LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 734, 26 October 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

EVE : AN IDYLL. ( Continued.) ‘Would your ladyship like to try it ? Why should you not go to see my cousin’s wedding ? It is not far. Eour horses would take you there in an hour, although the road is somewhat rough ; and how honoured they would feel if your ladyship would but give them your countenance. ’ ‘ Nay, if I go it shall not be to honour or be honoured. I will be a country lass for the nonce, just to see how it feels. You shall get me a dress, and take me as your friend.’ And as she spoke the novelty of the idea brought light into her eyes and a ring of gladness into her voice. ‘ Can it be done, think you. Prudence, nobody knowing ? ’ . ‘Oh 7 my lady, ’twould be charming, cried Prudence, as delighted with the scheme as her mistress ; ‘ just like a playacting. I will get a dress in which your ladyship will look divine. We will go to the shop of a friend in the city, whom I can trust. You send the carriage home, and we can slip out by the back door, take a hackney-coach to a farm house near my uncle’s, then walk across the fields, and arrive at the merry making like two country women. Oh ! it will be pure ! But what will you be called ?’ ‘ While I am about it, I will have no less a name than that of the mother of all living. I will be Eve—Eve Woodley. It was my nurse’s name, and seems a friendly one. ’ ‘ Now, then, to provide a dress for your ladyship. I will about it instantly; there are but three days first.’ And so Prudence left the Countess to her repose and much more pleasurable thoughts than she enjoyed before ennui was dissipated by a new idea. Chapter ll. —Country. We change the scene to a rural village some five miles from London, Yes, reader, a rural village, Incredible as it may seem, in those days there were rural villages so near the metropolis.

In a pretty cottage room we find two young women. In one we recognise at once our old friend Prudence, looking in her best finery a very good specimen of her class; but in the other we certainly should fail to discover anyone we have ever seen before. She is a brilliant brunette of some three or four and twenty summers—a smiling, blushing, beaming beauty. Her face and figure are set off to the best advantage by the most becoming and coquettish of rustic dresses. A chintz gown, all flowered with branching pink roses, is drawn up gracefully over a quilted rose-coloured petticoat; and a little gipsy hat, with a tiny cap beneath it, all trimmed with rose-coloured ribbons, surmounts her [magnificent black hair, which, raised on a cushion in front, falls in a profusion of glossy curls behind : altogether as pretty a piece of Dresden china as a collector could wish to place on his shelf or enshrine in his cabinet.

Who would suppose that in this simple rustic belle he saw a proud court beauty—the magnificent, the capricious, the idolised Countess of Millamant ? The difference of hair and complexion are striking enough; but the whole manner and bearing are changed. With her fine clothes she has laid aside fine airs, and now appears a sweet child of nature, joyous, simple, and true. The fact is, the novelty of her situation and surroundings had imparted new happiness to her mind ; and the aspects of nature, from which she had been so long estranged, give reality to her feelings and life to her movements.

Prudence stood lost in admiration before her, ‘ Surely, surely, my lady, you look more purely handsome than ever you did in your life. No one will have any eyes for the bride, though she’s a buxom lassie, and I pity all the lads who look at you.’ Lady Millamant affected to chide, but the consciousness of transcendent beauty mantled in her cheek and glanced in her eye, and she walked through the fields to the scene of festivity with a lighter heart and more elastic step than ever she trod the palace floors of St James’s.

On their arrival the merriment was at its height, and it must be owned a prettier picture was never presented to the eye. The richly-wooded landscape wore its best attire in the leafy month of June. The sun shone brightly, birds carolled their sweetest, brooks prattled their loudest, and the perfume of flowers and new-mown hay filled the air, till every sense was charmed. The picturesque old house was almost covered with creeping plants and climbing roses, and around it, on homely chairs and rustic benches, sat the elders of the village, in sober suits, with calm, yet happy faces, gazing o» the scene ; while the young people, gaily clad in the picturesque fashion of the day, danced to the sound of the fiddle, or sat beneath the trees, whispering the old, old story, to the music of sighs. It was, in short, an exceptionally pretty rustic gathering; hosts and guests were alike removed far above poverty, without seeking to aim at gentility—less tempted perhaps to that rather perilous ambition, in those days of comparative little intercourse, than they might be now, when most classes are but a bad imitation of those above them.

The bride and bridegroom especially were unusually interesting ; the bride lovely, and the bridegroom loving, as is beseeming ; and all the assembly seemed to sympathise with, and rejoice in, their happiness. Lady Millamant was introduced as a friend, and welcomed with rustic cordiality. Immediately the country lads, forgetting their sweethearts and their sports, turned to gaze with a mixture of awe and admiration at the travestied Countess, whose wonderful beauty, and an air of grace and refinement which no disguise could conceal, astonished as much as it delighted them ; but of all the band, one only stepped forward and approached her. A handsome, strapping young fellow, with a fine shape, and a bright blue eye, which seemed likely to make havoc in the hearts of the fair. His dress was plain, and might have been worn either by a gentleman engaged in country pursuits, or by a gamekeeper or farm bailiff as his Sunday suit. It was, at all events, neat, clean, and becoming, and was worn with an ease and grace that many a man of quality might have envied. He addressed the stranger, who was foy the time being * the cynosure of neighbouring eyes.’ How the rustic swains longed to imitate the self-possession with which he chatted to the beauty. They only dared admire from a distance, whilst he bore her off in triumph to take part in the dance about to begin. Why, they asked one another, should he have a better chance than themselves? He was staying at a small inn in the neighbourhood, with neither servants nor equipage of any kind, passing his time in fishing, and might reasonably be supposed to be of the same class as themselves, and they grumbled accordingly. But grumble as they might, they could not but admire, as the pair floated by. It was the very poetry of motion. Two exceedingly handsome young people, possessed apparently by the same feeling, governed by the same impulse, they danced as though one soul animated both bodies. And what was passing in their minds the while ? Into hers at least we may venture to peep, and I may tell you that the pror dominant feeling was astonishment at the flood of rapture which seemed to, fill her heart. Yes, the tender glances of those bright eyes, bhxe as a glimpse of Heaven, met for the first time amid the charms of nature, without any meretricious surroundings to divert her attention from their influence, warmed the cold heart of the Countess, as none had ever warmed it before. She seemed to tread on air, and hung upon his words: a happy flush was on her cheek, a happy light Avithin her eyes ; and none at that moment could have recognised the cold, capricious Countess of Millamant, who stole so many hearts, and scorned them all. They talked familiarly, and he told her his name Avas Ealph Stedman ; that he was bailiff to a great lord in the Avest, and had come there after some horses and hounds for iris master, amusing himself meanAvhile with fishing. And she, driven to her Avits’ end for a tale to tell, yet determined not to betray her identity, which, as it seemed to her, would break the spell and dissipate a happy dream, said that she lived with her friend, Prudence May, and plaited straw to make fine ladies’ hats, and gained a livelihood as best she might. And so they danced and talked," and looked into each other’s eyes, till both were far gone in that sweet delusion which some call love, and some but idle folly. The Countess had forgotten all her airs and affectations, and seemed a sweet child of nature, all unspoiled by art; Avhile he, though but a rustic swain, graced

by some tincture of manners and refine* ment, seemed to her one of nature’s noblemen ; and she cared for naught beside. ‘Fair Eve,’he said, ‘would I were Adam for thy sake —fain would I dwell with thee for ever, though Paradise was lost. Say, how shall we meet again. Night is approaching, when we must part. Oh ! doubly night, when thou art gone. Tell me where to find thee, or I shall die I’

* Nay, this is overbold, can you expect a modest maiden to give meetings to a man she has seen but once ’ Oh, fie !’

‘ Why fie ? Not fie at all. We are alike in age, in station, and as I hope, in temper, and in taste. Most lovely maid, more lovely in thy simple charms than the court belles in their brocades and paint, from the first moment I beheld you, all my heart was thine. Look kindly on my suit. When shall we meet again V She thought, ‘He little knows how unlike lam to what I seem. I must not go ;’ but she said, ‘ I cannot promise, yet mayhap to-morrow Prudence and I may take an early walk—should the sun but shine—if not, we stay at home in yonder cottage by the stream.’

Could anything be plainer? The lover’s heart beat high with joy. He thought the prize his own, and was profuse in protestations. But then the Countess, half frightened at her own rashness, called to Prudence; who came unwillingly, loath to quit her own share of the sport; and with many thanks took leave of the worthy folks, whom she had puzzled at least as much as pleased. Ralph longed to follow her, but fearing by too much eagerness to lose the place in her good graces he had gained, he most reluctantly forbore. As they walked towards the cottage Prudence expected her lady to be eager to get back to town in time for that night’s rout, the hackney coach awaiting them; but no. ‘ I shall not return to-night. Why not sleep here? Your friends sure can keep us one night, and then to-morrow, if the sun shines, we will walk down by the river, and listen to the carol of the birds ! ’T will be a pleasant pastime for the nonce. 5 Prudence was amazed as much as she could be by any new caprice.of her capricious mistress ; but this also pleased herself. She encouraged her lady in the whim. The hackney coach was dismissed, charged with a message to my lady’s people that she would bide in the country for a time; and the Countess slept that night a sweeter sleep on her rough pallet than ever on her bed of down, and dreamed most blissful dreams, in which one manly form appeared. (To be continued.)