LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 736, 28 October 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BY THE SAD SEA WAVES. The waves are rolling in slowly, the rows of cottages and the one hotel are bathed in an unbroken and a garish flood of light; the beach is dotted with the usual specimens of * the human form divine 5 that one sees at the sea shore ; while the inevitable small child trots around übiquitously, overshadowed by a large amount of hat, and displaying an amazing brevity of skirt, and much (oh, very much !) of bare, mottled leg. Lastly, here am I, uncomfortably seated on a pile of wood, the centre of a swarm of gnats, trying to look as if I enjoyed it, and conscious that I am failing miserably. It is not one of populous places, resorted to by fashion ; but a little primitive beach, sought by those who require cheapness or privacy. ‘lf, 5 I meditate, ‘I could only think of an appropriate poem, perhaps I might be able to get enthusiastic over that dreary sweep of water. There’s nothing else for me to do. 5 Poetry is not my strong point, and I rack my brain for at least three minutes. At last the lines come : * The sea, the sea, the open sea ! The blue, the fresh, the 5 A woman’s voice, close at hand, says * roast veal. 5 What else I hear not, for those two words carry my thoughts forward to dinner. But no—vain hope—dinner is still a thing of the future. At this point the aforesaid small child sets up a dismal howl, and flies in abject terror from * some dread monster of the deep 5 (length, one inch and a half) that its grubbing has disinterred. Its fright gives me malicious pleasure; but even that does not last long, and after a long yawn, I rise to go. But at this moment a figure in lilac gingham comes in sight, and I sit down to wait. She comes along with light, easy steps, and presently she drops down silently beside me. She is a girl of twenty-two, with wavy auburn hair, and a pair of deep-set grey eyes with dark brows and lashes ; her mouth is somewhat wide, and her nosejshort and retrouss6 ; but the lilac gown shows off every curve of a superb figure, and her skin is prettily tinted. Somehow people always look twice at her. ‘ Well ?’ I say, lazily interrogative. ‘ Well ?’ she echoes. ‘ Look here, Deborah. If I get so bored in this place that I drown myself, just remember, please, that you brought me here. 5 * Why, Ottalie 5 1 begin, withaggrieved sharpness. ‘ Perhaps you didn’t,’ she interrupts, contradictorily but placidly. ‘ That is what you are going to say, and I daresay it’s true. I did want to come to the sea-side and—as we had to bury ourselves somewhere, this antediluvian place, Sone, was as good as any other. And the sea is always nice, you know : only, 5 her big eyes turn wrathfully seaward— 1 there is a little too much of it here, and nothing of anything else ! Such a caddish set of people could not have collected at any place but Sone. 5 1 As for the people, Ottalie, I had an idea we wanted to avoid society. Besides, Sone is cheap 5 1 And nasty, 5 puts in my sister. ‘Why do you indulge in these words, Ottalie? Sone is not bad, though there is no circulating library, 5 I go on ; 1 nothing fit to eat, and no sleep to be had for the gnats. I end by making a frantic lunge at one of the enemy—of course I miss him. I always do. Ottalie laughs. 1 Poor old Deb, you are getting on bravely. Novels, eating and sleeping—sure signs of spinsterhood 1 Don’t think I say it reproachfully. I wonder s —clasping her hands fiercely— 1 why people ever marry ? 5 1 I’m sure I don’t know. 5 1 If aunt Rebecca would only die, and go to heaven, 5 she goes on meditatively, c we should be rich. 5 1 And what if we were rich ? 5 ‘We could go away ever so far: where nobody would ever see or find us, 5 1 Afghanistan’s a good place, 5 I say, dryly. ‘ Yes! 5 she says, with a short laugh. ‘ Only aunt Rebecca won’t. Though she is not a bit of use down here—except to sing hymns, 5 1 You ought to be ashamed, Ottalie. 5 ‘ I’m not, 5 she says, cheerfully, * You are always wishing, yourself, that aunt Rebecca was gone somewhere. 5 I wisely affect not to hear. ‘ Let us go over to the inlet, 5 she adds, jumping up; ‘ anything’s better than sitting here. 5 The inlet is a small bay, chiefly remarkable for its calmness, solitude, and gnats. But why it should have been named the inlet, nobody seems to know. ‘Sometimes I think all this must be a dream,’ Ottalie says, as we saunter along in the heat. ‘ How things have changed! What a contrast it presents to the day when we were with papa, and he was flourishing. This is a wretched life. 5 *lt is a little better than your life last year, Ottalie, 5 She turns away quickly; but presently begins to hum a tune. Wretched I know it is for her, but any reference to the past she will not hear me. Five minutes later we stand on the edge of the water. Ottalie points to a small rowing boat. 1 See, 5 she says, ‘ that boat is what I’ve been trying to get ever since we came here. We’ll borrow it for a little while, Deb. 5 1 Borrow it ? 5 1 Just to sit in,’ she says, jumping in, 1 Oh, it is cool and pleasant sitting here ! Come in, Deb.’ I dou’t know why I always obey her; nhe knows that she tyrannises over me. 1 got in. 1 The least little push—so—Deb, w ill run it off into the water. 5 The boldness of the assertion locks my lips, and almost before I understand the situation we are skimming away from shore. People have said Ottalie rows well; I know the fact does not comfort me in the least. I close my eyes, and cling to the boat-side. Ottalie laughs, and begins to sing; so I am left in peace to indulge my fears. I always was a coward on the water. 1 Won’t you put back, Ottalie ? ’ But Ottalie only smiles, and singe the louder. Presently, I find myself almost a mile out.

1 Four o’clock 1 5 I say, drawing out my watch;

‘ls it ? ’ Ottalie asks, lazily. • I know what an inquiring mind you have, pefcorah, and I am taking you to explore the Isle of Shoals! ’ Her eyes flash laughter as I expostulate : ‘lt is dinner time- At least) it will he by the time we get back.’

‘My dear Deborah,’ she says, coolly backing water, ‘ I am not a well-regulated individual like you, my appetite does not depend on the clock !’ And, as she speaks, she runs the boat into land. ‘ Now let us explore, 5 she says, preparing to get out. ‘And let the boat drift off2* I ask, tartly. *No ; don’t come out; stay where you are, 5 shouts out a strange masculine voice from the shore. We both start. ‘ Push off, 5 I whisper, nervously. But before Ottalie, with all her dexterity, can obey, a gentleman, with fishing basket and tackle, comes rushing down and jumps in. *My girl, 5 he says to Ottalie, as he taken the seat facing her, ‘the next time that Michael sends you to bring a hungry man back to shore and dinner, please don 5 t make a pleasure excursion of it 1 Row quickly now, and make up for lost time. 5 Ottalie 5 s back is turned towards me, but just as I open my lips to answer, she turns to me a very red face, and makes me a sign to be quiet. The gentleman lights his cigar, and leans back, fixing his eyes on Ottalie. ‘By Jove! 5 he ejaculates presently, ‘you are pretty, and no mistake. 5 I have noticed the best of men think themselves at liberty to speak out to a girl the admiration they only dare look to a lady. f To be continued .l