The Portland daily press., 1868-06-06
Selected story.
SOMETHING DESPERATE.
BY MARY KYLE DALLAS.

BY MARY OAlLASs
When was fifty, and had given up all
hope OF settling in life-I don't DENY but |
had such hope once-but L quarreled with
the person liked best, and there was no ro-
mantle making up, as there is in novels and
plays-when | was, as | have said before,
quite settled down as an old maid, / wrote to
my brother, the widower, that would come
to Happylove and keep house for him. He
had wanted me to do it ever since his vile
died, but somehow until poor - but do
not intend to tell my own story-somehow
until then / never felt quite willing to do so.
I've lively disposition naturally, and my
brother, though ten years my Junior was a
very solemn, serious man, who had quite civ
en- up society on his wie's death, and having
little money, had devoted his life to the
composition OF work on entomology. The
house, too, which had once been q parsonage,
was the dullest place in the world. 1t was
very damp and quite hidden by the great oak
trees which surrounded it, and the only WIN
dow which afforded any prospect at all, look
ed out upon the churchyard and its tomb
stones. There was no airing the house, and
blue mould collected on the bookcase, and or
the underside of the carpet, and we lit can
dies at four O'Clock all winter, and in summer
lived in kind OF hazy, greenish twilight,
which, though pleasant enough to strangers
who came in out of the burning sun, was not
in my opinion, healthy.
Still, securing and sweeping and rubbing
will do some good anywhere, and | astounded
the lazy, black woman by insisting on clean
illness and order, and made the home more
cheerful, If l could only have made my
brother more cheerful also, L should have
been happy.
But that could not be. He wore the Grape
about his hat that he had worn for the last
ten years, and came in and out with an air
which would have given an observer who
knew nothing of him an idea that he was
just going to funeral. People said he had
never smiled since his wife died, and believe
they were right. And why it should be so /
could not think, for to my certain knowledge
Clay's wife had led him a most. dreadful life
OF it; and had temper not u be matched
on TINS side OF the ocean, or on the other for
all knew, and did everything to make him
miserable which could be done by a yirtuous
woman who went to church three times Il
Sunday and was never known to drink.
Besides, had she been ever so good and ev-
er so pretty, why had not my troubles, with
that grave by the seaside and those words ey-
Ell ringing in my ears: "Tell Barbara | new
er quite forgot her." to think of, and did
make that an excuse for making other people
wretched? Ii we want to let our hesfts out.
there is the night and solitude, and our God
to listen, and He never means us to poison the
good things OF life for ourselves and others by
keeping on long faces and saving in every
tone, See how have suffered" But broth
er Clay thought differently, and perhaps he
thought to make amends to his vile for their
sad married lite, by showing every one
how he grieved for her. He was trial TO
income of those dreadful men woman
cannot please, let her waste her energies as
she may IN the attempt. He did not care
now his bosoms were ironed, and was provok-
ed ii you put his laundry in order. And
there was no use cooking nice little messes
Tor him, because you'd be sure to find out he
never touched anything of the kind" es
pecially If there was grain of sugar in it.
Old Corny's mussy housekeeping, and half
cooked chops, and water-soaked potatoes, and
Iron-moulded cravats and bosoms suited him
perfectly.
Corny herself said that "Master had too
much .housekeepin' and blowin' up in the
late Mrs. Grantlys time"
And perhaps that was true.
L never was intended for hermit and
when found myself growing dull, invited
company; Old folks like myself sometimes
sometimes young couples with little babies,
to make the old place noisy. And surely as /
did SO, Clay shut himself up in his own room
ana even ate his meals there, until they were
gone.
Il don't object to your having your friends.
sister Barbara" he said, shut / cannot bear
society" and then he would look at the
Grape upon his hat and my late sister-in-
laws portrait over the mantlepiece, and sigh
AS II every day had not been a torment and
every night curtain lecture, as long as she
was able to scold.
let him have his own way because |
could not help it; until one day Rose Bud
worth, who had been teaching school in a
close cry street until she was like waxen
MY, came down to see me. Then, Just as
mad planned over all sorts of excursions and
as much diversion as could be obtained in
that dreadful Happylove, l bethoueht me
10 sip down stairs upon an awful specimen
OF bug with horns, that my brother had al
iowed 10 escape him in moment of abstrac-
tion, and which was tapping down to find
tDe damp woods again, and wIenched my an
Gle. There l was, laid up for a fortnight or
more, and dear little Rose was only to be
with me for three weeks and Pm sure 1 new
er was SO much provoked In all my life. l
was SO angry that L took courage to do what
l had never done before, and sent for nv
brother
CLAY" said |, when he came in, with two
pens Dehlnd his ears and great mouldy.
calf-bound book under his arms-"Wbat do
you suppose | wanted that blessed little Rose
Budworth down here for?"
I'm sure don't know, Barbara" he said.
10 put few roses into her pale cheeks
and laugh into her heart" said /. sTo take
ner ABOUT and cheer her up and try to intro
duce ner to some handsome Young farmer
and marry her of" said 1. "And now here
am laid up for fortnight The end of it
all is that you are to shut up your books and
and bottle up your nasty bugs and spiflers.
and put on your decent things and lake her
about. There's the picnic at Hadley's. and
the Tea party at Browns, and Miss Junes's
wedding, and"
MY brother sat down then and gave a
groan. e'o :"
Ihe-the improperly" he began.
Nonsense" said I,"you can sit in a corner
and stop up your ears; people don't care
what Old gentlemen do; and it you are only
forty, you look sixty, do believe, and YOU
can see her safe there and home. if Won like
AS you might If your wife were living: a
young thing not twenty. Besides" said i,
DONG The pathetic, "Tve had dreadful tall
ana your bugs and things caused it, and YOU
ought 70 oner some compensation to me. IN
go INTO fever, If l am worried, as like as
not, and die.'
Then Clay-there was some good nature
In hlm-came up TO me and kissed me on
my forehead and said:
very well, Barbara will, will" with
face like martyr, I'm sure an artist who
was fond OF such subjects would have reioiced
over 1t TO copy)-a face like a martyr going
to the stake. ee
But he came in to tea that night in his hest
coat, and had never known how well he
could look, for old dressing-gowns don't be-
come men, as general thing: and he ouite
talked to Rose Budworth-ior him. that is
asked her 1t she would be helped to cold NUT
ton, and said, "Yes, madam" when she asked
him II the country wasn't Sweet" 1t was
very kind OF him, and kinder still to do inst
as asked him and fake Rose everyWhere.-
He had the little gig fixed up, and even drove
her to church on Sundays, though he never
liked the minister, who had new ideas he dis
approved OF, as indeed did l, for I'm urtho-
dox to the backbone; and noticed he was
careful to hand her in and out as though she
had been little child. | knew he longed for
the visit to come to an end, but he never said
so even to me.
One day said to Rose:
How are you enjoying yourself. NV dear?
Do you find your new friends pleasant?"
very, very much, Miss Barbara. L never
enjoyed myself so much"
MY brother is not used to ladies' society -
SAID, and may be odd and poky. / hone
you don't find him sop
sob, no, Miss Barbara" she said. "I,m sure
he is very kind; little grave, but after snch
dreadful trouble-losing such a sweet sweet
wife," '"ee'
And she looked at the Sinking portrait of
my late sister-in-law-not one Bit like her.
though, to be sure, she faded, as narrow.mind,