SHANDON BELLS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XIX, Issue 6572, 9 December 1882, Page 3

SHANDON BELLS.

BY WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER XVlll.—Continued. STiKH AND CAI.M. Thet were on much more friemlly terms now. Ferhape Kitty had only resented her having rieen frightened. It was quite like olfl times for them to be walking arm-in-irm ; aurt tiie bull in Shanuou tower was tolling ; and the people were coming along the various thoroughfares to the church. "By the way," said he, "we have never settled in what church we shall be married, Kitty." " That's being rather too particular. That's looking rather too far forward, isn't it?" " I am not so sure about that," said he. " You have discovered the gold mine then ? la that what you came to tell me about, Willie?" she said, with an odd kind of smile. But they were entering the church-porch ; and there was no possibility for further speech. Sitting there beside her, indeed, he diil not complain of the enforced silence. To be near her was enough ; to have tipht hold of her hand ; to hear the sweet voice join in the singing. Perhaps he did not listen too attentively to the service or the sermon. Dreams of what the world might hold for him and her together would come in from time to time. The imaginations and :imbit;on» of yonth are stimulated rather than retarded by the hushed and mysterious repose of a sacred building ; the vague dim background is convenient for the painting of wonderful pictures. And it seemed to him that that beautiful future, which he could adorn and colour at will, had once more and suddenly been presented to him. These horribledoubts had been left behind. They vanit-hed when he took Kitty's hand in his. There was no need for explanation or confession ; Kitty and he were together again ; life had grown full again of joy and hope. And LondOH, with its struggles and moitilications, and disappointments, was also forgotten, abandon church, with Kitty's hind in his, luit him no memories of the I'ulham P*oad. It was as if it had only been the other night that he and she pledged their vows to each other over the running stream.

When they come out again she said, " Now you will come and have some dinner with us, Willie ; and you must try and be civil to Miss Patience."

"I would rather go for a walk, Kitty. We have said nothing to each other yet." " What is there to say that we have not said before ?" she answered, somewhat saucily, " or that we can't say iu letters?" "Your letters are very nice, Kitty, but they don't spemk ns well as your ey?s." " Ob, I assure you," she aai:l, gravely, " I am going to take my eyes with me wherever I go. Don't be afraid. 1 shall haye my pyes as much with mo when we are sitting down iitthetabh' as if we were wandering throHgh these muddy lanes." No, she would not be persuaded. She thought there would not even be time for a strolldowu to the river-side ;ind back. It was too cold for walking. She was rather tired. "Tired!"' said lie in amazement; "what can have tired yon ?" " You an? so pertinacious," she said, with a touch of impatience. " You want to argue. You want explanations. When I tell you I am tired isn't that enough ?'

"Well, yes, it is enough," said he, gently. "And I think you must~be tir.'d." The subtlety of this reproof reached her. She coloured a little. "I want to be kind to you ; but you are always quarrcilinp," she said. And then she laughed ; and looked so prettv, and confused, and merry all at once, that he could have kissed her th»re and then, though all Cork might stare. "I declare it's cnonch to put anybody out of temper," said she, with all her ordinary frankness and audacity. "Here am I !Hpposed to be cultivating the greatest admiration for somebody who is away in London, workiiig hard on my account. It is so selfdenying, don't you see ; and you ousjht to remember the absent ; and all the rest of it. And all at once he turns up on a holiday trip ! —frightening you to begin with ; and without uttering a word of excuse or giving a reason." "I have quite sufficient reason, Kittv," said he. " The delight of listening to your impertinence is quite enough." "I am not impertinent at all ; I am talking common sense—and that's a tiling you don't know much about, Master Willie. The fact is, these people at lnisheen spoiled you. You think you should have everything you want ; now, that isn't quite possible in this fine world." " Kitty, you have been studying the Poor Man's Annual, or whatever the book is. You fearfully wise this morning. This is the second time you have informed me that people can't get everything they want; and the truth of the aphorism is more remarkable than its novelty—"

" Oh, dear inr, is that the way we talk in London ?" s;iid she. "There is only one thing I want," said he, not heeding her; "and I've got it, hard and fa=t." "But you need not break my fingers with your arm. 1 shan't be able to practice tomorrow. What is that in your breast-pocket that hurts so?" "That?"'said he. "It would be odd if that could hurt anybody. It's your portrait, Kitty. I had a ease made for it." " Let me sec it." He took out the case and showed it to her ; she only looked at the outside. "Weill do declare! The extravagance ! And this is the way we nre supposed to be saving money in London—buying anything that touches our fancy, or rattling away on a holiday ? That is just like you Irish people. I see more and more of it every day. You can deny yourselves nothing. You must always spend more than you've got ; and then expect the Government to keep you—" " Who has been riving you lessons iu political economy, Kitty?" be said, as he took the case freni her, and put it in another pocket. "You have become fearfully practical —" "That's what you will never be," she

said, with a little sigh —real or a fleeted. " I did not think you would consider that much of an extravagance," said be, "getting a nice cover for your photograph." " But coming away over here—" " That .seems quite to distress you—" " Oh, dear no," she said. They were now L'oing up to the door of the house, and she spokr in a more matter-of-fact way. " Perhaps I ought to be glad. It shows you can alTord it. ' As be entered thf little p.issago, he caught a glimpse of a female figure Hying upstairs ; then Kitty asked him to go into the adjacent parlour, and wait till she had put oil' her things ; then he was 1-ft alone. This meeting with Kitty had not been like that other meeting that he. so clearly remembered. Then slie had clung to him, crying ; she had Verged of him never to leave her ai/ain : s.h<- had ofl'ered to live on nothing rather than that he should go away from her. Now she had grown so practical ; she seemed to wisli him back in London ; it was the cost <»f his visit, not tho surprise and delight of it, that seemed to occupy her mind. Hut still, here be was in the little chamber that was so familiar ; there was Kitty's piano, and the dishevelled mass of music that slic never would keep in order ; there were the books lie bad sent her (be knew better than to look whether the clges were cut ; disappointments come easily enough without people hunting after them) ; there was the crystal paper-weight in which Kitty had put his photograph, saying the while, " Well, so long as that is before me while I am writing, I guess I shall look sharp after my grammar. I can see the scowl beginning already. ' Noiif of i/otir hiijn rl'iiu /»■'■, Mix*. Can't i/oit x/i'/l thi , Kni/lidi Innijiuujf iji-t ? You think tlmt ia cli-rrr, '!•> ijuii ■•" So there's a place for you. Mr. Schoolmaster Kill-joy ; and when I want a scolding I'll conic for it."

The little niaid-sei'vaut came in aud laid the cloth ; and then Miss Patience appeared. Miss Patience received him with much placid civility. She seemed more mysterious and hawk-like than ever, and seemed to take it for granted that he, having been so much longer in London, should know proportionately more of the secret things going on in politics. Fitzgerald had to explain to her that he had but little to do with politics ; even the one editor he had met in London, he had not seen since last he had visited Cork. "I heard you were not succeeding," remarked Miss Patience, calmly. "Succeeding!" he exclaimed, with a sort of start (for he had not looked at his struggles in London in that way). "Well, I have been trying many things, and it is impossible to say whether this or that may succeed. I cannot expect everything at

once. There are many openings in literary and newspaper work ; of course one must wait. I can't say I have either succeeded or not succeeded."

"Ah,"said Mis_3 Patience, complacently. "That is all so unlike commerce. Commerce is secure. Just think of sending a telegram to Odessa—a few words ; you get a reply back the same day ; you walk down to the Exchange and buy something ; and you have earned £2000. Twothousand pounds ! —with so little trouble—"

But here Kitty came in ; and she had dressed so prettily and neatly ! He could not help regarding her with admiring looks ; and Miss Kitty was a littla bit shy and conscious ; and so they sate down to this middle-day dinner —London, black phantoms, and disappointments all shut out and forgotten. " It seems to me, Kitty," said he, lightly, " that a commercial spirit has come over this neighbourhood since I was here last. You have been lecturing on political economy all the morning; and now Miss Patience tells me how easy it is to make £2000 by merely sending a telegram to Odessa. It appears to me that it might be just as easy to lose £2000 by the use of the same machinery." Kjtty glanced at Mias Patience with a sort of apprehensive look he could not understand. "1 was observing to Mr. Fitzgerald that I was sorry he had not been successful in London," answered that lady, calmly. "And I was saying that I had neither beon successful nor non-successful, "said Fitzgerald, cheerfully. "Of course there are a great many things to be tried —" "Oh, of course, of course," said Kitty, hastily, and with a touch of colour in her face. "Of course Miss Patience meant so far only—only so far. We knnw that it is difficult to—to-to succed in literature—of course Miss Patience quite understands—" If Miss Patience understood, Fitzgerald did not. Why this embarrasment; and this talk about the advantages of commerce ; and this assumption that he had tried literature in London as a means of livelihood and failed ?

Miss Patience said, with a gentle smile

*' But wheu once you have that commercial machinery of which you speak, Mr. Fitzgerald, how nice that must be 1 It goes on making money for you; you can go away and see the world ; your agents are enough. That must be very nice, that independence, and security. The literary man, even the most successful, is in so precarious a position. A tile from a roof knocks him senseless; his means of livelihood vanish. No one else can do his work for him ; it is like an artist becoming blind ; there is no machine that can go on independently of him to make money for his wife and children. Ah, there is nothing so safe as that. Commerce in a commercial country is a natural occupation. And it is so safe." But was it so safe? argued Fitzgerald, somewhat hotly — though he scarcely knew why, for certainly commerce had never done him any harm. If it were so safe, and natural and easy to make £2000 l>y telegraphing to Odessa, wouldn't everybody be at it ? Then look at the common failures. Look at the multitude of commercial men who were living on the very edge of bankruptcy. It was all very well to have such a piece of machinery as that that had been mentioned, but what if it happened to-work the wrong way ? What if it came back, and burst you ? Xo doubt it was a good thing if the commercial man could by by a provision for his wife and children ; but could not the successful man of letters do that too ? And as for the tile from the roof, where would the commercial man be if that hit him ? Accidents were always possible. What was not possible was that life should be based on idle calculations. And success or no success, machinery or no machinery, as for himself, he said proudly, he would rather earn the plainest living by literature than revel in all the riches that could be procured from Odessa or anywhere else. Kitty was the peacemaker.

"Oh, yes, no doubt," said she (though she seemed anxious to get away from the subject altogether). "One would like to be what you say—l mean, it must be a great thing to be a great man of letters-—but there- are so few—aud it must be so ditiicult. I am sure that all Miss Patience meant was that it must be nice to have a business going on that leaves you free and gires you no anxiety—"

"I should say there were very few of those;" said he. "Leave a business and it leaves you —the proverb is common among business men themselves. You wake up some fine morning and find yourself a bankrupt."

"Ah, very well," said Kitty, with a sigh, " tboKe at least are very well off who begin life with a fortune ready made for them, and have no anxiety about it."

"I don't know that," said he, "the enjoyment of life is work. I don't see that people who are securely rich are any the happier for it. And I should not think much of the woman whose views of life were coloured by the presence or absence of money."

This was getting more serious. Kitty said, with a pleasant laugh :

"There is not much use in our talking about it any way ; for all the money that you and I have, Willie, or are likely to have, won't make nations fight about us. I want you to tell Miss Patience about all the people you have seen iu London. And is that old lady really so nice as you say ? And what part of Bantry Bay is the house you told me of, that her nephew liad ? I looked in a map for Boat of Garry, but could see nothing of it ; I suppose it is a small place."

So there was nothing further said about the advantages of commerce over literature—or the reverse ; and presently Fitzgerald found himself being drawn by the humour of the situation into giving Miss Patience such daik hints about the ways and manners of the great politicians then in power as would no doubt hare astonished those much canvassetl persons. Kitty seemed greatly relieved ; she listened pleasantly ; content reigned over the modest banquet. Aud as for Fitzgerald, it was of little account to him what nonsense he talked or listened to, so long as Kitty was in the room. Miss Patience was treated with the gravest respect; from time to time he could steal a glance at Kitty's eyes. The middle-day dinner was long over, and they had gathered round the (ire when a step was heard on the little pathway outside, and then a loud knock at the door. Kitty started, and looked apprehensively at Miss Patience. There was an absolute silence ; then some bounds in the passage ; and presently the maid servant appeared. " Mr. Cobbs, Miss."

Fitzgerald was fairly stupefied when ha saw this young man come into the room with the air of one who was perfectly acquainted with both Kitty and Mis* Patience. He had never heard a word of him! Who could he be? The next moment he found himself being introduced to the stranger; and these two regarded each other with scrutiny, though the new-comer had the advantage in calmness. He took a chair ; put bis hat and cane on tho table ; mid .isked Kitty if she had been to church that morning.

He was apparently about twenty or one-and-twenty ; stout rather ; of middle height; with a fair complexion and close-cropped yellow hair ; he was dressed in the extreme of fashion ; and his hands and feet were small. Any body else would have said he was an ordinary-looking, good-looking, well-dressed young man—with perhaps too obvious a taste for jewellery : what Fitzgerald thought of him, and of the circumstances, need not be put down here.

In truth, he was too bewildered to have any clear notion of what he was thinking. But he knew that, whatever the truth of the matter, he could uot openly insult Kitty by presuming that anything was wrong. He resolved to be quite courteous to this stranger. Why should uot an idle young gentleman pay au afternoon call ? He resolved to be quite courteous; and clenched his hands behind his back to keep him in remembrance.

Kitty, who appeared to have lost her usual seH-contident, half-satirical manner, seemed extraordinarily pager to get these two to talk together. Mr. Fitzgerald had just come over from London : had Mr. Cobbs been in London recently ? Both seemed inclined to talk to her or to Miss Patience, but not to each other ; and the embarrassment of the situation was obviously increasing when Fitzgerald determined to end it. He saw his poor little sweetheart frightened and troubled ; and he could not have that. With much frankness he began to speak to this new-comer ; and as men find politics their common ground of conversation, he asked Mr. Cobbs if he had noticed any symptoms of disaffection since his stay in the country. Now this was a friendly overture; but the young man with the fat fair face and the blank grey eyes chose to be rather uncivil. He began to say things about Ireland and the Irish—which was not quite fair seeing that there were three English people to one Irishman. Moreover he talked the ordinary nonsense that is talked by the well-fed heavy-pursed Englishman who lays down economical laws about Ireland without

any knowledge whaterer of the people or of the agricultural conditions of the country. And he was a conceited creature ; he liked to hear himself talk ; his platitudes were dictatorial in tone.

Fitzgerald was getting wilder and wilder; but 'he kept his hands tightly clenched. And he would not answer this fellow at all. He spoke to these other two. He told them what he knew, what he had seen. He described the haggard denizens of the bog-land, living amid ague and starvation ; he described the poor devils on the hill-sides, trying to scrape a living off rocky soil not fit to support rabbits : and then, when the bit of sour bog-land had been slowly reclaimed, or the potatoes beginning to do a little better in the stonewalled enclosure, the agente stepping in to demand impossible rents, and the landlord in London, or Venice, or Monaeo, knowing nothing about it and caring less ; and then the eviction of whole families—the shivering wretches without a bit of firewood, let alone a bit of bread. And this was the system under which you hoped to get a loyal and contented peasantry ! With the mass of the people believing that the landlords were leagued against them; that the law was against them ; and the soldiers and the police were against them— But indeed this is no place for a full exposition of the picture that Fitzgerald drew ; it is enough to say tl it.a few minutes had been sufficient to turn; I'nGallio whom the priest had remonstrated with into a politician as violent as the. riest himself. Moreover his vehement de arations were now addressed to Kitty ; and Kitty timidly assented. She was staring into thefire; not at all in a contemplative mood.

"Rut why don't they go away?" said Miss Patience.

"God help them, they are going aivay," said he, "in thousands, though there's many a breaking heart leaving Queenstown Harbour. And it's the young ones that are going ; and the old ones, who can do nothing, are left at home to starve."

"Well, if they can't earn a living they must suffer," said the young Englishman. "If you can't live you must die—it's the law of nature. All I know of them is that they're a set of nieaii snivelling wretches who will fawn upon you if you give them charity, and shoot you from behind a hedge the minute after." " Only after you have given them charity ? Then I should say you were pretty safe !" was the somewhat too fierce reply. [To bo continued.