways, and come express to judge for hisself,*! can't say; like eno'. And when he had seen Gentleman Waife act, he sent for him to the innRed LipE^-aM' offered him a power o' money to go to'Lurinoh—Common Garden. Well, sir, Waife did riot take to if all at once, but hemmed and hawed,,and was at length quite < coaxed into: it; and so he went But bad» luck came on it; and I knew -there- would, for I saw it all in my crystal.' , 'Oh,' exclaimed Vance, 'a crystal, too; really it-is getting1 late, arid if you had your crystal about you, you might see that we want to sup.! - '.What: happened?' asked Lionel more blandly, for lie saw the Gobbler, who had nieant to make a great effect by the introduction'of thecrystal, was offended. i ( What happened ? why ? just- what I fdreseed. : There was an accident in the railway;' tween this and Lurinon, and poor .Waife lost an/:eye, and. was a cripple for life—^so he could not go on the Lunnon stage at -all';; and ;what.was woi*se, he was a long time atwixt life and death, and got sum mat; bad' on his chest wi' catching cold, and lost his voice, ;ahd became the >ad object you have gazed on, young happy things that ye are.' ' But Aie got some compensation from the railway. I suppose?' said Vance, with the unfeeling" equanimity of a stoical demon.,. - -

*He did, and spent it I suppose; the gentleman broke, out ia 'him-as* soon as he had money, and' ill though he was, the money; went. Then it seems he had no help for it but to' try-and;get back to Mr. Rugge. But" "Mr. Rugge: was sore and spiteful at his leaving; for Rugge counted on him, and had even thought of taking the huge "theatrei at York, aiid bringing jQut^gentlematf Waife ias' his trump WM. But it; wasn't fated, and Rugge thought himself,;ill-used, and so .at.-first.he would have nothing more to say to Waife,: arid the truth what could the poor mandd for Rugge? But-then Waife produces little Sophy? v" •■-••: ' ' You mean Juliet Araminta?' said Vance. .

'Same—in private life; she be Sophy. And Waife taught her to act, and put tog-ether the plays for her; And Rugge caught at her ; and she supports Waife with what she gets; for Rugge only gives him four shillings a-wefek, and that goes on baccy and suchlike.'

' Suchlike-r-di-ink, I ; presume V said Vance. '' Na—he don't drink. But he do smoke; and he has little genteel ways with him, and four shillings goes on 'em. And they have been about'the country this spring, and done well, and now they be here. But Rugge behaves shocking hard to both on 'em; and I don't believe lie has any rigdit to her in law, as he pretends— only a sort of understanding which she and her grandfather could break if they pleased; and that's what they wish to do, and that's why little Sophy wants "the three Bounds.'

'How!' cried Lionel eagerly. .' If they had three pounds could they get away ? and if they did, how could they live?. Where could they go?' . 'That's their secret. But I heard Waife say on the first night they came here—-that if he could get three pounds, he had hit on a plan to be independent like. I tell you what put his pluck up : it was Rugge insisting on his coming onthe stage again, for he did not like to be seen such a wreck. But he was forced -to give in; and so he contrived to cut tip that play-story, and appear himself at the last without speaking-. 'My g-ood friend,' cried young Lionel, 'we aro greatly obliged to you for your story—and we "should much like to see little Sophy and her grandfather at your hoxise to-morrow—:can we V. * Certain sure you can—after the play's oveii 4 to-nighV if you like.' t * No, to-morrow f you see inj friend is impatient to get; baok naty—*,*© will caU, to-morrow.' * Tis the last day of thejr stay/ said tbe Cobbler.' c But you can't bo isufefio'Bee theipt safely at niy house 'afore tail o'clock at night-^aiui"not a vpotd to 'Rugge! mum J' . 'Not "a word .to Rugge,' returned Lionel 5 < good night to you,' The young- ■men left thd'Cobbler still seated on tho milestone, gazing on the

star?, and ruminating. They walked briskly down the road. 'It is I who have had the talk now/-said-Lionel in his softest tone. '■'lie was bent on coaxing three pounds out of his richer friend, and that might require some management. Foi amongst -the wild youngsters in Mr. Vance's profession, there ran many a joke at the skill with which he parried irregular assaults ■on/his purse; and that gentleman, with his nose more than usually in the air, having once observed to such scoffers 'that they were quite welcome to any joke at his expense'—a wag had exelainaed, .'At your expense! Don't fear, if a joke were worth a farthing, you would never give that permission.' So when Lionel made that innocent remark, the softness of his tone warned the artist of some snake in the grass— and he prudently remained silent. Lionel, in a voice still sweeter, repeated—; It is I who have alltthe talk now!'

■'.Naturally,' then-returned Vance—'na-turally-you--have, for it is you, I suspect, who alone have the intention to pay for; it, ond three pounds appear to be the price. Bearish, eh ? -

' Ah, Vance, if I had three pounds F 1 Tush! and say no more till we have supped., I have the hunger of a wolf.? Just in sight of the next milestone the young travellers turned a few yards down I a'green'lane and reached a small inn on i the banks of the".Thames./ Here they had ! sojourned for the last few days sketching-, ' boating-, roaming' about die country from sum-ise, and returning to supper and bed ait nightfall. It was the pleasantest little inn—an arbour, covered with honeysuckle, between the porch and the river-—a couple of pleasure boats moored to the bank; and now all the waves rippling under moonlight. 'Supper and lights in the arbour,' cried Vance to the waiting-man— ( hey presto — ■ quick! while we turn in to "wash our hands. And harkye, a quart jug of that capital whiskey-toddy.' 0 wayside inns, and pedestrian ram- | blesl -. 0 summer nights, under honer- | suckle arbours, on the banks of starry waves 1 0 youth, youth ! ; Vance ladled out the toddy and lighted; his cigar, then, leaning his head on his hand, and his elbow on the table, he looked with an artist's eye along the glancing river. ] x After all,' said he, 1 1 am glad lam a painter; and I hope I niay live to be a great one.' : '-No doubt, if you live, you will be a great one,' cried Lionel with cordial sin- ! cerity. ' And if I, who can only just paint well enough to please myself, find that.it gives a new charm to nature —'. /Cut sentiment,' quoth Vance, 'and go on.'. ' What/ continued Lionel,, unehiiied by the admonitory interruption, * must you feel who can fix a fading sunshine—a fleeting face-—on a scrap' of canvass, and say, Sunshine and Beauty live there for ever!' Vance— ' For ever! No! Colours perish, canvass rots. What remains to us of Zeuiisf Still it is prettily said on behalf of the poetic side of the profession; there is a prosaic one—we'll blink it.'