LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7062, 14 January 1891, Page 1

LITERATURE.

ON GREENHOW HILL.

[By Etjdyard Kipling.] {ITacnunau's Magazine.) (Continued.)

*' "Wot'a the use o' worrittin' 'bout these things?" said Ortheris. "You're bound to find all out quicker nor you want to, any'ow." He jerked the cartridge out of the breech ed-block into the palm of his hand. " 'Ere'a nay chaplain," he said, aud made the venomous black-headed bullet bow like a marionette. "'E's goin' to teach a man all about which is which, an' wot's true after all, before sundown. But wot 'appened after that Jock ?"

" There was one thing they boggled at an almost Bhnt th' ({ate i' my face for, 'and that were my dog Blast,— th' only one Bayed out o' a litter o' pups as was blowed up when a keg o 1 minin'-powder loosed off in th* storekeeper's hut. They liked his name no better than his business, which wbb fightin' every dog he corned across — a rare good dog, wi' spots o' black and pink on his face, one ear gone, and lame o' one side wi* being driven in a basket through an iron roof a matter o' half a mile.

" They said I mnn give him up, 'cause he were worldly and low ; and would I let mysen be shut out of Heaven for the sake on a dog ? • Nay-,' Bays I, ' if th' door isn't wide enough for th' pair on us we'll stop outside, for we'll none be parted.' And th' preacher spoke up for Blast as had a likin' for, him from th' first, — I reckon that was why I come to like th' preacher, — and wouldn't hear o' changin' his name into Bles3, as some o' them wanted. So th' pair on us become reg'lar chapel-members. But it's hard for a young chap o' my build to cat traceß from th' world, th' flesh, and th' devil all ay a heap. Yet I stack to it for a long time, while th' lads aa used to stand about th' townend, an' lean over th' bridge spittin' into th' beck of a Sunday, -would call after me — 'Sitha, Learoyd, when's ta baan to preach, 'cause we're comin' to hear tha ?' ' Hod tha jaw. He hasn't gotten th' white choaker on ta morn', another lad would cay. And I had to double my fists hardi' th' bottom of my Sunday coat and say to mysen,—' If 'twere Monday, and I warn'fc a member o' th' Primitive Methodists, T'd leather all the lot o' yond.' That was th' hardest of all,— to know as I could fight and I mustn't fight. (Sympathetic grunts from Mulvaney.) So what wi* aingin', practi&in', and class-meetin's, and th' big fiddle as ho made me take between my knees, I apent a deal o' time i' Jesse Roantree'a house-place. But often as I was there, th' preacher fared to me to go of tener, and both th' old man and th' young woman were pleased to have him. He lived i' Pately Brigg, as were a goodish step off, but he como.-^he come all the same. I liked him as well or better as any man I'd ever seen i' one way, and yet I hated him wi' all my heart i' t'other, and we watched each other like cat and mouse, — but civil aa you please, for I was on ma best behaviour, and be was that fair and open that I was bound to be fair with him. Bare good company he waß, if I hadn't wanted to wring his clever little neck half of the time. Often and often when he was goin' from Jesses I'd set him a bit on the road." "See 'im 'ome, you" mean?" said Ortheris.

" Ay. It's a way we have i' Yorkshire o' eeein' friendß off. Yon was a friend an I didn't want to come back, and he didn't want me to come back neither, and so we'd walk together towards Pately, and then he'd set me back again ; and there we'd be till two o'clock i' th' mornin' settin' each other to an' fro like a blasted pair o' pendulums 'twixt hill and valley long after th' light had gone out i* Liza'swindow as both on ub had been looking at, pretendin' to watce the moon."

"Ah l". broke in Mnlvaney, "ye'd no ohanst against the maraudin' psalm-singer. They'll take the airs an' the graces instid ay the man nine time out ay ten, an' they only find the blunder later — the wimixen."

"Thafß just where yore wrong," said Learoyd, reddening under the freckled tan of hu cheek. " I was th' first wi' Liza, and yo'd think that were enough. But th' parson were a ateady-gaited sorto' chap, and Jeßse were strong o' his side, and all th' women i' th' congregation dinned it to 'Lisa 'at she were fair fond to take up wi' a wastrel ne'er-do-weel like me as was scarcelins respectable, and a fighting-dog at Mb heels. It was aU very well for her to be doing me good and saving ma boul, but aha must mind aa elie didn't do herself harm. They talk o' rich folk beia' stuckup an' genteel, but for cast-iron pride o' respectability there's naught like poor chapel-folk. They're as cold as th' wind o' Greenhow Hill,— ay, and colder, for they never change. And now I come think on it, one o' strangest things I know is that they couldn't abide th' thought o' soldiering. There's a vast o* fightin' i' th' bible, and there's a deal of Methodists i' th' army ; but to hear chapel-folk talk yo'd think that Boldierin* were next door, an' t'other Bide, to hangin'. I' their meetin's all their talk is o' fightin'. When Sammy Strother were stuck for summat to say in his prayers, he'd sing out, Th' sword o' th' Lord and o' Gideon ! They were allus at it about puttin' on th' whole armour o' righteousneEß and fightin' th' good fight o' faith. And then, atop o' 't all, they held 'a prayer-meetin' ower a young chap as wanted to 'list, and nearly deafened him till be picked up his hat and fair ran away. And they'd tell tales in th' Sunday School o" bad lads aa haa been thumped and brayed for bird-nesting o' Sundays and playing truant o' week-daya, and how they took to wreatlin,' dog-fightin,' and rabbit-runnin,' and drinkin' till, at the last, as if 'twere a hepitaph on a grave-stone, they damned him acroßß th' moors wi', And tlien he went and 'listed for a soldier — an' they'd all fetch a deep breath and throw up their eyes like a hen drinkin'."

" Why is it ?" said Mulvaney, bringing down hia hand on his thigh with a crack. "la the name ay God, why is it ? I've seen it tu. They cheat, an' they swindle, and' they lie, an' they slander, an' fifty things fifty times worse, but the last an' the worst by their reokonin' is to serve the Queen honest. It's like the talk ay childer — seem' things all round."

" Plucky lot of fightin' good fights of whatsername they'd do if we didn't see they 'ad a quiet place to, fight in. And such flghtin' as theirs is! Cai3 on the tiles — t'other callin' to which to come on. I'd give a month's pay to get some o* them broad-backed beggara in London sweatin' through a day's road-makin' an' a night's rain. They'd carry on a deal afterwards,— Bame as we're auppoae to carry on. I've bin turned out of a measly arMicenae pub down Lambeth- way fullo' greasy kebmen, 'fore now," said Ortheriswith an oath.

" Maybe you were drunk," eaid MulTaney soothingly. " Worße nor that. The Kebbieß were drunk ; I was wearin' the Queen's uniform."

"I'd no particular thought to be a soldier i' them days," said Learoyd, Btill keeping hia eye oa the bare hillside opposite j " But this sort o' talk put it i' my head. They waß bo good, th' chapelfolk, that they tumbled ower t'other side. Bat I stuck to it for 'Liza's sake, specially as ghe was learnia' me to sing th' baas part iv % horitorio as Jesse were getten' up. She enng like a throstle hersen, and we had practising night after night for a matter o J three months."

• "I know what a horitorio is," maid Ortberis pertly. " It's a aort o' chaplain's

sing-song, words all out of the Bible and hullabaloojah choruses." " Most Greenhow Hill folks played some instrument or other, an' they all sung so as you might have heard 'em miles away, an' they were so pleased wi' the noise they made, they didn't fare to want anybody to listen. Th' preacher sung high seconds when he wasn't playin' th' flute ; an' they set me, as hadn't got far wi' th' big fiddle, again Willie Satterthwaite to jog his elbow when he had to get agate playin'. Old Jesse was happy if ever a man was ; for he were th' conductor, an' th' first fiddle an' th' leadin' singer ; beatin' time wi' hia fiddle-stick, tiil he'd rap with it on th' table and cry out, 'Now yo mun all stop, it's ma turn ; ' an' he'd face round to hia front, fair Bweatin' wi' pride, to sing th' tenor solos. But he were grandest i' th' choruses, waggin' his head, fiingin' his arms round like a windmill, and singin' hisself black in th' face. A rare singer were Jesse.

"Yo see I was not o' much account wi' 'em all exceptia' to 'Liza Eoantree, and I had a deal o' time, aetfciu' quiet at meetin's and horitorio-practises, to hearken their talk ; and if were strange to me at beginnin' it got stranger still at after when I was shut on it and could Btudy what it meaned.

(To be col

mtinaed.)