LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5191, 23 December 1884, Page 3

LITERATURE.

OLD MAN BUZBY'SLAST CHRISTMAS CARVING. I can only tell the one story, for there is only the one story to tell. Heaven knows it is sad and strange and miserable enough, without adding anything to it or taking anything away. I remember perfectly we _ the morning Mr Buzby first spoke to me about it. The boarders were all through breakfast, the gentlemen appeared to have gone to business, and the ladies to their own rooms. Mr Buzby stood at the top of the basement stairs. There was a haircloth sofa there that used to belong to ma. Mr Buzby had his overcoat on, and hie heavy gold-headed cane in his hand. I never said that Mr Buzby was a handsomeold man. That would have been absurd. His face was too red, his ears too large, his eyes too small, and his form and features altogether too pudgy. But what I did say, and what I still maintain is, that there is a certain inonied air about some people tliat gives them a distinctive charm I never was mercenary. I married Percy Somers whci he had a miserable salary, which woii'i probably havo remaiaed miserable t-- this day had it not been for my diligent but misguided efforts to enhance our income by taking ma's furniture and setting up a boarding-house. Percy may say what he pleases, and the whole house may equivocate and disclaim, and all that sort of thing, but there is no doubt about it, that Mr Buzby was treated by everybody with that indefinable deference that springs from faith in a heavy bank account and first mortgages. When he told me he had something cf importance to say to me, my heart was in my throat, for I thought Mrs Buzby had contrived at last to coax him away. She had been repeatedly heard to say that it would be such a comfort to her to take Mr Buzby and go home and spend Christmas with her mamma. But it would have been a great discomfort to me. Besides being most liberal and generous in all his dealings with the house, his permanency gave it a solid air of prosperity which could not be overestimated. As I told Percy, it was worth a groat deal to ns to have a cab come around for him on rainy days, and the whole^ neighbourhood see hi— i g-et iv and out of it with the air of a man to whom cabs were a necessity, and not a luxury. I did not 2>articularly blame Mrs Buzby for manoeuvring to get her husband to board with her own people. They lived in a poor sort of way across town, and needed the golden goese in tho home nest, and if, as people said, she had married the old man, in an enterprising spirit, to help her family along, her exertions were perhaps praiseworthy and natural ; that they had not succeeded was owing to silt lila r exertions of my own in behalf of myself and family. I don't pretend to deny that I made it as comfortable for Mr Buzby -as I could, and was relieved and delighted when he drew me down- to a seat bo<?i<.e him on ma's old hair-doth sofa, and whispered in my ear that he wautcd to talk to me about hia usual Christmas gift to Mrs Buzby. I didn't mind tht Al iy infatoatioof the old man for his wife, so long as it took the shape of a Christmas present. It might not be a very attractive shape, judging from his previous efforts in tir. at lino, but that was hi* wife's misfortune ay. <1 ■ not mine. My <"< lour ca_e and went wi.h

1. 1 ig_^ _ a_ —_— aa— ■ ■ ©very passing emotion, and I was blushing with relief and j^le— sure when Percy came up tho kitchen stairs. Mr Buzby ■was so taken up with his project that he #nly smiled vaguely upon my husband, and made room for him to pa3S. " I want to do a little of my customary carving for Chriatmas," said the old gentleman in hia asthmatic whisper. I looked at him in surprise, for the carving had always been done in the butler's pantry, but I supposed it was some oldfashioned idea of his to have the Christmas meats upon the Christmas board, and I would havo been glad to humour him if the proposition ha .d not seemed to include the participation of a lot of vultures, for everybody knew that there were some people in the house that would think nothing of picking a fowl to its bones before my very eyes. " I couldn't think of yo^ir taking that trouble," I said; "you've no idea how many turkeys it takes to go around." "Turkeys! God bles3 your soul, it isn't a turkey I want to carve ; it's a Christmas present for Mi 3 Buzby. I've decided upon a comb this time." " A comb ?" Pechoed. " Yes, a comb, cut out of solid ivory. Hey ! what do you think of that ? She has probably told you that all that wood-carv-ing in our room is the work of my own hands?" "Yes/ I said; for their walls wore covered with a remarkable collection of brackets, work-baskets, miniature frames, &c., that Mr Buzby had wasted time and patience and money upon, when he could nave bought much prettier articles for half the csst. " She told you, didn't she, that for twelve consecutive years I have planned, originated, and executed her Christmas presents?" " Yes," I said, and might have added that it waß my impression she thought it was about time he turned his attention to another kind of a gift,' for I happened to know that Mrs B. waa driven to distraction sometimes! what to do with the miserable gimcracks that lined her walls. On sweeping days particularly she had to dust them herself, for Bhe had pretended to her husband that t_ ey were as dear to her as the apple of her eye, and. Bridget had declared if they were left to her, she'd make " smithereens of 'em." It was amusing to see Mrs B. go into ecstasies of admiration over the monstrosities of her husband before his face, and when his back was turned, look upon them with , n-disgriised hatred and disgust ; and I've often laughed to myself when I've been dusting in the next room, to hear the poor woman whack and bang, and almost swear under hei breath over the frustrations of life in general, and her husband's Christmas presents in particular. " Ah," I said, " people's 3ly machinations sometimes work out their own retribution," little thinking how the remark might afterward apply. "An ivory comb will look well in Maria's hair, don't you think so ?" said Mr Buzby. Mrs Buzby's hair was a dull carroty colour, of that peculiar quality and quantity that the less attention that was directed to it the better ; but ib was not my place to find fault with his wife's hair, nor yet with his peculiar method of adorni_g it. " And anyway," he continued, " I've j always wanted to try what I could do in ivory." Of courae he had. That was the whole secret of his undertaking. I never knew a raan yet that didn't please himself first, and then declare it was all for the* gratification of his wife. " Anybody can go out and buy a Christmas present," said Mr Buzby. Such a yearning took possession of my features, and such a throbbing sigh welled up from my innermost being, when Mr Buzby spoke of the facility some people had for going out and purchasing what they wanted, that I supposed the old j gentleman divined my feelings, for he patted my hand and looked down upon me sympatk i singly. "It is not everybody, alas, tliat has the requisite means," I faltered, in a broken voice ; and he looked down upon •me still more sympathisingly as the tearo gathered i_ raj eyes ; and he had such a good heart, and such lots of money, that there was no knowing what kindness he might have been prompted to, if thnt detestable Mrs Smith irom the third 3tory fronti hadn't come p kins down. o" Excuse me," she said, in her mincing way, " but 1 want to ask the lavour of a hot iron ; " and she looked first at Mr Buzby, then at me, with that vulgar prying curiosity that allows pretty well what a woman's breeding is. I kntw she wanted to bake her crimps, and almost hoped she'd bum them to a cinder, as she had several times before. . Whatever impulse of generosity Mr Buzby might have had was speedily put to Sight by the apparition of this old busybody, and he went back to the. ab3urd idea that had taken possession of his somewhat feeble mind. " It is not so ea&j to accom;..! ish, a work c£ this kind," he said. " There's the design, you see, to be studied out, the proper kind of material to be purchased, and there's the selection of the tools. . It takes a great deal of time, and it is now the 29th of November." I knew the time of the year pretty well without his telling me, when Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year' 3 all come in a bunch, and a laig dinner and lots of dainties have to be provided for each, without any extra charge to the consumers. " And I'll tell you what you can do for iae," said the old gentleman, bending his .head close to mine and speaking very low. " You see, the chief charm in the whole thing is the surprise to Mr 3 Buzby. I've always surprised her. She's never been able to form any conjecture of the precise nature of my Chriatmas offering." "They've been so very extraordinary," I said; and Heaven knows they had. "But this will surpass tlcm all," he exclaimed. "Don't you thlik my dear Maria will be astonished ?" " She'll be electrified," I said, though in truth I was afraid that his di.ir Maria was prepared for anything. " But remember," he said, in a husky whisper— for he had talked himself quite hoarse — " remember, the least imprudence would ruin our plan." Just at that moment Mrs Jones, from the second story hack, turned the corner of the staircase, and went on down to the kitchen, without apparently taking much notice of either Mr Buzby or me. I had never objected to my boardera running down to the kitchen for anything they wanted, but the ingratitude of some people is sharper than a serpent's tooth. "You see, I'll have to hare a sort of laboratory or studio," pursued Mr Buzby, .*"•' where I shall not be seen or disturbed. I've been thinking that a corner of the glass extension off your back parlour would be the very thing. There would be a capital light there -, the place is unused ; c«id I could slip in and out, and work away all unnoticed. My wife will think - 1 am down town, and I'll take good care that nobody sees me." At that moment up came Mrs Jones again. By this time the old man's wheezy whisper cut the' air. I was afraid Mrs Jones had heard his secret, and would blurt it all around ; but Mr Buzby was so engrossed in his plan, he seemed to care for nothing but my consent to his somewhat singular proposal.