JACK'S AUNT'S FLAT CANDLESTICK.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 836, 31 January 1871, Page 3

JACK'S AUNT'S FLAT CANDLESTICK.

(From Temple Bar.") Jack — that is, Jack Wy vill, of course —was one of the staff of the Saturday Startler, a weekly journal combining sensation romance with the political and other intelligence. I was dramatic critic of that organ, an arrangement which suited me, because, having to do the theatres for the Daily Dashaway, I found it no great difficulty to reel off a second notice of the same piece for the hebdomadal. Jack Wy vill was doing the leading romance and a few other odd things on the paper. We took a fancy to each other, and spent many an afternoon, and not a few evenings, together. lie was a gentleman — that there was not a doubt of —but he was in sorelyreduced circumstances ; and the anecdotes he related to me of the time when he and a friend, who was an Academy student, lived in a garret in Gray's Inn in a constant state of siege by creditors, were as amusing as his stories in the Startler, with the advantage of being true besides. But, amusing as they might be to those who heard them, they could not have been pleasant to the actors ; and I said as much to Jack. " What would you have ?" he answered. " When you're dunned for money you don'fr chocse to pay, it's all very well; you can ring the curtain down on the comedy when you're tired. But when you positively can't pay, you must play — play it out to the last scene." " But hang it all !" said I, with a recollection of stress of debt at college, and of its removal, " couldn't you apply to your friends ?" " Hold hard, young man !" said Jack — he was some four or five years my senior in age — in experience of the world and life more than that — " you're using a word there which I always like to have clearly denned. What do you mean by ' friends ?' I had only one real ' friend ' then, Jim Downes, the young painter I told you of, who shared chambers. He had exactly as much as I had — nothing ! If he had been possessed of a penny more than I, he wouldn't have been a real friend. If you mean the ordinary article termed 1 friend,' and procurable (while you have the money) in assorted lots, then let me tell you they would have been the last people I should have applied to: it being my experience that a confession of weakness to them is dangerous. There are only two sets of people, as far as my experience goes, who really will go out of their way to injure you— the friends you've always tried to help, and the enemies you've never tried to harm. The rest of the world doesn't know enough about you to take any trouble. Now, give me a light, for I've let my pipe out during the sermon." " I mdant relations, Jack," said I, apologetically, "when I used the conventional vagueness you have very properly pitched into." " Oh ! that's even worse; for of all people in the world one's relations are those who are least likely to prove one's friends. I have no relations — except a rich old aunt." " The very party to apply to !" " Possibly. But also the very party to be refused aid by — with a snubbing in ! Bless you, the old girl is serious. When she learned I was a ' writing-fellow' — especially of fiction (though for that matter I don'fc see much difference between a story-teller and a newspaper correspondent) — she resolutely refused to see me or hear of me. Tracts I might have written, and remained in her favour. I never cared to bother her ; for I had always, as a youngster, been foolishly independent, and hated the notion of making up to her for her coin. I Baid I would make my own way in the world by my talent." Jack, as his remarks show, was full of bitterness and scorn. And no wonder, for, in spite of his undoubted powers, he had never been able to get on — had been a hack and a drudge all his time, with no hope of rising. He was too strictly honourable to shirk his work, no matter how poor the pay, and by this conscientious performance of his duty limited his opportunities. I remember once when Pottimore Mullins, in one of his

" superior style" essays, talked about the present day as a time ■when any *ble man and scholar could live by bis pen " securely and pleasantly," that poor Jack dashed the magazine down in a rage with " Yes, securely and pleasantly enough, if he isn't above selling his work two or three times over to different people, without taking the trouble to alter it much, even ! That may do for men of ability and scholars ; but hang me, if a gentleman can do it, Master Mullins !" I was doing fairly well at the time. My college dsbts having been cleared off, I was keeping my terms at the Temple on an income which, with what I got by my pen, was more than enough for my humble requirements. I was able to be of some assistance to Jack therefore — though only in the way of loans, which he scrupulously repaid when he drew his money. Time went on, and I was called to the bar. Jack was at my call-supper — and that was the last of him I saw for a long time ! Eor my mother was taken seriously ill, and I was telegraphed for. I went home, and watched by her bedside until she was taken away. I was very fond of her, the only parent I had ever known, for my father had died while I was an infant. I was her only child. It was a long time before 1 recovered from the blow, and the arrangement of affairs kept ma in the country yet longer. When I returned to town I found the little world in which I had moved knew me no longer. My place had been filled up, and "had I wanted work— which luckily I did not— l should have had but a poor chance of procuring employment on any paper. I had dropped out of the running completely. Several times I visited old haunts, chiefly in the hope of meeting Jack again. But I never fell in with him, and some one told me he thought he had gone as " sub" for a provincial paper. But one night as I was sitting alone in my chambers studying a brief — I had begun to practice in a small way — there came a timid knock at my door. I opened, and in came the ghost of Jack Wyvill. He had never — as ruy description of him will have led you to suppose — looked too robust, well-fed, or prosperous. But now he was the shadow of his former self. We hardly spoke, for, after shaking him warmly by the hand and thrusting him into an easy chair by the fire, I rushed into my larder with an instinctive knowledge that he was faint for want of food. When he had eaten the modest meal of cold meat and bread and cheese which my stores supplied, and drunk a little warm grog, he and I began to talk. •• What has been going wrong, Jack ?" I asked. " Nothing ! at least nothing more wrong than usual. When I saw you last I was going down hill — and there's not much difference now, I guess— unless it is that I must be pretty near the bottom of the hill ; unless it happens to be the sloping side of a pit that shall be nameless," " Why didn't you come before ?" " I came so often and found the oak sported that I gave it up." I told him the reason of my absence for such a long time, and inquired what he had been doing. He took a note-book from his pocket, full of that paper which is known a s reporter's " flimsy." " Penny-a-line !" said Jack. " Parliamentary ?" I asked. " Fires !" was the reply. " But there are so many in the same line. Still," he added, with a grim smile that reminded me of old times, " I've one advantage !" '■■ Style ?" "No ! But as I am generally without a lodging, and have to walk about the streets all night, I get the start of the others." I was horror-struck. The idea of such a man without a roof to cover him, wandering about the cruel streets — weary and footsore ! I cast an involuntary glance at his feet, as this thought occurred to me. " Yes !" he said, seeing the direction of the look. " That's the worst of it !" and he turned his foot up so that I could see his boots were almost soleless, so worn and ragged were they. " You haven't an old pair to spare ?" At which request I used profane language that 1 trust the Recording Angel, acting upon precedent, was good enough not to set down in indelible ink. I vowed Jack should have a new rig-out, and a home in my rooms till things looked up for him. " That will be never !" said he, despondingly. " I have come down gradually and surely. If I had come from tho top of the stairs to the bottom with one crash, I might ' find courage to hark back ; but, hang it all ! I've come down the whole flight, with a bump on each particular step." " How did it happen ?" [To be continued."!