DISAPPOINTED IN LOVE.
BY AMY RANDOLPH. " liooms to let!" Ilarley Merrion paused in his brisk walk, and surveyed the cozy little dwelling. " Now, what is the use of plodding on to the village inn," he reasoned with himself, " when here are accommodations probably quite as cheap, and no doubt much more quiet and romantic ?" He tapped brisklj at the old iron knocker that hung suspended on the weather beaten panel of the door. A tall female in abrown calico dress promptly responded to his summons. " I see you have rooms to let," said the 1 wayfarer. Miss Margaret Goodwin took an instantaneous, though keen, survey of stranger. He was tall and rather handsome, beyond the middle age, with black hair slightly sprinkled with silver, and cheery hazel-brown eyes. " Yes," said Miss Margaret, " we have, and they're pretty tol'able snug rooms too. though 1 say it as should'nt say it. Aot large, but jest «s neat's a pin, and furnished quite decent with an ingrain carpet, black parcelled offwith red turkeyred curtains, and an easy chair. Ttie minister was our last lodger, and he would have that easy chair. he, 1 'Why, Miss Maggie, an easy chair is to J a room what sunshine is to a landscape. And there's three windows, with—" The stranged winced a little under this verbal avalanche. " suppose you let me look at the room, 1 ' he s id. Miss Margaret led the way, apologising as she went for "looking like Sancho." "It's bakin' day," said the spinster, "and our men folks them's my brothers Silas an' Phiueas—do eat bread and Dies at a most amazin' rate. Sometimes I'm almost tempted to think—but here's the rooms, sir." " I'll take them," said Mr Merrion promptly. Bright little rooms they were. ' A month's board in advance—name of Merrion —trunks will come in the evening stage. And now, please, send up some logs, and we'll have a fire in the shortest possible period of time." Miss Margaret went slowly down stairs to send up Phiueas with wood and kind-
lings I " You haven't lot the rooms, aunty . j said Jenny, her plump nh-ce. " Yes, I have—and I want Phineas. Phin ! Pliin ! where be ye ?" And Phineas, lumbering into the room, received his orders, and echoed Jor.i.y sj exclamation of surprise and astonishment. Half an hour afterwards, Harley Merrion, the popular author, with his plethoric portfolio open on the table beside him, sat toasting the soles of his feet at the roaring blaze, sniffing up the balsamic odour of the bubbling pine logs nnd enjoying the winter twilight with all the zeafthat only your literary sybarite can know. " I can finish my book here as it ought to be finished," he exclaimed exultantly to himself. " So you've got a real live author for a lodger, Mi-s Maggie." croaked old Mrs. Perkins the next Sunday, at church. "Do tell me what he's likes. Docs he conduct himself like other folks ? Semantly Dawes's uncle kuovred an author once, and he used to go about talkin' to himself and makin' faces dreadful to see.
"Pooh!" said Miss Goodwin contemptuously. "Mr Merrion's very different —a born gentleman ; don't give no more trouble'n a kitten, and sits and writes as peaceable as can be. To be sure Le's got queer ways —wants a clean napkin every dav, au>l always eats his pie with a folk, thou£h s ffft.Vj"~a "iTcVcf"pSirs'jiis tea into the sasser, no matter how smokin' hot it is."
" Dear me !" said Mrs Perkins, " a clean napkin every day ! That's what I should eall sheer, downright, senseless extravagance !" "Well, it does look like it absented Miss Margaret. '• hut, he's so pleasant spoken, and pays his hoard so regular, that Jenny and 1, we concluded we wouldn't say nothin' ahout it." "old Mrs. Perkins still shook her hoed. " Authors is queer folks," she remarked meditatively. Miss Goodwin tossed her head with triumphant emphasis ; she knew that the widow Perkins had also "rooms to let," and that there was a spice of sharp feminine jealousy in the. old lady's interrogation*. But Miss Margaret felt no small degree of curiosity as to the occupation of her lodger. " I do wonder what he's writin', and how it looks on paper r" she said to her niece. " It's no business ofours, Aunt Maggie." said Jenny composedly. " He's dreadful pleasant in liis ways," pursued the thoughtful spinster. "Did you notice how lie called me ' my dear Miss Maggie,' only yesterday, when lie spoke about havin' his eggs boiled softer?" Jenny laughed. Mies Goodwin drew herself up, and wasted no more confidence on her heartless niece. "She's just like all the other young gals," thougt the aggrieved Miss .Margaret. " she thinks becau>cabodv's older than IS. a body can't never receive no attention. I may show her yet." But the curiosity as to " how it looked on paper" was by no means checked in the breast of M iss Margaret, who flas a genuine descendant of Mother Kve, if ever there was one. " I'll have a peep if I die for't," though she ; and she watched Mr llarley Merrion's movements accordingly, as n cat might watch an exceedingly un-uspieious mouse. For some lime her surveillance was in vain; Mr. Merrion had a disagreeable habit o r locking up his manuscripts and papers when he went out, and her researches were unrewarded. One day, however lie strode away for his daily walk, leaving the plethoric port folio open on the table. " Bless my soul!" ejaculated the spinster; " if here im'l all the writin' as big as life !" And she advanced on tiptoe, as if the words were animated creatures, and capable of being disturbed, glanced over the free, bold characters. *' Maggie !" was the first word she read. " Good land o' Gosnen .'" she ejacul?ted clasping her hands theatrically together. "'Tain't possible he's been writing to mc ! What will Jenny say ?" And a winter flush rose on the edge of cheek bone. She read on : " Maggie, sweetest vision of my heart's maturer years, how shall I find words to describe the love that burns in my heart for you?" Miss Goodwin sank ecstatically into the easy-chair, rolling her faded blue eyes up towards the ceiling. "Find words 1" sighed the rapturoushearted spinster. " I'm sure, if that's all, he's get the gift of the gab powerful enough for any ten parsons! Parson
Miller's nothing to him, when once he gets the steam up, about Home and Switzerland, or any o' them foreign places. Ilecan find work fast enough, I'll warrant, hut then, arter all, love is such a queer thing! Jleigho! if Jenny only knew, I guess she'd alter her mind about some things; sec if she didn't." And leaning foiward, Miss Maggie once more consulted the oracular page :
'• How dare 1 ask whether my passion is returned? Itowdare I breathe into your vestal ear—" And here the manuscript came to an abrupt close, with the pen lying beside it, as Mr. Merrion had let' it.
"Vestal! what the botheration's that lie trembled when he passed inc. the pickled cucumbers yesterday at dinner time !" It would have puzzled Miss Margaret to have told afterward how long she sat in the big ea«v chair, with clasped hands and throbbing heart, in a sort of blissful day-dream of lavender silk, a hat trimmed with orange blossoms, and a yellow gleaming wedding ring. But suddenly, in the midst of her visionary anticipations, the creaking of Mr. Ilarley Merrion's boots were heard on the stairway. Miss Margaret Goodwin sprung up in genuine consternation : To be caught like a mouse in a trap wns no part of .Miss Goodwin's plan. The heavy footsteps were drawing nearer, and with "the instinct o: self-preservation the old nihid darted into the tall cabinet, where she cowered amongst Mr. Merrion's coats, overcoats, and other masculine belongings, with a heart that beat almost as loud as the tickings of the old hall clock without. " How on earth am f to get out again ?" she gasped inwardly, as she remembered that Mr. Merrirn generally occupied his appartuient until the tea-bell rang at dx o'clock. Through the crack of the door idle could plainly see him deliberately moving around taking ofi'his overcoat, exchanging his heavy boots for embroidered slippers, warming his numbed hands over the cheerful blaze. Finally he drew the table toward him, and composedly read over the last lines he had written. " Pooh!" he muttered half aloud, " not enough (ire and energy. ' Maggie, sweet vision of 1113' life!' Yes, that's better." lie sprang to his feet enunciating in low energetic tones the words. " Maggie, sweet vision of my life ! dare I hope ever to call thee mine—" " 1'0.v." croaked a softly modulated voice. The door of the cabinet flew open and Miss Margaret rushed towards him, burying her countenance on the left lappel of his coat. " Yes, dearest Ilarley ! I know all ; and, believe me, your affection is not unreturned." " What affection? What the very mischief does this mean ?" ejaculated Mr. Merrion, thrown back into the easy-chair by the force o f his fair assailant's weight. ""Get up, Miss Goodwin !— that's 11 good soul! Don't you hear the chair crack ? Now tell me what is the meaning of this strange freak." Mis Margaret strove to sob, but only produced a strange spasmodic sound in her throat. " Jxn't —isn't this is a love letter to me?" she faltered, resting one trembling hand ujon the fatal sheet of paper, while die other was clasped tightly on her virgin heart. Mr. Merrion burst into a. hearty—and heartless—lit of laughing. "A love letter? Certainly not. It's a part of my new book, and the heroine has happiness to be named Maggie Montressor. uttered a croaking sort of cry. '• Now don't faint, ma'am that's a good soul," cried th< terrilied author. "Get fairly down stairs before you faint ! 1 esteem and respect 3-ou, and all sorts of things, but I've been married these ten years, and I'm afraid my wife wouldn't approve of your very demonstrative conduct. Jam quite sure; I have given 3 - ou no reason to believe —" " Traitor ! False villain .'" gasped .Miss Goodwin. " I give you warning to leave this house —at once '" "Well, perhaps I'd better,'' said the author disconsolately, gathering up his papers. * Hut did ever mortal find himself in such n dilemma before, and from no fault of his either !" So Mr. Merrion returned to the city : and wlii'ii -lenny Goo lwin innoeentl inquired the rea>r.n of his abrupt departure, her aunty darkly hinted at a - i unrequited passion which the author had entertained towards hersell. " Hut I don't believe a word of it ; it's all aunty's imagination," said Miss Jeriiij*. And Mrs. Perkins asked more-questions than the Longer Catechism contains, and ended by shaking cap-strings nnd gravelv asserting, " I always said, and 1 always wih say, there ain't, no good in them book-makers !"
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New Zealand Herald, Volume VII, Issue 1967, 7 May 1870, Page 6
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1,808DISAPPOINTED IN LOVE. New Zealand Herald, Volume VII, Issue 1967, 7 May 1870, Page 6
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