Puck — April 1877 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘ooded hill. There was a free-growing brier near, through the interstices of which one might command a view of the river-side below and be unseen; and dry leaves about it offered a tempting seat to the weary pedestrian, Mr. Fox stepped to the brier and seated himself slowly, blinking like an old cat that settles down to watch the play of unconscious mice. Unfortunately, he could not make out the words they used; but he could hear their voices and distinguish between Miss Blake’s and Hugh’s. Hugh had most to say; Miss Blake answered briefly and laughed considerably. Very likely he talked nonsense; but most girls like nonsense, especially from a brisk, handsome young fellor Mattie was accustomed to hearing nonsense; for her father kept the ferry-boat inn, and she waited upon the gentlemen who assembled in the coffee-room of evenings to sing and dis- course. ‘These gentlemen were the shop-keep- ers of the village; Sir Humphrey Clinker’s coachman and steward; Mr. Tom Reynolds, Gregory Biron’s head-gardener; occasionally Mr. Fox, and such boating gentlemen as were staying in the house. Of this society she mostly affected Mr. Tom Reynolds. He was a Her- cules in appearance; ruddy of complexion, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, with ponder- | ous limbs, and short, crisp, curling hair that clustered low down on his broad forehead; he was the finest and strongest man of that place, and the village champion of cricket and quoits. Mattie felt proud to have the giant under her subjection. But he never rose above the in- tellectual level of the village people; indeed, he said less to Mattie than those who were not so interested in her. When he entered her pres- ence he said, ‘‘Good evenin’, miss,” and sup- plemented his salutation by such remarks upon the weather as were appropriate to the season. | His eye followed her wherever she went, and | he drank ten times as much ale as he needed, merely for the pleasure of touching her hand when he paid for it. He sang the “Red, White and Blue” every night of the week except Sun- days, growing pale,when asked to sing, and be- ginning with every indication of breaking down in the first verse, as he stared fixedly on Mattie; but when, by dint of turning his glance away and setting it upon her father, who always re- turned his stare, shuffling uneasily in his chair under the basilisk eye, his courage returned, and his powerful voice was not to be contained within four walls. At parting he, in common with other village-folk, shook hands with Mat- tie; and when occasion permitted he said, “Yeu deu look so pretty to-night, miss.” The other gentlemen were less constrained, but their remarks were matter-of-fact and their compli- ments broad. Intellectually, they were as in- ferior to Mr. Hugh Biron as they were in per- sonal appearance. Hugh held an easy flow of small talk, and dashed it with sentiment and poetry, which were not less appreciated by Mattie, perhaps, be- cause at times she could not quite understand what he meant. His compliments were delicate, and his voice soft and musical. There were refinement and taste in everything connected with him. His linen was spotless, his clothes - well-fitting and good, his hands were long and white, and even at this early stage of their ac- quaintance she knew that they were soft and smo How different from the horny palm of Mr. Tom Reynolds! And there was the slightest suspicion of scent when Hugh ap- proached her that made her think disparagingly of the earthly smell Mr. Tom Reynolds brought into her room with him. Hugh was never abashed; he never faltered in speaking to her, and when their eyes met hers fell, not his. She was better pleased to have Hugh for a master than Tom for a slave. Women love above them, PUCK. dilection amongst the inferior animals. Even the sparrow will not accept a mate who cannot thrash her. In comparison ‘Tom was a heavy ox; Hugh a nimble high-spirited horse. Ladies hate ‘‘bulls” instinctively, albeit the creature they shun is the meekest sweet-eyed beast, patient in tilling the soil, useful and harmless; but no lady sees a prancing horse without a desire to pat his neck and caress him, despite the knowledge that he may kick and bite, and run away from her if he can. When Hugh was saying good-bye he found several questions to ask about Miss Blake’s ar- rangements for to-morrow; but he held her hand, although the parting salutation was said. He was as conscious as Mattie was that he held her hand beyond the customary length of time; she could read that in his eyes when she dared to look up to them. rather more pressure than was absolutely con- sistent with forgetfulness. all his questions, and he yet held her hand. She tried to disengage it. It was but a pre- tence; she did not want to remove her hand. “How odd!” said Hugh; “I have holding your hand all this time.” He looked at the hand still in his, and was about to say, “What a pretty little hand!” as an excuse for kissing it, but he found it rather large and decidedly red, so he turned his eyes to her whiter and softer and prettier face. “Your cheeks are like pink-and-white apples that tempt one to feast,” said he. She blushed, but did not move, although she saw his lips approaching. Only when he had been kissed her and dropped her hand, she turned | upon her heel and ran away. Mr. Fox rose refreshed, and walked home. He was in high spirits; and in the evening went to the Ferry-boat, and took a seat beside the host. He bowed with polite deference to Mat- tie, and remarked as he did so that the young lady flushed. He spoke of his dear young master, Mr. Hugh Biron, and noticed that she became at once interested. “You don’t know him, Mr. Blake, do you?” questioned Fox. “Nao,” said Mr. Blake, in a tone of voice that signified he did not regret the loss of his | acquaintance. “He daon’t trouble you much,” suggested Sir Humphrey Clinker’s man. “Nao,” responded Blake, in the same tone, his eyes fixed on the bowl of his long clay. “He is a noble young man,” exclaimed Fox; “the handsomest, cleverest, most generous warm-hearted gentleman in the county.” “Then he daon’t take arter the old man,” said Blake, with an emphatic nod. “The offspring are frequently unlike their parents,” said Mr. Fox, glancing at Mattie; and I dare say you can tell us, Mr. Reynolds, of many peculiarities of the same kind in bo- | For instance, the seedlings from | tanical life. a streaked pelargonium may be perfectly white.” “Yes, and some on ’em has spots,” replied Tom Reynolds, interested rather in establishing a fact than in assisting allegory. “Of course, and vice versa.” ‘Never heerd o’ them; but carnations will, so'll picotees.”” “Just so. And thus it is with this Mr. Hugh. I may say, without disrespect to my employer, that his grandson is unlike him in every re- spect.” “Good job too,” said the representative of Sir Humphrey Clinker. ‘The feud between the Birons and Clinkers extended to their servants, and there were fre- quent skirmishes between ‘Tom Reynolds and Sir Humphrey's George. “What Master Fox says is quiet true,” said | Tom Reynolds. ‘The young governor is the Besides, he exercised | e had answered | | got no one to match him on yeour side of the | brick wall.” Tom looked straight at the corner | of the ceiling, but his remark was intended for | him of the rival house of Clinker. “And he'll be not only the handsomest and | noblest man of these parts, but the wealthiest,” | said Mr. Fox. “Sooner the better,” said Sir Humphrey's man. . “T call upon Mr. Reynolds for a song,” said the host, who saw dissension breeding. | Mr. Fox was alone with Hugh for a few min- | utes before going to bed, and he mentioned his visit to the Ferry-boat. “You don’t go there?” said he. “Ah, it is | hardly the place for a gentleman like you. I have not heard you speak of Miss Blake, and of course you would, had you seen her. The most marvellously beautiful girl I have ever seen. You will think that an old fellow of my age should do something else than trouble his head about women. It is only my head that is con- cerned, sir, not my heart. Were I younger, that might go too.” “Js the young lady very beautiful?” asked Hugh, with ill-affected unconcern. ‘0 my eyes she is peerless. One of those exquisite faces that strike you with their intrinsic beauty less than they suggest the grace, delicacy, and sweetness of a pure feminine mind. You understand me, sir?” “Thoroughly. That is what I—I—I—what I always think so beautiful in women’s faces.” “Precisely. ‘The family is very old—good stock—connected with the historical family of the same name. Unfortunately, the position of the father must materially hinder the deve- lopment of the daughter’s intellect; neverthe- less there she is—a gem. Alas, poor girl! it may be that, falling into the possession of some unlettered clod, without the ability or desire to improve her, her real and true value may be never known. On the other hand, some man of feeling—some man who looks beneath the sur- face before he rejects the stone that falls in his way—may by the mere polishing discover him- self the ps or of such a diamond as shall blaze a Kohinoor amongst diamonds. Ah me! why do we grow old? Good night, Mr. Hugh.” At that moment Hugh was not sufficiently in love to be critical about the social or intel- lectual status of Mattie Blake, nor did he need argument to convince him that she was charm- ing. He was interested of course in what Mr. Fox said. We take a handful of dry seed and a handful of moist earth, and wonder how anything beauti- ful can spring from the simple union of the two; but the result is clearly seen by the cultivator. Mr. Fox’s seed was sown on good soil and took root, threw out leaves, grew, blossomed, bore fruit, and all within a fortnight. By that time Hugh loved Mattie madly, and she returned his passion—less ardently perhaps, because she was less poetical, and the passion was not so novel to her. He became concerned about her pro- nunciation of certain words, her abuse of the letter 4, the unnecessary emphasis she sought to obtain by the multiplication of negatives, and her ignorance of classical literature. Under the trees he read Keats and Tennyson to her, and for her private study gave her handsome copies of Shakspeare and Thackeray, hoping these would wean her from literature of the penny-a-week sort. Mattie struggled bravely to like Shakspeare and read him. With wo- manly instinct she began at the end of the book, as being the most interesting part of books in general, and she cried with mortification in the vain endeavor to understand the Sonnets. She got on better with Thackeray; but a page-and- a-half invariably sent her to sleep, and she dreamed of the baronets and beetle-browed villains of the penny-weekly. Better still, she never below. Instances exist of parallel pre- | finest young fellow in these parts, and you've | liked to listen to Hugh reading; for he explained comicbooks.,