CHRISTMAS TALE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 3653, 26 December 1879, Page 3

CHRISTMAS TALE.

DICK ALLEN'S MERRY CHBI3TMAS.

It was about ten o'clock on the night of Christmas Eve — a good many years ago now —that Dick Allen gave his naae at tho gate of" Old Trinity " College, Dublin, and passed in. Aa he looked in at the lodge-door, he felt a strong temptation to sit for a while with the two burly good-natured-looking nightporters by their roaring fire ; for the night was bitterly cold, and he felt more thoroughly alone than he ever had before in the Wo-and-twenty yeara of his life. Once within his rooms he lost no time in striking a light, and then eet to work to rekindle his smouldering fire. The prospect that the candle revealed was far from cheerful. The room was carpetless, and, except for a table, one arm-chair, and two or threo dilapidated cane-chairs, almost uaked of- furniture. And yet they had not the look of the apartments of a hardreading sizar, who had neither means nor desire lor any decoration beyond what was absolutely necessary ; the nails were there in the .walls, but the pictures were gone ; that handsome arm-chair and massive table had never been put in by themselves. Where was the rest of the furniture ? Everything betokened a recent and rapid fall in tho fortunes of the tenant. IL?, however, had now at last succeeded in rousing inlo a show of animation the dying embers ; and after warming his hands for a few minutes over the blaze he got up, and, producing a bottle whisky^ from his pantry, mixed a glass of " g r °gi" and then, throwing himself into tho arm-chair, fell a- thinking. A perfect stranger to Dick and his Btory would easily have guessed that the thoughts which- were bringing such a weary look of almost hopelees wretchedness upon that handsome young face were not over-pleasant ones. It was now some six months B. ; nce Dick had fallen out with his father, between whom and himself there had always existed the strongest affection. What was the original cause of quarrel is immaterial. Homo trifle, occurring at an inopportune moment, had set at variance two proud and wilful, though loving, hearts. Hot and bitter words had been Bpoken on both sides. Tho very closeness of the bond which had united them before seemed to make the breach more irremediable 5 and Dick Allen had left his home one night in the summer vacation, refusing all offers of assistance from his father, and determined for the future to hold no communication with him. He had never known what it was to want money, and consequently thought that nothing was easier than to get it go while tho remaisdor of his last quarter's allowance lasted, he lived pleasantly enough at his rooms in college, always on the look-out for some means of making money but not yet considering tho search ob very pressBing or necessary. In fact, ho was quite satisfied in his own mind that to a clever fellow— as ho undoubtedly waß— anything like an approach to want was an impossibility. When his money, however, began to disappear, it occurred to him that his manner of looking for work had perhaps been scarcely energetic enough, and so he determined to eet about making a livelihood without further delay. It would be going over again a thricetold tale to relate tho rebuffs and disappointments that ho met at every step; how he gradually almost lost faith in himself from repeated failure ; how he tried to obtain employment in one way after another, and at last began to think that there was no way whatever open to him. The fact was that poor Dick, though clever enough, had yet never had the training iv the school of poverty which would have enabled him to turn his talents to immediate account. One result of his ill-success in this struggle for a livelihood was that he gradually compelled to drop tho society of his former companions ; for Dick was. far too proud to accept tho assistance many of them would have been glad to give him, and he could not bear to live amongst them in his present altered circumstances. Henco it was that for some months he had lived almost alone. But about a month before the Christ-mas-eve on which we have seen him, he had fallen in with a set of men whom he had formerly avoided almost with contempt, but to whom he was now attracted by a kind of sympathy. They were almost all clever men and all dissipated men— a wild reckless set, nearly every one of them knowing that ho had by his own deeds blighted the prospects of a promising life— utterly careless of the future if only they had to-day the means of drowning tho remembrance of yesterday. Once amongst them, Dick, had aoon given up all effort, as he had before almost given up all hope, to obtain anything like a respectable and permanent position. They lived a strange, disreputable, hand-to-mouth life/getting " tick " wherever there was a chance ; "backing" one another's bills when anyone would accept them ; sometimes, though nob often, making a few pounds in some honourable way. Poor Allen soon lost any delicacy he had had before regarding a resort to the pawnshop ; and hia furniture and most of his wardrobe had gone very rapidly to supply .means for the constant round of dissipation in which he lived, and which had left its mark on his pale, though still handsome and well-bred face. Yet, through all the stage 3 of poor Dick's downward career, he had always one restraining influence upon him which, though at times almost unheeded, never quite left him. This was the affection he had for his younger sister— as ho called her, " little Kate." Squire Allen had been twice married. By his first wife ho had three children— a son and heir, now abroad with his rogiment in India, and two daughters, both of them married for some years before the period of my story. By his second wife ho had our hero Dick and one daughtor, four years younger than Dick. On these, his youngest children, tho squire's wholo affection had been concentrated. Their mother had died a couple of years after Kate's birth • and hence it happened that she and Dick had clung to one another from childhood as children early deprived of a mother's care often do. After tho quarrel with liis father, Dick had regularly corresponded with her, and, knowing her anxiety about him, lie had sent her glowing accounts of success and prosperity, which, I fear, must often have seemed to himself a dismal mockery as he contrasted them with tho actual disappointment that was wearing him down. Kate believed enthusiastically in her brother's talonts, and so was tho more easily imposed upon ; and it was a great comfort to the good-hearted old squire to know from her that tho son whom ho was as fond of as over was at least not in any difficulty. As to an ultimate reconciliation, the elder -and wiser man deemed it merely a question of .time. The day before this Ohrietmaveve, however, Dick had 'seen the last of hia late companions leave Dublin for the Christinas, and bad returned to his solitary rooms perfectly desolato ; ho had felt very ill for some days, and utterly dispirited. Ifc had suddenly occurred to him that Christmas-cro would bo Kato's eighteenth birthday, and knowing she would' wish to hear from him on that day, ho sat down to writo. After a vain effort to control himself and tell the usual talc of success and happiness, the poor fellow had utterly broken down, and in a fow almost incoherent sentances told how ill he felt and how hopeless his condition was, and implored Kate to write to him at once, as he did not know how soon it might all end ; butitcould not last much longer. This ho had hurricdlj posted, almost careless as to tho effect it might have; but row, as ho sat gloomilj thinking in his arm-chair, he could not help feeling bitter disappointment that ho had had no reply. Ho got up, and paced up and down the room. "She might havo telegraphed," ho said aloud ; " sho might even have como to sec me. Though how could she," lie eaid, a moment after, " whilo sho's entertaining a lot of people at homo ? But sho might at least havo telegraphed. Good God, if she'd written

, ■•46'me-like that, nothing would have kept me ■ from hor. 1 '; r- - . .«• 1 These reflections added to tbo bitterness of poor Dick's feelings j for a few minutes 1 more he walked up and down with irresolute ■ steps, then suddenly stopped for a moment, ' as it were to collect himself, took a bottle • from his breast pociet, and setting it down • on the tablo, brought a wine-glass from the > pantry. 1 "As well do it now as at another time " > thought poor Allen, as he held the glass up ;• to the light and began pouring the laudanum ■ into it drop by drop. Ho had counted about t thirty drop?, when suddenly lie heard the > first clang of the bells commencing the Christ- • mas chimes. Somehow tho sound compelled him to stop and listen, and he laid down the bottle and . glass. Then, as he listened, he could not help going over in memory tho many times when, on this night of the year, he had stood in his father's house, with his sister by him, and wished her many a happy birthday ; and lie thought of what that sister's feeliug would bo were she to hear next morning that he had : died a suicide. Thus he stood thinking until • tho chimes had ceased ; and then, softened 1 and more calm, he turned to the table, and . Baid to himself— ; " Not on this night, at any rate ; to-morrow I may be able to do it, so thnt no one may know how I died." * 1 Then it struck him that the laudanum he had already poured out would at least procure him what he soldom enjoyed now— sound sleep ; so, filling up the wine-glass with water, he sat down again by the fire, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. Now while poor Dick wa°) sleeping under the influence of that gentle poison, laudanum, events were Iranspiring far away that strangely influenced his fate. In the great old drawing-room of Allenstown was assembled a large and merry parly. Tho houso was always at that season full of visitors, and as many relations and friends were gathered together as could find room. The centre of attraction on this her birthday was of course Kate, who was, indeed, at all times tho favourite with everybody, from the warm-hearted but hasty old squire, down (0 the raggedest "gossoon" that hung about Allenstown. Yet somehow this night she was not in her usual spirits ; she could not help thinking often and anxiously of the brother whose place was vacant, and who seemed almost cut off from her forever. An accident too had happened in the morning, which, although treated as a jest by most of the guests, had rendered Kate more than usually anxious. The boy who had gone in the morning for the poßt had takeH an early opportunity of drinking Miss Kate's health ; and it was only after a strict search that he was found, in tho middle of tho day, at his old grandmother's collage with a broken head, and, as the old cook said to Kate, " spacheless wid the dhriuk." Speechless or not, he had been utterly unable to indicate the whereabouts of the poshbag, and tho only courso was to wait patiently till he Bloptbiadrunkenmoßs off, and might be able to remember. Kate had been much disappointed, for ehe was sure Dick would have written for her birthday, and in spite of his jovial letters her woman's wit had begun of late to suspect eoniething wrong. Just as they were " driuking in " the Christmas morning, word had been brought that the truant postboy bad at length recovered consciousness, and was leading a party in search of tho missing bag, to that the letters might bo expected any moment. ' They waited, however, a good while longer, laughing and talking round the fire ; but at last, sure enough, in came the old butler with the letters. Kato had a wholo bundlo of them, amongst which she saw in a momont one with Dick's well-known handwriting. After reading for a few moments she suddenly turned deadly pale, and almost fa ; nted. Restraining herself, however, like a brave girl as sho was, she made some oxcuee for leaving tho room, and rushed to the squiro's sanctum, where sho knew ho had juat gone. Bho shut the door and said — "Oh squire, read that!" putting into his hands poor Dick's broken hearted scrawl. The squire read, and gasped out— " Good God ! My poor boy, my poor boy ! What is to be dove? If I had only known!" The father and daughter stood for a few moments, as ifc were, overcome with a great feeling of powerlessnesa to avert the calamity that was ovidently foreshadowed iri the letter. Suddenly the same thought struck both, and they looked at the clock. "Oh father," cried Kate, "couldn't we stop the night mail at Knockrath? They'll do it for you." " God help U3," said the squire ; "the mail passes at five minutes to two, aud it's moro than half-paafc one already. Stay, though," ho added after a moment, " there's just a chance." Ho opened the door, and went at onco into the kitchen, followed by Kate. '• Quick," said tho squire to the servants, who were all at high jinks, "some of you fetch Jim Caesidy ! " In a minute in came Jim, a fine specimen of a young Irishman, tho rough-rider and trainer of the establishment, who had carried tho squire's colours to victory on more than one steeplechase course. "Jim," said the squire, "I want you to ride for your life to Knockrath, and tell the stal ion-master from me to stop the up-mail and keep it a few minutes ; we'll be after you ! Look alive, man ; you've seven miles to go, and scarcely twenty minutes to do it in ! Take Saucy Kate ; she's about tho fastest." "Is it the chaser — " Jim was beginning, in anything but a satisfied tone, when Kate said, "Oh Jim, it's for me; and do ride fast!" " For you, miss ! " cried Jim ; " then, bedad, if Iho gray maro dosn't put hor best leg foremost, you may say I'm no horseman." In a minute or two the gray maro was at r the back door, and Jim Cassidy booted and spurred, and in tho saddle; then, with good wishes from all, he was off, taking tho mare down tho back avenue ata steady canter. A ' few Beconds more and ho had passed tho gate, and the listeners could tell by the rapid 1 thud of the hoofs that Jim was sending Saucy Kato along towards Knocirath at ft rate fow 1 men would have cared to ride on that dark ■ road in tho wild night. In an almost in- ' credibly short space of time (though it seemed • long enough to Kate) the mail-phaeton was brought round, and Kato, muffled up to her 1 eyes in furs and with a driving-cloak of her father's outside of all, was seated in it, 1 and in a moment moro tho squire was ' driving as if lie moant to overtake Jim on ' the gray steeplechaser. Suffice it to • say Jim did his work like a man ; got I up just in time to have tho signals set for • stopping the tfain ; and after a few minutes' 5 delay the train was off again to Dublin, f carrying Kato and the squire on their errand p of love. While they aro coming tfo him as k fasb as steam can bring them, let us take our 1 story-teller's privilege and fly swifter even 1 tban that to poor Dick's clrcerless chamber. 1 There ho lay sleeping peacefully, heedless of • the bitter cold and faßt expiring fire, heedless of p tho miseries of yesterday, heedless of the cerf; tain awakening to tho miseries of to-morrow. ■" And so hour after hour of the night passed 5 on ; and now it is five o'clock, and the college J gates are open to lot tho servants in, and they " bustle about and make a feeble show of life ' in tho dark quadrangles. Another hour I puEßcs, and Dick still bleeps on ; and tho mail i; has reached Dublin, and Kato and his father 5 are hastening to him through tho gloomy ' streets. 13ut gradually, under the restoring ■' power of sleep, tho careworn, look has faded 1 from tho lad's face j and now, as ho • nearing tho waking hour, he began to dream. ■ Ho dreams that he 13 going homo for the > Christmas as he used to go. lie gets out at ' the well-known etatioii j there is old Tom I Byan waiting for him with tho dog-cart. " Now ho is lip and has tho reins in his hnnds, ' and they are off along the old road to Allen- • stown; and Tom is explaining to him that ' " Miss Kato would have come to meet him, 3 but has to entertain the people on her birthk day; but sure he'll be homo in timo lor I lunch." And now with tho speed of a dream he 16 within tho Allenstown gates and enshr ing up the avenue. A moment more tiud lie is in the hall, and thcro aro his father and ■J Kate — L'ut. what) is this? 'Jhe sleeper ia • dimly conscious of Borne break in his dream ; k thero is a, moment of A r ague bewildoririg eifor! s • to awake; and then Dick, struggling to sii up, 7 finds his hand clasped in hisfather'p, and hears fc tho well-known voice, "My poor Dick, my poor F Dick!" And then a mulllcd figure comes to ? the front,- and before Dick is well avrnko he is 1 in ICate'B arms. When he was fully awake 1 nr.d rculiecd the whole scone, ho fairly broke down ai;d burst into tears j and thcro was a I queer huskincss in the squire's voice (ho had 3 seen the laudanum bottle on tho table) as ho 1 gnid, "Dick, old fellow, wove both been k luisl.y ; bui; we'll fhv iio more about, that. " Come along ; there'll bo jiist time to gnteomo 1 breakfast at tho Grcslmm, and then we'll

outph the TJ.3'O, and bo at home for luncheon." And so Dick was in time for luncheon, and spent a fairly merry Christmas • and I have never heard that Kate caught any cold or other ailment from her midnight trip to Dublin.— From the Christmas XTumbcr of London Society.