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BENTLEY'S

MISCELLANY.

VOL. VII.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY,

NEW BURLINGTON STREET.

1840.

AP

338
V.7

LONDON t
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,

Bangor House, Shoe Lane.

CONTENTS.

Page
Guy Fawkes : a Historical Romance, by William Harrison Ainsworth,

1, 107, 219, 333,441,545

Some Letters from the Letter-Bag of the Great Western, by Sam Slick, 11
The Wishing Well, by Abraham Elder, Esq. . . 17

Haroun Alraschid, by G. E. Inman, .... 26

A Tale of the Morgue, by Edward Mayhew, ... 27

< The Whiskey," 38

Colin Clink, by Charles Hooton, ... 50, 289, 404

Song of the Oak, "\ .... 57

Song of the Laurels, ( . . . 106

Song of the Mountain Ash, f b? J ' At ™ . . 202

A Reverie, . J ..... 357

Stanley Thorn, by the Author of" Valentine Vox," 59, 203, 309, 422, 541, 634
Lions of Modern Babylon, . ... 80

Mr. Macaw, ....

Mr. Nibble, ....

Mr. Trickett Donks, ...

An impudent Monkey, . . ^ Alfred Crow1ulll>

China, the real State of the Case, .

Mr. Foxe Varnish,

89

153
305

479
593

Jack Sheppard, by William Harrison Ainsworth, . . . 92, 137

The Portfolio of Mr. Peter Popkin (deceased), . . 123, 375, 561

Relief of the Poor, } 131

Juvenile Delinquency, I Moral Economy of larSe Towns> 470

Manchester, " j by W. C. Taylor, , . 5%

A Rambling Cruise along the Coasts of Posilypo and Baiae, by W. B.

Le Gros, ....... 156

A Chapter on Haunted Houses, . ^ 161
The Hair and Beard, as fashioned by Politics > by Charles Mackay,

and Religion, . . . ) • 30°

A Lay of St. Odille, . . x . . . 172

The Bagman's Dog (Mr. Peters's Story), f 265

Aunt Fanny (a Tale of a Shirt), . > b? Thomas InS°ldsby> 414

A Row in an Omnibus, . •'')•• • • • 647

Anecdotes of Fleet Marriages, . . . . . 177

An Irish Reason for not Robbing the Mail, . . . .184

England's Queen, an Ode for Music, . . . . 185

A Day in the Black Forest, . . . . . .186

The Round Table, by Olinthus Jenkinson, . . . 194

The Herdsman, 1 235

Watty Flaherty, f by the Author of " The Spalpeen," 391

IV CONTENTS.

The Monks of Old Page 246

M. Jasmin— The Blind Girl of Castel Cuille"e, by Lady Georgiana Ful-

lerton, ....... 247

Izaak Walton and his Friends, ) ... 254

f by Edward Jesse,

A Day at Eton, ) 3 . . 587

Greenwich and Greenwich Men, by J.Hamilton Reynolds, . . 277

The Illumination; a Story of Alma Mater, . . . 329

Literary Portraits, No. VI. — W. Hamilton Maxwell, . . 331

The Picture Bed-room, by Dalton, .... 349

The Two Cousins, by G. E. Inman, .... 362

Tonis ad Resto Mare, . . . . . . 365

The Soul-Agent, ....... 366

Tis He ! by Captain Medwin, ..... 380

A Song for the end of Term, ... . .421

Journal of Old Barnes, the Pantaloon, on a trip to Paris, in 1830, 457, 627

A Legend of the American War, by A. R. W. . . . 469

Charade, by Miss A. Farrer, . . . . . 478

Answer to it, . . . . . . . 618

China. — The Real State of the Case, freely translated from the original

Chinese, and illustrated by four real China plates, . . 479

Visit to a Siberian Fair, by a Russian Traveller, . . 484

Jack Frost, . . . . . . . . 496

The Death-bed Confession, from the posthumous papers of a late Surgeon, 497

(Mistakes in a Drawing-room, . 508

Judging by Appearances- j ^^ -n ^^ of Justice> . 61g

Early Friendship ; or, The Slave of Passion, . . . 513

Captain Morrjs : a Review, with a Portrait, . . . 541

The Evening Star, ...... 560

The Fatal Window, by Toby Allspy, .... 566

King John, a Legend of the Isle of Wight, . . . 575

My Mother's Grave, by James Aldrich, .... 583

An Epistle from Miss Selina Spriggins to Miss Henrietta Tims, . 584
Lines in an Album, to which Letitia Elizabeth Landon had been a Con-
tributor, by B. Simmons ... . 586

The Huntsman's Wedding, ..... 605

Uncle Sam's Peculiarities— Long Islanders, . . . . 619

The Meeting of the Dead, by Miss Costello, . . . 633

Index, ... . 651

ILLUSTRATIONS.

#% The Illustrations by George Cruikshank, unless otherwise expressed.

Guy Fawkes in Ordsall Cave, ..... Page 1

of the earliest characteristics of Stanley Thorn developed, . 64

Sheppard's irons knocked off in the Stone Hall at Newgate, . 97

Jonathan Wild seizing Jack Sheppard at his Mother's grave, . 100
Guy Fawkes and Humphrey Chetham rescuing Father Oldcorne and

Viviana Radcliffe from the Pursuivant, . . . .107

u/~The Procession of Jack Sheppard from Newgate to Tyburn, . 150

v/ The last scene of Jack Sheppard, .... 151

Stanley Thorn — the Elopement, ..... 203

/Guy Fawkes discovers Dr. Dee and Edward Kelly disinterring the

body of Elizabeth Orton, . . . . . 219

(, Stanley Thorn after a jovial party, .... 326

portrait of the Author of " Stories of Waterloo/' by W. Greatbach, . 331
Dr. Dee, in conjunction with his seer, Edward Kelly, exhibiting his

magical skill to Guy Fawkes, ..... 344

v The Soul-Agent, by Alfred Crowquill, .... 370

/Stanley Thorn— the Discovery, by Alfred Crowquill, . . 436

^ision of Guy Fawkes at St. Winifred's Well, ... 441

, Portrait of Captain Morris, by W. Greatbach, . . . 540

,/Guy Fawkes preventing Sir W. Radcliffe from joining the Conspiracy, 557

Stanley Thorn — Bob makes up his Book for the Derby, by Crowquill, 645

WOODCUTS.

Mr. Macaw, by Alfred Crowquill, ..... 89

Mr. Nibble, do. . . . . . 153

Mr. Trickett Donks, do. . . . . . 305

An Impudent Monkey, do. . . . . 358

Old Barnes, the Pantaloon, .... 457, 468, 630, 632

Four real China Plates, by Alfred Crowquill, . . . 479—483

Mr. Foxe Varnish, do. ... 593

BENTLE Y'S
MISCELLANY.

JUNE, 1840.

Page

GUY FAWKES : AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE, ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE

CRUIKSHANK, . BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH 545

Book the First.
Chapter XII.— The Vision.
Chapter XIII.— The Conspiracy.

THE EVENING STAR, ..... 560

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPRIN (DECEASED), . 561

THE FATAL WINDOW, . . . .BY MRS. GORE 566

KING JOHN A LEGEND OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT,

BY ABRAHAM ELDER 575

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE, . . BY JAMES ALDRICH 583

AN EPISTLE FROM MISS SELINA SPRIGG1NS TO MISS HENRIETTA

TIMS, ...... 584

LINES ON LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON, . BY B. SIMMONS 586

A DAY AT ETON, . . . BY E. JESSE 587

MR. FOXE VARNISH, WITH AN ILLUSTRATION,

BY ALFRED CROWQUILL 593

MANCHESTER MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS,

BY DR. W. C. TAYLOR 596
THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING; OR THE OLD WHIPPER-IN,

BY JOHN MILLS 605

JUDGING BY APPEARANCES. MISTAKES IN A COURT OF JUSTICE, 616

ANSWER TO MISS FARRER\S CHARADE, . . .618

LONG ISLANDERS. UNCLE SAM's PECULIARITIES, . . 619

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON, ON A TRIP TO PARIS,

IN 1830, WITH TWO ILLUSTRATIONS, . . 627

THE MEETING OF THE DEAD, .... 633

STANLEY THORN, BY THE AUTHOR OF " VALENTINE VOX " 634

Chapter XV. — Stanley dreams of Isabelle, with whose name Amelia thereby becomes
acquainted.

Chapter XVI. — In which the Widow's designs upon Sir William, and Sir William's de-
signs upon Stanley, are developed.

Chapter XVII. — Bob makes a discovery which is calculated to be highly advantageous.

A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS, . BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY 647

INDEX, ... 651

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BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

GUY FAWKES.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

BY W. HARRISON AINS. WORTH, ESQ.

ILLUSTRATED B.Y. GEORGE CRUIKSHAN K.

BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.

AN EXECUTION IN MANCHESTER, AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SEVENTEENTH

CENTURY.

MORE than two hundred and thirty years ago, or, to speak
with greater precision, in 1604, at the latter end of June, it was
rumoured one morning in Manchester that two seminary priests,
condemned at the late assizes under the severe penal enactments
then in force against the Papists, were about to suffer death on
that day. Attracted by the report, large crowds nocked 'to-
wards the place of execution, which, in order to give greater
solemnity to the spectacle, had been fixed at the southern gate
of the old collegiate church. Here a scaffold was erected, and
near it upon a heap of blazing coals smoked a large cauldron
filled with boiling pitch, intended to receive the quarters: of the
miserable sufferers. The place was guarded by a small band of
soldiers, habited in their full accoutrements of corslet and morion,
and armed with swords, half-pikes, and calivers. Upon the
steps of the scaffold' stood a square-built, ill-favoured personage,
whose office it was easy to divine, busied in spreading a 'bundle
of straw upon the boards. He was dressed in a buff jerkin,
and had a long-bladed knife thrust, into his girdle. Besides
these persons, there were two pursuivants, or state-messengers,
— officers appointed by the Privy Council to make search
throughout the provinces for recusants, Popish priests, and
other religious offenders. They were occupied at this moment
in reading over a list of suspected persons.

Neither the executioner nor .his companions appeared in
the slightest degree impressed by the horrible tragedy about
to be enacted, for the former whistled carelessly as he pur-
sued his task, while the latter laughed and chatted with the
crowd, or jestingly pointed their matchlocks at the jackdaws
wheeling about them in the sunny air, or perching upon the
pinnacles and tower of the adjoining fane. Not so the majority
of the assemblage. Most of the older and wealthier families in
Lancashire still continuing to adhere to the ancient faith of
their fathers, it will not be wondered that many of their depend-
ents should follow their example. And, even of those who were
adverse to the creed of Rome, there were few who did not
murmur at the rigorous system of persecution adopted towards
its professors.

VOL. VII. B

2 GUY FAWKES.

At nine o'clock, the hollow rolling of a muffled drum was
heard at a distance. The deep bell of the church began to
toll, and presently afterwards the mournful procession was seen
advancing from the market-place. It consisted of a troop of
mounted soldiers, equipped in all respects like those stationed
at the scaffold, with their captain at their head, and followed
by two of their number with hurdles attached to their steeds,
on which were'tied the unfortunate victims. Both were young
men — both apparently prepared to meet their fate with firm-
ness and resignation. They had been brought from Radcliffe
Hall — an old moated and fortified mansion belonging to a
wealthy family of that name, situated where the close, called
Pool Fold now stands, and then recently converted into a place
of security for recusants ; the two other prisons in Manchester
— namely, the New Fleet on Hunf s Bank, and the gaol on Sal-
ford Bridge, — not being found adequate to the accommoda-
tion of the numerous religious criminals.

By this time, the cavalcade had reached the place of execu-
tion. The soldiers had driven back the throng, and cleared
a space in front of the scaffold, when, just as the cords that
bound the limbs of the priests were unfastened, a woman in a
tattered woollen robe, with a hood drawn over her face, a rope
bound round her waist, with bare feet, and having somewhat
of the appearance of a sister of Charity, sprang forward, and
flung herself on her knees beside them.

Clasping the hem of the garment of the nearest priest, she
pressed it to her lips, and gazed earnestly at him, as if implor-
ing a blessing.

" You have your wish, daughter," said the priest, extending
his arms over her. " Heaven and Our Lady bless you ! "

The woman then turned towards the other victim, who was
audibly reciting his litanies.

" Back, daughter of Antichrist ! " interposed a soldier, rudely
thrusting her aside. " Don't you see you disturb his devotions ?
He has enough to do to take care of his own soul without mind-
ing yours."

" Take this, daughter," said the priest who had been first
addressed, offering her a small volume, which he took from his
vest, " and fail not to remember in your prayers the sinful
soul of Robert Woodroof, a brother of the order of Jesus."

The woman put out her hand to take the book, but before it
could be delivered to her, it was seized by the soldier.

l< Your priests have seldom anything to leave behind them,"
he cried, with a coarse laugh, " except some worthless and
superstitious relic of a saint or martyr. What 's this ? Ah ! a
breviary — a mass-book. I've too much regard for your spiritual
welfare to allow you to receive it," he added, about to place it
in his doublet.

" Give it her," cried a young man, snatching it from him,
and handing it to the woman, who instantly disappeared.

GUY FAWKES. 3

The soldier eyed the new-comer as if disposed to resent the
interference, but a glance at his apparel, which, though plain,
and of a sober hue, was rather above the middle class, as well as
a look at the crowd, who were evidently disposed to take part
with the young man, induced him to stay his hand. He, there-
fore, contented himself with crying, u A recusant ! a Papist ! "

" I am neither recusant nor Papist, knave ! " replied the
other, sternly ; " and I counsel you to amend your manners,
and show more humanity, or you shall find I have interest
enough to procure your dismissal from a service which you
disgrace."

This reply was followed by a murmur of applause from the
mob.

" Who is that bold speaker ? " demanded a pursuivant from
one of his attendants.

;< It is Master Humphrey Chetham of Crumpsall," was the
reply, " son to one of the wealthiest merchants of the town, and
a zealous upholder of the true faith."

" He has a strange way of showing his zeal," rejoined the
pursuivant, entering the answer in his note-book. " And who
is the woman he befriended ? "

" She is a half-crazed being called Elizabeth Orton," replied
the attendant, " who was scourged and tortured during Queen
Elizabeth's reign for pretending to the gift of prophecy. She
was compelled to confess the imposture she had practised on the
people, and uttered her recantation within yonder church. Since
then, she has never opened her lips."

" Where is her abode ?" inquired the pursuivant.

" She lives in a cave on the banks of the Irwell, near Ordsall
Hall," replied the attendant, " where she subsists on the chance
contributions of the charitable. But she solicits nothing; and,
indeed, is seldom seen."

" Her cave must be searched," observed the pursuivant ; " it
may be the hiding-place of a priest. Father Campion was con-
cealed in such another, when he so long eluded the vigilance of
the commissioners. We shall pass it in our way to Ordsall
Hall to-night, shall we not ? "

" We shall," answered the attendant.

" If we surprise Father Oldcorne, and can prove that Sir
William Radcliffe and his daughter, both of whom are de-
nounced in my list, are harbourers and shelterers of recusants,
we shall have done a good night's work."

At this moment, an officer advanced, and commanded the
priests to follow him.

As Father Woodroof, who was the last to mount the scaffold,
ascended the steps, he looked round and cried in a loud voice,
" Good people, I take you all to witness that I die in the true
Catholic faith."

And, amid the deep silence that ensued, the executioner per-
formed his horrible task.

4 GUY FAWKES.

The execution over, the crowd began to separate slowly, and
various opinions were expressed respecting the revolting and
sanguinary spectacle they had just witnessed. Many, who con-
demned— and the majority did so, — the extreme severity of the
laws by which the unfortunate priests had just suffered, uttered
their sentiments with extreme caution ; but there were some
whose feelings had been too much excited for prudence, and
who inveighed loudly and bitterly against the spirit of religious
persecution then prevailing ; while a few others of an entirely
opposite persuasion looked upon the rigorous proceedings
adopted against the Papists, and the punishment now inflicted
upon their priesthood, as a just retribution for their own severi-
ties during the reign of Mary. In general, the common people
entertained a strong prejudice against the Catholic party, — for,
as it has been shrewdly observed, " they must ever have some
object to hate ; " but in Manchester, near which, as has been
already stated, so many old and important families, professing
that religion, resided, the case was widely different ; and the
mass of the inhabitants were favourably inclined towards them.
It was the knowledge of this feeling that induced the commis-
sioners appointed to superintend the execution of the laws
against recusants to proceed with unusual rigour in this neigh-
bourhood.

The state of the Roman Catholic party at the period of this
history, was indeed most grievous. The hopes they had in-
dulged of greater toleration for their religion on the accession
of James the First, had been entirely destroyed. The persecu-
tions, which had been suspended during the first year of the
reign of the new monarch, were now renewed with greater seve-
rity than ever : and though their present condition was deplo-
rable enough, it was feared that worse remained in store for them.
" They bethought themselves," says Bishop Goodman, " that
now their case was far worse than in the time of Queen Elizabeth ;
for they did live in some hope that after the old woman's life
they might have some mitigation, and even those who did then
persecute them were a little more moderate, as being doubtful
what times might succeed, and fearing their own case. But, now
that they saw the times settled, having no hope of better days,
but expecting that the uttermost rigour of the law should be
executed, they became desperate : finding that by the laws of
the kingdom their own lives were not secured, and for the car-
rying over of a priest into England it was no less than high
treason. A gentlewoman was hanged only for relieving and har-
bouring a priest ; a citizen was hanged only for being reconciled
to the Church of Rome ; besides, the penal laws were such, and
so executed, that they could not subsist. What was usually
sold in shops and usually bought, this the pursuivant would
take away from them as being popish and superstitious. One
knight did affirm that in one term he gave twenty nobles in re-
wards to the door-keeper of the Attorney-General ; another did

GUY FAWKES. 0

affirm, that his third part which remained unto him of his estate
did hardly serve for his expense in law to defend him from other
oppressions ; besides their children to be taken from home, to be
brought up in another religion. So they did every way con-
clude that their estate was desperate ; they could die but once,
and their religion was more precious unto them than their lives.
They did further consider their misery ; how they were debarred
in any course of lives to help themselves. They could not prac-
tise law, — they could not be citizens, — they could have no office ;
they could not breed up their sons — none did desire to match
with them ; they had neither fit marriages for their daughters,
nor nunneries to put them into ; for those few which are beyond
seas are not considerable in respect of the number of recusants,
and none can be admitted into them without great sums of
money, which they, being exhausted, could not supply. The
Spiritual Court did not cease to molest them, to excommunicate
them, then to imprison them ; and thereby they were utterly
disenabled to sue for their own." Such is a faithful picture of
the state of the Catholic party at the commencement of the reign
of James the First.

Pressed down by these intolerable grievances, is it to be won-
dered at that the Papists should repine, — or that some among
their number, when all other means failed, should seek redress
by darker measures ? By a statute of Elizabeth, all those who
refused to conform to the established religion were subjected to
a fine of twenty pounds a lunar month ; and this heavy penalty,
which had been remitted, or rather suspended, since James
came to the throne, was again exacted, and all arrears claimed.
Added to this, the monarch, whose court was thronged by a host
of needy Scottish retainers, assigned to them a certain number
of wealthy recusants, and empowered them to levy the fines, —
a privilege of which they were not slow to avail themselves.
There were other pains and penalties provided for by the same
statute, which were rigorously inflicted. The withdrawing, or
seeking to withdraw another from the established religion was
accounted high treason, and punished accordingly ; hearing mass
involved a penalty of one hundred marks and a year's imprison-
ment ; and the harbouring of a priest, under the denomination
of a tutor, rendered the latter liable to a year's imprisonment,
and his employer to a fine of ten pounds a-month. Impressed
with the belief that, in consequence of the unremitting persecu-
tions which the Catholics underwent in Elizabeth's time, the
religion would be wholly extirpated, Dr. Allen, a Lancashire
divine, who afterwards received a cardinal's hat, founded a col-
lege at Douay, for the reception and education of those who in-
tended to take orders. From this university a number of mis-
sionary priests, or seminarists, as they were termed, were an-
nually sent over to England, and it was against these persons,
who submitted to every hardship and privation, to danger, and
death itself, for the welfare of their religion, and in the hope of

6 GUY FAWKES.

propagating its doctrines, that the utmost rigour of the penal
enactments was directed. Among the number of seminarists de-
spatched from Douay, and capitally convicted under the statute
above-mentioned, were the two priests whose execution has just
been described.

As a portion of the crowd passed over the old bridge across
the Irwell connecting Manchester with Salford, on which stood
an ancient chapel erected by Thomas de Booth, in the reign of
Edward the Third, and recently converted into a prison for re-
cusants, they perceived the prophetess, Elizabeth Orton, seated
upon the stone-steps of the structure, earnestly reading the
book given to her by Father Woodroof. A mob speedily col-
lected round her ; but, unconscious seemingly of their presence,
the poor woman turned over leaf after leaf, and pursued her
meditations. Her hood was thrown back, and discovered her
bare and withered neck, over which her black dishevelled hair
streamed in thick masses. Irritated by her indifference, several
of the by-standers, who had questioned her as to the nature of
her studies, began to mock and jeer her, and endeavoured by
plucking her robe, and casting little pebbles at her, to attract
her attention. Roused, at length, by these annoyances, she
arose, and fixing her large black eyes menacingly upon them, was
about to stalk away, when they surrounded and detained her.

" Speak to us, Bess," cried several voices. " Prophesy, —
prophesy."

" I will speak to you," replied the poor woman, shaking her
hand at them, " I will prophesy to you. And mark me, though
ye believe me not, my words shall not fall to the ground."

" A miracle ! a miracle ! " shouted the by-standers. " Bess
Orton, who has been silent for twenty years, has found her
tongue at last."

" I have seen a vision, and dreamed a dream," continued the
prophetess. " As I lay in my cell last night, meditating upon
the forlorn state of our church and of its people, methought
that nineteen shadowy figures stood before me — ay, nineteen —
for I counted them over thrice — and when I questioned them as
to their coming, for my tongue at first clove to the roof of my
mouth, and my lips refused their office, one of them answered
me in a voice which yet rings in my ears, ' We are the chosen
deliverers of our fallen and persecuted church. To us is in-
trusted the rebuilding of her temples, — to our hands is com-
mitted the destruction of her enemies. The work will be done
in darkness and in secret, — with toil and travail, — but it will at
length be made manifest ; and when the hour is arrived, our
vengeance will be terrible and exterminating.' With these
words, they vanished from my sight. Ah ! " she exclaimed, sud-
denly starting, and passing her hand across her brow, as if to
clear her sight, " it was no dream — no vision. I see one of them
now.11

" Where ?— -where ? " cried several voices.

GUY FAWKES. 7

The prophetess answered by extending her skinny arm to-
wards some object immediately before her.

All eyes were instantly turned in the direction which she
pointed, when they beheld the figure of a soldier — for such his
garb proclaimed him — standing at a few paces' distance from
them. He was wrapped in an ample cloak, and his broad-leaved
steeple-crowned Spanish hat, decorated with a single green fea-
ther, pulled over his brows, seemed, like his accoutrements,
which differed in some respects from those of the troopers pre-
viously described, to denote that he belonged to that service.
He wore a polished steel brigandine, trunk loose, and buff
boots drawn up to the knees. His arms consisted of a brace of
petronels thrust into his belt, from which a long rapier depend-
ed. His features were dark as bronze, and well-formed, though
strongly marked, and wearing an expression of settled sternness.
His eyes were grey and penetrating, and shaded by thick
beetle-brows ; and his physiognomy was completed by a black
peaked beard. His person was tall and erect, and his deport-
ment soldier-like and commanding. Perceiving that he was be-
come an object of notice, the stranger cast a compassionate look
at the prophetess, who still remained gazing fixedly at him,
and throwing her a few pieces of money, strode away.

Watching his retreating figure till it disappeared from view,
the crazed woman tossed her arms wildly in the air, and cried,
in a voice of exultation, " Did I not speak the truth ? — did I
not tell you I had seen him ? He is the deliverer of our church,
and is come to avenge the righteous blood which hath been this
day shed."

" Peace, woman, and fly while there is yet time," cried the
young man who was designated as Humphrey Chetham. " The
pursuivant and his officers are in search of you."

" Then they shall not need to go far to find me," replied the
prophetess. " I will tell them what I told this mob, that the
day of bloody retribution is at hand, — that the avenger is ar-
rived. I have seen him twice, — once in my cave, and once again
here, — even where you stand." .

" If you do not keep silence and fly, my poor creature," re-
joined Humphrey Chetham, " you will have to endure what you
suffered years ago, — stripes, and perhaps torture. Be warned
by me — ah ! it is too late. He is approaching."

" Let him come," replied Elizabeth Orton, " I am ready for
him/'

" Can none of you force her away ? " cried Humphrey Chet-
ham, appealing to the crowd ; " I will reward you."

66 1 will not stir from this spot," rejoined the prophetess, ob-
stinately, " I will testify to the truth."

The kind-hearted young merchant, finding any further at-
tempt to preserve her fruitless, drew aside.

By this time, the pursuivant and his myrmidons had come up.

" Seize her ! " cried the former, " and let her be placed within

8 GUY FAWKES.

this prison till I have reported her to the commissioners. If you
will confess to me, woman," he added, in a whisper to her,
" that you have harboured a priest, and will guide us to his
hiding-place, you shall be set free."

" I know of no priests but those you have murthered," re-
turned the prophetess, in a loud voice, " but I will tell you
something that you wot not of. The avenger of blood is at
hand. 1 have seen him. All here have seen him. And you
shall see him ; but not now — not now."

"What is the meaning of this raving ?" demanded the pur-
suivant.

" You had better pay no heed to her talk, master pursui-
vant," interposed Humphrey Chetham ; " she is a poor crazed
being, who knows not what she says. I will be surety for her
inoffensive conduct."

" You must give me surety for yourself, Master Chetham,"
replied the officer. " I have just learnt that you were last night
at Ordsall Hall, the seat of that * dangerous temporiser,* — for
such he is designated in my warrant, — Sir William Radcliffe ;
and if report speaks truly, you are not altogether insensible to
the charms of his fair daughter, Mistress Viviana.

" What is this to thee, thou malapert knave ? " cried Hum-
phrey Chetham, reddening partly from anger, partly, it might
be, from another emotion.

" Much, as you shall presently find, good Master Wolf-in-
sheepVclothing," retorted the pursuivant, " if you prove not a
rank Papist at heart then do I not know a true man from a
false."

This angry conference was cut short by a piercing scream
from the prophetess. Breaking from the grasp of her captors,
who were about to force her into the prison, she sprang with
a single bound upon the parapet of the bridge, and utterly re-
gardless of her dangerous position, turned, and faced the officers,
who were struck mute with astonishment.

" Tremble ! " she cried in a loud voice, — " tremble, ye evil-
doers ! Ye who have despoiled the house of God, — have broken
his altars, — scattered his incense, — slain his priests. Tremble, I
say. The avenger is arrived. The bolt is in his hand. It shall
strike king, lords, commons, — all ! These are my last words,
— take them to heart.1'

:Drag her off!" cried the pursuivant, angrily.

" Use care — use gentleness, if ye are men ! " cried Humphrey
Chetham.

" Think not you can detain me ! " cried the prophetess.
" A vaunt, and tremble ! "

So saying, she flung herself from the parapet.

The height from which she fell was about fifty feet. The
water was dashed into the air like jets from a fountain by the
weight and force of the descending body. The waves instantly

GUY FAWKES. 9

closed over her ; but she rose to the surface of the stream, about
twenty yards below the bridge.

" She may yet be saved," cried Humphrey Chetham, who
with the by-standers had hurried to the side of the bridge.

" You will only preserve her for the gallows," observed the
pursuivant.

" Your malice shall not prevent my making the attempt,"
replied the young merchant. " Ha ! assistance is at hand."

This exclamation was occasioned by the sudden appearance of
the soldier in the Spanish dress, who rushed towards the left
bank of the river, which was here, as elsewhere, formed of red
sandstone rock, and following the course of the current, awaited
the next appearance of the drowning woman. This did not
occur till she had been carried a considerable distance down the
stream, when the soldier, swiftly divesting himself of his cloak,
plunged into the water, and dragged her ashore.

" Follow ine," cried the pursuivant to his attendants. " I
will not lose my prey."

But before he gained the bank of the river the soldier and his
charge had disappeared, nor could he detect any traces of them.

CHAPTER II.
ORDSALL CAVE.

AFTER rescuing the unfortunate prophetess from a watery
grave in the manner just related, the soldier snatched up his
cloak, and, taking his dripping burthen in his arms, hurried
swiftly along the bank of the river, until he came to a large
cleft in the rock, into which he crept, taking his charge with
him, and thus eluded observation. In this retreat he conti-
nued upwards of two hours, during which time the poor crea-
ture, to whom he paid every attention that circumstances would
admit, had so far recovered as to be able to speak. But it
was evident that the shock had been too much for her, and that
she was sinking fast. She was so faint that she could scarcely
move ; but she expressed a strong desire to reach her cell
before she breathed her last. Having described its situation
as accurately as she could to the soldier, who before he ven-
tured forth peeped out to ascertain that no one was on the
watch — he again raised her in his arms, and by her direc-
tion struck into a narrow lane skirting the bank of the river.
Pursuing this road for about half a mile, he arrived at the
foot of a small eminence, covered by a clump of magnificent
beech-trees, and still acting under the guidance of the dying
woman, whose voice grew more feeble each instant, he mounted
this knoll, and from its summit took a rapid survey of the sur-
rounding country. On the opposite bank of the river stood an old
hall, while further on, at some distance, he could perceive through
the trees the gables and chimneys of another ancient mansion.

" Raise me up," said Elizabeth Orton, as he lingered on this

10 GUY FAWKES.

spot for a moment. " In that old house, which you see yonder,
Hulme Hall, I was born. I would willingly take one look at it
before I die."

" And the other hall which I discern through the trees is
Ordsall, is it not ? " inquired the soldier.

" It is," replied the prophetess. " And now let us make what
haste we can. We have not far to go ; and I feel I shall not
last long."

Descending the eminence, and again entering the lane, which
here made a turn, the soldier approached a grassy space, wall-
ed in on either side by steep sandstone rocks. Proceeding to
the further extremity of this enclosure, after a moment's search,
by the direction of his companion, he found, artfully concealed
by overhanging brushwood, the mouth of a small cave. Creep-
ing into the excavation, he found it about six feet high, and of
considerable depth. The roof was ornamented with Runic cha-
racters and other grotesque and half-effaced inscriptions, while
the sides of the rock were embellished with Gothic tracery,
amid which the letters I.H.S, carved in ancient church text,
could be easily distinguished. Tradition assigned the cell to
the priests of Odin, but it was evident that worshippers at other
and holier altars had more recently made it their retreat. Its pre-
sent occupant had furnished it with a straw pallet and a small
wooden crucifix fixed in a recess in the wall. Gently depo-
siting her upon the pallet, the soldier took a seat beside her on a
stone slab at the foot of the bed. He next, at her request, as
the cave was rendered almost wholly dark by the overhanging
trees, struck a light, and set fire to a candle placed within a lan-
tern. After a few moments passed in prayer, the recluse begged
him to give her the crucifix that she might clasp it to her breast.
This done, she became more composed, and prepared herself
to meet her end. Suddenly, as if something had again disturbed
her, she passed her hand once or twice rapidly across her face,
and then, as with a dying effort, started up, and stretched out
her hands.

" I see him before them ! " she cried. " They examine him,
—they adjudge him ! Ah ! he is now in a dungeon ! See, the
torturers advance ! He is placed on the rack — once — twice
they apply the engine ! Mercy ! he confesses ! He is led to
execution. I see him ascend the scaffold ! "

" Whom do you behold ? " inquired the soldier.

t( His face is hidden from me," replied the prophetess; " but
his figure is not unlike your own. Ha ! I hear the executioner
pronounce his name. How are you called ? "

" GUY FAWKES," replied the soldier.

" It is the name I heard," rejoined Elizabeth Orton.

And, sinking backward, she expired.

Guy Fawkes gazed at her for some time till he felt assured
that the last spark of life had fled. He then turned away, and
placing his hand upon his chin, was buried in deep reflection.

11

THE LETTER-BAG OF THE GREAT WESTERN.

BY SAM SLICK.

We have, pleasure in here presenting our readers with a communication forwarded
by Sam Slick, through the " Letter*Bag of the Great Western " (which by this time
is open for delivery to the public).— [EDIT.]

LETTER FROM A STOKER.

LAST nite as ever was in Bristul, Captain Claxton ired me for to go
to Americka on board this steemer Big West un as a stoker, and them
as follered me all along the rode from Lunnun, may foller me there
tuo if they liks, and be damned to em, and much good may it do them
tuo, for priggin in England aint no sin in the States, where every man
if free to do as he pleseth, and ax no uns lif neither, and wher there is
no pellise, nor constables, nor Fleets, nor Newgates, and no need of re-
forms. I couldn't sleep all nite for lafeing, when I thort ou they'd
stare wen they card i was off, and tuck the plate of Lord Springfield
off with me, and they looking all round Bristul, and ad their panes for
there trouble. I havent v/urk so ard sinse I rund away from farmer
Doggins the nite he was noked off his orse and made to stand, and lost
his purs of munny as he got fur his corn, as I av sinse I listed for a
stoker. I me blest if it arnt cruel ard wurk ear. I wurks in the cole
ole day and nite, a moving cole for the furniss, which never goes out,
but burns for ever and ever ; and there is no hair ; it is so ot my mouth
is eated, so that what I drinks, smox and isses as if it wur a ort iron,
and my flesh is as dry as ung beef, and the only consholation I av is Ide
a been ung beef in ernest if they ad a nabbed me afore I left Bristul,
all owin to Bill Sawyer peachin on me. No wun would no me now,
for I am as black as the ace of spades as was, and so is my shurt, and
for clene shetes, how long wood they be clene and me in them ; and my
skin is cracked like roastid pig, when there be not fat enough to baste
it, or yu to lazy to du it, which was often your case, and well you cor
hut for it to when I was out of sorts, whic was enuf to vex a man ast
risked his life to get it; and then my eyes is soar with dust as comes
from the cole, and so stiff, I arent power to shute them, because they
be so dry, and my mouth tasts sulfur always, as bad as them as go to
the devil in earnest, as Sally Mander did. I have no peace at all, and
will not be sorry when it's over ; if i survive it, blow me if I will. I
smells like roste beaf, and the rats. cum smelling round me as if they'd
like to ave a cut and cum agin, but they will find it a tuf business and
no gravy, as the frenchman said who lived tuo hull weaks on his shuse,
and dide wen he cum to the heles, which he said was rather tuo much ;
but i can't say I like their company a morsel more nor Bill Savvyerses,
and blast me if I donte be even with him, if he comes to Americka, for
that gud turn he did me in blowing on me for the silver wich if he
adnt dun ide a bin living at my ease at ome with you, and may be mar-
ried you, if you and the children ad behaved well, and showed your-
selves wurthy of it ; as it is i can't say whether we are to mete agin or
not ; but I will rite to you when I lands the plate, and let you no
what my prospect is in my line in New York. Then my shuse is
so ard, they brake like pycrust, and my clothes wat with wat cum'd out
of me like rain at fust, and the steme that cums out like wise, which
is oncredibill, and wat with the dust as cum out of the cole, is set like
mortar, and as stiff as cement, and stand up of themselves as strate as

12 THE LETTER-BAG OF THE GREAT WESTERN.

a Christian, so they do ; and if I ad your and in my and it wood melt
like butter, and you that is so soft wood run away like a candle Math a
thief in it ; so you are better off where you be than here till I cool
down agin and cum tuo, for I'me blest if I woodri't sit a bed a-fire
I'me so ort. This is orrid wurk for him as has more silver in his bag
than arf the passengers as, and is used to do as little wurk as the best
of them is. I 've got urted in my cheek with a stone that busted arter
it got red ort in the grate, and flew out with an exploshun like a busted
biler; only I wish it had been water insted, for it would have been
softer nor it was, for it was as ard as a cannun-ball, it noked down tuo
of my teeth, and then noked me down, and made a smell like searin a
'orses tail with red ort irn, which is the cause of its not bleeding much,
tho' it swelled as big as a turnip, which accashuns me to keep wun eye
shut, as it 's no use to open it when it 's swelled all over it, for I can't
sea. If that 's the way peepul was stoned to death, as I 've eared
when I was a boy, when there was profits in religion, it must have
been a painful end, as I no to my cost, who was most drowned holden
my ed in a tub of water to squench the red ort stone, which made the
water tuo ort to bear any longer, and wen I tuked it out it was tuo
much eated to old in my and. My feet also looks like a tin cullindur
or a sifter full of small oles, w'ere the red ort sinders have burned into
the bone. Them as node me wunce woodn't swear to me now, with a
ole in my face as big as my mouth, that I adn't afore, and too back-
teeth out, as I had afore, and my skin as black as ink, and my flesh
like dride codfish, and my hare dride wite and frizzed with the eat like
neager's, or goose fethers in ort ashes to make quills, and me able to
drink a gallon of porter without wunce taking breth, and not fele it
for ewaporation, and my skin so kivered with dust and grit, you could
sharpen a knife on it, and my throte furred up like a ship's biler, and
me that cood scarcely scroudge thro' a windur, that can now pass out
of a kee-ole, and not tear my clothes in the wards. Wun cumfut is, I
was not see-sick, unless being sick of the see, for I have no licker in
me ; for whatever I eat is baked into pot py and no gravy, which cums
of the grate eat in the furniss ; and burns raises no blisters, for they
ain't any watter inside to make wun, only leves a mark, as the ort
poker does on the flore ; and wen my turn cums to sleap, it 's no longer
trying this side and then that, and then rolling back again, a-trying
and not being able, for thinking and talking ; but sleap cums on afore
I can ly down, and all the pelisse at Bo Street woodn't wake me no
more than a corps, wen I am wunce down in ernest. If I wasn't in a
urry, I 'd stick them up with wurking like a orse in the mail, that runs
day and nite and never stops. It woodn't be long 'afore I'de nock off
a bolt, or skru, or nut, or sumthing of that kind, which ud cause them
to let out steam and repair, which wood give half a day's rest to wun,
but as it's the first and the last of my stokering, why the sunner there
is an end to it the better. No man cood identical me with a safe con-
shience, and no perjury, so if the yankees spend their munny, as I ar
hurd till sinse I tuck passage, on thur backs insted of carrying it in
their pockets, i may return after a short alibi, to you and the children,
which will depend on ou you aul up in time, and keaps out of Low
cumpany ; that is, barring accidents, for there is no noing what may
appen, for them as carry booy nives behind the kapes of their cotes,
and pistuls in their pockets, insted of pistoles, are ugly custumers, and
a feller may find himself delivered of a mistake afore he noeth where
he is, for they are apt to save the law a job are them nives, so they

THE LETTER-BAG OF THE GREAT WESTERN. 13

are, and I'de rather trust to a jug missing fire, or not hitting his man,
anytime to side-arms,, for them big wigs oftener ang fire than ang a
man. They are bad things them cut and thrusts, for both sides, as
Tom Hodge used to say, f( He who stabbeth with his tung, is in no
danger of being ung, but he who stabbeth with his nife is damned apt
to loose his own life." When you receive this litter go to Blackfriars
to the swimmers, and in the four foot of the bed, in the left room in the
garrit as I used to use when bisnis called, you will see the same oiler is
in your bed sted, and take the gold sneezer as is there, which will
raise the wind ; and be careful, as there is no noin' when we may meet,
or whether I will av time to send you any Blunt or no, which will de-
pend on how you conduct behind my back ; i don't mene this by way of
discouragement, but to int you are too fond of drink, and keeping com-
pany with needy mizlers, to kepe secrets for any wun without bringing
him to the crap, and now that I'me in another wurld I expect you will
give luse to your one inwenshuns, which will be the ruin of you yet, as
well as of them as has the pleasure of your ackwaintance, in" wich case
you don't ear agin from me, and I luk for sum wun as nose how to
place a proper valy on advice when they gets it, which wasn't your case
for sum tim gone. My present sitivashun has all cum of not noing ou
to be silent, or bill Sawyer cudn't av ruined me in my business ; but
never mind, it's a long lane that has no turn in it, as the chap sed to
console himself in the tredmill. Remember me to Jim Spriggins, who
is the primest rtiffin cove I ever shared a swag with, tell him I'me no
transport, tho' I'me bound over the watter, for I'me just visiting furrin
parts as the gents do on account of having lived too free at home, and
that I ope to nap many a reader yet, of providence blesses our under-
takings. So no more at present time from your loving friend,

BILL HOLMES.

FROM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN TO HIS FRIEND AT BANGOR.

DEAR ICHABOD,

As I shall cut off to Harrisburg, Pa, to-morrow as soon as I land,
and then preceed to Pitts ville, Ma, I write you these few lines to in-
form you of the state of things in general, and the markets in particu-
lar. Rice is riz, tho' the tobacco market looks black ; cotton is lighter,
and some brilliant specs have been made in oil. Pots hang heavy in
hand, and pearls is dull. Tampico fustic is moderate, and campeachy
a 37 504 mos. Whalebone continues firm. Few transactions have
taken place in bar or pig, and iron generally is heavy. Hung dried
Chili remain high, but Santa Marthas are flat. The banks and large
houses look for specie, but long paper still passes in the hands of indi-
viduals and little houses in the city. This all the news and last ad-
vices. But, dear Ich, what on airth are we coming to, and how will
our free and enlightened country bear the inspection brand abroad ?
Will not our name decline in foreign markets ? The pilot has just
come on board and intimated that the vice-president, the second offi-
cer of this first of countries, was not received with due honour at New
York. He says that the common council could not ask him to thread
an agrarian band of Fanny Wright men, Offin men, Ming men, and all
other sorts of men but respectable men, for he would have had to encoun-
ter a slough of Loco-Focoism, that no decent man would wade thro'. It is
scarcely credible that so discreditable an event should occur in this em-
pire city, but it is the blessed fruit of that cussed tree of Van Bruenism,

14 THE LETTER BAG OF THE GREAT WESTERN.

which is rotten before it is ripe, and, unlike other poisonous fruit, is not
even attractive in outward appearance, but looks bad, tastes bad, and
operates bad, and, in short, is bad altogether. But of all the most appal-
ling information I have received per this channel was that of the form-
ation of twenty-four new hose companies. "What," said I, " twenty-four
new hose companies ? Is the stocking business going ahead ? Is it to cover
the naked feet of the shoeless Irish and Scotch and English paupers,
that cover with uncovered legs like locusts this happy land, or is it for
foreign markets ? Where does the capital come from ? Is it a spec,
or has it a bottom ? " — " No/' said he, shaking his head ; " it is a dark
job of the new lights, the Loco-Foeos. To carry the election of chief
engineer of the firemen, they have created twenty-four new companies
of firemen, called hose companies, which has damped the fire, and ex-
tinguished the last spark of hope of all true patriots. It has thrown
cold water on the old fire companies, who will sooner resign than thus
be inundated. This is the way the radicals of England wanted to
swamp the House of Lords by creating a new batch of Peers baked at
once, though the persons for Peers were only half-baked or underdone ;
but they did not, and were not allowed to glut the market that way.
How is it this stale trick should become fresh and succeed here in this
enlightened land, this abode of freemen, this seat of purity, and pass
current without one solid genuine ingredient of true metal ? It is a
base trick, a barefaced imposition, a high-handed and unconstitutional
measure. It is a paltry manoeuvre to swindle the firemen out of their
right of election. Yes, Ich, the firemen is swamped, and the sun of
liberty has gone down angry, extinguished in the waters of popular
delusion. Then, for heaven's sake, look at Vixburg. Everything looks
worse and worse there. In several of the counties they have quashed
all the bonds, in some there are no courts, in others the sheriffs pocket
the money, and refuse to shell out to any one. In one instance a man
tried for the murder of his wife escaped because he was convicted of
manslaughter ; and in another, a person indicted for stealing a pig got
off because it was a chote. They ring the noses of the judges instead
of the pigs. From cutting each other up in the papers with pens, they
now cut each other up in the streets with bowie knives, and, in my
opinion, will soon eat one another like savages, for backbiting has be-
come quite common. The constitution has received a pretty consider-
able tarnation shock, that 's a fact. Van Burenism and Sub-Treasury-
ism have triumphed ; the Whig cause has gained nothing but funeral
honours, and a hasty burial below low-water mark. In England,
Biddle retiring from the bank has affected the cotton trade, and shook
it to its centre. They say, if it paid well, why did he pay himself
off? If it was a losing concern, it was a loss to lose him ; but all are
at a loss to know the reason of his withdrawing. I own I fear he is
playing the game of fast and loose. The breaking of that bank would
affect the banks of the Mississippi as well as the Ohio, and the country
would be inundated with bad paper, the natural result of his paper
war with Jackson, the undamming by the administration of the specie
dammed up by him for so long a period. Damn them all, I say.
However, Ich, if we have made a losing concern of it, the English have
got their per contra sheet, showing a balance against them too. They
are going to lose Canada, see if they ain't, as sure as a gun ; and if they
do, I guess we know where to find it, without any great search after it
either. I didn't think myself it was so far gone goose with them, or

THE LETTER BAG OF THE GREAT WESTERN. 15

the fat in the fire half so bad, until I read Lord Durham's report ;
but he says, "My experience leaves no doubt on my mind that
an invading American army might rely upon the co-operation of
almost the entire French population of Lower Canada." Did you
ever hear the like of that, Ich ? By gosh, but it was worth while
to publish that, wasn't it? Now, after such an invitation as that,
coming from such a quarter, too, if our folks don't go in and take
it, they ought to be kicked clean away to the other side of sun
down, hang me if they hadn't enough. It is enough to make a cat
sick, too, to hear them Goneys to Canada talk about responsible Go-
vernment, cuss me if it aint. They don't know what they are jawing
about, them fellows, that 's a fact. I should like to know what 's the
use of mob responsibility when our most responsible treasurers fobbed
five millions of dollars lately of the public money, without winking. —
Where are they now ? Why, some on 'em is in France, going the
whole figure, and the other rascals at home snapping the fingers of
one hand at the people, and gingling their own specie at them with
the fingers of the other hand, as sarcy as the devil. Only belong to
the majority, and you are as safe as a thief in a mill. They '11 carry
you thro' the mire at a round trot, as stiff as a pedlar's horse. It 's
well enough to boast, Ich. of our constitution afore strangers, and
particularly afore them colony chaps, because it may do good ; but I
hope I may be most particularly cussed if I would't undertake to
drive a stage-coach and four horses thro' most any part of it at full
gallop. — Responsibility! what infernal nonsense! Show me one of
all our public defaulters that deserved hanging, that ever got his
due, and then I '11 believe the word has some meaning in it. But
the British are fools, that 's a fact, always was fools, and always will
be fools to the end of the chapter ; and them are colonists arnt much
better, I hope I may be shot if they are. The devil help them all, I
say, till we are ready for them, and then let them look out for squalls,
that 's all. Lord, if they was to invade us as our folks did them, and
we was to catch them, we 'd serve them as Old Hickory did Ambris-
ther and Arbuthnot, down there to Florida line — hang 'em up like
onions, a dozen on a rope. I guess they won't try them capers with
us ; they know a trick worth two of that, I 'me a-thinking. I suppose
you. 've heard the French took a pilot out of a British gun-brig ; when
called upon for explanation, they said they took this man-of-war
for a merchantman. No great compliment that, was it ? but John
Bull swallowed it all, though he made awful wry faces in getting it
down. As our minister said, suppose they did make such a blunder,
what right had they to take him out of a merchantman at all ? and if
it was a mistake, why didn't they take him back again when they
found out their error ? He was such an everlastin' overbearin' crittur
himself in years past was John Bull, it does one good to see him hum-
bled, and faith he gets more kicks than coppers now. It appears to
me they wouldn't have dared to have done that to us, don't it to you ?
Then they took one of their crack steam frigates for a Mexican. Lord,
that was another compliment, and they let drive into her and played
the very devil. Nothing but another mistake ag'in, says Bullfrog, upon
my vird and onare very soary, but I did not know you, my goot friend ;
no, I did not, indeed, I took you for de miserable Mexican — you very
much altared from de old time what went before — vary. It was lucky
for Johnny Croppo our Gineral Jackson hadn't the helm of state, or
he'd a taught them different guess manners, I 'm a thinking. If they

16 THE LETTER-BAG OF THE GREAT WESTERN.

had dared to venture that sort of work to us in Old Hickory's time,
I hope I may be skinned alive by wild cats if he wouldn't have blowed
every cussed craft they have out of the water. Lord, Ich, he'd a
sneezed them out, cuss me if he wouldn't ! There is no mistake in Old
Hick, I tell you. If he isn't clear grit-ginger to the back-bone —
tough as whitleather, and spunky as a bull dog, it 's a pity, that 's all.
I must say, at present, our citizens are treated with great respect
abroad. His excellency the honble the governor of the state of Quim-
bagog lives at St. Jimses, and often dines at the palace. When they
go to dinner, he carries the Queen, and Melburne carries Duchess
Kent. Him and the Queen were considerably shy at first, but
they soon got sociable, and are quite thick now. He told the com-
pany there was a town to home called Vixburg, after — (Melburne
says ahem ! as a hint not to go too far — Governor winks, as much
as to say, no fear, I take you, my boy,) so called from Vix, scarce-
ly, and burg, a city, which place had become famous throughout
America for its respect for the laws, and that many people thought
there was a growing resemblance between England and it. Melbourne
seed the bam, and looked proper vexed ; and to turn the conversation,
said, " Shall I have the honour to take wine with your Excellency
Mister Governor of the State of Quimbagog in America, but now a
guest of her most gracious Majesty ! " They say he always calls it an
honour when he asks him and pays him the respect to give him all his
titles, and when he asks other folks, he says " pleasure" and just nods
his head. That 's gratifying now, aint it ? The truth is, we stand
letter A. No. 1 abroad, and for no other reason than this — the British
can whip all the world, and we can whip the British. When you write
to England, if you speak of this ship, you must call her the Great
Western Steamer, or it may lead to trouble ; for there are two Great
Westerns, — this here ship, and one of the great men ; and they won't
know which you mean. Many mistakes have happened already, and
parcels are constantly sent to his address in that way, that are intended
for America. The fact is, there is some truth in the resemblance.
Both their trips cost more money than they were worth. Both raised
greater expectations than they have fulfilled. Both returned a plaguy
sight quicker than they went out : and between you and me and the
post, both are inconveniently big, and have more smoke than power.
As soon as I arrange my business at Pittsville, I shall streak if off for
Maine, like lightning, for I am in an everlasting almighty hurry, I tell
you ; and hoping to see you well and stirring, and as hearty as brandy.

I am, dear Ich, yours faithfully, ELNATHAN CARD.
P.S. — Keep dark. If you have a rael right-down clipper of a horse
in your stable, a-doing of nothing, couldn't you jist whip over to Port-
land on the 20th, to meet me, in your waggon ? If you could, I can
put you up to a thing about oil ; in which, I think, we could make a
considerable of a decent spec, and work it so as to turn a few thousand
dollars slick. Gineral Corncob will accommodate us at the bank with
what we want ; for it was me helped him over the fence when he was
nonplushed last election for senator by the democratic republicans, and
he must be a most superfine infernal rascal if he turns stag on me now.
Chew on it, at any rate, and if you have a mind to go snaks, why jist
make an arrant for something or another to the Bay, to draw the wool
over folke's eyes, and come on the sly, and you will go back heavier, I
guess, than you came by a plaguy long chalk, that 's a fact.

Yours, E. C.

17

THE WISHING WELL,

ISLE OF WIGHT.
BY ABRAHAM ELDER, ESQ.

IN answer to our inquiry respecting the Wishing Well, Captain
Nosered gave us the following account of it.

" The Wishing Well is a small spring of water that runs on the edge
of the brow of the very steep hill that looks over the Undercliff, a little
to the eastward of Ventnor. The superstition respecting it is, that if
a person walks quite straight up to it from the low ground beneath
without once looking behind him, and then drinks of the water, he
will have any three wishes that he makes granted to him.

" It is, however, a feat not often performed. In the first place, the
ascent is extremely steep, and the grass very slippery ; and, although
falling down does not forfeit the privileges of the water-drinker, yet
should he fall, it would be very difficult to avoid looking behind. For,
even if the person should not happen to turn partly round in his fall,
he will be very apt to forget himself for a moment, and look at the sea
and the country beneath. I do not know why it is ; but while resting
during an ascent of a steep road we have always a natural, and as it were,
instinctive inclination to turn round ; which, as I before observed, is
in the present instance destructive of future prospects. Supposing all
these accidents and inclinations surmounted, and the brow of the hill
reached, ascending in a straight line, without inclining to the right or
left, or looking round, the chances are greatly against coming exactly
upon the little spring ; and, if you find yourself upon one side of it, it
is clear that you cannot get to it without turning, which, as I observed
before, forfeits the right you would otherwise possess of having your
three wishes accomplished.

" Since I have been an inhabitant of Violet Cottage," continued
Captain Nosered, " I have not heard that any one has gone through the
ceremony so exactly as to have obtained his three wishes."

' ' But, then, you should bear in mind, sir," observed the Antiquary,
" that the spot is so frequented by strangers visiting the island, who
are here to-day and gone to-morrow, that the thing might have hap-
pened over and over again without its having of necessity come to your
knowledge."

" Your observation, Mr. Winterblossom, is a very correct one. For
instance, when I was first married to my dear Florilla," (here Mrs.
Nosered gave a smile of approbation,) " we took a honeymooning tour
round the Isle of Wight. Did not we, love ? " (here another smile and
a nod.) " Well, when we got to Ventnor, where we drank tea and
slept, we determined to visit the Wishing Well the next day after
breakfast, and to wish for a boy," (here Mrs. Nosered put her hand
before her face, and turned a little on one side, to look as if she was
blushing.) " Well, after breakfast we started, and soon arrived at the
bottom of the Wishing Hill ; but, alas ! it was far too steep for Flo-
rilla's delicate limbs, (she was a large, fat, red-faced woman, at the
time the Captain related to us this story,) " so I was obliged to leave
her at the bottom of the hill, and see what I could do for the family by

VOL. VII. C

18 THE WISHING WELL.

going up to the spring, and drinking and wishing by myself. I was
wonderfully successful in the ascent. I never looked once behind me ;
though Florilla in all her charms was seated at the bottom of the hill,
smiling probably, and looking up towards me. Well, sir, I came
straight upon tlie well at the top of the hill ; 1 took some of the water
up in the hollow of my hand ; drank it ; I then sat down, and wished
for a boy. No boy came, however, — as the saying goes — in the due
course of time. About two years afterwards, indeed, we had a little
girl. —Jane, my dear, give Mr. Winterblossom a little more sugar in
his tea. That 's her, sir. Why it did not turn out right I cannot tell.
Perhaps there is no real virtue in the well. Perhaps I failed in some
small particular. But, somehow or other, it often strikes me, that
if Florilla could have managed to have got to the top of the hill, and
we had there drunk and wished together, it might have been other-
wise."

Here Jane presented the Antiquary with a cup of tea, and Mrs.
Nosered carried one to her husband, and, under pretence of whispering
something into his ear, she gave him a little small kiss upon his left
cheek ; I suppose to thank him for calling her ' ' dear," and talking of
her charms before company, — which is more than any wife has strictly
a right to expect. I was not, however, forgotten in this amiable distri-
bution of tea; for the younger daughter, Charlotte, brought me my cup.
Charlotte was, indeed, really beautiful. She had a small elegant nose —
not looking downwards — which I admire above all things. Her light
brown curls hanging down in long ringlets, and the ends of these silken
tendrils resting upon her delicate and white bust — for she wore a low
gown, being dressed for the evening. Heaven and earth ! what would I
have given for her to have whispered -something into my ear after the
manner of her mother. But, to return to my story. We sipped our tea,
and stirred it, and then sipped again, Florilla looking complacently
upon her husband ; the Antiquary watching Jane as she spread and
sliced the bread and butter ; while I was feasting my eyes upon the
beauty of the sweet, dear, Charlotte Nosered.

After the Antiquary had finished his tea, he continued knocking
his spoon backwards and forwards in his empty cup — in deep medita-
tion, doubtless, for he was deaf to frequent invitations to another cup.
At length he turned to Captain Nosered, and said,

" I think you observed, that when you got to the top of the hill you
tasted the water, — and then sat down, — and then wished for a boy ? "

" Just so."

" Pray did you turn yourself round when you sat down ? "

" Undoubtedly I did. The hill is so steep that if I had sat down
the other way, I should probably have rolled head over heels down to
the bottom of the hill."

The Antiquary made no answer, but gave a significant nod, and then
changed the conversation by requesting Mrs. Nosered to supply him
with another cup of tea.

At length I ventured to put in my word, and I said to the Captain,

" Then, sir, if I understand you rightly, you have tried the well
yourself, and it has failed ; and you have never heard of anybody else
who has been more successful ; although, of course, as Mr. Winter-
blossom well observed, the thing might have happened without its
having of necessity come to your knowledge."

" You have quite misunderstood me, Mr. Elder," said he ; " what I

THE WISHING WELL. 19

stated was, that I was not aware that anybody had obtained his three
wishes since I had been a resident in Violet Cottage. There is, how-
ever, a man living close by, who a few years before I came to reside
here drank of the wonderful well without making any fatal mistake,
and had his three wishes all granted to him in due form. Shall I go
out with you in search of the man, or shall I tell you the story my own
way. I am quite at your service, whichever you choose."

Here the Antiquary and myself put our heads together in con-
sultation.

" The Captain tells a story well," said the Antiquary.

" That he does," said I. " Besides the man may be a blockhead ;
which would destroy the romance of the thing. Besides, he will re-
quire about half-a-crown for his story ; and, besides, I think it is going
to rain."

The fact was, that I thought the society of Captain Nosered's family
would be more agreeable than that of the man of the Wishing Well.
So the Antiquary acquainted Captain Nosered that we should much
prefer hearing the story in his own words.

Captain Nosered began as follows I—-
THE STORY OP THE WISHING WELL.

f< John Chaw, the hero of my tale, at the time of his celebrated visit
to the Wishing Well, was about twenty-two years of age. He was a
labourer in the employ of Joseph Bull, a farmer, who lived not very
distant from this place. John looked after his cows, and occasionally
drove his waggon : but, having heard a number of curious stories about
the Wishing Well, he determined to visit it, and see whether he could
not, by wishing, better his condition. It was a smart walk from Farmer
Bull's, and he had very little time to spare from his business ; so he
started a little before his breakfast-time, carrying his breakfast with
him in his pocket. When he got to the Undercliff below the hill, he
looked out for the tuft of grass that marks where the little spring oozes
out from the brow above. He marked well the direction in which it
lay, and walked straight for it. He never looked back ; and he never
turned at all to the right or the left all the way up. He then took
some of the water up in the hollow of his hand, and said, " I wish as I
was richer than any man in the Isle of Wight, and so here goes." He
then drank some water. He then repeated his wish. After which
he laid himself down upon the grass to rest himself a little, for
the weather was very hot. Presently the hill, the Undercliff, the
sea, and the sky, faded gradually from his sight, and he seemed to be
shrouded in a kind of grey mist. At length he thought that he could
trace the figure of an old woman in a loose grey cloak, standing with
her arms extended over him. In her right hand she held a long, thin,
straight, white stick. The figure got plainer and plainer, till her form
had become quite distinct, when she said to him,

" ' What 's your wish, sir ? '

" ' Why/ said John Chaw, ' I wish as I was richer than any man in
the Isle of Wight — that 's what I wish.'

" The old woman answered, ' Very well,' and then touched his fore-
head with the end of her stick. ' Any other wish ? ' said she.

" ' Nothing else at present,' said John Chaw. ' I should like that
wish to soak in a little first.'

c2

20 THE WISHING WELL.

f< 'As you please, sir/ said the old woman, and her form gradually
got fainter and fainter, till at length it disappeared altogether. The
mist began to clear away, and John Chaw saw again the Wishing Well
beside which he had laid down, the Undercliff, the sea, and the sky. So
he got up, and walked down the hill, wondering all the while whether
the old woman meant really to give him any money or not. However
he did not go straight down, but took an easier way, which led him into
the path that leads from Ventnor to the rock that is called the Pulpit
Stone. Here he met with an elderly gentleman, who had apparently
been taking a stroll to the Pulpit Stone, and was returning to Vent-
nor. He followed the old gentleman for about a hundred yards or
so, when the latter suddenly appeared to be taken very ill, for he tot-
tered a little, and then sat down on the grass by the side of the hill.
John Chaw went up to him, and asked him ' whether he found himself
unwell ? ' John Chaw offered to assist him home ; which offer was
accepted, and they went home to the old gentleman's lodging at Vent-
nor. Mr. Ballicalli was the old gentleman's name, and he took a great
fancy to our hero, John, and he asked him to stay with him, and take
care of him. The next day he said to him, ' Mr. Chaw, I feel that I
have not many days more to live. I have spent the greater part of my
life in India, and I have got no friends and few relations in England,
and those few I do not like. I have taken rather a fancy to you, and,
for want of a better, I intend to make you my heir.'

" ' I hope you will live many a long day, yet,' said John Chaw, wish-
ing to appear civil.

" So Mr. Ballicalli wrote to his lawyer in London, saying that he
felt himself but poorly, and that Mr. Chaw was to be his heir ;
and, for fear of accidents in the mean time, he sent for a lawyer from
Newport to make his will. The will was made, and Mr. Ballicalli
died. And John Chaw, in compliance with the old gentleman's re-
quest, became Mr. Ballicalli Chaw. A day or two afterwards down
came the lawyer from London, an elderly man in a brown wig,
with black short gaiters, and acquainted Mr. Ballicalli Chaw that he
was now the proprietor of a large house and fine park in Northum-
berland.

" Off goes John Chaw to Northumberland, and arrives safely at his
great house. Lots of footmen to wait upon him, in blue coats and red
small-clothes. John Chaw was as happy as the day was long. He
had porter and purl, and beans and bacon for breakfast ; got drunk re-
gularly after dinner, and smoked his pipe in the evening. Many jolly
companions visited him, and partook of his good cheer. Many of the
squires in the neighbourhood called upon him, and almost everybody
called him ' sir.' But, what pleased him most was, that Lord Thing-
ummy, arid his sister, Lady Kitty Thingummy, called upon him, and told
him that they had the greatest pleasure imaginable in making his ac-
quaintance. His Lordship told him that there was only one thing want-
ing to make Mr. Ballicalli Chaw completely genteel, — that was, marry-
ing a lady of rank : and after a little while he went so far as to hint that
Lady Kitty was very much prepossessed with his personal appearance
and amiable manner. The upshot of all this was, that shortly after
Mr. Ballicalli Chaw was married to Lady Kitty Thingummy* on con-
dition, however, of his dropping the name of Chaw, which she did not
consider sufficiently genteel.

" Here commenced our hero's misfortunes. In the first place, Laily

THE WISHING WELL. 21

Kitty, although of a high family, was extremely ugly, squinted, was
very proud, and had the temper of a devil.

"John was obliged to cut all his merry companions, because they
were vulgar. He was obliged to give up his porter and purl, and beans
and bacon for breakfast, because they were vulgar. Getting drunk
upon ale at dinner was vulgar, and John did not like wine. Smoking
of an evening was the vulgarist thing that ever was heard of. John's
great delight in former days used to be playing at skittles for a pot of
beer : but skittles, he was told were, if possible, still more vulgar than
clay pipes. Besides, he had the greatest difficulty in finding people to
play with. Lady Kitty would not hear of his playing with the foot-
man. This he thought the hardest thing of any ; for, ' what are foot-
men for ? ' he would argue, ' if it is not to please their master/ How-
ever, the thing was pronounced to be vulgar, and so there was an end
of it. He might, however, have a billiard table, if he pleased, and so
he immediately ordered one. But this did not help him a bit ; for,
who was there to play with him ? Unfortunately for John also, Lady
Kitty's relations were even more proud than she was herself. She cut
all John's friends and relations, because they were vulgar ; and her re-
lations cut Lady Kitty Ballicalli, because Mr. Ballicalli was so vulgar.
Thus, between the pride of Lady Kitty and Lady Kitty's relations,
John hardly could find anybody to speak to.

" Day after day he used to walk about his great park by himself,
staring at the old oak trees and the deer, without knowing what to do
with himself. Even in this, however, he was sometimes interfered
with ; for walking (or, at any rate, walking much) was vulgar. Two
or three days a-week he used to drive with his wife, in their coach-and-
four, along the turnpike-road, to the market-town and back ; more for
the purpose of showing off their grandeur, than for anything that they
had to do there.

" This rumbling along in a carriage, instead of taking his natural
and wholesome exercise on foot, as he used to do, went sorely against
the grain with the unfortunate Mr. Ballicalli.

" Once or twice he seriously thought of rebelling, and throwing his
gentility overboard altogether, and living comfortably and merrily with
his merry vulgar companions again. But notwithstanding that he had
what he called a successful scrimmage now and then, the influence of
the wife in the end always prevailed. For instance, once he swore he
mouldt and he actually did, go down to the village pot-house, and have
a game at skittles : and he made all the folks that he found there as
drunk as fiddlers, into the bargain. Such a life, however, he led for a
fortnight afterwards, that he never showed fight upon that subject again.
John Ballicalli began to think that a person may be very rich, and very
genteel, and yet not be very happy, after all. In short, three months
had hardly elapsed before he had made up his mind that he had not
gained anything by his change of circumstances.

" One night he was lying tossing about in bed, bewailing his unfor-
tunate condition. ' I just wish,' said he to himself, as he turned over
to the other side, ' that I was back at the Wishing Well again, plain
John Chaw, servant to Farmer Bull.' You will observe that he turned
over as he wished this. Well, instead of resting his other side com-
fortably upon the feather bed, he turned over, and over, and over, very
quickly, upon something very hard. This awoke him. When he
opened his eyes he found himself rolling over and over down the very

22 THE WISHING WELL.

steep pitch below the Wishing Well. He was very much frightened*
for he thought that he should be knocked to pieces long before he got
to the bottom of the hill. He said to himself, ' I only wish that I may
get safely to the bottom of the hill.' While he was wishing this he
gradually got his legs before him, and, in consequence, he did not roll
over any more, but slid gradually down the steeper part of the hill, and
arrived safe and sound at the bottom of it.

" John was now more puzzled than ever he was in his life before.
How in the world did he get from Ballicalli Park, in Northumberland,
to the Wishing Well at Ventnor, without his recollecting anything
about the journey ? ' But, then, to be sure, the rolling over and over
had/ as he expressed himself, ' put his head in such a whirr that he
was so giddy he could hardly stand, and that probably put the recol-
lection of the journey out of his head. He thought, however, that
probably he should find both his carriage and his wife waiting for him
at the hotel.'

" He walked down to the hotel, and inquired of the waiter whether
Lady Kitty Ballicalli was within ? The waiter had never heard of the
name.

" ' Is Mr. Ballicalli's carriage here ? '

" ' Whose carriage ? asked the hostler, who was standing by.

" ' My carriage/ said John, drawing himself up, for he was rather
offended at the hostler's familiar tone.

" ' Your carriage, Jack Chaw ! ' shouted the hostler in a loud fit of
laughter. ' So you have been a-losing Farmer Bull's waggon and
team ; I would not be in your shoes for summut ! '

" John now walked down to the cottage, where he used to live with
his mother and sister before he grew rich j in short, he was so puzzled
that he did not know where else to go to. At first he thought to him-
self, e perhaps they will be a little huffy at first, and think that I
have not used them well in not asking them to Ballicalli Park, and
making fine ladies of them. But, when I explain it all to them, and
how particular Lady Kitty is, they must at once see that this would
have been altogether out of the question. «Then I did send them a
twenty pound note now and then, which Lady Kitty said was all that
persons in their rank of life could possibly require.

" John then went on to think that they would not canvass his con-
duct so closely, but would be overpowered by the honour of a visit from
the rich Mr. Ballicalli, of Ballicalli Park, in the County of Northum-
berland. When he came to the cottage his mother was standing look-
ing out of the door.

" f'Ods boddykins!' said she, 'John, where in the name of good-
ness have you been all this blessed day ? Farmer Bull has been kick-
ing up such a rumpus about you. Horses and cows not tended to, and
the pigs not fed. Farmer Bull actually fed the pigs himself, as Billy
was not in the way either. It 's a pretty go, indeed, to put your break-
fast in your pocket and walk off nobody knows where, instead of coming
comfortably home at meal-times/ Here she stopped to take breath,
and John had a capital opportunity of putting in a word for himself;
but he was quite taken aback by this unexpected attack. In short, it
altogether bothered him. However, before his mother started again
\vith the second part of her lecture, he observed that he did not under-
stand what she meant by saying that he had been away the whole day,

THE WISHING WELL. 23

when she must have known as well as he did that he had not been in
the Isle of Wight for at least three months before.

" ' What do you mean, John ? ' said mother and sister both together.

" ' Why, I just mean this/ he said, ' that I have been spending my
time for the last three months at Ballicalli Park, in the county of
Northumberland, living like a gentleman ; and I will tell you what,
mother, riding in a carriage ain't such very great fun, after all, when
one begins to be a little accustomed to it. I dare say, now, you are
angry at my not having taken you to Ballicalli Park, or sent you more
money ; but I should think/ added he, in a kind of patronising tone,
a twenty pound note every now and then, is not altogether to be
sneezed at ? And, how are you all at home ? Sister Sally, I see, is
looking just as blooming as when I left her three months ago. And,
how are the rheumatics, mother ? — better, I hope.'

" His mother, however, instead of answering his kind inquiries about
her rheumatics, shrugged up her shoulders and looked at Sally, and
then exclaimed, ' The boy is gone stark mad ! I fear he has not got
wit enough left him to look after the team, or see to the cows, or even,
I dare say, feed the pigs.' She then, like a thoughtful, careful mo-
ther, trotted off to Farmer Bull, to try to make her son's peace with
him. ' Her son,' she said, had been taken very ill, in a sort of a fit like,
and though he was better, she did not think that he was quite right in
his head again. She hoped, however, that he would be able to get to
his work again in the morning/

" John did get to his work again the next day, and went on as
steadily as ever. He talked, to be sure, a good deal about Ballicalli
Park, and Lady Kitty, for the first ten days ; but he got so laughed
at and quizzed that he soon let the subject drop altogether. And so it
remained untalked of, and almost forgotten by everybody but himself,
till these last few years, since the number of visitors coming to Vent-
nor has so greatly increased.

<e It struck John one day, observing what numbers of people walked
up the hill to see the Wishing Well, that his story occasionally told to a
gaping stranger, might turn to some account ; and many a shilling, I
believe, it has brought him. Stories, my dear sir, as I suppose you must
be aware, like wine and friends, improve by keeping. Not that I
mean to say that there is one single particle of this tale, in its latest
and most improved version, that John Chaw does not himself most im-
plicitly believe to have happened.

" What appears to John to be the most extraordinary part of the
history is the way in which the fairy accomplished his second wish, of
making him plain John Chaw again, Farmer Bull's servant, and the
wonderful manner in which she contrived to snip off three whole
months out of his past life, so that not a trace of their existence re-
mained. For nobody could ever persuade him that he had not been
for three months Mr. Ballicalli Chaw, of Ballicalli Park, in the county
of Northumberland, and he never would marry for fear of those three
months of his life being rediscovered, and Lady Kitty Ballicalli prose-
cuting him for bigamy.

HAROUN ALRASCHID.

O'ER the gorgeous room a luxurious gloom,

Like the glow of a summer's eve, hung ;
From its basin of stone, with rose-leaves bestrown,

The fountain its coolness flung ;
Perfumes wondrously rare fill'd the eunuch-fann'd air,

And on gem-studded carpets around
The poets sung forth tales of glory or mirth

To their instruments' eloquent sound ;
On a throne framed of gold sat their monarch the bold,

With coffers of coin by his side,
And to each, as he sung, lavish handfuls he flung,

Till each in his gratitude cried,
" Long, long live great Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old ! "

Disturbing the feast, from the Rome of the East

An embassage audience craves;
And Haroun, smiling bland, cries, dismissing the band,

" We will look on the face of our slaves ! "
Then the eunuchs who wait on their Caliph in state

Lead the messenger Lords of the Greek.
Proud and martial their mien, proud and martial their sheen,

But they bow to the Arab right meek ;
And with heads bending down, though their brows wear a frown,

They ask if he audience bestow.
" Yea, dogs of the Greek, we await ye, so speak ! —

Have ye brought us the tribute you owe ?
Or what lack ye of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old ? "

Then the Greek spake loud, " To Alraschid the Proud

This message our monarch doth send :
While ye play'd 'gainst a Queen, ye could mate her, I ween —

She could ill with thy pieces contend ;
But Irene is dead, and a Pawn in her stead

Holds her power and place on the board :
By Nicephorus stern is the purple now worn,

And no longer he owns thee for lord.
If tribute ye claim, I am bade in his name

This to tell thee, O King of the World,
With these, not with gold, pays Nicephorus bold ! " —

And a bundle of sword-blades he hurl'd
At the feet of stern Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old

Dark as death was his look, and his every limb shook,

As the Caliph glared round on the foe —
" View my answer ! " he roarM, and unsheathing his sword,

Clove the bundle of falchions right through.
" Tell my slave, the Greek hound, that Haroun the Renown'd,

Ere the sun that now sets rise again,
Will be far on the road to his wretched abode,

With many a myriad of men.
No reply will he send, either spoken or penn'd ;

But by Allah, and Abram our sire,
lie shall read a reply on the earth, in the sky,

Writ in bloodshed, and famine, and fire!
Now begone ! " thundered Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

HAROUN ALRASCHID.

As the sun dropt in night by the murky torch-light,

There was gathering of horse and of man :
Tartar, Gourd, Bishareen, Persian, swart Bedoween,

And the mighty of far Khorasan —
Of all tongues, of all lands, and in numberless bands,

Round the Prophet's green banner they crowd,
They are form'd in array, they are up and away,

Like the locusts' calamitous cloud ;
But rapine or spoil, till they reach the Greek soil,

Is forbidden, however assail'd.
A poor widow, whose fold a Gourd robb'd, her tale told,

And he was that instant impaled
By the stern wrath of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old !

On o'er valley and hill, river, plain, onwards still,

Fleet and fell as the desert-wind, on !
Where was green grass before, when that host had pass'd o'er,

Every vestige of verdure was gone !
On o'er valley and hill, desert, river, on still,

With the speed of the wild ass or deer,
The dust of their tread, o'er the atmosphere spread,

Hung for miles like a cloud in their rear.
On o'er valley and hill, desert, river, on still,

Till afar booms the ocean's hoarse roar,
And amid the night's gloom are seen tower, temple, dome —

Heraclea, that sits by the shore !
The doom'd city of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

There was mirth at its height in thy mansions that night,

Heraclea, that sits by the sea !
Thy damsels' soft smiles breathed their loveliest wiles,

And the banquet was wild in its glee !
> For Zoe the fair, proud Nicephorus' heir,

That night was betrothed to her mate,
To Theseus the Bold, of Illyria old,

And the blood of the Island-kings great.
When lo ! wild and lorn, and with robes travel- torn,

And with features that pallidly glared,
They the Arab had spurn'd from Damascus return'd,

Rush'd in, and the coming declared
Of the armies of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

A faint tumult afar, the first breathing of war,

Multitudinous floats on the gale ;
The lelie shout shrill, and the toss'd cymbals peal,

And the trumpet's long desolate wail,
The horse-tramp of swarms, and the clangour of arms,

And the murmur of nations of men.
Oh woe, woe, and woe, Heraclea shall know —

She shall fall, and shall rise not again ;
The spiders' dusk looms shall alone hang her rooms,

The green grass shall grow in her ways,
Her daughters shall wail, and her warriors shall quail,

And herself be a sign of amaze,
Through the vengeance of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

'Tis the dawn of the sun, and the morn-prayer is clone,

And the murderous onset is made ;
The Christian and foe they are at it, I trow,

Feai fully plying the blade.

26 HAROUN ALRASCHID.

Each after each rolls on to the breach,

Like the slumberless roll of the sea.
Rank rolling on rank rush the foe on the Frank,

Breathless, in desperate glee ;
The Greek's quenchless fire, the Mussulman's ire

Has hurled over rampart and wall.
And 'tis all one wild hell of blades slaughtering fell,

Where fiercest and fellest o'er all
Work'd the falchion of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

But day rose on day, yet Nicephorus grey,

And Theseus, his daughter's betrothed,
With warrior-like sleight kept the town in despite

Of the Moslem insulted and loathed.
Morn rose after morn on the leaguers outworn,

Till the Caliph with rage tore his beard ;
And, terribly wroth, sware a terrible oath —

An oath which the boldest ev'n fear'd.
So his mighty Emirs gat around their compeers,

And picked for the onslaught a few.
Oh ! that onslaught was dread, — every Moslem struck dead !

But, however, young Theseus they slew,
And that gladdened fierce Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

Heraclea, that night in thy palaces bright

There was anguish and bitterest grief.
" He is gone ! he is dead ! " were the words that they said,

Though the stunn'd heart refused its belief;
Wild and far spreads the moan, from the hut, from the throne,

Striking every one breathless with fear.
" Oh ! Theseus the bold, thou art stark,— thou art cold,—

Thou art young to be laid on the bier."
One alone makes no moan, but with features like stone,

In an ecstasy haggard of woe,
Sits tearless and lorn, with dry eyeballs that burn,.

And fitful her lips mutter low
Dread threatenings against Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

The next morn on the wall, first and fiercest of all,

The distraction of grief cast aside,
Tn her lord's arms arrayed, Zoe plies the death-blade,-—

Ay, and, marry, right terribly plied.
Her lovely arm fair, to the shoulder is bare,

And nerved with a giant-like power
Where her deadly sword sweeps fall the mighty in heaps ;

Where she does but appear the foe cower.
Rank on rank they rush on, — rank on rank are struck down,

Till the ditch is choked up with the dead.
The vulture and crow, and the wild dog, I trow,

Made a dreadful repast that night as they fed
On the liegemen of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

This was not to last. — The stern Moslem, downcast,

Retrieved the next morning their might ;
For Alraschid the bold, and the Barmecide old,

Had proclaimed through the camp in the night,
That whoso should win the first footing within

The city that bearded their power,
Should have for his prize the fierce girl with black eyes,

And ten thousand zecchines as her dower.

A TALE OF THE MORGUE. 27

It spurred them right well ; and they battled and fell,

Like lions, with long hunger wild.
Ere that day set the sun Heraclea was won,
And Nicephorus bold, and his child,
Were captives to Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

To his slave, the Greek hound, roared Haroun the renowned,

When before him Nicephorus came,
" Though the pawn went to queen, 'tis checkmated, I ween.

Thou 'rt as bold as unskilled in the game.
Now, Infidel, say, wherefore should I not slay

The wretch that my vengeance hath sought? " —
" I am faint, — I am weak, — and I thirst," quoth the Greek,

Give me drink." At his bidding 'tis brought ;
He took it ; but shrank, lest 'twere poison he drank.

" Thou art safe till the goblet be quaffed ! "
Cried Haroun. The Greek heard, took the foe at his word,

Dashed down on the pavement the draught,
And claimed mercy of Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old.

Haroun never broke word or oath that he spoke,

So he granted the captive his life,
And then bade his slaves bare stately Zoe the fair,

To the warrior who won her in strife ;
But the royal maid cried in the wrath of her pride,

She would die ere her hand should be given,
Or the nuptial caress should be lavished to bless

Such a foe to her house and to Heaven.
Her entreaties they spurned, and her menace they scorned ;

But, resolute? spite of their power,
All food she denied, and by self-famine died;

And her father went mad from that hour.
Thus triumph'd stern Haroun Alraschid, the Caliph of Babylon old !

G. E. INMAN.

A TALE OF THE MORGUE.

BY EDWARD MAYHEW.
CHAPTER I.

THE streets of Paris after midnight are, at best, no very pleasant
quarters ; but on the 15th of last February they were even less
agreeable than usual. It was a most awful night. The fierce black
firmament whooped and grinned ghastfully as it spat its lightning
over the earth, and the wind scampered along, raving like a mad
thing. Not a sound reigned in the deserted streets, saving the roar
of the contending elements. At one time the ear caught only the
sputtering of the rain against the window-panes ; at another, this
was stifled in the wild howl of the blast ; and anon nothing was
heard but the deafening thunder crashing through the skies, loud,
startling, and awful as the dread peal of the last trump.

Late on this terrible night, in the antiquated salon of an ancient
mansion in the Faubourg St. Germain, sat an old man, who by his

28 A TALE OF THE MORGUE.

looks numbered some three-score years and odd. The few hairs
which the meddling fingers of Time had left unplucked on his head
were hoary with the frost of age ; while in his face the same busy
hand, or the rougher one of Care, had scored many a deep and sor-
rowful wrinkle. It was evident by the stripes of riband decorating
his coat that he was one of no mean rank in his country. A book lay
open on the table before him, but matter of a more important and
less pleasing character than its pages appeared to engross his mind ;
for his eyes were abstractedly fixed on the fire, his brows were
knitted closely together, his face was half buried in his hands, and
occasionally certain indistinct and angry mutterings burst from his
lips.

The clock on the mantel-piece, tinkling the hour of four, aroused
the old man from his reverie. He started wildly from his chair, and
rapidly pacing the apartment, exclaimed — " Four ! — four ! and he
still absent ! — Yes ! now it must be as I feared. What else could
detain him till such an hour ? — and on such a night, too ! Ay ! it
is too plain — too glaring to be mistaken. He is — O God ! — is what
I would sooner that he had died than ever lived to be."

The old man stood still, and covered his face with his hands for a
while. Presently he again burst forth —

" I have long suspected it. The late hour at which he has returned
home for many nights hinted as much to me. And to-night — this
terrible night, when all hell appears to have broken loose, and to be
rejoicing over his perdition, assures me of the fact. My son ! — my
only son ! "

And the aged man sank upon the sofa in a paroxysm of despair.
His feelings were, however, far too fierce and poignant to allow him
to rest.

" There is but one — one stern and most humiliating way to be
pursued to save my boy from toppling headlong down the dread
abyss, on whose brink he now stands unconsciously tottering. But it
must — ay ! and though the heavy task crush me, it shall be done —
anything rather than live to look upon my son debased to that,
basest of all base creatures, a — "

A loud knock at the outer door of the house cut short the old
man's speech. His limbs trembled as if palsied, and tottering to-
wards his chair, he exclaimed, in a faint voice, " "Tis he ! 'tis he ! "

The door of the salon opening, ushered into the apartment a youth,
rich with the bounty of some twenty summers. He was evidently
the old man's son, and betrayed on entering not a little surprise to
find his aged parent occupying the room at such an hour.

"What has made you thus late, Alphonse ? " inquired his father
as he motioned the young man to be seated.

" I was with some friends, sir," he replied.

"Friends!" sarcastically exclaimed the Count. Oh, most goodly
friends! — most staunch friends ! — most disinterested and infallible
friends ! I 'd stake my life upon their fealty. Wouldn't you, Al-
phonse ? "

" I do not comprehend you, sir," said his son.

" Not comprehend me ! How should you, boy, when I speak
upon so incomprehensible a subject as the friendship of your last
night's companions? Come tell me now, good Alphonse, where
were you all last night ? "

A TALE OF THE MORGUE. 29

" I told you before, sir/' replied the young man, evidently vexed
at being thus doubted, " at the house of a friend."

" At the house of the devil, sir ! " vehemently retorted his father,
" where, doubtlessly, you were taught to lie thus unblushingly."

" I lie not," exclaimed the youth.

" Then, sir, if you do not," responded the Count, " it is because
you have of late become so intimate with the dark fiend that you
are justified in calling him y our friend. For to your face I tell you,
that at his house, and among his emissaries, you squandered away
last night."

" I do not understand your meaning, M. le Comte," returned Al-
phonse.

" Well, sir, since you will be so unlearned in matters of this sort,
and needs must have a translation of the sentence, I '11 give you one
— you passed last night at the gaming-table."

" I — sir — I at the gaming-table ? " stammered out the young man.

His father remained silent for a while, and then said in a solemn
tone, " Now, on your honour — on your soul, sir, did you not spend
last night at the gaming house ? "

Alphonse hung down his head with evident remorse, and replied
in a faint voice, " I did, sir."

" And you won ? "

« Yes."

"What?"

" This," responded the youth, drawing from under his cloak a
little sack of money, and handing it to his father.

"And so these are the wages of your last night's turpitude ! " ex-
claimed the Count, as he took the bag and made the coin jingle
within it. " Upon my word, a goodly heavy sum — almost as heavy
as the hearts of those from whom you won it. Let 's see how much
it makes."

And the aged man proceeded to empty the money upon the table,
and to reckon the amount.

" So, five thousand francs, sir," said he, when he had finished the
task. " And these you say, sir, are your winnings? "

" Yes, sir."

" Then, sir, you do not say the truth."

" Heaven is witness that you do me wrong," cried Alphonse.

" Heaven is witness that I do no such thing," exclaimed the Count ;
" for Heaven knows that nothing can come of gaming but perdi-
tion, — that so deeply hath the dark fiend schemed, that what you
think you win is but a sop to whet the greedy player's appetite, — a
bribe to tempt the mercenary fool to rashness, craftily making the
largest gains the heaviest losses. And so I tell you, sir, that these
pieces, which you ignorantly call your winnings, are but a sum lent
you by the devil, who shall in time exact an interest so usurious for
the loan, that house, lands, fortune, honour, peace of mind, — all shall
go to liquidate the debt. With what different eyes," continued he,
gazing at the specie laid out on the table before him, " do we behold
money differently got ! How beautiful appear the bright wages of
honest industry ! How each small silver coin seems to glisten with
a proud and almost conscious chastity ! With what a different aspect
do those damned evil-gotten pieces strike upon mine eyes ! The
very whiteness, which before appeared so purely beautiful, in them

30 A TALE OF THE MORGUE.

assumes the loathsome pale and sickly hue of some most vile disease.
But it shall taint no house of mine. To some poor wretched vagrant
the money may prove a godsend ; but here it can but breed damna-
tion."

And so saying, the old man hustled the pieces back into the bag,
opened the window, and cast them into the street, exclaiming, —
" Away with thee ! thou sickly-looking and infectious dross ! —
away ! " —

" I am now going to tell you, Alphonse/' proceeded the Count,
when he had reseated himself, " a story which never yet has jarred
on mortal ear, — a story so beset with the sharp and poignant evils of
the gaming-table, that if it do not tear the wild infatuation from your
heart, why then, indeed, the vile hag Avarice has glared her evil eye
upon you, and indelibly marked you for her own.

" It is now," said the aged man, after a few moments' delibera-
tion, " about fifty-six years since I, — like you now, Alphonse, —
young, thoughtless, reckless, the menial of my passions, a slave to
Avarice, the lackey of Vice, betook myself to one of Chance's dens.

" I will not attempt to describe to you the wild and savage-look-
ing animals I there saw, chained by infatuation to the spot. The
ravenous tiger glares not at its prey with a more intense and hungry
eye than they did at the cards, and that tiger springs not with a more
gluttonous fury on its food than they upon their winnings. But
there was one among this ghastly group whose innocent expression
of countenance stood out in strong contrast to the fiend-like faces of
those around him. It required no great penetration to perceive that
he was a stranger to the scene. His unruffled brow, his laughing
eye, his smiling lip, all told you that the jaundice of distempered
avarice rankled not in him. You had but to observe the happy,
placid cast of that young man's countenance, and then to fix your
eyes upon the haggard, care-worn features of those around, to per-
ceive in what deep and legible characters Time cuts c gambler ' on
the face.

" Well, I saw how little versed was this same youth in all the
subtle mysteries of play ; and shall I tell you what it came into my
head to do ? Oh no ! no ! I cannot, dare not make myself out to
you the foul black villain I that night became. I cannot with mine
own hands pluck from out your heart all that respect and all that
love (for the one must come away with the other) which a father
most delights to husband in his child. And yet what would not a
father brave to save that child from such a fate ! Alphonse, I will
tell you what it came into my head to do ; and oh ! let it make you
shudder to behold the abject depth of the precipice upon whose
crazy brink you have of late been carelessly sporting. It was this :
to lead that young man on to play, and so — ay ! let me out with it,
for such it literally was — rob him of his money.

" It needed not much art to win the boy to the first part of my
plans. The golden eye of the serpent had beamed upon him in all
its overpowering brightness, and he had become fascinated with its
look

" We sat down to play.

" You may readily conceive that, having stooped thus much to
infamy, I scrupled not to descend to the stale and wily trick of tick-

A TALE OF THE MORGUE. 31

ling my poor dupe with the winnings of the first few games ; and I
could perceive, when once he tasted of the gaming-table's savoury
food, his relish for it soon became most keen and gluttonous.

"Well, we played, and played, and played again, each coup at
length producing but another golden crop for me to reap, until in
time the petty remnant left him of a thousand francs were staked
upon the ensuing game. The cards were dealt — the old thing fol-
lowed— the sum was mine.

" ' Damnation ! ' shrieked the youth, striking his head with his
clenched fists in violent despair.

" ' Nay, never let it vex you thus ! ' I exclaimed. ' Try another
coup. The goddess Fortune is but a jilting jade at best; and who
knows but the very next game she may bestow her smiles on you.'

" ' I have no more money/ he cried. ' You have taken all — all —
all ! ' And, stung with the thought, he started wildly from his
chair, and hurried off to another quarter of the room.

" He had but avoided Scylla to be drawn into Charybdis.

" Close to where he tarried sat two of Chance's devoutest bigots,
sacrificing most largely to their blind and senseless idol. Such was
their superstitious zeal, they scrupled not to risk five hundred francs
upon the game. I marked the steadfast eager eye with which the
young man dogged their play through all its oscillations ; nor when
he saw the winner clutch his gains was the tough struggle that evi-
dently then took place within his mind lost to my observation.

" He was too weak to wrestle with the sturdy devil that I plainly
perceived was tustling with his heart.

" He returned, and we sat down again to play, — not for the drib-
lets we before had done, but for rich and lusty prizes. He had two
thousand francs still left. In three games, fifteen hundred of that
sum were mine. With a desperate hand he cast his last five hundred
on the board. We played again, and as we did so I could see the
cards tremble in his hand. He lost !

" Oh ! never, never shall I forget the intense and frantic glare he
then fixed upon me. ' Demon ! ' he shouted with a ghastly grin,
and springing from his seat, dashed like a furious maniac from the
room.

" By the morrow," continued the Count, " all recollection of the
above scene had flitted, like breath upon a mirror, from the surface
of my mind, and I rose in the morning with even a lighter heart
than usual, gladdened, no doubt, at the increased preponderance of
my purse,

" I stood engaged that day to escort a young country friend to
some of the far-famed sights of Paris. He came, and we set out to
view the venerable fane of Notre Dame. Crossing the Pont Neuf
on our way thither, I said, ' Apropos, Pierre, there is one place pe-
culiar to our city, which you have not yet seen.'

" ' Eh bien !' returned my companion, who loved to crack a joke
almost as much as to crack a bottle. ' And which is that, pray ? La
Bastille ! — for if so, I can assure you I have no wish to take other
than a superficial view of it.'

" ' Parbleu ! Nor would you, Pierre,' I replied, laughing at this
jest, ' desire to be any more intimately acquainted, I believe, with
the quarter to which I allude, it being none other than the asylum

32 A TALE OF THE MORGUE.

for those ill-starred ladies and gentlemen who may have gone, or
perchance been sent, on an aquatic excursion to the other world, —
La Morgue!'

Chuckling loud and deep over such like jests, we approached the
solemn object of our inhuman mirth : a swarm of people pressed
around the building. Eager to learn the cause of the assemblage, I
wormed my way into the middle of the throng. Upon the step of
the door sat an aged woman weeping most miserably ; her grey hair
streamed all wild about her cheeks, her face was buried in her hands,
and through her skinny fingers oozed her tears, while deep and fre-
quent moans burst from her breast. It was evidently no slight blast
that had thus stricken the poor old creature down. In my heart I
pitied her. I inquired of the persons around the cause of her distress.
It was something about her son, they thought ; for occasionally she
would wring her hands, they said, and cry, ' My boy ! — my poor
loved boy ! '

' ' ' What grieves you thus sorely, my good woman ? ' I compas-
sionately accosted her.

" ' My son ! — my dear, dear son ! ' she sorrowfully replied.

" ' What of your son ? ' I returned.

" « Oh, sir, they have butchered him, and then thrown him like a
dog into the river. Yes, I am sure — too, too wretchedly sure of it !'
And the poor old creature sobbed again at the thought as if her heart
were like to break.

" ' And what should make you thus sure, my dear madam?' I con-
tinued, when she had in a measure recomposed herself.

" ' My God ! has he not been absent all this long, long, long night
from home ! ' she exclaimed.

" ' Well, my good woman,' I said, ' if that be your only ground of
suspicion, dry up your tears ; for depend upon it you have little
cause for fear.'

" ' Would — would to Heaven I had ! ' she energetically cried.
' But, no ! he was too good — too tender — too kind-hearted, to allow
his poor old mother to minute out one entire, vast, interminable
night in anxious watchings for her son's return. Ah, sir ! had you
but known him half as well as we, you would have been as ready as
myself to swear that, had they but left him life enough to stagger to
the door, most willingly would he have tottered home to his dear
sister Blanche and me.'

" f Yes, my dear woman,' I replied, endeavouring to banter her
out of her grief, ' I have no doubt but that your son was a most ex-
emplary young man ; but being a man, and not absolutely a saint, it
is but natural to suppose that he was not utterly insensible to the
charms of the fair sex ; and, though I cannot but believe that were
he dying in reality, he would have behaved in the noble manner
which you have stated, still I imagine that were he only dying
in love instead, his conduct would have been materially different,
and that then, like the poor bird with the snake, he would have
remained spell-bound — for a night at least — by the witchery of
the bright eye that had fascinated him.'

" ' Oh no ! ' she exclaimed with all a mother's ardour ; ' my
Eugene was not like other boys. He was too good a son — too fond
a brother to prefer other roofs to that which sheltered us. So long
as our eyes were not bedimmed with tears he was contented to his

A TALE OF THE MORGUE. 33

heart's content. His whole heart was riveted to his poor sister
Blanche and me/ And the tears gushed in torrents again from the
poor old creature's eyes.

" ' But/ said I, 'have you any other reason for suspecting such to
be the case ? '

" ' Oh yes, sir ! ' she replied, ' he was laden with a large — to us a
very large sum of money. It was his quarter's earnings, and all we
had to scare starvation from the door for the next three months — for
it was but by the toil of his generous hand his poor sick sister
and myself were enabled to exist. But he is gone — gone ! They
have robbed — they have murdered my poor dear boy ! '

"'Nay — nay! my good woman/ I responded, ' do not distress
yourself thus. Depend upon it, if these be your only grounds for
fear all may yet be well, and most likely upon your return home
you may find your lost son there/

" 'Never — never, I am well assured, shall I behold him there alive
again. No, there/ she cried, pointing to the interior of the Morgue,
'there is the only place where I can find him now/

" ' How know you ? Have you seen him ? ' I inquired.
" ' Seen him ! ' she shudderingly exclaimed. ' Oh ! never could I
bring myself to look upon his dear corpse, through those grim bars,
laid. out. Perhaps, too, to see a deep gash cut in his fair flesh, or,
may be, to behold a large hole battered in his skull, and his sweet
golden hair all daubed and matted with his blood. No — no ! never
could I bring myself to look upon him there. And, that he is there,
oh, heaven ! how wretchedly assured am I/

" ' Would you/ I inquired, ' that I go in and see ? '
" ' Oh, if you would/ she impassionately cried, ' my thanks — my
best, eternal thanks, sir, should be yours/

" I turned the lock. The door creaked ominously as it opened.
With a slam that made the still place shudder again, it closed after
me. I stood within the dismal hall of death.

" How exquisitely, how ineffably awful is it to be among the dead !
With what a ponderous, suffocating horror weighs the intense and
leaden stillness of the scene upon the shrinking heart. Fearful as is
the stunning clamour of the thunder, yet it speaks not to the mind
with one half the mighty and appalling energy of the stark silence
of hushed life.

" I stood overcome with the profound tranquillity that reigned
around. Not a sound startled the solemn quietude of the grim
abode. I stood as it were paralysed. Presently the recollection of
the poor old being I had left waiting in acute suspense the issue of
my errand came rushing on my brain.

" I cast a hurried glance along the cold, stiff remnants of mortality
that there lay petrified, as it were, in death, and saw, — O God ! O
God ! How can I tell you what I saw ? Language however ner-
vous, — thought however vivid, could never express — could never
conceive the ghastly horror of that sight. Like a thunderbolt then
dashed the recollection of each vile act upon my mind. The devilish
plot I laid to gull the poor boy of his money ; the fiend-like glee
with which I gloried in his every step towards perdition ; the des-
perate, frenzied look he fixed upon me when I had dragged him
there ; and, O just heaven ! the last awful epithet, ' DEMON ! ' he flung
at me at partTng ; and then, — abject wretch that I was ! — the filthy

VOL. VII. D

34 A TALE OF THE MORGUE.

and inhuman jests with which I had approached his dismal resting-
place, — all rose with torture into my mind.

" See ! — see, Alphonse ! — O, see what an absorbing whirlpool is
this vice : but once allow yourself to sport upon the stream, who
can say but that you, like I, may be sucked imperceptibly into its
very vortex, and be for ever ingulphed — ay, and many innocent
beings with you, as with me — in unfathomable grief. Here had I
been doing what a thousand others had done before me — what you
yourself have done this very night, Alphonse, — ' indulging in the
social game/ as it is called ; and look — O, look to what a woeful and
appalling end it led. There sat an aged mother, writhing with af-
fliction, robbed of her darling son, stripped of her peace, plundered
of the prop that formed at once the pride and pillar of her tottering
age. There stood a poor sick sister, the bitter pangs of illness raging
in her breast embittered with the still bitterer pangs of grief; the
brother whose sympathy was wont to lull her deepest sufferings,
whose magic love made even her poor life most precious in her eyes,
snatched — irredeemably snatched from her, and she left to linger in
a lonely wilderness of life. And there, — there before my eyes, — in
that disgusting den of death, upon his wretched marble bed, his
hands clenched, as if in vengeance on my head, and grinning most
ghastly and most savage, lay all that remained of a loving son, a
doting brother, the support and solace of his family, and — wretch
that I was — MY — MY VICTIM !

" I rushed madly from out the fell abode. The poor old woman
still sat upon the step. She seized me by the arm as I came out,
and conned most eagerly my looks. The wretched tidings were too
plainly written in my pale face for her to fail to read them.

" ' Ah ! ' she exclaimed, ' I see it is as I suspected. Well — well ! '
she added, raising her eyes to heaven. ( Hard and inscrutable
though it be, God's will be done ! '

" At length I enticed the sad old creature to her home. I will
not elaborate this doleful history by describing to you, Alphonse,
the devastating flood of woe that overwhelmed the poor youth's
feeble sister when first she heard the fatal news. For such a death to
such a brother the hardest heart might feel. Judge, then, how such
a sister as the tender-hearted Blanche felt ; and judge with what
compunctious smartings did each of the maiden's tears sting my
heart. The poor old mother saw my anguish, and thanked me for
my 'kind commiseration,' — for little did she deem mine was the
hand that desolated all her home. I strove, as well as I was able at
that moment, to allay the wretched couple's grief. I told them I
was glad I had it in my power to supply, in one respect at least, the
place of their Eugene, and I assured them it should be owing to no
want of zeal in me if Time did not enable me to do so in all other
regards towards them. Again they thanked me for my ' sympathy'
and said they feared they must on one account encroach upon my
kindness. I begged them to rely on my desire to serve them.

" ' The favour, then/ replied the aged mother, ' we would ask of
' le bon monsieur,' is this. The only being in this crowded city whom
we poor * paysannes,' could call our friend now, as you know, lies
in the Morgue ; and I am sure that, for the power Blanche or I
could have to rescue his dear corpse from that horrid place, there

A TALE OF THE MORGUE. 35

must he remain. But, maybe you, in your goodness, sir, will not
refuse to save our poor Eugene from such a fate.

As you may readily imagine, it required no slight self-denial on
my part to promise to revisit that abominable den of death, still I
could not find it in my heart to say the poor old creature nay, — so
I consented.

It was not long afterwards before I stood once more upon the
threshold of the fatal building. In order to reach the keeper's house
it was necessary for me to pass along the hall where lay the ghastly
relics of my poor young victim. I need not explain to you the
haste with which I hurried through the dismal place. On being
conducted to the keeper, I described to him the body which I told
him I had come to claim. He inquired of me the young man's
Christian name.

" ' Eugene,' I replied; ' but, pray, Monsieur/ I added, ' allow me
to ask what should make you put the question ? '

" ' A letter, sir,' he returned, ' was found upon the young man,
signed with his nom de Bapteme, and it was but to ascertain the jus-
tice of your claim that prompted me to make the inquiry/

" I soon satisfied the Governor's doubts upon that head, and having
arranged that the body was to await my disposal, I hurried from the
place with the poor youth's farewell letter in my hand.

" You can easily conceive how much I longed for some retired
spot wherein to read the melancholy document. At length I reached
the Tuileries. I plunged into the middle of the groves, and tearing
open the billet, read what while memory lingers in this brain can
never be erased from out my mind. It ran as follows :—

" ' Farewell — a long farewell to you, beloved mother ! and, oh !
farewell — a long farewell to you, my darling Blanche ! I write to
you from the borders of eternity. Oh ! my dear — dear Blanche !
and, oh ! my still dearer mother ! I have been happy with you —
have I not ? — in want. I could have been happy with you — that I
could, proud as I am, — in beggary. But, ah 1 I cannot bear to look
upon you in disgrace.

" ' I know you will be at a loss to divine how I, who ever loathed
vice from the very depths of my heart, could to-night have got in-
fected by the corruption : how I, who never loved the filthy dross
of this world but for the little comforts it bestowed on you could
ever have fallen a prey to avarice. I will tell you.

" ' You know young Adolphe Sebron, my fellow clerk, and how I
used to wonder how he — who I was well aware received but the
same small salary as myself, — contrived to live in all the luxui-y He
did. Well, the other day I ventured to hint as much to him. He
said he would be candid with me, and confess it was by play ; and
taking from his desk a heavy bag of money, told me they were his
winnings of the previous night. There must have been three thou-
sand francs at least. The sight sunk deep into my heart. I thought
how happy and how comfortable you could be were I to meet with
a similar turn of luck.

" ' The next day I was to receive my quarter's salary. No sooner
was the money in my hands than I resolved to go that very night
and offer up the hard-got little sum at Fortune's shrine.

" ' How can I describe to you, dear mother, the blaze of light, of

p 2

36 A TALE OF THE MORGUE.

beauty, and of riches, that there flashed upon my eyes ? Suffice it.
There was gold, glittering, fascinating gold — gold, the ignis fatuus
of this benighted world, — gold, the apple of man's eye, — lying in
ravishing profusion about the place ; nor were there wanting — to
consummate the wily scheme — the bright-eyed and insinuating
daughters of Eve, to coax man on as of old to taste the damning
fruit.

" ' What wonder, then, that I, who had never seen, had never
dreamt of anything half as gorgeous, should have been gulled by the
glowing baits around me, or that, bewildered with the dazzling
sight, I should have allowed myself to be inveigled into play.

" ' I need not tell you that at the beginning I was most timid and
most cautious at the game. However, I won the first few stakes,
and grew more venturesome, played higher and higher on each fresh
coup, while each new game served only to increase my already
bulky gains. But the tables at length were turned, and Misfortune,
with its attendant, Desperation, pressed hard upon me. I lost — and
lost — and lost — and lost again — until at last I started from my chair,
deprived of the only means we had to eke existence out for the next
three months — a very beggar.

" ' Starvation I could have suffered by myself without a groan ;
but to see you in your old age, my dearest mother, and you in your
youth, my poor, loved Blanche, writhing with the pangs of excru-
ciating want, — to perceive you dragged slowly from me by the iron
hand of hunger to the tomb, would have been maddening — would
have been intolerable.

" ' Racked by such thoughts I stopped unwittingly before a table
where sat two of Chance's sternest fanatics worshipping their sense-
less idol. They had staked five hundred francs upon the game. I
watched their play to the end, and when I saw the winner grasp his
heavy gains, I thought it wanted but one such stroke of luck to re-
trieve my lost fortune. The idea was too strong for my weak soul
to wrestle with, and — O mother ! mother ! — I hardly dare to tell
you what it pushed me on to do. But I was mad — desperately
mad ! — overwhelmed with ruin, and, like one drowning, ready to
catch at any straw cast before me.

" ' I had two thousand francs of my master's in my pocket, and
can you believe it — oh, no ! no ! you never can believe that I, — I
whom you, from my very cradle, toiled to teach that honesty could
make the poor man the rich man's peer, could so abuse your care as
to appropriate those two thousand francs to my own accursed pur-
poses. But I was crazed with desperation, — blinded with the glare
of ruin, and knew not what I did; and so, like an idiot, like a vil-
lain, with my master's money in my hand, I went, and gamed once
more.

" ' I cast five hundred of the sum upon the table. We played. I
lost. A second five hundred strewed the board. Again we played.
Again I lost. A third five hundred backed the ensuing game.
Once more we played. Once more I lost. The fourth, the last five
hundred, with a desperate hand I flung into the pool. One other
time we played. One other time I lost. My only hope was gone !
Ruin stared me in the face !

" ' Frenzied with my fate, I rushed from out the place. But,

A TALE OF THE MORGUE. 37

where to go ? Ah ! where ? Home ? — never ! I dare not show my
guilty face to you. To the country ? — pshaw ! let me fly to the re-
motest spot of earth, will not Rumour, with her hundred tongues,
be sure to hunt me out. No — no ! there is but one safe, quiet place
of refuge for me now, and that is the grave — the silent grave!

"' Death — inextricable, eternal Death, then, is my stern resolve.
One other half-hour, and this breathing form will be a lifeless mass.
And yet, great God ! what agony — what bitter-racking agony is it
to rend — irreparably rend asunder all the tender ties that bind us to
this poor existence! to say 'farewell' for ever and ever to all the
darling beings that make this paltry life most precious to our hearts,
Oh! my dear mother! my loved — my much loved Blanche, how
does my poor soul writhe again to leave ye — ye ! its only care, its
only joy, its only glimpse of heaven, and, moreover, to leave ye
thus ! But there is no alternative. It must — it must be done. So
farewell ! for ever fare ye well ! — EUGENE.' "

The aged Count could say no more. Sorrow, deep, overwhelming
sorrow, stifled his discourse. The tears trickled quickly down his
furrowed cheeks, and loud and fast the sobs came gurgling from his
breast. He struggled violently to overcome the sturdy anguish, and
at length (still sobbing between each word.) resumed his doleful
tale.

" What my feelings were after reading this wretched letter, hu-
man tongue can never disclose, nor human mind conceive. Suffice
it. Let the strong grief that now almost suffocates me at the mere
remembrance of the thing, give you some faint idea of the rigid
agony I must have then endured. At first I thought to follow my
poor victim to the tomb ; but deliberation bade me live, and by re-
pentance— deep and absorbing repentance — strive to expunge, if
possible, the crime from out my soul.

" Such has ever been the steadfast, anxious object of my life. Not
an ear but thine, not even his mother's, has ever listened to the me-
lancholy history of that young man's death. Many, and most bitter
have been the tears which I have shed over his grave. His mother,
who ever believed her darling son had fallen by some robber's
hand, I made my strictest care while living ; and when she died —
she died beseeching blessings on my head. His sister, Blanche, I
spared no means of mine to cure of her disease, and ultimately made
her partner of my rank and fortune. My whole days have I de-
voted to charity, and prayers for" the soul of poor Eugene, and I
trust by a few more years of rigid penitence yet to be able, ere I die,
to atone for all.

" And, now," emphatically added the sorrowful old Count, ' 1 1
pray you let this be a warning to you, young man. Hoard it in
your heart ; and, when you think again of play, remember — oh ! re-
member, THE TALE OF THE MORGUE ! "

« THE WHISKEY."

No wonder that our Irish boys should be so free and frisky,
For St. Patrick was the very man who first invented whiskey.

National Song — "St. Patrick was a Gentleman."

To attempt a description of Dublin, or indeed of any part of Ire-
land, without devoting a chapter to the whiskey, would really be
" criticising the play, and forgetting the chief performer ;" for, as it
will be seen before this paper is read through, the whiskey is the
chief performer in Ireland ; and though political opinion is the cause
of much excitement, religious opinion of more, yet the whiskey ex-
ceeds them both, and is stronger than all.

" There are some things," says an Irishman, " that must be treated
with extreme delicacy, and one of them is — a potato." If I might be
allowed to add " a rider " to the remark, I should say, " and another
is the whiskey ;" — first, because it is the great " Dictator " of Ire-
land, being the cause of more wit, merriment, and laughter, poverty,
wretchedness, and crime, than all the other exciting causes of the
green Isle put together ; and secondly, because next to the love of
life is an Irishman's love of whiskey, and it is doubtful whether the
former does not depend in a great measure upon the latter. " Sure,
where 's the Irishman that doesn't love the 'crathur' before any
other ticker in the world, barring the holy walker ?" And it is un-
doubtedly because the honour of " inventing " whiskey is considered
by an Irishman the greatest which could be bestowed on any man,
that that honour has been conferred upon St. Patrick. " The force
of flattery could no further go" — even in the land of Blarney Stone.

The whiskey of Ireland is peculiar to the country. It is not
smoky like that of Scotland, and it is stronger than any that can be
procured out of the country, since it is several degrees above the
proof allowed in London, and it is not permitted to be exported until
reduced to a certain degree of strength. Scotch whiskey is strong
enough, but the Irish exceeds it, and this, too, notwithstanding all
the adulteration it undergoes. A story is told of the Scotch whiskey
that deserves to be mentioned. A Scotch pedlar, stopping at a
whiskey shop on the mountains, called for a naggin of the spirit,
which he proceeded to drink neat. " Wad yer na like water with
it, sir ? " said the serving girl. " Na, na, lassie," said the pedlar ;
" the man that 's na satisfied with the mater that's in it already must
be unco hard to please." In Ireland the taste of whiskey is so well
known, that it would be equally difficult to impose upon the con-
sumer. The best spirit is procured from malt, of which an immense
quantity is consumed annually for distillation. In colour the spirit
resembles very light sherry, and possesses a peculiar odour, which,
like all others, must be experienced to be understood. There is an-
other kind of whiskey, the "poteen," or "mountain dew," the whole
of which, I believe, is illicitly distilled. It is of a lighter colour
than the former, and possesses a smoky flavour, highly prized by
connoisseurs, but very disagreeable to a person who tastes it for the
first time. These are the two species of the spirit so renowned in song
and story for its potential effects upon the people ; but it is in an-
other form that its use is universal in Ireland, and its qualities more

THE WHISKEY. 39

highly prized. This is whiskey punch. The " crathur " is too strong
to be drunk neat; it is therefore invariably used, except by the
lowest class of dram-drinkers, in the form of punch. This word will
mislead an Englishman, unless explained. Unlike the famous punch
of England, there is little mystery in the manufacture of this potion.
It is no mixture of villanous compounds, it requires no apprentice-
ship to understand its manufacture, and it can be brewed equally
well by the boy just come of age as by the old fox-hunter or village-
doctor. It is, in truth, no more than what a Londoner would call
by the plain name of " whiskey and water" hot, but which, for rea-
sons unknown to me, has been honoured with the fine-sounding
name of ( ' punch " in this country. The word " whiskey " in Irish
means "water." The 'etymology of poteen and punch I cannot pre-
tend to explain.

The strongest evidence that can be given of the national love of
whiskey, is its use by all classes of society. Unlike the various wines
and spirits of England, the mere names of which will almost inform
the hearer of the class by whom they are used ; for who does not
connect an idea of the lower orders with "gin," — of sailors with
" gr°g>" — of wealthy citizens with " port and sherry" — of the elite
with " claret" — and of fashionable rakes with " champagne ;" — unlike
these " degrees of spirit," the favourite beverage of all classes in
Ireland is punch ; so that to say that a man drinks punch, is merely
understood as meaning that he is not a member of a Temperance
Society — it conveys no idea of his rank or station. Rich and poor
are alike its admirers ; and, unfortunately, the latter are attached to
it but too strongly. " You well know," says Martin Doyle, in his
Hints to Small Farmers on Temperance and Morals, " that on almost
every occasion on which people meet for business or pleasure, the
whiskey-bottle is made a party; that neither wake nor funeral is
without it ; and that the solemnity of the grave is sometimes dis-
turbed by its polluting presence. Is there a christening or a mar-
riage without it ? Is there a fair or a patron without it ? Is there
a single bargain concluded, a cow or a pig bought or sold in a
market or a fair, without the whiskey-bottle being introduced before
the payment?" And with the better classes its use is equally ge-
neral. At what Irish gentleman's table are not " the materials " for
punch introduced after dinner ? — if not before the ladies have re-
tired, certainly after they have gone. And it might be added, what
real Irish gentleman is there who would not prefer a glass of
whiskey-punch before the finest wines of the Continent ? Indeed,
when well made, it is a most agreeable mixture. It possesses none
of the fiery and burning qualities of Hollands ; and when taken to
excess, if the spirit is pure, it causes but little of the nausea that in-
variably follows a debauch with wine. There are therefore good
grounds for the national partiality, and some excuse for the enormous
consumption of the spirit. Before alluding to the latter subject, how-
ever, a few instances of the love the people have for it may be inte-
resting.

The Irish, from time immemorial, have been famed for their usque-
baugh, or whiskey ; and in the collection of ancient Irish songs lately
published by Mr. Hardiman, called " Irish Minstrelsy," being an
attempt to effect for Irish literature what the " Percy Reliques" have
accomplished for our own, there is the following characteristic effu-

40 THE WHISKEY.

sion of an ancient admirer of the whiskey. It is an address of an Irish
Bard to the Spirit of Usquebaugh, and is remarkable as much for its
truth as the fervour of its sentiment. The song is entitled —

THE LIQUOR OF LIFE.

The Bard addresses Whiskey —

Why, liquor of life ! do I love you so,
When in all our encounters you lay me low?
More stupid and senseless I everyday grow —

What a hint, if 1 'd mend by the warning !
Tatter'd and torn you Ve left my coat,
I Ve not a cravat to save my throat ;
Yet I pardon you all, my sparkling doat !

If you '11 cheer me again in the morning.

The Whiskey replies —

When you've heard prayers on Sunday next,
With a sermon besides, or at least the text,
Come down to the alehouse — however your vex'd,

And though thousands of cares assail you ;
You '11 find tippling there. Till morals mend,
A cock shall be placed in the barrel's end,
The jar shall be near you, and I '11 be your friend,

And give you a head millefoulte.*

The Bard resumes his address —

You 're my soul and my treasure without and within,
My sister, and cousin, and all my kin —
Tis unlucky to wed such a prodigal sin ;

But all other enjoyment is vain, love!
My barley-ricks all turn to you, —
My tillage, my plough, and my horses too, —
My cows and my sheep, they have bid me adieu !

I care not while you remain, love !

Come " vein of my heart," then come in haste,
You 're like ambrosia, my liquor and feast,
My forefathers all had the very same taste

For the genuine dew of the mountain.
Oh ! Usquebaugh, I love its kiss,
My guardian spirit I think it is,
Had my christening-bowl been filled with this,

I 'd have swallowed it, were it a fountain.

Many 's the quarrel and fight we 've had,
And many a time you 've made me mad ;
But while I 've a heart it can never be sad,

When you smile at me full on the table.
Surely you are my wife and my brother,
My only child, my father and mother,
My outside coat, — I have no other :

Och ! I '11 stand by you while I 'm able.

This is a song of great antiquity, and Mr. D' Alton, by whom it is
translated from the original Irish., thinks it was the composition of
one of the many wandering minstrels who, with their harp upon
their shoulder, roamed through the country in olden time, depending
on the good feeling and love of the peasantry, and the benefactions

* A hundred thousand welcomes.

THE WHISKEY. 41

of the Irish nobles, who resided in their castles in the country, for
assistance and support. The song is exceedingly clever. It abounds
with double meaning, which, though not strikingly apparent on the
first perusal, evinces the talent of the composer.

An evidence that the same enthusiastic love of the national bever-
age has always been felt by the people of this country may be found
in the following statement of Mr. MacCulloch, respecting the at-
tempts made from time to time to abolish the immoderate use of
whiskey. This was at one time attempted by the imposition of
enormous duties ; and if heavy taxes, enforced by severe fiscal regu-
lations, could make a people sober and industrious, the Irish would
be the most so of any on the face of the earth. In order to
make the possessors of property join heartily in suppressing illicit
distillation, the novel expedient was here resorted to of imposing a
heavy fine on every parish, townland, manorland, or lordship in
which an unlicensed still was found, while the unfortunate wretches
found working it were subjected to transportation for seven years.
But, instead of putting down illicit distillation, these unheard of
severities rendered it universal, and filled the country with blood-
shed, and even rebellion. It is stated by the Rev. Mr. Chichester,
in his valuable work on the Irish distillery laws, published in 3818,
that the Irish system seemed to have been formed in order to per-
petuate smuggling and anarchy. It has culled the evils of both
savage and civilized life, and rejected all the advantages which they
contain. The calamities of civilized warfare are in general inferior
to those produced by the Irish distillery laws ; and I doubt whether
any nation of modern Europe, which is not in a state of actual revo-
lution, can furnish instances of legal cruelty commensurate to those
which I have represented. These statements are borne out to the
fullest extent by the official details in the Reports of the Revenue
Commissioners. In 1811, the Commissioners state, when the duty
on spirits was 2*. 6d. per gallon, duty was paid in Ireland on six and
a half millions of gallons, whereas in 1822, when the duty was 5*. 6d.
per gallon, only three millions of gallons were brought to the charge.
The Commissioners estimate that the consumption of spirits annually
at the latter period was not less than ten millions of gallons ; and as
scarcely three millions paid duty, it followed that seven millions were
illegally supplied ; and allowing one million as the quantity fraudu-
lently furnished Jfor consumption by the licensed victualler (distiller),
the produce of the unlicensed stills 'may be estimated at six millions of
gallons. Now it is material to keep in mind that this vast amount
of smuggling mas carried on in the teeth of the above named barbarous
statutes, and in despite of the utmost exertions of the military and
police to prevent it, the only result being the exasperation of the
populace, and the perpetration of revolting atrocities both by them
and by the military. " In Ireland," say the Commissioners, " it will
appear, from the evidence annexed to this Report, that parts of the
country have been absolutely disorganized, and placed in opposition
not only to the civil authorities, but to the military force of the go-
vernment. The profits to be obtained from the evasion of the law
have been such as to encourage numerous individuals to persevere in
these desperate pursuits, notwithstanding the risk of property and
life with which they have been attended.

It may naturally be supposed that, with so strong a national feel-

42 THE WHISKEY.

ing in favour of a particular beverage, its consumption must be
exceedingly great, and such is undoubtedly the case ; but it is not
perhaps generally known that the quantity drank in Ireland, in pro-
portion to the population, is only half that consumed in Scotland,
although nearly twice that of England, and that in fact each person
on an average in Scotland drinks twice as much whiskey as each
person in Ireland. The following statement from the " Statistical
Journal " for January 1838 will, however, show that this is really the
case. The following is stated as the population and number of gal-
lons of spirits consumed in each of the three countries : —

England. Ireland. Scotland.

Population, . . 13,897,187 7,767,401 2,365,114

Gallons of spirits, 12,341,238 12,293,464 6,767,715

So that the average number of pints of spirits drank by each person
in England is 7 and l-9th ; in Ireland, 13 ; in Scotland, 23 !

In questions relating to this subject, persons have been led to most
erroneous conclusions, in consequence of omitting some important
data in their calculation. Thus Martin Doyle says, " In 1832 there
were consumed in Ireland very nearly ten millions of gallons, which
going through the hands of the retailers made about fourteen millions
of gallons, the cost of which — mind, too, a voluntary tax — amounted
to six million three hundred thousand pounds. About seventy years
ago, half a million of gallons was considered a frightful quantity ;
and now we have twenty-eight times as much, although the increase
of the population bears no proportion to that consumption. This is
an awful fact, and one that should awaken us all to the consequences
of such intemperance." This statement is satisfactorily answered,
however, by MacCulloch. He says, it might appear from a super-
ficial view as if the consumption of spirits in Ireland had been nearly
trebled since 1823, when the quantity used was rather over three
millions of gallons, while in 1832 it was nearly nine, according to
the Parliamentary returns of the quantity which had paid the duties
of Excise for home consumption; but, in point of fact, the consump-
tion has not in any degree increased. The reduction of the duties
substituted legal for illegal distillation, and freed the country from
the perjuries and other atrocities that grew out of the previous sys-
tem ; but it would be wholly erroneous to say that it increased
drunkenness. The Commissioners, who had the best means of ob-
taining accurate information, estimated the consumption of spirits in
Ireland in 1823 at ten millions of gallons, though the returns showed
little more than three !

Under any circumstances, however, it is lamentable that such im-
mense sums should be expended on a luxury of the kind, in a coun-
try where the people have frequently but a potato between them and
starvation. I have been informed by a gentleman, on whose inform-
ation I can place all reliance (Mr. Hewat), that in the little town of
Kilrush the people actually pay more for whiskey than they do for
roil ! But this is hardly worse than the following fact, asserted by
Dr. Massey, the editor of the " New York Commercial Advertiser,"
and which is corroborated by more than one gentleman who has
visited New York, and to whom I have mentioned the circumstance.
Dr. Massey states, after going through a calculation to prove the
correctness of his assertion, " that a little attention to the subject
discloses the painful and disgusting fact, that in the clear-headed,

THE WHISKEY. 43

sharp-sighted, money-making city of New York, the inhabitants pay
more annually for tobacco than they do for bread I " They smoke and
cat it morning, noon, and night — merchants and tradesmen, citizens
and gentlemen !

Calculations on the average quantity of spirits consumed by each
person in a country can only be received as affording a general idea
of the comparative temperance of different countries, since some per-
sons will drink none, while others take a double portion. This is
undoubtedly the case in Ireland, and the quantity consumed by some
individuals almost exceeds belief. Mr. Doyle says, in the address
already alluded to, " I know several persons, coal-porters, in a
neighbouring town, who drink perhaps a quart of whiskey each every
day, in drams at different times." A good story is told by Mr.
Croker of the capability of another class of consumers. " It is dif-
ficult," says he, " to form a correct estimate of the quantity of
whiskey-punch which may be comfortably discussed at a sitting.
In the case of a gentleman whose life had been insured for a large
sum of money, the payment at his death was resisted by the insur-
ance company, on the ground that he had caused his death by ex-
cessive drinking. The matter came to a legal trial, and amongst
other witnesses examined was one who swore that for the last
eighteen years of his life he had been in the habit of taking every
night four-and-twenty tumblers of whiskey-punch ! f Recollect your-
self, sir,' said the examining counsel. ' Four-and-twenty ! You
swear to that. Now, did you ever drink Jive-and-t wen ty ? ' — ' I am
on my oath/ replied the witness, ' and I will swear no further, for I
never kept count beyond the two dozen ; though there Js no saying
how many beyond I might drink to make myself comfortable ; — but
that 's my stint ! ' "

However exaggerated and absurd such a story may appear to a
temperate Englishman, and though probably highly coloured, I have
little doubt myself but it had a good foundation. I have myself
seen gentlemen who had drunk nine tumblers of punch in the course
of an evening walk steadily home afterwards, and who could cer-
tainly have taken a few more " to make themselves comfortable." It
is not every head, however, that will bear so strong a potion ; and
the circumstances attending an Irishman's getting intoxicated with
his favourite " punch " are so characteristic and amusing, that a few
sentences must be devoted to the subject.

Premising that a gentleman's ordinary " stint" be seven tumblers,
let me endeavour to record his progress through the field of Whiskey
Elysium, till he has perfected his operations on the charmed number,
which, like the seventh bullet in Der Freischutz, recoils upon him-
self.

We will suppose he enters the proper theatre for such an exhibi-
tion as ultimately ensues, " The Shades," with a friend or two in
company ; for an Irishman does not like to get drunk by himself.
He first calls for "materials;" and although the word is open to a
variety of meanings, the waiter understands his, and his wishes are
obeyed accordingly. Three small glasses formed in the shape of
pint-pots without handles, make their appearance, filled with a
light-brownish-yellow-looking fluid — this is "the crathur " — accom-
panied by a saucer, containing sundry lumps of sugar, three tum-
blers, with German-silver spoons, and an imitation " King's mark,'

44 THE WHISKEY.

and a jug of "bilin wather." These — "the materials" — are distri-
buted amongst the operators, and the first scene commences. Each
of the party pops into his glass three of the lumps of sugar, on which
is poured a quantity of water sufficient to fill the tumblers three-
fourths to the brim (or rather less, if the gentlemen like their punch
" frisky "). Next is added the grand ingredient, the whiskey itself;
and so well have the operators, from experience, calculated the
calibre of the glasses, that when the spirit and water are mixed there
is just sufficient room left to allow of the whole being stirred without
spilling, and no more. The stir is given accordingly, and the punch
is brewed.

Tf \\ejirst and second tumblers that are taken do not produce many
visible effects. They are engaged in undermining the fabric of in-
tellect which is soon to fall. The gentleman who we will suppose
to be the chief performer merely begins to feel "pleasant." If a
smoker, he takes the short pipe — " the dudheen," which no gentle-
man sees anything discreditable in carrying, — from his pocket, and
commences smoking, at the same time passing in review before his
mind's eye all the jokes and pleasant sayings with which he may
puzzle and amuse his friends. Towards the conclusion of the second
tumbler the effects of his cogitations make their appearance. He per-
haps points to some remarkably quiet, harmless-looking gentleman in
one corner, who has just dropt in to enjoy one tumbler, and asks his
friend if he knows the "quare ruffian." Upon being answered in the
negative, he explains that he is the man " mho 'd skin a flea for the
hide and tallow, and never bury the bones afterwards," because he has
not given the waiter the customary fee : or, perhaps our friend con-
fines his observations to personal qualities of another kind, — such as
remarking that a gentleman would have been a good deal handsomer
if the principal feature of his face had been two inches shorter : or
other pleasantries of a similar description. He concludes by express-
ing his firm conviction that the gent noticed by him is a strict Ca-
tholic, and wonders how he likes " ling " (salt-fish) in Lent. This is
said in order to remind his friends of the unpleasant thirst caused by
that article, and affords a fair excuse for

Glass the third. On taking this he becomes exceedingly witty ,—
the bonds are now loosened that before bound his tongue, however
slightly ; and everything that can assist in producing fun, and rais-
ing a smile are put under contribution by him. He commences, too,
a series of practical jokes, — such as slipping the snuffers into his
friend's pocket, so that he draws them forth with surprise when he
seeks for his handkerchief — which our friend has placed on the back
of a gentleman's chair at the next table. He drives down the cork of
an empty ale-bottle, and then calls at the pitch of his voice for the
waiter, and a cork-screw ; and, with many similar manifestations of
the potency of the whiskey, he contrives to make his friends laugh
even if they are not so inclined, in a manner which none but an
Irishman can effect.

At the fourth tumbler he becomes more sedate. Some of his
tricks have reminded him of some friend ; and in such circumstances
an Irish gentleman looks upon the reputation of his friend as far
dearer than his own. The friend is a paragon of perfection. He has
even the look of a genius ; and was actually mistaken for Dean Swift
thirty years after the Dean had paid the debt of nature ! and he is so

THE WHISKEY. 45

witty that "he was held to bail for making a judge laugh when he
was passing sentence in court." When an Irishman begins to talk of
his friends, it is impossible to bring forward a Crichton who can equal
them — in fact they are all unknown admirable Crichtons. They can
talk better than any one else ; they can laugh at the same rate; and
as for fighting, " Och ! murther ! he 'd like to see the man that could
bate them, anyhow ? " and " Who can equal Michael Reilly, too, in
singing the ' Angel's Whisper ? ' " This reminds him that his friend
might like to hear it ; upon which he begins to hum a Dublin street-
ballad, mistaking it for " The Angel's Whisper," and asks his friend
if they ever heard that beautiful Irish melody. Without waiting for
their reply, he breaks out into complete song, judiciously combining
the words of some five or six for the sake of effect and novelty.
Upon this a gentleman at the next table, who, like the gentleman we
are describing, has also reached his fourth tumbler, asks him " if
he 'd like to have Christchurch organ for an accompaniment?"
This remark brings the song to an immediate conclusion. Fiery
glances are exchanged, but the only result is a call for more mate-
rials from which thejtfth tumbler of punch is manufactured, and our
friend, who is a Tory, immediately rises to propose " The glorious,
pious, and immortal memory of the great and good King William, who
saved us from Popery, brass money, and wooden shoes, and gave us
leave to go out on Sundays ! "* The toast on paper certainly assumes
something of the appearance of a joke, from some of the expressions
it contains ; but it is regarded in a very different light at drinking-
parties in Ireland. To the Conservative party it is a war-cry of tri-
umph ; to the Liberal party an insult of the most irritating nature.
In the present instance, however, the toast passes unnoticed, except
by the giver and his two friends ; though, by the bye, such an occur-
rence may be regarded as an extraordinary one. Our friend gave
the toast to show his perfect " contempt " of the gentleman who had
interrupted his song, and whom he imagined to be a Liberal. Find-
ing he has it all his own way, he calls to the waiter for his sixth tum-
bler and a pinch of snuf£ to show in what light he regards the re-
jection of his challenge — for such on all occasions the toast is consi-
dered. The waiter unfortunately has no snuff, and is accordingly
honoured by a few of the most expressive cursings the gentleman
can bestow, at the same time that he searches in his pocket for a
penny to throw at him " for his cursed impudence in having no
snuff ; " not finding one, he substitutes a shilling, which, fortunately
for the poor waiter, from the unsteadiness of the thrower's eye and
arm, only strikes the wall. The waiter stands simpering for a mo-
ment or two ; and, after one or two waiter's smiles, politely picks
the shilling up, puts it in his pocket, and immediately runs off to
some other gentleman, who is calling at the top of his voice for more
" materials." A second waiter, however, happens to have a snuff-box
for the use of the gentleman ; but, in opening it, inhales a portion of
its contents, and, being unused to the <e fragrant weed " in the form
of snuff, he sneezes. Upon which the gentleman stares at him for
a moment with the filmy eye of a drunken man, and asks him
" What he means by that ? " at the same time rising to inflict sum-

* The latter words allude to William having abolished the spurious money of
James, and to his having been the first to do away with arrest for debt on Sundays.

46 THE WHISKEY.

mary punishment on the unfortunate object of his wrath. In endea-
vouring to do so, he stumbles against one of the "Liberals" at the
next table ; who, being in no wise friendly disposed, pushes him to
the other side. He immediately shouts out the " Glorious memory "
a second time ; and the other party being now sufficiently heated by
punch to resent the insult, immediately knocks him down. A single
fight, I believe, never takes place in Ireland when more than two
persons are present, and of course, therefore, the gentleman's friend
knocks down the other gentleman in return. Our friend's friend
meets with a similar compliment from some other friend, and a ge-
neral melee ensues. The fight soon becomes universal ; for when an
Irishman wants " devarsion " of this kind, he soon makes it for him-
self. Those who do not wish to fight receive one or two blows on
the face from a man they have probably never seen before, and this
at once determines the question whether they will fight, or not ; and
a most terrific fight it soon becomes, — blows are dealt right and left
with sticks and chairs, fists and legs; tumblers are thrown, and
wine-glasses follow; the lamps are broken, the glass is all smashed,
the combatants are bruised and bleeding, and the general tumult is
only stayed by the extinction of the lights and the " physical force "
of the waiters; who, as soon as they hear the glasses breaking,
(knowing they will have to pay for them} become extremely active
and vigilant, and being sober, which the others are not, they are very
efficient, and so the tumult is subdued. As soon as it is over, our
friend is seen at the bar of the tavern with the gentleman who first
knocked him down, swearing eternal friendship, and drinking to
future kindness in the seventh tumbler. A perfect Irish picture !

This by no means concludes the " devarsion " of the night ; but
the sketch has already been extended too much. It may merely be
necessary to add, that as soon as the party reach the street, the spirit
of fun, which had been succeeded by the spirit of mischief and fight-
ing, again resumes its sway for a time. All kinds of practical jokes
are projected and executed, such as those which would be the more
especial delight of the Marquis of Waterford, who is a splendid ex-
ample of "a fine young Irish gentleman; " but the conclusion of the
night's adventures are invariably the same. A tumult in the street;
an affray with the police ; a few contusions and bruises ; and either
a compromise, an escape, or a lodging for the night in the police
station-house.

I should not have made so long a story of the whiskey punch, but
that the effects I have described appear to follow so naturally with
an Irish gentleman. An abundance of wit and practical fun ; a sud-
den transition to anger ; a ludicrous sense of importance and dig-
nity ; an intense desire to support the honour of his friends or his
party, and at last an invariable propensity to fight with whoever will
afford him the opportunity. Indeed he does not always wait for that.
The old joke of the Irishman's love of fighting is really no e'xagge-
ration. " Och ! murther ! Nine o'clock at Donnybrook fair, and
devil a fight yet ! Will any jontkman have the kindness to tread on
the tail of my coat ? "

When speaking of the ancient and enduring love of whiskey by
the people of this country, I ought not to have omitted two or three
illustrative anecdotes I have collected on the subject. In explana-
tion of that part of the bard's address just quoted, where he says,

THE WHISKEY. 47

" Had my christening bowl been filled with, this,
I ;d have swallowed it were it a fountain/'

the following curious statement in Holinshed's Chronicles deserves
attention, not only for the singular custom it describes, but be-
cause it also proves the antiquity of the poem in which an allu-
sion to so old a custom is made so familiarly. Holinshed, in his
chronicle of " the troublesome estate of Ireland," in the chapter
which he quaintly heads, " On the disposition and maners of the
meere Irish, commonly called the Wild Irish," he says : — " In some
corner of the land they used a damnable superstition — leaving the
right armes of their infants unchristened (as they termed it), to the
intent it might give a more ungracious and deadlie blow. Others
write, that gentlemen's children were baptised in milk, and the infants
of poor folke in water, who had the better, or rather, the onlie
choice." Sometimes the christening-bowl might at least contain some
portion of the spirit to which the people were so much attached, and
hence, doubtless, the allusion by the bard. Holinshed, gives some-
what rudely an account of their love for it, when he says, " Flesh
they devour without bread, and that half raw ; the rest boileth with-
in their stomachs with aqua vitce, which they swill in after such a
surfeit by quarts and pottels."

Dr. Rennie, who was examined on a committee of the House of
Lords in 1811, as to the effects of the reduction of the duty on whis-
key, says, " At a time when the common price of whiskey was TS. 6d.
per gallon, it was adulterated so much that it was sold at 4*. or 5*. ;
and the bells were rung to announce it to the people, and to relate
the joyous news, and a general state of drunkenness was perceivable
throughout the whole liberty for a week or a fortnight afterwards."
The same feeling is illustrated in the following anecdote told by Mr.
Croker. On one occasion a hospitable lady, who had rewarded a
labourer for his exertions with some admirable whiskey, administered
in a claret glass, was both shocked and astonished at the impiety and
ingratitude of his exclamation. "May the devil blow the man that
blowed this glass ! "

" What is that you say ? " (enquired the lady.) " What do I hear ? "

" I 'm much obliged to you, honourable madam, and 'tis no harm
I mane ; only bad luck to the blaguard glass-blower, whoever he
was, for with the least bit of breath in life more he could have made
the glass twice as big ! "

Although from such instances we may naturally conclude that the
love of whiskey is a feeling sui generis with an Irishman, yet there
can be little doubt it is custom, and custom alone, that makes it so
powerful. Look at the tents at the fair how they are filled with
fathers of families, — with young boys, who are taught to consider
that their approaches to manhood and manliness are best proved by
their ability to drink without being sick or drunk, or in other
words, by making their heads in time. See young women, as in these
places, under pretence of being treated to a fairing of gingerbread,
in reality indulging in punch and coarse conversation, which is too
often the accompaniment of strong drink, and then tell me that the
whiskey does no harm !

See the small holder or labourer, whose only business at a fair is,
perhaps, to buy a spade-handle, standing at the tent door, in hopes

48 THE WHISKEY.

of meeting with some good ga if fellow (that is, some tipsy fool) who
will treat him to a glass or a naggin. This is the way drunkenness
is encouraged.

" Do you see that horse drinking ? " said a farming gentleman
once to his herd, who, to the great injury of his master's cattle had
been tempted at a fair to drink too much, — "he takes just what is
good for him, and no more."

" Thrue for you, masther," said the other, "but he has nobody to
say to him, ' here *s to ye I ' ''

The Dublin whiskey-shops, like the London gin-shops, are un-
doubtedly the cause of much intemperance by affording the poor the
opportunity of indulging their depraved taste ; but here the likeness
ceases, for a whiskey-shop here, and a gin-temple in London, are as
unlike in all other respects as can possibly be imagined. The former
are now what the liquor-shops in London were when the price of
spirits was so low, that it was actually written up on the window of
one of them, " A man may get drunk here for a penny, dead drunk
for two-pence, and have clean straw for nothing." The two kinds
of spirit-shops now, however, are so different that they deserve to
have a comparison drawn between them.

Imagine a small shop at the corner of a street in Dublin, with a
doorway on each side of the angle of the house, so that those who
wish to cut off the corner may do so at pleasure, and of which privi-
lege not a few avail themselves, for here there are no mahogany
doors, with ground-glass windows to offer an impediment ; you can
therefore enter the shop without difficulty, should the doorway not
be occupied by some two or three old women, who, squatted down
at either corner, are enjoying the luxury of smoking short pipes, as
black from constant use as their own faces for want of washing; and
which said ladies being by no means agile in their movements, occa-
sion some little delay before you can fairly enter the place. But,
having at length gained admission, what a scene presents itself!
You see the abode of the spirit of intemperance unadorned by any of
those ornaments that make its temples in London appear rather the
abodes of fairies than the appointed places for sensual orgies of the
most depraved of all the appetites. Here vice is seen in its natural
hideousness, unbedizened by those glaring arts, which, however, do
not diminish its criminality, even if they conceal some portion of its
loathsomeness. The Irish whiskey-shop most truly exhibits vice as

" A monster of such frightful mien,
That to be hated needs but to be seen.

Yet, unfortunately for its infatuated and wretched devotees,

" Familiar with its face,
They first endure, then pity, then embrace."

On entering the shop a stranger is almost suffocated and stupified
by the stench of the whiskey, arising as well from the liquor itself as
from the breaths of those who have been drinking it, both fuming
together a fume, which if Milton had ever inhaled, he would have de-
scribed as the atmosphere of the lowest depth in which the most de-
praved of the fallen were confined. By degrees, however, the organs
of smell lose some portion of their sensibility, so that an opportunity
is afforded for examining the place. It is, most probably, a grocer's
shop, — for nearly all the grocers sell spirits in Dublin, though only

THE WHISKEY. 49

a certain number keep dram-shops. But this is one of them ; and a
man who can recall to his recollection the magnificent gin-temples
of London, will have a fine subject for contrast.

When I entered the Dublin whiskey-shop I thought of this tem-
ple, and it struck me that two abodes for the same evil spirit more
different in their character could not be found. The shop had very
much the appearance of a common " chandler's shop." On the
counter were some two or three dirty whiskey-glasses, and disco-
loured pewter measures, which had evidently "done the state some
service." There was a small tub of dirty water about the middle of
the counter, in which the whiskey-glasses, I presume, were rinsed
after being used by a customer, and in front of this, projecting
about a foot and a half from the counter, was an upright board, per-
haps six feet high. It is behind this screen, or one formed of three
or four empty tea-chests placed upon each other, where the board is
not provided, that those who wish to take a dram without being ob-
served from the street, can do so. Behind the dirty counter there is
just room for one man to stand, but not for another to pass ; and, in
place of gilded vats we may see a number of small tin tea-canisters,
and in a little glass-case on one side, probably a few of the smaller
articles to be found at a " general shop." Upon the shelves which
extend around the place, are ranged a number of quart-bottles filled
with whiskey, and the printed labels on which give the only appear-
ance of regularity to be observed in the shop. Even the windows
of the front are disgraceful : some are of common green-glass, with
the knob in the centre ; others are of glass so imperfectly blown
that on looking through them a man's face appears extended to the
ordinary length of his arm, or expanded like the Bull and Mouth in
St. Martin-le-Grand. The place in front of the counter is strewed
with broken boxes, a form or two, and some dirty straw ; upon the
latter of which, every now and then, one of the ladies who is smoking
drops the contents of her pipe, which, however, she retains in her
mouth for a minute or two, without being aware of her loss. No
one puts his foot upon the burning tobacco, for he would not spoil
what may perhaps be recovered and again used by the smoker ; but
if it is not, its fragrant perfume combines with that of the whiskey
and of the drinkers to render the atmosphere of the place still more
intolerable. There are no spirit-taps upon the counter like those
previously described, or indeed of any kind, for the vender draws
the spirit direct from the cask he has behind, and the small casks
that may be disposed upon the shelves amongst the whiskey bottles,
are empty, therefore, and only exhibited for the sake of ornament !
Altogether the shop is as disgusting as can be imagined, far worse
than any description can convey an idea of, — it is filthy in its ex-
ternal and internal appearance, — the atmosphere reeks with a foul
odour, and the frequenters of the shop seem fitting visitors for such
a place.

The number of such low drinking-shops is far above what might
be imagined. The writer before quoted says that in 1835, in one
street in Dublin, containing one hundred and thirty solvent houses,
as they are called, seventy were whiskey-shops. The fact is, that
many wealthy citizens, reckless of the consequences which affect the
drunkard, derive large incomes from public-houses, and, of course,
exert themselves to the utmost to obtain licenses for publicans. In
VOL. vii. B

50 COLIN CLINK.

one case, where the churchwardens refused to renew the certificate
of good conduct for a man who rented one of these shops, because
he also kept a house of ill-fame, the case was even prosecuted to a
court of law to oblige the churchwarden to renew the certificate ;
and, though the application was refused, it showed the extent to
which influence is exerted in favour of these places.

I have not instituted a comparison between the London gin- temple
and the Dublin whiskey-shop for the purpose of exhibiting the for-
mer in the most favourable point of view ; for, as far as the intrinsic
merits of either are concerned, the whiskey-shop is probably the
more honest, since it will contain the least adulterated spirits. But
I wished to show that the meanness or the splendour o ithe dram-
shop made no difference in its character. The same miserable and
despicable race of creatures are to be found in both. In London or
in Dublin the frequenters of such places exhibit the same haggard
look and trembling step, — the same low, sullen, feverish eye, and
the same parched and quivering lip. Whiskey rots the mind as
surely and as powerfully as gin ; and, whether in Ireland or Eng-
land, where the same poverty and wretchedness prevail, the same
low vices accompany them.

COLIN CLINK.

Br CHARLES HOOTON.

BOOK THE SECOND
CHAPTER XII.

Colin*s attempt to liberate Fanny's father from the mad-house, with the adventures
that befell him thereupon.

WHEN our hero had taken leave of his friends, and passed out of
his mother's house, he found the night, as he thought, peculiarly
adapted for his purpose. The air was dark and troubled, vexed
with contending winds, which blew, as it seemed, now from one
quarter of the heavens, and then again from its opposite, while drops
of rain occasionally came on the blast, succeeded by momentary
showers of hard hail. Though summer-time, the weather felt as
though it had suddenly changed to that of March, so cold and unge-
nial was the blast.

The youth pursued his way for some distance along a dark lane,
fenced high with thick hawthorn on each side, and traversed by
deep ruts, here and there containing puddles of water, which re-
flected some little light as they caught the sky, and deceived him
with the idea that something white was lying in his road. From
this lane he crossed a stile and several fields, as offering the most di-
rect route to the back part of the grounds around the doctor's
house. When arrived there, he stopped outside the plantation, in
order to assure himself that no person was about. Nothing living
stirred at that hour. He forced his way through a thorny gap in
the fence, and soon found himself at that north-east corner of the
yard- wall which he had particularly specified. He now uncoiled

COLIN CLINK. 51

his rope, and cautiously threw up that end of it to which a grap-
pling-hook was attached. After a few efforts it caught firm hold,
and, as the distant clock struck ten, he ascended to the top of the
wall ; though, as he fancied this elevation would bring him in re-
lief against the sky, he crouched as closely as possible, in order to
avoid being seen, should it unluckily so chance that any individual
of the establishment was about.

" Are you there ?" asked Colin, in a low but earnest voice, as he
peeped down into the yard.

" Yes," answered one from below, in a similar tone. " All right.
Make haste ! "

Colin's heart leapt within him for joy. Now was he well rewarded
for all his pain and trouble: — to think that he had succeeded at last,
notwithstanding all his mother's and Fanny's fears ! Hastily he
drew up the hempen ladder after him, and, sitting upon the top of
the wall, fixed it on the other side, in order to enable James Wood-
ruff to ascend.

" Put your feet in, and hold by the sides," said Colin, as he saw
dimly that the figure was coming up.

" Yes, yes," replied he. " Stop there till I get safe to the top."

And in the next minute, when the body was half above the wall,
Colin received a heavy blow on the head from a short bludgeon,
accompanied by a fierce exclamation and an oath, that if he did not
surrender that instant his brains should be blown out ! Regardless
of the height of the wall, he instantly dropped, and, though half
stunned, and sprained in the leg besides, he endeavoured to make off.
The fellow who, it was now evident, had been stationed in the yard
on purpose to draw him into this trap, — poor Woodruff had kept in
his cell, — was afraid to risk his limbs or his neck by following Colin's
example; but, instead of so doing, he began to bawl lustily for
assistance. Colin heard two blunderbusses fired, and afterwards the
crash of pursuers through the plantations behind him. Conscious
that the injury he had received from the fall would prevent him
from escaping them by flight, he raised himself up against a gate-
post, with his arms close against his sides. In this situation he had
the pleasure, two minutes afterwards, of both hearing and seeing
a couple of stout fellows rush past within a yard of him, one of
whom, by his voice and language, Colin recognised to be Mr.
Palethorpe. Within a short period, having "lost scent," they re-
turned, and lingered a few moments. about the gate, as though irre-
solute which way to take. During this brief interval he plainly
overheard the following conversation.

" Dang him, I wish we 'd hit him ! It would have saved us all
this trouble."

" Ay, ay, and hit him I will," replied Palethorpe, " if I can once
get sight of him. Meesis was quite right, you see, in what she over-
heard him say — a young vagabone ! She told me afore I came out, if
I did get a shot at him, to pepper him well ; and so I will. If we
kill him in trespass and burglary, I think the law will stand at our
backs. Dang him ! — we lost sound of him somewhere here about,
and I should not wonder if he 's crept under some of these bushes.
I '11 fire in, and chance it."

No sooner said than done. Off went the blunderbuss into the
thick underwood, for the moment making the spot whereon they

E 2

5% COLIN CLINK.

stood as light as day, and illuminating Colin's figure as brilliantly as
though he had stood beneath the flaring light of a gas-burner.
Luckily the two men stood with their backs towards him, or he
must inevitably have been detected. The report over, they listened ;
but a few frightened birds, blindly flapping their wings amongst the
trees, were all that could be heard. Palethorpe loaded again, and
then made a proposal, which was agreed to by his companion, that
they should take a circuit of the plantation, and then get on to the
road.

The opportunity thus afforded to Colin was made the best use of
by him, and he endeavoured to steal off in the direction of his
mother's house. But, when he had cleared the plantation fence, he
again heard his pursuers beating about in the road between him and
that place, so that he deemed it most advisable to take the direction
of Whinmoor. In that direction the coast seemed clear ; arid, ac-
cordingly, keeping closely under the darkness of the hedge -side, he
set off at his best speed. For the period of three quarters of an hour
or more he pursued his way unobstructed ; and as at the expiration
of that time he had reached the Leeds and York highway, about a
mile beyond which the old farm was situated, he began to con-
gratulate himself upon his escape. Here he slackened his pace in
order to recover breath and strength, both of which were well-nigh
exhausted by his previous exertion.

As he rose to the top of a gentle hill, which the highway crossed,
the sound of a horse's hoofs upon the hard road, though at a consi-
derable distance, struck his ear. It came from the direction in which
he had come, and seemed to be getting nearer. Was it any one pur-
suing him ? His fears told him it must be so. Instead, therefore, of
pursuing the road any farther, he leapt the fence, and hurried by a
shorter cut over the fields in the direction of Miss Sowersoft's house.
As he advanced the gusty wind again and again brought along with
it the sound of violent galloping. It was gaining rapidly upon him :
but he was now nearer the house, and the horseman, if destined to
the same place, would, he knew, be obliged to keep the beaten road,
which would take him nearly a mile farther than that which Colin
himself had taken. As he crept quietly into the farm-yard he per-
ceived a light in one of the lofts. The door was open, and a wagon
stood beneath. Abel and old George were loading it with hay, for
the purpose of sending it during the night to York ; in order to be
in that city sufficiently early on the following morning. There was
no time to lose ; and to stay at the farm to be taken prisoner would
be quite as bad as though he had allowed himself to be taken at first.
He therefore walked boldly up, and briefly told them that while he
was at Bramleigh a plot had been laid by Palethorpe to entrap him ;
that he had threatened to shoot him if he could catch him ; that it
was with the greatest difficulty he had escaped ; and that even now
he believed they had sent some one on horseback to pursue him.

All this being to their own knowledge pretty characteristic of the
aforesaid Palethorpe, they did not hesitate in agreeing to Colin's
proposal that he should get into the wagon, have the hay-trusses
piled around and over him, so as not to exclude the air, and in this
manner to convey him to York. In order to bind them the more
strongly to their promises of strict silence and secresy, Colin gave
Abel one of his guineas, to be afterwards divided between the two.

COLIN CLINK. 53

He then j umped into the wagon, and in a few minutes was very ef-
fectually put out of sight. In a few minutes afterwards a horseman
dashed into the yard, and demanded of them whether Colin Clink
had come home. Abel denied that he was under any roof there ;
and, after undergoing a strong test of his powers of equivocation,
contrived, very much to Colin's satisfaction, to persuade the pur-
suer to go home again.

Some time afterwards the horses were tackled on, the wagon be-
gan to move, and a tedious journey of more than six hours' duration
brought them within the old walled city of York, at about seven
o'clock in the morning.

Having deposited his wagon in the market-place, Abel now in-
vited Colin, who had made his way out of the vehicle when some
two miles off the city, to accompany him to a public-house. This
request the lad complied with ; and, while making his breakfast ob-
tained ink and paper from the landlord, and wrote a short letter to
his mother, and another to Fanny, explaining the circumstances
which had led to his absence and flight, and promising to write again
as soon as he had resolved in what place he should settle for the
present, as he did not consider it safe to remain permanently, even
at the distance he then was. These he gave in charge to Abel, who
vowed to deliver them both safe and speedily. He then inquired of
Colin whether he did not intend to go back again ?

" Not till I know that everything is safe," replied the youth, " or
else it would have been useless to come here."

" Then what do you intend to do ? or where does t' mean going ? "
again asked the man.

1 ' I am quite undecided yet," remarked Colin ; " but I shall find
out a place somewhere, depend upon it."

" Well, lad," said Abel, " if I could do aught for thee, I would ;
but I mean leaving our missis's myself as soon as I can. I '11 either
list, or go to Lunnun very soon, for it 's beggarly work here."

The thought-struck Colin, — should he go to London ? He had
money, very luckily, sufficient to keep him awhile ; and, so far off
he would be safe enough. When there, as he dared not return to
Bramleigh to pay his promised visit to Kiddal Hall, he could write
to the Squire, and tell him what had happened, which would do
quite as well ; and doubtless enable him, with Mr. Lupton's assistance,
not only very shortly to triumph over his persecutors, but also
possessed of sufficient power to effect successfully that great object,
the attempt to achieve which had so unexpectedly led to his present
unpleasant situation.

He finally took his leave of Abel in the market-place, and then
rambled alone and thoughtfully about the town, until within an
hour or two of mid-day.

CHAPTER XIII.

Country notions of London. — A night-journey to the Metropolis, and Colin's
arrival there.

THE good people of the Great City, possess but a slight idea of the
light in which they and the modern Babylon are regarded by the re-
mote and rustic natives of the provinces. Colin partook largely of
the general sentiment respecting that wonderful place, and its, in
many respects, scarcely less marvellous people. To him, in common

54 COLIN CLINK.

•with every other child of village or hamlet, however remote, the
name of London had been familiar almost from the cradle. He knew
not the time when he knew it first ; and the idea presented by it
was that of some great, undefined, and unknown place, which had
no equal in the world nor resemblance, — (save in that it was com-
posed of buildings and endless streets,) — to anything he had ever
seen. It was a vast spectre, without shape, and measureless, loom-
ing in the misty atmosphere of a doubtful mind, like the ideal pic-
tures of cities and the wonderful palaces of gnomes and genii, after
reading some marvellous Arabian tale. Then, with the rustic inha-
bitants of every remote place, anything uncommon or superior is al-
ways presumed to have come from London ; and to say that it came
thence, is at once to confer upon it a higher ideal value. Many a
worthless trinket brought by some wandering pedlar is purchased,
and afterwards miraculously preserved from juvenile spoliation
amidst the wreck of all other toys, merely because it came from Lon-
don. The very appearance in a village of an individual of more
than usual gentility, startling the bumpkins with a " sight" on some
fine summer's morning, is of itself taken as presumptive evidence
that he very probably came from London. Any innovation or im-
provement in dress or manners, is promptly and naturally supposed
to have had its origin in London. London is the place, in short,
where everything is great, — where everything of the best is made,
— where all the first people of the world do congregate, — where it is
very needful to look sharp about you lest your very eyes get picked
out without your knowing it until they are gone, — where the most
cunning thieves are always at your elbow, — where everything worth
seeing is to be seen, and worth hearing to be heard, — where anybody
may chance to succeed, though he could succeed nowhere else, — and
where, finally, for some one or other or all of these causes, every
man, woman, girl, and boy express a wish to go to before they die.

Thus is London generally regarded by the rural people of the pro-
vinces ; and thus was it in degree that Colin thought, as he paced about
the quiet streets of York. What to do when he should get there he
did not know ; but go somewhere he must. There was still room
left for many more in London than himself. Accordingly he walked
into a coach-office, and, after making some inquiries, took his place
by a coach which, though it travelled an indirect route, had the ad-
vantage of being about to start in half an hour. That interval he
employed in writing another letter home, expressive of the inten-
tion he had just formed, and stating that he should write again as
soon as he arrived in London.

The public vehicle being now nearly ready, Colin climbed awk-
wardly up and took his seat ; and, after all the important prepara-
tions incident to such an occasion had been duly made, an expert
ostler ingeniously twitched off the horses' coverings as they were
starting, and within a short time Colin was whirled away on this his
first day of foreign travel.

Never having been on a public stage before, our hero felt delight-
ed. The pleasant and rapid motion, and the continual change of
scenery, almost made him wonder why those people who could afford
it did not ride on the top of a public coach every day of their lives.
Village, town, and then long spaces of cultivated fields, alternately
came on the horizon, and were left behind ; foot-passengers by the
road-side appeared to him almost at a stand-still, and the speed

COLIN CLINK. 55

of such irritable curs as barked and ran after the horses, little
greater than that of a mole. Towards evening, however, these
things lost much of their attraction, and he began to grow weary.
With weariness came despondency, and he almost felt as though he
was lost.

The sun went down somewhere in the direction of the home he
had left last night. What were his mother and Fanny doing now ?
What doubt were they not in, and what misery enduring through
his (to them) unaccountable absence ! It was evident enough, too,
that Palethorpe knew him, — and that his design had been found
out. What evil reports would they not spread concerning him,
to the dismay and shame of Fanny and his mother ! Mr. Lupton,
also, might hear them, and perhaps refuse to take any notice of
his letters ; though he himself, were he there, could explain all this
to everybody's satisfaction. Tears both of sorrow and vexation swam
in his eyes, and he wished it was but possible the coachman could
drive him back again. Night came on, and at a great town (Leices-
ter, I believe) two flaring lamps were put up, which cast upon the
ground a sharp light on either side, as though they flew with a pair
of fiery wings. Passers-by, tree-trunks, and mile-stones shot out of
the darkness before, and into that behind, almost before they could
be seen ; while occasionally might be observed other bright rayless
lights, glancing through the hedges, or staring boldly down the road
before them, like the eyes of a monstrous dragon. Then came the
rattle of another coach, a shout of recognition between the coachmen,
a tip upwards of the whip, and all was dark again. The passengers
were silent, and Colin grew doubly melancholy. The coachman now
and then looked round at his fares, as much as to say he very much
doubted whether he was driving a hearse or not ; yet all sat as quiet
a' corpses. He asked "the box" if he were cold? The box said
" No," and then turned up his coat-collar, and pretended to go to
sleep. The coachman sung himself a song, and beat his whip-hand
upon his left shoulder to keep the blood stirring. The guard shouted
to him, and he shouted back again — " The bag of corn was to be left
at So-and-so, and old Joe was to see and send that harness back in
the morning."

Colin took no interest in all this, so he shut his eyes, and, after
awhile, fell asleep. The horn blowing for a change of horses, awoke
him again. Again he went to sleep, and the same pleasing tune was
played in his vexed ears, and on the same occasion, repeatedly during
the night. When morning broke, he was chilled almost to death :
his feet felt as though undergoing amputation : he could never have
believed it was so cold in summer at any part of the twenty-four
hours as he now found it. The night had been fine and dry, and
daylight began with only a few thin clouds. He longed for a ray
of the sun, and watched his increasing light with desire unfelt be-
fore. As he rose, however, the mists gathered, thicker and thicker
as it grew lighter. Then they swept like a storm over the hills in
front, and filled the valleys with a damp fog as thick as any in No-
vember. At two or three hours after sunrise, all was clear again ;
and he basked delightfully in the burning heat. They now began
to pass droves of sheep, and herds of cattle, hundreds together, and
often recurring, yet all bent the same way as themselves : they were
going to London to be devoured. None seemed to come back again.
They ascended a steep hill ; and to the right Colin saw the longest-

56 COLIN CLINK.

bodied church, with the shortest tower he had ever seen in his life :
it was St. Albans. Here a man of business, escaped from the metro-
polis the night before, and now fresh from sleep and breakfast, and
with a " shining morning face," gave the coachman a familiar nod
and word, and jumped up, to return to his ledger. The stable-
boys looked at Colin, and regarding him as a "green 'un," winked
at each other, and smiled. The coachman took no notice of him,
as being considerably beneath his observation. But Colin, without
troubling himself concerning other people's thoughts of him, looked
at the long signs about posting at so much per mile, and at those
which advertised Messrs. Mangel Wurzel and Go's Entire, and won-
dered what in the world they meant. Another hour or two passed,
and the road seemed to our hero to be alive with all kinds of vehicles
describable and nondescript. Dog-horses drawing lumbering old
coaches, and dog- carts filled with country-baked bread, intermingled
with spring vehicles, carrying soda-water, and carriers' carts laden
with crockery, were jumbled together in all the glorious confusion
and dust of a dry summer morning. Occasionally some butcher's
boy, without his hat, would drive from amongst them, as though
his very life depended on his speed, and shoot a-head, until in cha-
racter with all of his fraternity, he outstripped everybody ; and after
the fashion of the good deities of the Heathen mythology, vanished
in a cloud of his own raising.

- The coach approached a high archway in the road. Through it
Colin saw what he took to be a mass of horizontal cloud ; and, peer-
ing above it in solitary grandeur, like one lone rock above a wilder-
ness of ocean, the dome of a great cathedral. To the left, on de-
scending the hill, stood what he took to be a palace ; and still far-
ther on, in Holloway and Islington, so many things of a totally new
character presented themselves to him, that he scarcely believed
himself in the same world as he was yesterday. The turnpikes, and
the Angel Inn, the coaches and cabs, the rabble and noise, the
screaming of hawkers, the causeways lined with apple-women and
flower-girls, the running and scrambling of men carrying; bundles
of newspapers, as they bawled to the passengers of outward-bound
stages, " Times, sir ! — Chronicle ! — Morning Post ! " the swearing of
coachmen, the thrashing of drovers, the barking of dogs, and the
running of frightened sheep and over-goaded cattle, formed altoge-
ther such a Babel as made him for the time utterly forget himself.

" City, young man, or get down here ? " demanded the coachman.

" Where are we ? " asked Colin.

"Islington. Where are you going to? "

"London, "replied Colin.

" I say, Jim," remarked the coachman to his friend the guard,
" that 's a neatish cove now, isn't he, to come here ? "

" Wot do I care, d — his eyes ! Pick up that basket, and go
on, without you mean to stop here all day ! "

Whereupon the driver folded up his waybill, and elbowed his pas-
sage through a crowd of miserable, perishing, be-coated and be-
capped night-travellers, who blocked up the causeway with trunks,
carpet-bags, and hat-boxes. Their pallid visages and heavy eyes,
indeed, conveyed to the spectator no indifferent idea of so many
unfortunate ghosts just landed on the far side of the Styx.

" So you are for London, young 'un, are you ? " asked the coach-
man, when again on his seat.

THE OAK. 57

" Yes, sir" replied Colin, " and I suppose we are not far from
it, now ? "

" Jim ! " shouted the coachman, as he leaned half round to catch
a glimpse of the guard, "this chap wants to know how far he is
from London, if you can tell him ! " And this humorous remark he
rounded off with a weasing chuckle, that appeared to have its origin
in a region far below the thick superstratum of coat and shawl with
which the coachman himself was covered. He then deliberately
eyed Colin from head to foot several times, with a look of great self-
satisfaction, and again inquired, —

" Wot did your mother send you from home for ? "

" Nobody sent me," said Colin ; " I came of my own accord."

" Wot, you 're going i' sarvis, then ? or, have you come up to get
made Lord Mayor ? "

Our hero had felt sufficiently his own loneliness before ; but this
last observation made him feel it doubly. He coloured deeply.

" Come, I didn't mean that/' said the driver, — " it was only a joke
to raise your spirits. I don't want to spile your feelin's, young
man."

" I assure you, sir," replied Colin, with emotion, " I have no place
to go to, and I do not know a single soul in London. When I get
oft' this coach, I shall not know where to turn, nor what to do ! "

" Then wot did you come for ? " inquired the coachman.

" To get a place," said our hero.

" And you don't know where to put up ? "

" No." ,

" Humph! Well, m' happen I can tell you. How much money
have you got ? "

Colin satisfied the inquirer on this particular ; and in return re-
ceived the coachman's promise to direct him to a respectable house,
at which he might put up until he had done one of two things,
either obtained a situation, or " got himself cleaned out."

SONG OF THE OAK.*

IN the morning of life and light, —

When the stars and the earth,
-Ere man, had their birth,
And awoke in their beauty bright, —

My limbs were the first

That young Nature nurs'd, —

Her favourite child

In her forests so wild !

And often she said,

As I rear'd my green head,

That the Monarch of Woods,

And even of Floods,f

* " I have sometimes considered it very seriously, what should move Pliny to make
a whole chapter of one only line : ' Glandiferi maxime generis omnes, quiius honos
apud Romanos perpetuus.' — (Lib. vi. cap. 3.) It is for the esteem which these wise
and glorious people had of this tree, above all others, that I will first begin with the
oak," saith Evelyn.

f The celebrated ship, built at lolchos in Thessaly, for Jason, was formed of
the oak of the Dodouaeau forest.

58 THE OAK.

Should I be when Time
Had render'd my strength in its beauty sublime !

To the " King of the Gods" alone *
My pride do I bend —
And his oracles send

Through Earth from his heavenly throne ! f
His lightning not hurl'd,
The storms of this world
But rock me to sleep ; J
While sweet-suckles creep, §
And climb round my arms
With such innocent charms,
That I waken and say,
" Rest here while you may :
I joy in my power
When guarding weak Beauty in danger's dark hour ! '*

It is true that I 'm rough and old ;
But I 've spirits within
That think it foul sin
To be either heartless or cold, —
Sweet DRYADS that tend ||
My wants, — whom I lend
Sometimes to the Queen
Of Night's starry sheen, —
The Regent of hill,
Of forest and rill,1[
Chaste Dian that laves
In a lonely lake's waves !
— And sometimes I give,
Through gratitude, one with a mortal to live ! **

My head has seen fifty score

Of years rolling by ;

And I mean not to die
For another green thousand more !

In the home I love best,

This Isle of the West,

Still let my leaves spread

O'er the Patriot's head;

And my misletoe be

A snare for each she

Who ventures beneath

Its kiss-snatching wreath ! —

WThen at length I decline,
Let me lie where I fall — let my ivy still twine !

* The oak was sacred to Jupiter. f For this see the classics, passim.

£ ; The oak

Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm !
§ With clasping tendrils they invest the branch,
Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon
And fragrant chaplet ; recompensing well
The strength they borrow with the grace they lend !

|| Dryads and Hamadryads .-—these latter so called from *>«, together, and
2(1*, oak ; because it was believed that they were co-eval and co-mortal with the
trees intrusted to their care.

^f Montium custos ncmorumque Virgo. — Hor. lib. iii.

'» Areas, preserving an old oak by watering its roots, had the nymph who
resided in it bestowed on him in marriage.

59

STANLEY THORN.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " VALENTINE VOX.

CHAPTER I.

Portrays, with other features of importance, the early characteristics of our hero.

To those who had not the honour of being extremely intimate with
Alderman Thorn, it will be necessary to explain that he was a man of
considerable wealth, derived chiefly from a series of successful specu-
lations in hopsj that he married very early, with the immediate view
of procuring the means of entering into those speculations ; that at the
expiration of fifteen years from the date of his marriage certificate he
was generously and formally presented with an heir, whom he caused
to be baptized in the name of Stanley, in honour of an aristocratic
friend of that name ; that he lived in purely aldermanic style until he
arrived at the age of fifty-four, when he utterly repudiated not only all
intoxicating liquors, but all animal food save that which existed invi-
sibly in vegetables and water ; that such total change of diet at his age
brought on almost perpetual shivering; which, however, failed to in-
duce him to forego his high resolve, but which gradually killed him ;
that while some held a minute post mortem examination to be essential
to the promotion of the science of pathology, others held it to be essen-
tial by no means, it being clear that his living had caused his death,
or, in other words, that his alimentary canal had been completely
frozen over ; and finally, that he was buried with appropriate pomp,
without the ice being thus sacrilegiously broken.

Having performed the pleasing duty of placing these afflicting de-
tails upon record to the perfect satisfaction, it is to be hoped, even of
those by whom this worthy individual was held in high esteem, it now
becomes strictly proper to state, that at the period of the lamentable
dissolution of the alderman, Stanley had just completed his fifteenth
year, and that he had then been for five years the absolute master of
the house. Every member of the establishment feared him. No ser-
vant could remain in it three consecutive months, when he happened
to be at home, with the exception of a boy, a somnambulist, whom
Stanley called Bob, and who had become so attached to him, that he
never appeared to be truly happy in his absence. This boy was an
immense favourite with Stanley, and a fine time Bob had of it in con-
sequence. The servants avenged Stanley's insults upon him, but not
in Stanley's presence ; for, albeit he assumed to himself the inalienable
right of horsewhipping him daily if he pleased, if he saw any other
creature touch him, or menace him even with a word, he would spring
at the assailant like a tiger ; and if he found it impossible to conquer
alone, he would make Bob help him ; and if both were unable to
manage it then, they would retreat to devise a series of secret assaults,
which never by any chance failed to reduce the enemy to submission.
He gloried in conquering those whose physical strength was superior to
his own ; and, in order to qualify himself for this glory, his chief de-
light, when he had no immediate conquest to achieve, was to reduce
Bob ostensibly to a mummy, by making him stand before him with the

60 STANLEY THORN.

gloves, — of course giving Bob perfectly fair play, although he dared
to retreat no more than he would have dared to sell his soul, — until
Stanley himself became exhausted, which seldom, indeed, happened
until Bob was nearly blind.

Bob used at first to remonstrate against being thus victimised ; for
really it was not very often that he could see with any pleasurable
degree of distinctness, and never by any chance, when Stanley was at
home, was he free from a cut lip, a swollen nose, or a black eye; but
when he found all remonstrances utterly vain, he very valiantly made
up his mind to do his best, and eventually became rather partial
to the exercise; for it did occur, occasionally, that he broke fairly
through his opponent's guard, and if he succeeded in giving him but a
scratch he was content, although in such a case Stanley never dreamt
of leaving off until Bob became densely deaf to time.

This was, however, by no means the extent of the penalty inflicted on
poor Bob : on every such occasion he was discharged. His mistress
could endure to see him knocked about, — she could endure to see him
pommelled, yea even to a jelly, with the most exemplary fortitude ; but
there are at all times bounds to human endurance, and hers could not
go one step beyond that. She could not bear to see the sweet features
of her own dear Stanley disfigured by even a scratch ; and hence,
whenever a scratch appeared upon his countenance, Bob, with due
promptitude, had his discharge.

On no such occasion, however, did he go beyond the coach-house.
He was always reinstated within the hour. Stanley invariably insisted
upon his being recalled, and, having gained his point, invariably found
him in the carriage asleep.

Now it is a most extraordinary fact — a fact which, however, is not
more extraordinary than solemn — that Mrs. Thorn could refuse Stanley
nothing, because Stanley would never tolerate a refusal from her lips.
He had what he desired, because he would have it ; that reason was in
all cases held to be sufficient. It is true she would endeavour to per-
suade him to forego any demand, the direct tendency of which she
conceived to be pernicious; but eventually such demand, however un-
reasonable might be its character, was conceded, because the concession
was a thing upon which he had set his mind. The worthy alderman,
during the last five years of his existence, would have nothing to do
with him whatever. He had very horrid suspicions ! Strong efforts
had been made to convince him that the beautiful boy was in reality
his very image, — that he had the dear alderman's chin, the dear alder-
man's mouth, the dear alderman's eyes, nose, and spirit ; but the alder-
man himself either could not or would not perceive those strong points
of resemblance which were insisted upon with so much eloquence and
warmth ; and hence, although he never went quite so far as to wound
the susceptible feelings of his lady by giving direct expression to his
views on the point, he unhappily had strong suspicions !

The alderman had tried, however, with desperate zeal to obtain the
mastery over Stanley ; but this he had never been able to accomplish,
not even for a day : the failure of every effort indeed had been signal and
complete. If in a moment of anger he happened to strike him, Stanley
would not only strike him again, but keep up a fierce fire of books,
glasses, plates, ornaments, stones, — in short, anything which happened
to be at hand. If the alderman locked him up, he would break every
table, every chair, and every window in the room ; and if, after a des-

STANLEY THORN. 61

perate struggle, — and it could only be after a desperate struggle, — he
succeeded in tying him down, he would remain, on being released,
very quietly till tea-time, when (no matter how many friends might
be present, in his view the more the merrier, because of the increased
quantity of ammunition) he would deliberately take his position at the
table, and pelt the worthy alderman with the cups, while explaining
very gravely to those around — who, of course, were quite shocked — that
the whole thing was done in self-defence, — and these highly irregular
proceedings he would repeat just as often as he happened to be pun-
ished. If sent away, he would immediately return; for, as he justly
held that to be a species of punishment, he very naturally felt it to be
a duty incumbent upon him to have his revenge ; and when he did
return, of course the worthy alderman knew it, for he found him-
self subjected at every point to annoyances of the most galling cha-
racter. Sometimes he and Bob would get all the worthy alderman's
boots, wigs, hats, and umbrellas, to make a bonfire in the stable ; at
other times he would make Bob throw water into the bed of the
worthy alderman, or establish a vast number of nettles between the
sheets with surpassing ingenuity. In fact, he regarded the worthy
alderman as being neither more nor less than his natural enemy.

" What on earth am I to do with him ? " said that worthy person
to his friend, Mr. Sharpe, just before he gave Stanley up wholly.

" Do with him ! " exclaimed his friend, " do with him ! Give him
a sound, undeniable flogging, and repeat the dose daily."

" But flogging makes him worse. He considers it an insult — he
will have his revenge."

" Revenge ! " cried Mr. Sharpe, very contemptuously, " revenge ! A
lad like that talk of revenge ! If I had him, I 'd cut him to the very
back-bone ! " And Mr. Sharpe looked particularly fierce, and shook
his head with an air of inflexible determination, as he added, " Do you
think I'd be mastered by a young wretch like that? "

" My dear friend," rejoined the alderman, " depend upon this that
he is not to be tamed in that way. I have tried it, my friend, I have
tried it till I 'm sick."

" Well, why don't you send him to school ? Why don't you place
him under some severe master, who will undertake to bring him to his
senses ? "

" I have done so. Twenty severe masters have undertaken the task,
and what has been the consequence ? Why, the moment they have
commenced their severity, he has .pelted them with ink-stands, and
started."

" Of course you have not taken him back on those occasions ? "

" In several instances I have ; but, God bless your soul, it was of
no use ! Some refused to receive him again ; while those who con-
sented to give him another trial were never able to keep him above a
day."

" I only wish that I had the management of him, that 's all."

" I wish you had with all my soul ! " exclaimed the alderman, with
unexampled fervour. " Your bitterest enemy, my friend, could wish
no worse."

'•' I 'd tame him ! " rejoined Mr. Sharpe ; " I 'd exorcise the little
rampant devil that 's within him ! "

" But how would you go to work ? — how would you act ? What on
earth would you do with him ? "

62 STANLEY THORN.

" What would I do with him ? Will he not listen to reason ? "
" To be sure he will ; that 's the worst of it. He '11 sit down and
argue the point with you for hours ; he '11 tell you candidly, that if
you insult him, he feels himself bound to avenge the insult ; that his
honour — his honour, my friend ! — prompts him to retaliate ; that he is
prepared at any time to sign a treaty of peace, to the effect that if you
cease to annoy him, he will cease to annoy you ; and that in the event
of such treaty being violated, of course he and you are again at open
war."

" He is rather a queer customer to deal with," observed Mr.
Sharpe.

" He is rather a queer customer. You 'd be very apt to think that
he was, if you did but know all."

" And yet," said Mr. Sharpe, after a pause, during which he had
looked very mysterious, " I 'd be bound still to tame him. Why, if he
were a boy of mine ! " — Mr. Sharpe said no more, but he shook his head
with unspeakable significance, and took a very deep inspiration through
his teeth.

" Well, my friend, well" — urged the alderman, who wished him to
proceed — "and if he were your son, what would you do with him ? "

" Do ! I 'd do something with him ! I 'd teach him the difference !
Do you think that he should ever get the upper hand of me ! "

" But how would you manage it ? — that 's the great point. I '11 just
explain to you the way in which he acted last week. On Monday I
simply said to him while at dinner, that he ought to be ashamed of his
recent conduct, when he seized the tureen, and sent the whole of the
soup over me in an instant. I chastised him, — of course I chastised
him, and he then upset the table. I rushed at him again ; but having
kept me at bay for some considerable time with the fragments of the
dishes, he darted from the room. That night I found a number of
nettles in my bed, and, on jumping out in agony, I discovered that my
bed-room had scarcely a single pane of glass in it ; and in the morning
I had neither a boot nor a hat to put on. I got hold of him by stra-
tagem, and shook him with just violence, and what do you think he
did ? Why he instantly went out into the pantry, got a basketful of
eggs, and popped them at me, until really I was in such a state ! I
ran after him ; but, no! — he kept up the fire, carrying his basket of
ammunition upon his arm. Well, I caught him again in the course of
the day, and locked him up in the cellar, and there he set to work, and
I do not know how many bottles of wine he broke. I heard the crash,
and went and shook the young scoundrel again — I could not help it —
and again he set to work. He was busy all the morning. I feared
that he was employed in some mischief; indeed I was as certain of it
as I was of my own existence. Accordingly, as I was enjoying my
usual nap after dinner on the sofa, he quietly crept into the room with a
tankard of treacle, the whole of which he poured over me so gradually,
commencing at my knees, that I did not awake until he had literally co-
vered me, and before I could rise he had rushed from the room. My
friend," continued the alderman, with due solemnity, " imagine the
pickle I was in ! Yet what could I do? What is to be done with
such a fellow ? I knew perfectly well that until I discontinued my
chastisement he would never cease to annoy me. Of course it 's very
hard, — I know and feel it, as a father, to be particularly hard ; but then

STANLEY THORN. 63

what could I have done in such a case ? What would you, my friend,
have done under the self- same circumstances ? "

" What would I have done ! " cried Mr. Sharpe, very indignantly.
" I can scarcely tell what I should not have done."

This proved the sum total of the advice the worthy alderman
obtained from Mr. Sharpe ; for although that gentleman naturally fan-
cied that if Stanley had been a son of his he would have tamed him, he
at the same time felt utterly unable to explain how.

From that period the worthy alderman gave Stanley up. He would
have nothing more to do with him ; he turned him over at once to the
surveillance of his mother, who adored him, and by whom the pristine
waywardness of his disposition had been fostered.

" My dear, my sweet boy ! — my own Stanley ! " she would exclaim
after a fit of desperation on his part, "you know how dearly, how
fondly I love you. Now do not, pray do not indulge in these frantic
bursts of passion. Indeed, indeed they will injure your health, my
love, — I am perfectly sure that they will. Come, promise me now that
you will in future avoid them — do promise, there 's a dear ! "

" You must promise me, mother, that in future you will not provoke
me !"

" I will not — indeed I will not ! " she would exclaim. " My heart
beats with joy when you are happy." The tears would then start,
she would embrace him and fondle him like a child, and arrange his
fine hair, which flowed in ringlets upon his shoulders. Having moreover
lavished a thousand kisses upon his brow, she would gaze upon her
" own sweet Stanley," the " pride of her soul," with an expression of
rapture.

Truth to say, he was an extremely handsome youth, tall, and strik-
ingly symmetrical ; his eyes were of the most brilliant character, his fea-
tures of the finest conceivable caste, while his presence was elegant, and
even then commanding. That such a mother should have almost idolised
him cannot be deemed marvellous. She could not, however, disguise
from herself that she had from his earliest infancy cherished that spirit,
which she now tried in vain to control. Nor was it, under the circum-
stances, at all extraordinary that from the age of fifteen he should have
considered himself a man. He would suffer no one with impunity to de-
signate him even a youth ; and if any person applied to him the term
" young gentleman," that person was made at once to feel the force of
his displeasure. The servants had been of course accustomed to style
him Mr. Stanley ; but that servant was unblest who happened to pro-
nounce the name of Stanley, after the alderman's unhappy dissolution.
He would not permit it. " I pledge you my honour as a gentleman,"
he would say, " that if you dare to address me again as Mr. Stanley,
I '11 kick you to the devil."

It cannot hence be rationally expected that, with these views and
feelings, his grief at the period of the alderman's death was very loud
or very deep. He wore " the trappings and the suits of woe " as a
purely social matter of course; but he hailed that period as the com-
mencement of the era of his importance as a man. For albeit nearly
the whols of the alderman's property, real and personal, had been left to
the widow, he knew perfectly well that he should have just as much
command over it as if it had been bequeathed absolutely to him.

Stanley, however, was by no means content. He felt at first ex-

64 STANLEY THORN.

tremely gauche. He reflected that he was, after all, but the son of
an alderman, and that reflection, let it come when it might, never fail-
ed to inflict a wound upon his pride. He was a youth of keen percep-
tion. He saw around him those whom he conceived to be more ele-
gant, more composed, more aufait to etiquette, more refined. He felt
unable to endure this. He was perpetually tormented with the idea.
He listened, therefore, for the first time, to the suggestion made by his
mother, that he should pass at least two years at Eton. As a scholar
he was passable ; but then he had been only at private schools, while
those who shone in his judgment most brilliantly had been either
to Oxford, to Cambridge, or at least to Eton. He conversed on the
subject again and again, and at length became convinced that he ought
to commence life in reality, as an Etonian, at least. It happened
that the majority of his associates had been to Eton ; and as they
failed not to speak in high praise of the school, to explain that it had
turned out by far the greater proportion of the most distinguished
men of the age ; that none but Etonians were esteemed perfect men
of the world, and that it was in fact far more famous for that than
for absolute learning, — he eventually resolved upon going to Eton
expressly in order to gain caste.

When this highly laudable resolution had been delicately communi-
cated to the widow, she was delighted. She saw at once in Stanley
a great man in embryo ; and when she had been advised of the assumed
fact that almost all the most distinguished men of the day were
Etonians, she, of course, looked upon it as abundantly clear that all
Etonians became distinguished men. This corollary was, in her judg-
ment, really so natural and so correct that, had five thousand pounds
been required for the start, she would have given that sum with un-
speakable pleasure. Her Stanley — her own Stanley, was about to be-
come an Etonian! She did not pretend to understand much about it,
but she nevertheless conceived, from his description, that to be an
Etonian would at once enable Stanley to associate with the sons of the
most distinguished.

Stanley himself had, however, still some misgivings on the subject.
It was true he had read Virgil, and a trifle of Livy ; he could, more-
over, versify — a little ; but he could not expect to be placed above the
fourth form. He had heard of fagging : he had also heard of flogging ;
and he knew that if they attempted to fag or to flog him ! No matter
— it was settled : he had made up his mind to go, and go he would, if
it were only to enable him to say that he had been.

Accordingly, everything which could be deemed essential was pre-
pared, and the preliminaries necessary to enable him to commence at
the ensuing half year having been politely arranged by Mr. Seymour,
the father of one of Stanley's most gentlemanlike associates, he started
with a purse sufficiently heavy, but with a heart not perhaps quite
sufficiently light.

CHAPTER II.

Stanley at Eton.

THE first person to whom Stanley was introduced on his arrival was
Alfred Julian, whose friends were on terms of close intimacy with the
Seymours. Alfred, who was a fine high-toned boy — precisely the sort
of lad to meet Stanley's views, — undertook to initiate him into all
the deep mysteries of the school ; but he was most unfortunately him-

<&, •

•

£»' 4h.

STANLEY THORN. 65

self in the fourth form, and hence could not, by having his friend for a
fag nominally, save him from the tyranny of the fifth and the sixth.
He therefore explained to him at once that he really must make up
his mind to become a fag, seeing that all, no matter how high might be
the position of their families, were compelled to submit to it, and that
it was held to be by no means humiliating or degrading, but in reality
a stimulus to exertion, inasmuch as those who took the right view of
the matter strove, in consequence, to work their way up as soon as
possible.

" All social distinctions here," added Julian, " are in this respect le-
velled : for example, Joliffe, Villiers, Cleveland, Cholmondeley, and
Howard, — to whom I shall introduce you, for they are all at our
Dame's, — are the fags of Frogmorton, although he is a plebeian, while
they are connected with the first families in the kingdom. We must
not, therefore, feel ourselves degraded when called upon to act like
them."

" Well, I shall see," returned Stanley. " I '11 do as the rest do, if
possible." He and Julian accordingly proceeded to Dame Johnson's,
where they met with about twenty light-hearted, merry fellows.

He had not, however, been here more than an hour when he was as-
sailed by the older boys with a number of interrogatories which he held
to be particularly impertinent. By Dashall, especially, was he prose-
cuted thus, — for Dashall was one of those who, panting to show off
their power and importance, made the most of the three days before
the arrival of the strapping fellows of the fifth and sixth forms. Stan-
ley did not by any means approve of this practice, and therefore an-
swered rather pettishly, which had the effect of making them perse-
vere the more, for, although they saw something in his general tone
and manner, which in a slight degree checked them, they held the
process of teazing a new boy to be a right prescriptive and inviolable.

" My good fellow," said Stanley, addressing Dashall, who would not
give in, " don't annoy me. I am anxious to make friends of all, and
have therefore no desire to quarrel with you."

" What ! quarrel with me ! " exclaimed the highly-indignant Dash-
all, with an air of astonishment the most intense. " No desire to
quarrel with me! Come, I like that: it's cool — very cool for a new
one. Perhaps you would like to take it out, old fellow ? Do you
fancy yourself at all with the gloves ? "

Stanley eyed him with an expression of contempt, although he made
no reply ; but that terror of the juniors — the mighty Dashall — in a
state of extreme ignorance of the chamber-practice Stanley had had
with Bob, distinctly intimated to him, and that in terms the most
powerful at his command, that if he would only wait until he had pull-
ed on his boots, he would surely accommodate him then with a turn.

Stanley smiled ; but Dashall, whose blood was up, looked very
fierce, and gave his opponent such occasional glances as he fancied
might wither him, while the juniors, whom the invincible Dashall had
awed, really looked with an eye of pity upon Stanley, not, however,
unmixed with astonishment at his apparently imperturbable calmness.

" Now, my fine fellow ! " cried Dashall, having drawn on his boots.
" If I take a little bit of the bounce out of you, it will do you precisely
as much good as physic."

Some of the juniors laughed at the sparkling wit of Dashall, while
others advised Stanley to have nothing to do with him, he was such a

VOL. VII. F

66 STANLEY THORN.

desperate hitter ; but Stanley, of course, remained unmoved, and Julian,
who was anxious to ascertain what his new friend was made of, did by
no means endeavour to dissuade him from accepting the challenge.

" Now then ! are you afraid ? " cried the imperious Dashall, — for
really that desperate young gentleman had become very impatient ; and
he opened his shoulders and struck at the air, and ascertained the pre-
cise firmness of his muscles ; but Stanley, who was in no sort of haste,
made certain inquiries having reference to the character of his opponent,
in order to learn what amount of punishment he should be justified in
inflicting.

Julian could not but admire Stanley's coolness ; and having inferred
hence that there must be some sterling stuff in him, he became nearly
as eager for the fray as the fiery Dashall himself. Well, the gloves
were produced, and Stanley rose. He buttoned his coat simply ; but
the mighty Dashall, bent upon doing some tremendous execution, strip-
ped in an instant, and drew on the gloves.

" Now," said Stanley, " I have no wish to hurt you ; but if you
persist in having a turn, you '11 have yourself alone to blame."

" You don't wish to hurt me ! " cried Dashall. " Good again ! Well,
I wish I may live ! What next ? You don't wish to hurt me ! " he
repeated, for really he was very much amused, and he laughed very
loudly, and the juniors joined him very merrily.

" Well, come, go to work ! " said Julian at length. fc You are both
sure to win. ' Possunt quia posse videntur.' "

In this particular instance, however, the combatants respectively
held Virgil to be wrong ; and to prove that he was wrong they imme-
diately commenced, Dashall striking one of the most imposing attitudes
of which he was capable, while Stanley simply held up his guard.

Dashall even at the commencement did not much admire the un-
flinching firmness of Stanley's eye. He notwithstanding felt quite cer-
tain to beat him, and sprang about, and feinted, and performed a great
variety of most extraordinary antics, displaying at each spring his agility
and science to an extent altogether remarkable. On the other hand,
Stanley kept quiet : he felt that by far the best course he could pursue
— the course calculated to save him a world of trouble in future, was
that of allowing the great Dashall to tire himself first, and then to ho-
nour him with a few of his straight-forward favours, with the view of
convincing him firmly of his error. He therefore stood for some con-
siderable time on the defensive, while Dashall was twisting and turn-
ing, and torturing himself into all sorts of attitudes, marvelling greatly
that every well-meant blow of his should be so very coolly stopped.

"Come — come! you don't appear to be doing muck!" observed
Stanley, when Dashall, by dint of striking out with desperation, had
become nearly exhausted. " I think that it is now my turn to begin,"
and he gave him a gentle tap over his guard. These taps were always
given upon the bridge of the nose ; arid as even Bob never liked them
much, it will be extremely reasonable to infer that the great Dashall
did not approve of them at all. Stanley, nevertheless, tapped him
again and again, and in a manner so calm that the great man really be-
came a little confused. He could not get even one blow at his oppo-
nent, who kept constantly tapping, and tapping, and tapping, until the
terror of the fourth absolutely became so enraged that he scarcely knew
what to be at. He singularly enough began to feel that he had made
a slight mistake in his man". He could do nothing with him. He

STANLEY THORN. 67

tried a rush. Stanley stepped aside, and tapped h-im as he passed.
He tried caution again ; and again Stanley tapped him. This enraged
him far more than would a corresponding number of straightforward
blows, and he expressed himself precisely to that effect.

" Why don't you strike out ? " he exclaimed, with peculiar indig-
nation, " and not keep on tapping and tapping like that ! "

" As you please," returned Stanley, who did on the instant strike
out, and poor Dashall went down as if he really had been shot.

The great man did not like even this. He looked as if it were a
thing of which he could not approve — which was very extraordinary,
seeing that it was precisely what he had just before solicited, — and,
while some of the juniors cheered very loudly, others looked very
steadily at Stanley, as if lost in admiration of his prowess.

Dashall, however, stood up again, and Stanley calmly put to him
whether he really liked that practice better than the other, but as he
replied with a well-intentioned lunge of desperation, Stanley stopped
him, and down he went again.

Another cheer burst from the juniors, and Dashall looked at them
with an Ill-serve-you-out-when-I-catch-you-alonesort of scowl, which
was in the abstract, no doubt, truly awful. He, however, by no means
gave in. Stanley urged him to do so; but, no ! he wanted only to give
one fair hit to be happy. He therefore guarded himself with addi-
tional caution, and Stanley, notwithstanding, with additional rapidity
kept tapping him precisely upon the bridge of his nose.

This he held to be about the most extraordinary thing in nature.
He could not at all understand it. It mattered not a straw how im-
posing might be his attitude, how excellent his guard, how fiery his
eye, or how fierce his general aspect, Stanley still kept on tapping and
tapping, while he could do nothing whatever in return, although he
plunged, and bucked, and bored, and jumped about in the most re-
markable manner possible, and with a facility which was really very
admirable in itself.

The interest now became intense. It was perceived that the great
man had screwed up his courage to a most ferocious pitch, although
Stanley stood as calmly as ever. Dashall made a furious rush, and
Stanley stopped him. This made him stand still for a moment, and
look very wild, but on he rushed again. Stanley stopped again with
his right, and with his left sent him down as before.

This seemed to inspire him with the conviction that he had made a
mistake altogether. He felt much confused, and looked very much
annoyed, for it appeared to have struck him — which was really very
singular, — that he had had enough as nearly as possible, which Stanley
no sooner perceived than he drew off his gloves, and offered Dashall his
hand, which at that moment happened to be precisely the very thing
he was most anxious to accept.

" Well done ! " he exclaimed with a patronising air, which was
really very good of him. " Come, you are not a bad sort, after all !
This is just what I call, you know, a friendly set-to. You must be
one of us after this ! " And the great man shook Stanley by the hand
with extreme cordiality, and laboured very desperately and very laud-
ably to conceal his confusion from those around, the whole of whom
most uncharitably and unamiably rejoiced at his defeat, for his over-
bearing conduct, towards the smaller boys especially, had been intole-
rable.

P2

68 STANLEY THORN.

" Now then," said Julian, " come to Joliffe's den. We have clubbed
for a feed, arid are going to be jolly together."

With this proposal Stanley was rather pleased; he therefore
agreed to it at once, and went with Julian to the particular den
in question, where he was hailed with three cheers as " a miller
of the first water," by a dozen of the elite, who had already establish-
ed themselves in his room, with the view, apparently, of proving
how small is that space in which a dozen individuals can eat and be
happy.

Our hero, who now began to feel himself at home, surveyed this
banquetting-hall with great minuteness. It was about eight feet
by six, yet did it contain twelve mortals, a nice assortment of can-
dle-ends, a leaden inkstand, a table, a sofa, a lot of books, and sundry
hampers. The ancient walls were emblazoned with highly-coloured
portraits of prima donnas, pretty barmaids, and theatrical warriors of
every clime, while the spaces between them were appropriately embel-
lished with elaborate drawings in pencil and chalk, of ships, monu-
ments, and barns, with a few highly-finished and really artistical pro-
files of those masters and preceptors who had rendered themselves ob-
noxious, and who really seemed to have the most extraordinary noses
in nature.

On the whole it will hence be inferred that this den looked particu-
larly tidy; but that which at first puzzled Stanley more than all was
the style in which his friends were addressed. Each appeared to have
a sobriquet peculiar to himself, with which Stanley became acquainted
on being informed, not merely in general terms, that all had subscribed
to the feast, but that Bull's-eye, for example, had contributed a Ger-
man sausage ; the Nigger, a wild-duck ; Hokee Pokee, a pigeon-pie ;
Macbeth, an extraordinary lot of gingerbread ; Twankay, a lump of
Stilton cheese ; the Black Prince, a variety of raspberry-tarts ; Bog-
gles, a Lilliputian ham ; and Robin Hood, a Brobdignagian plumcake ;
while the worthy host, Caliban, himself, had not only contributed a
pheasant, but had secured two tankards of regulation ale.

Of the whole of these delicacies each guest partook indiscriminately,
freely, and with infinite gusto. The gingerbread, for instance, relished
well with the German sausage ; the raspberry-tarts with the ham ; the
Stilton cheese with the pigeon-pie ; the plum-cake with the pheasant.
In fact, taken together, they formed so remarkable a relish, that it
seemed to be a pity almost that the whole of them had not been mixed
with the ale in a bucket, before they began.

Stanley never had seen a knot of fellows eat so fiercely ; but their en-
joyment was amazingly pure ; and when they had stuffed themselves
to their heart's content, they kept up a perpetual rattle, in the gibber-
ish peculiar to the school, having reference chiefly to their wonderful
exploits during the vacation, until bed-time, when they wisely retired
to their respective cribs in the merriest possible mood.

During the two succeeding days the little tyrants of the Dashall
caste reigned supreme over all but Stanley ; but when the fifth and
sixth began to arrive, they gradually sunk into the most minute insig-
nificance. The new boys wondered and walked about very myste-
riously on witnessing the arrival of these tall fellows in their "pea-
jackets, wrappers, and cloaks, and retired for the night with about the
same feelings as those which may reasonably be supposed to be enter-

STANLEY THORN. 69

tained by convicts on their arrival in Van Dieman's Land, as they
speculate profoundly upon the character of the men to whom tyrannous
Fate has consigned them. Stanley was, however, an exception to the
rule : he had no such feelings to depress him ; he was, on the contrary,
pleased with the appearance of new arrivals, and fancied that he might
study their style and general bearing with great advantage. On the
following morning therefore he set to work with the laudable view of
qualifying himself for the Remove as soon as possible; but he had
scarcely been working an hour when, much to his astonishment, he was
aroused by a desperate kick at his door, which served as a prelude to
the following command, " I say, you new fellow, go to Fitzallan's
study : he wants you."

Stanley certainly conceived this to be rather unceremonious ; but he,
notwithstanding, went to that particular study, and knocked.

" Come in ! " cried Fitzallan, in an authoritative tone.

Stanley entered, and found himself in the presence of three tall fel-
lows, one of whom on the instant observed that he was a strapper,
when Fitzallan gave it as his unbought opinion that he would do, and
without farther ceremony told him to sit down.

To affirm that Stanley held this reception to be highly flattering
were to affirm that which is by no means strictly true. He did not ;
but he sat down, and waited with exemplary patience until some im-
portant matters then on hand had been arranged, when Fitzallan, ad-
dressing him again, said,

" Well, young fellow, and what can you do ? "

Stanley looked as if anxious for some slight explanation, when Fitz-
allan continued, " Can you brush togs, clean candlesticks well, and
light fires ? "

" Upon my word," replied Stanley, with a smile, " 1 cannot pretend
to those delicate accomplishments. I really have not had much expe-
rience in such matters."

" I did not suppose that you had. But take the mud off that pea-
jacket. Come, let us see what you are made of."

Stanley looked at the pea-jacket, and looked at Fitzallan, and then
looked at Fitzallan's friends, but did not attempt to obey orders.

" Do you hear ? " cried Fitzallan, with a scowl.

" I do," replied Stanley ; " but as I think that you are equally com-
petent to the task, I '11 leave you to do it." Thereupon he rose and
opened the door, and was just on the point of departing, when Fitzallan,
starting up, caught him dexterously by the ear.

At that moment Stanley did not "smile — no, not even slightly ; yet
(and really it is a most extraordinary thing to place upon record) there
was something in his look which had the effect of inducing Fitzallan
to relinquish his hold. " I will not," said Stanley firmly, " notice
this. I am willing to look over it ; but if you dare again to touch me,
I '11 strike you to the ground ! " And having delivered himself pre-
cisely to this effect, he walked calmly from the room, leaving Fitz-
allan and his friends in a state of amazement.

A short time after this Julian went to him. " Really, Thorn," said
he, "you have done wrong. I spoke to Fitzallan myself; he is one
of the most gentlemanly fellows in the school ; and if you had con-
sented to become his fag nominally, he would have treated you for my
sake as a companion."

70 STANLEY THORN.

" Why," cried Stanley, " he commanded me to brush the mud off
his pea-jacket ! "

" Well, and what if he did?" rejoined Julian, soothingly. " It was
simply because there were two of the Sixth with him."

" I 'd not do it for any one on earth ! " cried Stanley. " I 'd die first ! "

" But see what a position you place yourself in. If you '11 not fag,
you throw down the gauntlet. The fifth and sixth are sure to be at
you."

" I don't care. I '11 do my best to beat them ; but even should I
fail, I '11 not fag."

" Well, but just let me reason with you a little on this matter. If
even you are able to beat them all, they are certain to make a dead
set at you, and what will be the consequence ? Can you stand flog-
ging ? ""

' No," replied Stanley, " decidedly not."

" Then I 'd strongly recommend you not to get out of bounds. If
you do, the prseposters are certain to catch you; in which case, of
course, you '11 be put in the bill."

ee And if I will not be flogged," rejoined Stanley, " what then ? "

" Why, in that case you'll be without ceremony" expelled. But I am
sorry you should have quarrelled with Fitzallan, for he is really a
good-hearted fellow. Come, let me go and tell him you didn't under-
stand it ? "

" By no means," said Stanley ; " I can perform such humiliating
offices for no one."

Julian now very plainly perceived that Stanley was not destined to
remain long at Eton. He therefore gave him the best advice under
the circumstances, strongly recommending him to keep within bounds ;
a course to which Stanley, knowing what would follow, most firmly
resolved to adhere.

Fitzallan, whose object in sending for Stanley was to serve him, and
thus to oblige Julian, from whose family he had received many very
kind attentions, took no farther notice of the matter ; but Scott and
Hampden, who were with him at the time, marked Stanley, and
closely watched him, in the lively expectation of catching him out of
bounds. In this they were, however, disappointed. Nothing could
tempt him to go a step beyond, knowing perfectly well what would be
the result.

Now it happened a short time after this affair that Joliffe, one of his
most intimate companions, was flogged. The cause was very trifling,
and the effect was not very severe ; but, independently of the extreme
indelicacy of the process, — and it really is very indelicate, — the de-
gradation struck Stanley with so much force, that he at once resolved
to manifest his abhorrence of this vile and disgusting species of punish-
ment in a way which could not be mistaken.

He accordingly conferred with his companions on the subject ; and
as they were equally anxious for the abolition of that species of punish-
ment, contending very naturally, and very properly, that it ought at
any rate to be confined to mere children, it was eventually resolved
that they should get up a show of rebellion, than which at that period
nothing could be more easy.

Stanley was chosen their leader, and they certainly could not have
elected a more experienced hand. He set to work as usual at once,

STANLEY THORN. 71

and in earnest. Harry purchased an 'owl, which bore some resem-
blance to the then Lord Chief Justice, a dozen lively sparrows, and
an infinite variety of fulminating balls, it was arranged that he him-
self should take the management of his interesting ornithological cu-
riosity; that Joliffe, Fox, and Villiers, should each have the com-
mand of four sparrows ; and that to Howard and Cholmondeley should
be entrusted the distribution of the fulminating balls. A certain even-
ing was fixed upon for the commencement of the rebellion, and they
took especial care that their plumed troop should go to work as hungry
as possible.

Well, the evening came, and the conspirators at the usual hour
marched into school. There stood the revered doctor with all the
gravity at his command, while the various masters respectively sported
a corresponding aspect of solemnity. The signal was given ; a buzzing
was heard — a buzzing to which the whole school had long been accus-
tomed, the process being known as that of " booing the master."

" Silence ! " cried the doctor, who really seemed to anticipate a
storm ; but the buzzing continued, and gradually increased until in-
deed it appeared to be absolutely universal.

" I '11 flog the first boy I discover/' said the doctor, who held it, by
virtue of some strange and inscrutable perversion of judgment, to be
disgraceful.

The buzzing, however, continued, to increase ; and it may be stated,
as a most extraordinary fact, that although the lynx-eyed doctor
looked in every direction with really unexampled intensity and mi-
nuteness, not one of the rebels was he able to detect. What made
it, under the circumstances, still more remarkable was, that they all
seemed at that particular period to be studying with unprecedented
zeal.

" Silence ! " again shouted the doctor. " I '11 punish the whole
school ! " And he really did feel very angry at that moment. Just
as he was solemnly promulgating something having reference to the
highly unpopular process of taking away their holidays, which seemed
to be generally understood and appreciated, Stanley, with all due
gravity, drew the Lord Chief Justice from his pocket, and having given
him an impetus in the perfect similitude of a pinch of the tail, allowed
his lordship at once to take wing.

Away flew the Lord Chief Justice very naturally straight for the
chandelier, which was a fine large round one, in which between thirty
and forty candles were burning brightly. Whizz ! he went right in
amongst them, knocking down a dozen at the very first pass, he then
turned and charged the rest, and down went a dozen more, again he
turned and went at them — and again. In short, his lordship seemed to
feel himself bound to work away until he had knocked down the lot,
and left the school in total darkness ; for he scorned to give in until
he had performed what he evidently conceived to be his duty, by
achieving that object for which his introduction had been designed.

The school was now in an uproar ; the laughter on every side was
tremendous. The chief conspirators started three ear-piercing cheers,
which were echoed by the rebels in the aggregate with consummate
shrillness and effect, while Howard and Cholmondeley were busily en-
gaged in strewing the fulminating balls about the gangway.

The school was dark as pitch, and the rebels seemed to entertain

72 STANLEY THORN.

an idea that the doctor was not very highly delighted. What tended
more than all to confirm this impression was the heart-rending tone
in which he called for more candles. The rebels in general, however,
held it to be glorious sport, and kept it up zealously, loudly, and
boldly, until the fresh lights were produced.

They could now see the doctor — they could see that he did not ap-
preciate the fun i — which was very extraordinary. They could not,
however, be mistaken in this ; for, instead of his being convulsed with
merriment, he absolutely expressed what he felt very warmly, and gave
each opinion with infinite point.

The praeposters were now directed to station themselves in various
parts of the school, with the view of taking observations ; but during
their progress they walked, as a matter of course, upon the fulminating
balls, which went bang ! bang ! bang ! at every step.

The doctor did not — he really could not — approve of these proceed-
ings. On the contrary, he conceived them to be highly irregular, and
very monstrous ; and by the time he had delivered a few appropriate
observations immediately bearing upon the point, the fresh lights were
established, — not again in the chandelier, but in various parts of the
school. The instant this grand desideratum had been accomplished,
Fox, Villiers, and Joliffe with surpassing dexterity drew forth their
sparrows, which in the common course of nature made at once for the
lights, and never left them until they had extinguished them all.

The whole school was again in an uproar — the sport was held to be
prime ! The praeposters, who had for the few preceding minutes been
standing quite still, now began again to move, and the fulminating balls
again went bang ! bang !

More lights were demanded by the doctor ; for being a man who was
not a profound scholar merely, but one who looked at things in general
with a learned spirit of human dealings, he very wisely imagined that
the ammunition of the rebels had been expended, which, as far as
matters had proceeded, was extremely correct. But the Lord Chief
Justice, who, in doing so much execution, had undergone a temporary
derangement of his faculties, had by this time recovered his power of
observation, and hence no sooner did he observe the fresh lights intro-
duced, than he felt it his duty to fly at them before they reached the
places for which they had been destined. He did so, and so effectually
did he perform that duty, that in the space of three minutes the whole
school was in darkness again.

The doctor said something extremely severe, and his observations
absolutely seemed to have reference to the subject ; for, although he
was indistinctly heard, he on the instant retired — of course in the dark.

Now the preeposters knew nothing of this conspiracy against the
doctor's peace ; but Scott and Hampden did, nevertheless, fix their
suspicions at once upon Stanley. They knew that he had a number of
satellites ; they knew that those satellites were spirited, daring young
dogs, who would by no means object to enter into such a conspiracy ;
and they moreover knew, that if they could only bring it clearly home
to him, they should have the extreme gratification of proving whether
he would in reality suffer expulsion in preference to being flogged.

With infinite zeal therefore they set to work, and eventually, by vir-
tue of specious manoeuvring, obtained a slight clue to the delinquency
of Stanley, Fox, Villiers, and Howard. Even this was, however,

STANLEY THORN. 73

deemed sufficient. Their suspicions were communicated to the doctor,
and the day following that on which this communication was made the
doctor solemnly directed the delinquents to stand forth.

Accordingly, they stood forth, and the doctor, in the first place, dis-
tinctly explained to them the nature of the charge ; he then went on
to illustrate the enormity of the offence; and having, in the third
place, stated the penalty prescribed, he with all due solemnity ob-
served, that as he had no absolute proof of their guilt, he should be
perfectly satisfied that they were innocent if they would then declare
that they were so, upon their honour as Etonians"

Of course Stanley would not do this, nor would Villiers, nor would
Fox, nor would Howard. They were silent. The question was again
put ; — they made no reply. The doctor was therefore convinced that
they were guilty.

Now came the test. The suspense was profound. The doctor held
a grave conference with the rest of the masters, of whom one distinctly
intimated that, as it was their first offence, they ought to be flogged,
not expelled ; and as this appeared to be the general feeling amongst
them, the doctor very pointedly put it to the chief delinquent whether
he would consent to be flogged.

" No," replied Stanley, " decidedly not. It was to mark our sense
of the indelicate character of that species of punishment that we acted
as we did."

The doctor looked with great earnestness at Stanley, and then turned
and looked earnestly at his colleagues, who looked in return very ear-
nestly at him. Without the slightest comment, however, on the nature
of this answer, the same question was put to the others, who made,
word for word, the same reply.

" Then," said the doctor, " I have but one course to pursue ;" and,
in tones the most solemn and impressive, he added, " I hereby publicly
expel you from this school, and entail upon you all the consequences
thereof."

The same day Stanley, Villiers, Fox, and Howard, in a post-chaise,
left Eton together.

CHAPTER III.

Shows precisely how persons can be placed in a peculiar position.

IT is probably one of the most striking truths in nature, that we are
never inspired with a due appreciation of that which we have. We
must lose it — no matter what it be, health, wealth, or any other ac-
knowledged sublunary blessing — before our estimate of its value can
be correct. Neither wives, husbands, parents, nor friends are duly
estimated until they are gone. While we possess them, our process of
valuation partakes of the character of that of the Israelites when about
to purchase garments : we look with great minuteness at the defects,
without a scruple, should it answer our immediate purpose to make
them appear to be greater than they are ; but when we lose them, their
failings we magnify not, but, on the contrary, look at their virtues,
and find those failings completely eclipsed.

Now, as this most remarkable truth is of universal application,
it may not be deemed extraordinary that it should have applied
to the amiable relict of Alderman Thorn. While the alderman was

74 STANLEY THORN.

living, he was not precisely all which that lady desired ; he was nothing
— very frequently, indeed, was he nothing — at all like what she de-
sired. She would sigh, she would be sorry,—- she would wish that if
he were but — then she would think ! — But oh! how awful is it to
dive into the thoughts — the occasional secret thoughts — of those who
unhappily conceive that they are too tightly bound about the legs in
matrimony's soft silken cords, of which the gloss, like that of prema-
turely old bell-ropes, an indulgence in anger and an abuse of authority,
not fair wear and tear, have worn off. We should there in the highest
perfection behold the extreme wickedness of that which is termed the
human heart, — we should there discover wishes and conceptions of a
character so startling and so vile, that even they who have cherished
those wishes and conceptions endeavour to conceal from themselves.

Without, therefore, going more minutely into the previous thoughts
of the widow Thorn, who most certainly never wished them to be pub-
licly known, it may perhaps be sufficient to state, that although she had
treated the worthy alderman not fondly, — although the practical illus-
trations of domestic felicity she had induced were particularly hot, —
although, in short, she was continually at him, pointing out dreadful
faults which he never could perceive, she began now to think that,
after all, he was really a kind-hearted, generous, good, dear sort of
soul, and hence became absolutely inconsolable.

She wept : very frequently she wept, — and more especially on her
pillow — and signed, and wept again, and sometimes sobbed, and re-
proached herself bitterly for having previously inspected the faults
only of him whose virtues now were in the ascendant. She had not
felt it nearly so much before Stanley went to Eton ; but he had no
sooner left her than she began to feel very acutely the lamentable
loneliness of her position. She was very wretched, and very dis-
consolate, and what, in her judgment, was far worse than all, albeit
she had been no less than fifteen months a widow, not one of the
late worthy alderman's friends had proposed to convince her that the
loss she had sustained was not absolutely irreparable ! She gave din-
ners : she dressed with extreme elegance : she did all that she could with
prudence to inspire those whom she conceived to be likely to propose
with due courage. No ! they were polite ; they never refused an
invitation ; they were at all times particularly attentive and agreeable
— but nothing more. She thought it strange — very strange : she really
could not in any way account for it. She was rich, and she was tall :
she felt that she was interesting, if not strictly handsome : yet not a
single creature would propose !

Such being the extraordinary state of things then, she began very
deliberately and very seriously to turn the matter over in her mind ; for
although she had a son — a dear, darling son, — who was, doubt-
less, a very great comfort in'his way, — she really felt that the comfort of
a son, however great it might be, was not comparable, under the
existing circumstances, with that of a husband — which was really very
natural, and hence, very correct.

Now within the brilliant circle of her acquaintance there was a
highly-respectable individual named Ripstone, whom Stanley from his
infancy had been accustomed to call his Pippin. This gentleman held
a deeply-responsible situation in the Treasury, and had moreover been
a schoolfellow of the late worthy alderman, who had ever received and

STANLEY THORN. 75

esteemed him as a friend. He had never been married. He had,
therefore, no practical knowledge of the blessings with which matri-
mony teems : and it may be added as an extraordinary fact that he had
never developed the slightest inclination to become conversant with
that particular branch of human knowledge : which certainly does not
precisely accord with the popular view of social excellence. Mr. Rip-
stone was, notwithstanding, a very amiable man ; and although he was
not very rich, he had an annual salary of four hundred pounds, and
with all the generosity in nature spent each quarter's pay in advance.

To this gentleman the widow had given very great encouragement ;
for, independently of his being a respectable-looking man — though
rather short for his circumference, which was not inconsiderable, — he
was a nice, kind, quiet, clever, excellent creature, who mould offend no
one, and whom, moreover, no one could offend. He had been at every
one of the widows' parties : he had never by any chance begged to be
excused : he had always arrived with the strict punctuality of the sun,
and had invariably made himself very agreeable. Nor had his visits
been confined to those occasions. By no means. He frequently dined
with her alone! She gave him every opportunity to declare himself:
spoke warmly and eloquently on the subject of wedded life ; marvelled
greatly that he should have no thought whatever of entering into the
blissful marriage state ; explained the utterly disconsolate character of
her own position, and proved to demonstration that with all her wealth
she could not in her state of extreme loneliness be happy ! But, no !
It was all of no use. He was still as insensible as a block of Scotch
granite, being one of those extraordinary creatures into whose thick
heads of mortal adamant you cannot with a hammer drive even a hint.

There would the poor widow sit, sighing, glancing, and fidgetting
about, until she really became so provoked that she scarcely knew
what on earth to do with herself, while he would be twiddling his
thumbs, or mechanically twirling his watch-chain with a heart as dead
to every sigh, look, smile, and sentiment of affection, as a stone!
It was monstrous ! The widow at times had no patience with the man.
She herself felt it strongly and deeply to be monstrous ; and that na-
tural feeling at length prompted her boldly and resolutely to arrive
at the conclusion that it would not do at all to go on any longer so.
She held it to be a pity — a thousand pities — that Ripstone should be
so excessively timid ; but as she had done all in her power to inspire
him with due courage, and as every effort had signally failed, she re-
solved, with surpassing firmness, to take one grand step, which, if it
did nothing else, would at least put ah end to that cruel suspense with
which she was then so constantly tortured.

Accordingly, on the morning of the very day on which Stanley left
Eton, she had forwarded a special invitation to Mr. Ripstone to dine
with her alone, at the same time intimating clearly that she was anx-
ious to have the benefit of his advice upon a subject in which the
whole of her future felicity on earth was involved.

This puzzled Mr. Ripstone. He thought it very odd ; and it was,
in fact, remarked by his colleagues that he looked most mysterious :
nay, one of them, with infinite delicacy, suggested that if anything of
a pecuniary character disturbed him, he had a few pounds, which were
quite at his service ; but this was not what Ripstone wanted ! It was
kind of his friend — very kind; the motive was appreciated highly:

76 STANLEY THORN.

but that which he wanted was simply to know the nature of that ad-
vice which the widow required. Perhaps it had reference to some par-
ticular purchase : perhaps she was anxious to sell out some stock ; or,
perhaps it was something about something, — yet how was her future
felicity involved ? That was the point ! and his utter inability to guess
even what it could be, kept him up in a high state of fever until the
clock struck four, when he hastened home to dress, and at five, to a
minute, he knocked at the door of the widow.

The widow heard that knock. She well knew that it was his ; and
became extremely nervous as he ascended the stairs, and trembled —
slightly trembled — as she held forth her hand to receive him.

" My dear madam/' said he, with a face of some considerable length,
" what on earth is the matter ? "

" Oh ! nothing, — at least nothing very — very particular." The fal-
tering voice of the widow, however, convinced him that there was
something very particular.

" You are looking very well," he continued, and this was a positive
fact. She was looking very well : her rouge had been established with
great delicacy of touch, and she wore a richly-figured satin dress,
while her pearled heaving bosom, her turban, and her waist, were em-
bellished with jewels of the most sparkling caste, so that really as the
rays of the chandelier fell with the most refined softness upon her, she
shone altogether refulgent. It was hence by no means an inappropri-
ate observation, and as it was not inappropriate, the widow felt pleased
with it rather than not, and vouchsafed a reply, of which the purport
was, " Yes, thank heaven ! "

" Well, come ; tell me all," said Mr. Ripstone. " You really must,
and at once, for I shall not have a moment's peace of mind, until I
know what it is."

The widow smiled sweetly ; and glanced at the mirror playfully,
and absolutely patted his cheek. Dinner was announced at this inter-
esting moment ; she therefore took his arm very promptly, and explain-
ed on the stairs that he really was a good, kind creature, and that, if
he would but wait with becoming patience, he should know all anon.

Very well. This was highly satisfactory as far as it went, and they
sat down to dinner. The widow on that occasion had not much of an
appetite. She managed the soup very fairly ; and, on raising the first
glass of wine to her lips, the glass itself touched her teeth only twice ;
but nothing bearing even the semblance of solid food could she man-
age ; no, not even the breast of a delicate chicken, presented by Rip-
stone himself ! She really felt so confused. Even Simpson looked at
his mistress as if a slight explanation would have been a great relief to
him, but of course he had nothing of the sort. She tried to chat with
all her wonted point and eloquence ; but that was a dead failure : it
could not be done. Happily, however, this was not much perceived
by her guest ; for, although his accustomed politeness induced him to
expostulate with her on the popular subject of keeping up the stamina,
— to express his lively fears that she was not, after all, in the most ro-
bust health, and then to hint, with all the delicacy at his command,
that it was probably attributable to the fact of her having then some-
thing on her mind, — he himself never ate a more excellent dinner. For
it happened singularly enough that everything which he more especi-
ally favoured had been prepared, — a truly remarkable circumstance, and,

STANLEY THORN. 77

moreover, so fortunate, being so purely accidental ! He therefore en-
joyed himself exceedingly, and ate, drank, and chatted with infinite
spirit, and was really very amiable — very! but the widow whom he
was thus so unconsciously killing all the time, and who, knowing
that she had a great duty to perform, wished ten thousand times that
it were over, had a very unusual palpitation of the heart : it would
flutter so ! She therefore sighed deeply, while he chatted gaily, and
thus this ever-memorable dinner passed off.

"Now — now, my dear madam," said Mr. Ripstone, when Simpson
had left the room, " come, tell me what is this business, this serious
matter ? " Mr. Ripstone pressed her warmly, gazed upon her face very
fervently, and her lily hand trembled in his very slightly, and she
breathed very quickly, averting her smiling face gently, and looking
upon the carpet very prudently, her pulse being one hundred and
forty.

"Come — come !" continued he, with surpassing amiability both of
expression and of tone, " be calm, and tell me all — all about it."

The widow at this moment, with a most emphatic sigh, observed,
" Women are poor silly things."

"Well — well; but, pray keep me no longer in suspense: it is
really very painful to see you unhappy."

" I know you to be a kind, sincere friend," said the widow; "but
is it indeed true that my uneasiness can afflict you ? "

" My dear creature ! can you do me the injustice even to doubt it ?
You know — you have known me sufficiently long now to feel sure that
there is nothing I could do to promote your happiness that I would not
do with infinite pleasure."

" My friend ! " said the widow, and smiled ; and then looked at him
earnestly, and warmly pressed his hand as she added, " Are you quite
sure of that ? "

Mr. Ripstone himself now became much confused. He could not
understand it. What — what could it mean ? He could not tell : he
could not conceive : he could not even call up a rational conjecture
on the subject.

The widow saw his confusion. It somewhat relieved her. She be-
came in proportion more calm ; but, although she felt very considera-
bly better, she did not then feel herself equal to the task. He pressed
her with great warmth and eloquence again and again for an explana-
tion ; but her nerves still required composure. She would have coffee
first: then, if possible, she would explain the whole affair. Ac-
cordingly, for another mortal hour was 'Ripstone tortured ; for, although
a great variety of inuendos were shot like arrows, well feathered and
pointed, not one hit the bull's-eye of his comprehension : they all of
them fell very wide of the mark. This was tiresome — particularly
tiresome to both ; but it really was not the widow's fault : it was Rip-
stone's, and Ripstone's alone !

Well, the widow rang for coffee, and retired to give some further
instructions. " Now," thought Ripstone, " for this most extraordinary
disclosure ! " He rose; and on her return the widow found him appa-
rently lost in admiration of a Titian ; but, although his eyes were, his
thoughts were not, on that. His thoughts were — but no" matter : the
coffee was produced, and he was again sweetly summoned.

With all the elegance and grace at her command the widow sipped

78 STANLEY THORN.

and sipped, alternately examining the countenance of Ripstone, and
the delicate pattern of her cup. At length, feeling that this was not
the way to make progress, as Ripstone would not understand, she
breathed a sigh fiercely — one sigh, — and took courage ; and while still
intently gazing upon her cup, as if she really had never noticed the
pattern before, she smiled, and then said, " I 'm very silly, — I am —
really — like a child. I wished to have your advice upon a matter of
some — slight — in fact, of considerable — for it is to me of considerable
importance — and yet — 'do you think that I can get my heart high
enough ? Upon my word, a mere girl of fifteen would have far more
courage. I am but a poor, weak, simple creature, after all."

Mr. Ripstone now looked unspeakably anxious, and said, " My dear
lady, proceed — pray proceed : it is something, I fear, of great mo-
ment."

" It is something," rejoined the widow, who now felt that the ice
had been broken, — "it is something of a character extremely delicate,
which — really I cannot — indeed — indeed I cannot — I dare not explain
even now."

The expression of Mr. Ripstone's round face now became very droll.
" Extremely delicate ? " thought he. " It 's very odd." He scarcely
knew that he should be justified in urging her to proceed. The phrase,
" extremely delicate," really struck him as being very strong ; and yet
when he came to think of it, he found that his impression had been that
that phrase really signified something extremely indelicate, which he
now at a glance saw was extremely incorrect, and therefore said, with
his characteristic firmness and force, " My dear lady, if you really
have confidence in my honour and sincerity "

"My friend," interrupted the widow, "I have — believe me, I have
the greatest possible confidence in both : you are, in fact, noxv, the
only soul in whom I can confide. I will, therefore, explain. A wo-
man," she continued, with great deliberation, " is considered, of course,
the weaker vessel. She is so naturally, and is recognised as being so
socially ; and hence it is, I presume, that society has prescribed that
the weaker shall be wooed by the stronger. I believe that view of the
matter is correct ? "

" Oh ! perfectly — perfectly — quite — quite correct, my dear lady ;
proceed."

" Well, a woman — upon my life I scarcely know how to put it, —
but a man in the majority of cases having reference to marriage, is pre-
sumed to possess advantages — not merely of a moral and physical de-
scription,— but in a pecuniary point of view he is presumed to possess
advantages ; and hence, I apprehend, it is clearly understood that in
all such cases the proposal should, of course, proceed from him. Am
I right ? "

" Oh ! quite — decidedly — quite — quite right ! " cried Ripstone,
more puzzled than ever. The softest, the sweetest, and most deli-
cate smile illumined her face as she resumed :

" But, suppose — I will put it so — suppose — leaving out of the ques-
tion all moral and physical superiority — suppose the pecuniary advan-
tages of the lady to be infinitely superior to those of the person to whom
she is really attached — do you consider that in such a case she would
really be justified in proposing to him ? Would you hold such an act
to be indiscreet, or imprudent ? "

STANLEY THORN. 79

" Not, if he really were a man of honour," replied Ripstone, "and
had proved himself worthy of that lady's choice. Most decidedly not.
Were he as poor as Job himself, in such a case she would be justified,
seeing that custom alone prescribes the contrary course."

" Well, now, that is indeed a remarkable coincidence," rejoined the
widow archly. " It happens to be precisely my opinion. I was think-
ing the other day that in a case of that description the propriety of
such a step could scarcely be impugned. But, suppose — let us put it
to ourselves, just by way of illustration, for I really should like to be
clear upon the point — suppose, then, that I, — being disengaged, of
course — had, let me see, say some thousands a-year; and that you —
being equally disengaged — had an income, we will say, of as many
hundreds. Very well. Now, in the event of my proposing to you—
you know this is, of course, a mere supposititious case, — but, in such an
event, would you accept that proposal ? "

" Why, that," replied Ripstone, " would mainly depend upon whe-
ther I had known you sufficiently long to be satisfied that the happi-
ness of both would be thereby enhanced."

" But, assuming all the facts having reference to knowledge and to
feelings to be in every particular precisely as they are, if I were to of-
fer this hand, would you accept it ? "

ft Decidedly. Without a moment's hesitation."

" My friend — my dear friend ! " said the widow. " It is yours ! "

Mr. Ripstone seemed absolutely lost in amazement ; he seized her
extended hand, however, and pressed and kissed it with affectionate
fervour. They both felt so happy ! They embraced. Their veins tin-
gled with the drollest sensations. Again they embraced, and again !
when Stanley dashed into the room."

The lovers started. They were paralyzed. Had Satan himself at
that moment appeared, they could not have been struck with more
terror. They could not, or they would have sunk into the earth.

" Good God ! " exclaimed Stanley, whose eyes flashed with fiery in-
dignation. " What — what is the meaning of this ? Mother, what am
I to understand ? "

The widow sank into a chair, overwhelmed with confusion.

" Leave the room, sir ! " continued Stanley, pointing fiercely to the
door, and addressing Ripstone, who wished to explain. " Leave in-
stantly ! Stay another moment, at your peril ! "

Poor Ripstone, of course, was aware that he had done nothing
wrong ; but, then, he happened to know Stanley too well to remain,
and hence he quitted not only the room, but the house, as soon as pos-
sible.

"Mother ! " cried Stanley, when Ripstone had departed, "you have
vilely sacrificed your own honour and mine ! "

" No, Stanley, my dearest love, — no ! " exclaimed the widow, ex-
tending her arms widely. The next moment she fell upon his neck,
and instantly fainted.

80

LIONS OF THE MODERN BABYLON.

WHAT elegance and luxury ! What a refinement of every plea-
sure that the imagination can conceive, or ingenuity invent to give a
/est to the life of man ! This was my involuntary exclamation as
I laid down one of those extraordinary daily papers with which the
modern press teems, and that had found its way into my solitary
abode, containing an elaborate description of the entertainments and
pleasures of the Metropolis, and of the various amusements and pur-
suits of its favoured inhabitants. Here were pictured in the most
glowing colours the pleasures of the banquet, where the choicest
viands were said to be crowned by libations of burgundy and cham-
pagne, and every libation enhanced by the wit of the surrounding
guests. Here were pourtrayed the gaiety and splendour of the fancy
ball, the delights of the opera, and the theatres, and all the luxuries
enjoyed by the gay votaries of fashion, with a long list of all the
various and splendid appendages of rank and riches. Nature seem-
ed scarcely to have endowed mankind with sufficient powers for the
enjoyment of all the pleasures which were here pictured to my ima-
gination. The five senses, into which our powers of enjoyment are
reduced and divided, seemed inadequate to a proper appreciation of
all that was set forth in the columns devoted to the manners and
amusements of the age. Then came an account of the fame of states-
men, and the glory of generals in the fields of politics and warfare,
and the reputation of authors in the paths of literature ; and I could
not but wonder whether the subjects of so much laudation were
not drunk with public applause.

The description seized upon my fancy. My curiosity was sud-
denly and completely aroused, and I began to lament that I was
not also among the participators of these pleasures, and the pursuers
of this fame, which conferred such honour and glory upon the pos-
sessors. Why was I not among them, instead of occupying a solitary
mansion, and following my studies far removed from these delicious
scenes, and from such, apparently, unalloyed happiness ?

" Why," continued I, " should I devote the short period of my life
to the attainment of science, the utility of which may extend no far-
ther than merely to give occupation to the vacancy of my own mind ;
or to the acquisition of knowledge that may never tend to the in-
crease of my reputation, but be buried with me in the grave ; when
I may be so much more amusingly employed in seeking the plea-
sures of the Metropolis, — in enjoying amusements, the descrip-
tion of which alone has been sufficient to awaken sensations of de-
light? These pleasures are in my power. What is it, in fact,
your philosophers do but die while they live, that they may live
after they are dead? And, after all, how few ever attain even this
end ! I '11 quit philosophy and solitude, therefore, and enter this gay
world."

Enraptured with the idea of such a pleasant futurity as this reso-
lution presented to my anticipations, I threw up the window of my
library. It was one of those clear frosty nights in January, when
" the moon, the inconstant moon," appears to move more brilliantly
amidst the vast, and dark, and unfathomable expanse ; and when the
myriads and myriads of twinkling stars seem brighter than when the

LIONS OF MODERN BABYLON. 81

heats of summer, rising in the atmosphere, dim their resplendence.
The glebe was covered with a mantle of snow ; the avenue of old
elms waved their crystalized and leafless branches, glittering in the
moonlight, to the wintry blast, and seemed to nod reproaches for my
determination to desert them.

It is extraordinary how a scene, or a sound, or a thought, will
change the vacillating mind. I gazed on the moon. I contemplated
the avenue and glebe ; a thousand recollections crowded upon me.
I closed the window, and determined to remain. Throwing the per-
nicious periodical into the nre, I attempted to resume my studies ;
but the poison of fancied pleasure was instilled into my imagination.
I cast my eyes towards the grate, on which I had thrown the paper.
During my lucubrations I had neglected the fire, and there lay the
journal, smouldering in the heat, disfigured and blackened, but still
unconsumed. The printing of it had become even more apparent, and
every paragraph seemed to stare me in the face in luminous charac-
ters, as though to continue the temptation which their first perusal had
commenced. My eyes were riveted on the consuming paper. I de-
termined to watch it to the last, till every spark should be extin-
guished — as I used, when a child to play, at " parson and clerk" till
the whole congregation were gone out, and were carried by a cur-
rent of air up the chimney. In the present instance, however, no
such result seemed likely to follow, for the paper still lingered on the
coals. The paragraphs and advertisements seemed to grow brighter
and more luminous, till fancy began to picture to my mind's eye
Macassar oil assuming the shape of a rosy cheek ; Canton's dentifrice
appeared to be growing into a fine set of teeth ; and an advertisement
for bear's grease to be producing a luxurious head of hair ; while the
puffs of Nugee Stultz, and a host of other tailors, seemed gradually
to assume the various habiliments in which they severally excelled,
till the newspaper was actually transformed into human shape, and
leaped from the grate into the room. I thought it must be a dream,
— I rubbed my eyes, — still the vision vanished not. I felt I was
awake ; yet thought I must be asleep. I gazed on that which appear-
ed a being before me, and at length the outline of the figure became
palpable and definable to sight. It was that of a diminutive man, sup-
ported on one side by a crutch, while his movements did not in the
least seem retarded by his apparent lameness. His round face bore
the ruddy glow of health, as though still warmed by the fire from
which he appeared to have sprung, "while his little sparkling eyes
looked at me with a caustic severity, sobered by an expression of
cunning and good nature, that diminished the fear which his ap-
pearance might otherwise have inspired. This expression of cunning
was heightened by a small hat and leather cocked very knowingly
on one side of his head.

For a moment I was alarmed, and made a motion towards the
bell., but the figure moved his crutch, and in a moment the bell-pull,
after performing a kind of swinging fandango, wriggled itself up to
the ceiling, out of my reach. A kind of Mephistophiles' grin curled
up the lip of my visitor, as he perceived my surprise at the rebellious
propensities of my bell-pull, and a laugh — such a laugh as I had
never heard — ha ! ha ! ha 'd ! in echoes through my room.

"Vain mortal!" said my visitor. I shall never forget the first,
tones of that voice : I find it, indeed, as impossible to describe as

VOL. VII. G

SZ LIONS OF MODERN BABYLON.

to forget them. " Vain mortal ! did you imagine that I was to be
shown to the door, and turned out of your house by some imperti-
nent lackey, like a visitor of earthly mould. No, no; your im-
patience has invoked me ; your discontent has induced my superiors
to send me, — not to help, but to convince you. You were
highly favoured in being placed in this safe harbour, far from
the tumultuous ocean of life, to pass your days in peace ; and you
have passed twenty years of almost uninterrupted happiness. True,
you have not, had the excitements of the world, and all its passions ;
but you have had its tranquillity : and now, ungrateful, you have
suffered your imagination to be led away by the exaggerated ac-
count of fancied pleasures, and your heart is set on quitting this
peaceful solitude that you may mix with the bustle and business of
the great Metropolis."

" Well," continued the figure, " you are to be gratified. My su-
periors have sent me to your aid, and you are to be gratified ! grati-
fied ! gratified ! gratified ! " raising his voice at each repetition of
the word. And the figure chuckled to itself with a kind of un-
earthly laugh — a demoniacal ha ! ha ! ha ! which one might imagine
Mephistophiles to have uttered whenever he had entrapped Faust
into a new sin — calling it a pleasure.

" Who are you ? and where did you come from ? " I exclaimed.

"Who I am I can tell you," replied the figure. " I am Asmodeus,
rather known to human fame as having, sometime since conducted
Don Cleofas through Madrid, and laid open to him the secrets and in-
trigues of the Spanish world. Where I carae from is best known to
myself, and must never be told to any mortal."

" But, from whom do you derive your power to perform the pro-
mise you make of showing me this world which has to-night ap-
peared, for the first time, so attractive ? "

"From whom I derive my power," said the figure, " and from
whence I come, are secrets confined to the knowledge of those
spiritual essences who guide, unseen, the affairs of man ; who are
eternally hovering in the atmosphere to whisper to his imagination
new ideas, to engender new speculations, to inspire new projects,
and to suggest new inventions ; and then vain mortals strut abroad,
and take all the credit to themselves. Why, it was I who put steam
into the head of Watt. It was I who put gas into the eye of
Windsor ; and it was a particular fast-travelling spirit, a friend of
mine, who, embodying himself as a director, carried the railroad
question from one end of the country to the other. It is we, who
sometimes in the shape of Fame, lead mortals to accomplish objects
apparently impossible, tempt them through the dangerous paths of
glory, and sometimes lead them to the objects of their wishes, while
at others we leave them on the brink of the precipice, and make them
travel back the dangerous road themselves, as a punishment for their
vanity : sometimes we suffer them to fall into the abyss, by way of
retributive justice for their wickedness. Some one or other of us
are members of every society in the universe. There is not a club in
London into which we are not elected, and guide or influence their
proceedings from the affected ethics of the Athenaum to the un-
affected ethics of Crockford's ; from the learned synod of the
Royal Society to the laughter-loving Garrick; from the solemn epis-
copal high church of Oxford and Cambridge, to the old woman's

LIONS OF MODERN BABYLON. 83

A. B.C. academy in some country village. You can scarcely sit down
at a table, enter a stage-coach, go on board a steam- vessel, that there
is not one of us a fellow guest, or a fellow passenger. There is one
general sign of intelligence known only to ourselves, by which we re-
cognise each other, and are thus prevented from crossing each other's
purposes. If, after this description of myself, and my power to do
you good or evil, — and which it will be I am not at liberty to tell, —
you will trust yourself to my guidance, my aid shall transport you
into the very centre of that Metropolis, the description of which in-
duced the apostrophe which called me through the fiery ordeal into
mortal and palpable existence. Ha ! ha !" laughed Asmodeus. " You
hesitate. Like your fellow mortals, you have not courage enough to
gratify your own curiosity."

"But, cannot I gratify it by myself?" said I. " I have only to
proceed to London. My fortune and figure will procure me admis-
sion to the best society, and I can see everything without the risk
of being arrested upon the plea of ' noscitur a sociis,' or the danger
of being, perhaps, suddenly sent to the regions from which I saw
you so lately emerge."

" Yes, you may see the superficies of society — men, as they appear
to each other, — not as they appear to us and to themselves. Your
very fortune and figure will be only additional inducements to dupe
and deceive you. You are worth being cheated, and they will cheat
you. I can show you the interior of society. You may be intro-
duced to the puppets, but I will carry you to those who pull the
strings. You may see the actions ; I will develope the motives.
In short, I will take you behind the scenes of the world, and show
you the secret machinery by which they are moved, and by which
all those tricks are played which deceive mankind, and lead them
through life satisfied with their own ignorance, which they deno-
minate a knowledge of the world — the world as it appears in one
universal mask. I will take that mask off, and show you the secrets.
But, quick — decide ! my time must not be wasted here in useless
argument."

The temptation was stronger than the danger, and I consented; at
the same time asking my new acquaintance how we should travel —
whether by railroad, or what other conveyance ?

" Make yourself quite easy upon that head," said Asmodeus. " I
can carry you at ten times railroad speed with the ease and tran-
quillity of a balloon. You consent, then, to accompany me ? "

" I do" said I.

The words were scarcely uttered when I found my senses steeped
in a kind of torpidity. A deep somnolence, which I could not resist,
came over me. I was rendered totally insensible, until the voice
of my conductor awoke me by proclaiming our arrival. As I opened
my eyes I started at the perilous position in which I found myself
placed, — upon the external point of a cross, beneath which I could
perceive a brazen ball, and below that, again, a large dark dome, which
proved to me that I was on the top of an immense building ; and it
was some time before the assurances of my conductor could persuade
me to take a view of my situation. At length I ventured to look
round, and, by the light of the moon discovered myself to be in the
midst of an extensive city. Large houses everywhere met my
glance ; numberless streets, branching out into various and almost

G2

84 LIONS OF MODERN BABYLON.

innumerable ramifications, were mapped to the eye by rows of bright
burning lamps ; a magnificent river rolled its dark waters, here and
there silvered by the moonlight, through the very heart of this im-
mense congregation of human habitations, across which four stu-
pendous bridges were distinctly pourtrayed by the gas-lights, which
seemed to unite the two sides of the stream, and form communica-
tions for the convenience of the inhabitants ; who, late as it was,
seemed still to be hurrying to and fro, some on foot, some in car-
riages, and altogether breaking the silence of the night with such a
din as even to disturb the stillness of the air at the extreme height
from which I contemplated the scene before me. I soon found it
impossible, however, for my sight to reach half the extent that I
wished, or to embrace half the objects that presented themselves to
my attention. I therefore applied to Asmodeus for some description
of what appeared to me the eighth wonder of the world.

" This city," said he, " which now lies beneath us, is London, the
great Babylon. It is indeed an emblem of that world of which it
forms one of the wonders. Paris may be the metropolis of France ;
St. Petersburgh, of Russia; Berlin, of Prussia; Vienna, of Aus-
tria ; but London is the Metropolis of the World. Within its pre-
cincts you will find character of every description, — the most vir-
tuous, and the most vicious ; the most degraded, and the most ex-
alted ; the richest, and the poorest. In short, everything, and its
antipodes, as well as everything intermediate ; and you will find
there every variety of character of every nation upon the habitable
globe. Here it will be our task to explore alike the stately mansions
of the great, and the miserable abodes of poverty ; the worst recep-
tacles of vice, and the temples of virtue, morality, and religion ; the
splendid clubs of Pall Mall and St. James's, and the ' free-and-
easy ' of the Ship and Shovel, or Pig and Whistle. The hells of
the West, and the back slums of the East. The interiors shall be
displayed, and you shall draw your own conclusions respecting the
happiness of solitude or publicity ; of the mechanic, who earns his
daily bread by the sweat of his brow, or the prince and noble, on
whom a hundred obsequious servants wait to perform the most tri-
vial offices. But your situation is rather too elevated here. We
must be moving/'

In an instant I found myself wending my way through a never-
ending stream of people, and dazzled by the blaze of light which
issued from the various shops. In spite of the mob, however, we
met with no interruption or impediment, but seemed to slip through
the crowd as though we were " thin air." In our progress my com-
panion pointed out sundry really well-dressed people, who were in
the act of mistaking other people's pockets for their own, out of
which we saw them extract various articles, such as handkerchiefs,
pocket-books, &c. which were most dexterously conveyed to others,
appearing to be mere casual passengers, but who quickly slipped
away with the prizes the moment they were committed to their care.
In some instances the gentlemen whose pockets were thus intruded
upon by other hands than their own, were seduced into inattention
to their property by the blandishments of some attractive-looking
female, a number of whom were decked in feathers, flowers, rouge,
and smiles. The smiles of these females were as sad an imitation of real
gaiety as their tinsel ornanaments were of real gold and precious

LIONS OF MODERN BABYLON. 85

stones, but they managed their metier of engaging these victims of
petty larceny in conversation so cleverly, that I saw at least twenty
pockets picked, some by men, some by boys, and some by the fe-
males themselves, in less than as many minutes.

As we proceeded my companion asked me, with a sneering laugh,
if a gas-light evening walk in the metropolis was not far preferable
to the uninterrupted moonlight stroll in the country.

We now passed two very large and gloomy-looking buildings, the
one looking like a temple of religion, and the other a perfect nonde-
script, as far as architecture was concerned. Both appeared to be
lighted up within.

" These," said Asmodeus, " are the national theatres. For the pre-
sent we will leave these fanes of the legitimate drama, and proceed
to the theatre dedicated to Italian performances and foreign artists."

In a moment I found myself in such a blaze of light, that it was
some minutes before I could distinguish the nature of the place to
which I had so suddenly been conveyed. As the scene, however,
grew palpable to sight, I was for a moment or two quite overcome
with astonishment at the brilliant spectacle which greeted my eyes.
Tier above tier of almost countless boxes, decorated with crimson
curtains, and filled with well-dressed personages, the females glit-
tering with diamonds and gold, arranged into all the paraphernalia
of female ornament, and the males with vests embroidered with gold
and silver. A splendid chandelier, containing what, to my unaccus-
tomed eyes, appeared to be myriads of brilliant particles of light,
refracted and reflected in a thousand prismatic colours through
a sea of cut glass, a series of chandeliers, all brilliantly lighted,
ranged around the rows of boxes, was the spectacle that first
greeted my eyes, and at the first burst quite overpowered me. I
found myself placed in a narrow range, with my back against
the lower circle of boxes, in a position that commanded a perfect
view of the stage, and of the whole theatre, which seemed literally
groaning with people, who were perpetually going in and out of the
boxes, pouring in from the pit entrance, and crowding along the
narrow passage which surrounded it. A celebrated singer had just
finished a favourite scena, the curtain had just fallen upon the scene,
and the applause had not subsided at my entrance. Various thrusts
which I received from the elbows of those who were pushing by me,
and sundry treadings on my toes, soon convinced me that I was no
longer in the enjoyment of the invisible and intangible properties of
my demon guide, whom I could nowhere discover. I was just
beginning to apprehend that he had left me to myself, when I was
attracted by the voice of the person who stood next to me, the
tones of which reminded me of the peculiarity of those of my new
friend.

" Don't be alarmed," he exclaimed. " I am here — close at your
side."

I looked at my companion, and found a sedate-looking bald-
headed man, apparently some fifty years of age, and soon recognised
in the twinkling of his eye, and peculiar sneering expression of his
countenance, the attributes of Asmodeus.

" You are here," said he, " in the Opera-house, surrounded by
nearly all the fashion of London. The applause, which is just now
subsiding, has been elicited by a prima donna, who is all the rage,

8(> LIONS OF MODERN BABYLON.

and has been rendered more the fashion than ever by certain little
circumstances connected with her private life, which always, in this
moral country, adds excitement to the interest taken in a public per-
former. Indeed, there have been cases where a mediocre performer
has immediately started into astonishing popularity by the fame of
an intrigue, or the notoriety of a conjugal separation; has made
more money during the continuance of this excitement than a whole
life of professional labour would have procured her, unaccompa-
nied by these circumstances. To see this theatre expressly devoted
to music, crowded as it is, one would suppose that England was
a musical country, and the English a musical people, — yet it is no
such thing. Not a tithe of the audience you see assembled care one
atom about the music, or understand the language in which it is
sung ; although none of them, with the exception of an old lady or
two, who come here only to chaperone their daughters, are honest
enough to confess it. Fashion is the great incentive, and intrigue
the subordinate one, which fills this theatre. The boxes before the
curtain, and the coulisses behind it, are both of them prolific sources
of the latter. The coulisses speak for themselves to the most casual
observer who lounges between the acts on the stage j and I heard a
divorcee of great beauty once say, that she should never have been
false to her husband if he had not permitted her to have an opera
box.

"The fact is, that many of the small compartments in which you
see ladies in front, and cavaliers snugly ensconced in the back ground,
could furnish a history of many an interesting scene ; and were they
gifted with the power of writing, nothing could afford more piquant
matter than the autobiography of an opera box ; unless, indeed, it
were the autobiography of a true, well-bred, and discreet ' lady's
maid/ This theatre is, in fact, a very fertile field for the labours of
my fraternity ; and there is never a season in which one of us do
not interfere with the management. But to the audience. The
lower boxes on either side of the stage, you perceive, are occupied
entirely by men. You see them all at present languishingly lying upon
the sofas, gaping, or directing their opera-glasses to the discovery of
their friends in the other parts of the house. Their part of the en-
tertainment is not come — for few of them care anything about the
musical part of the entertainment. At the moment the curtain rises
for the ballet they seem to start into a new existence. The opera-
glasses are all turned in one direction, and their attention is only dis-
turbed by the energetic applause they bestow on some peculiar pas
or pirouette twirled by the famous danseuse of the day. These are
called the omnibus boxes, from being supported by subscribers. The
subscribers consist of a few married men, whose wives have their se-
parate boxes in other parts of the house, — fashionable younger
brothers, and some elder ones, — all of them celebrated as amateurs
of the ballet and its appendages. There is, perhaps, not a very great
deal of wisdom among the set, but they are generally very pleasant
lau-ser alter kind of fellows, who never ' affect a virtue if they have
it not/ and with a spice of roueism about them that very often makes
them subject to be paragraphed in those public prints which exist
upon scandal. Perhaps there is not a better description of the gene-
rality of the omnibus subscribers than that which was so often used
during the Regency in France of ' les amiabks roues.' A few real

LIONS OF MODERN BABYLON. 87

enthusiasts in music have the entree of these boxes, where you may
see them applauding to the very echo the brilliant passages of Mo-
zart, Cimarosa, and^Rossini. But, observe, a head is (thrust out of
one of these boxes, and seems watching the rise of the curtain with
peculiar anxiety."

I directed my attention to the head in question.

" Here," said my Mentor ; " take my opera-glass ; it is endowed
with very peculiar powers, and may perhaps surprise you/'

I took the glass, and pointed it towards the box.

" Well," said my companion, — " what do you see ? "

" Nothing," answered I, c< but an anxious countenance, with aris-
tocratic features, — a restless eye, exhibiting considerable impa-
tience." In a moment, however, the features of the countenance
seemed to mingle and dissolve.

" And what see you now ? " said Asmodeus.

< ' Why, I really believe I see the interior of the skull."

" And, what perceive you there ? "

"No lack of brains," answered I; "though the greatest portion
seems occupied by a female form, from whose attitudes represented
on his cerebrum, I should conclude her to be a singer. Ah ! another
head has thrust itself between my opera-glass and this interesting
object."

"Oh, you will find the new head quite as interesting as the
other," sneered the Demon;

The new head that obtruded itself on my notice had not the aris-
tocratic delicacy of the first. The face was plump, red and white,
and seemed to require every attention to dress to overcome its na-
tural roturier kind of expression. Indeed the person to whom it be-
longed seemed from dress alone to derive the characteristics of the
society in which he moved, as the power of the glass displayed the
interior of this new head —

" Well," said my companion, " what see you now ? "

" Why, a scene of so much confusion that I can scarcely make
anything of it. The brain seems whirled and tossed about in all
directions, as though it were practising the favourite dance of,
' Turn about, and wheel about, and jump Jim Crow ! ' Ah ! I see the
occasion of it now. I plainly perceive an opera-dancer performing a
variety of evolutions in this poor man's brains ; sometimes she turns
them round and round by a pirouette she is making in the midst of
them ; at others they are kicked here and there on the point of her
' fantastic toe ' in the evolution of a cachuca. Now they circulate in
a chassee till I am sure the poor man cannot tell whether he stands
on his head or his heels, and I am actually giddy with the contem-
plation."

Asmodeus laughed as I withdrew the glass from my eye. " The
two heads you have seen," said he, " are pretty fair samples of most
of the others here, only these fling their quarries at the highest game,
and are contented only with prima donnas and premieres danseuses ;
while the others, according to their rank or means, pursue the same
object through every grade of the opera and ballet, down to the
chorus singers of the one, and the figurantes and supernumeraries of
the other. But, look to that box on the left. A gentleman and
lady are there discussing the merits of the performance with much
apparent gusto. They are two of the best-natured people in the world,

88 LIONS OF MODIRN BABYLON.

both of considerable rank, and both possessing and professing such an
enthusiasm for music as realizes the character of Ilfanatico per la
musiva, in one of their favourite operas. You observe the lady,
though no longer in her premiere jeunesse, is still exceedingly hand-
some, while the good nature of her disposition beams in her eyes,
and lights up her countenance ; and from the display of one of the
best-formed arms in the theatre, we cannot suppose her entirely in-
sensible to the admiration of the multitude. Inheriting a large for-
tune, she has been enabled to indulge that passion, or rather mania
for music which has been the grand characteristic of her life. This
has caused her to be surrounded by a host of foreigners, who enjoy
her kindness, fatten on her hospitality, and grow rich by her liberal-
ity. You never meet her without half-a-dozen of these foreign ar-
tistes in her train. You see one of them now in the back of the box,
mustachio'd and imperialed, and gazing upon his patroness and her
companion with one of those sneers which display the real sentiment
with which many of these foreign artistes regard the English. But
where is your glass ? "

I immediately pointed the glass in the direction of the box.

" What do you discover ? "

"In the lady's head," I replied, "I see a strange jumble of
crotchets and quavers, mingled with a plentiful profusion of mou-
stachios. The gentleman's head is quite as much stuffed with mu-
sical notes ; but in his pericranium they seem to organise themselves
into operas."

At this moment there was a universal buzz in the house, and I saw
every opera-glass pointed in the direction of a large box immediate-
ly above the one in which I had been engaged. This box had
hitherto been empty, but three or four ladies, and an equal number
of gentlemen were now entering it, the whole of whom seemed to
pay obeisance to the youngest lady of the party ; none of them
taking their places till she was seated on the right hand front corner
of the box. In an instant the crimson curtain was drawn aside by
a diminutive white hand, and displayed a face with an expres-
sion of determination, which is seldom the accompaniment of
such extreme youth. The lady placed her bouquet on the cushion
before her, and immediately began to scrutinize several boxes.
Every eye and glass in the house seemed for a few minutes to be
directed towards herself; but she bore the public gaze as though she
were entitled to it.

I was on the point of lifting my opera-glass in the same direction
with the others, when my companion suddenly seized my arm, ex-
claiming in a hurried voice, "No — no! that is a head you must not
look into. The secrets of that head are too important for common
scrutiny. We shall return to the opera, but now let us be gone."

In an instant the brilliant scene vanished from my view, and in a
few minutes I found myself comfortably seated in a fashionable hotel
at the west end of the town. I soon recognised my conductor in the
obsequious valet who tendered me my dressing-gown and slippers,
and offered me a cup of delicious coffee, with a glass of cura9oa.
He afterwards ushered me into a comfortable bed-chamber, where he
left me to my repose, bidding me good night, observing that he had
some business in the other world, but would be back betimes in
the morning.

" Don't you think, sir, as we shall have a war with Roosher, sir ? "
" Don't chatter, sir, but dress my hair ! "

MR. MACAW.

A SKETCH.

THE barber — the individual who thrust out his bare pole in all
weathers — is now almost extinct.

Modern civilization has, indeed, so completely transformed the
quaint barber-ism of the olden time, that an attempt to discover the
pole now-a-days would puzzle even" Sir John Ross !

Even those descendants of the great shavers of our forefather's
chins, who enjoy the old-established shops as a hair-loom have uni-
versally knocked out the dim windows of their predecessors, and
now very appropriately show forth in all the glory of a fe new
front ;" while the chips of the old blocks, (who were wont to friz
and crop our grandsires,) retaining but a small portion of the an-
cient practice, are reduced to a — little shaving !

The old barber, during the reign of powder — thejlorir of his days !
— was accustomed to puff his customers, while the smart hair-dresser
of to-day only puffs — himself.

Again — instead of the dirty, snug gossiping room, whose white-
washed walls were adorned with a jack-towel (pro bono publico), a
hand-glass, the play-bills of the day, and broad caricatures, we are

90 MR. MACAW.

now ushered into a " salon," (or, as a slender brother of the white-
aproned craft called it in my hearing, a " salong pour la coupe de
CHEVAUX ! " all red paper, gilding, looking-glass, and gas.

Our head (and the head of this article) requiring a cut, we drop-
ped in at one of the most notorious "Emporiums of Fashion" in
this renowned city of Cockaigne, where (see advertisement) there
are more bears "slaughtered " monthly than are imported into the
" tight little island" in the whole course of a year !

Poor bears ! how vividly they call to mind the fate of a great poet
— like him they fall martyrs to the love of GREASE !

As we entered the " salon," Mr. Macaw, the proprietor of the
splendid establishment, had just received a huge pair of curling-
irons from the " paws " of a broad-nosed African, dressed in white
trowsers and jacket, and was twirling them dexterously over his
thumb, and blowing upon them after the most approved fashion.

He bowed ; took my hat, and handing it to the " nigger," inform-
ed me that " he should have the honour, £c." in half a moment.

He " indicated " a handsome sofa. " Currier — -Times — Globe —
Herald," continued he, pointing to several papers, " all sorts o' poli-
tics— 'cording to taste o' customers — fit 'em to a hair."

There was also a volume of the " Heads of the People " lying on
the sofa. I smiled ; for, where could they find a more appropriate
place than in a hair-dresser's shop ?

There were several assistants, or journeymen, at work in the room ;
but they only whispered in monosyllables, Mr. Macaw — the great
Macaw ! — apparently monopolizing the whole of the talking " aloud "
as his particular province.

He undoubtedly possessed one great essential of an orator — con-
fidence ! and was, in truth, a strange compound of wit, ignorance,
and vulgar assurance.

The spark, upon whose cranium he Was operating, appeared to
enjoy his gabble, and laughed repeatedly, to the imminent danger,
as we thought, of a " singe " from the tongs.

" It 's precious cold to-day," remarked he.

" Rayther easterly — what I call a cutting hair, sir," replied
Macaw.

" Precisely," continued his customer.

" Ralely, sir, (I must say it,) you have been most shamefully cut ;
who could have had the owdaciousness to operate — to spile, in fact,
a gentleman's head in this way ? "

" Oh !— a fellow at the West End—"

" Ah ! I thought as much. They don't understand it, sir. Cut a
hundred to their one in the city ; and practice — (a leetle to the left)
— practice, sir, is everything."

" Shan't touch me again," said the youth. " I 've got some expe-
rience— "

" A notch, sir, if you will allow the word," said Macaw ; " nothin'
more nor less than a ' notch/ 'pon the honour of a professor. They 're
mere 'prentices in the hart, sir, and fit on'y to clip parish boys.
Why, it '11 take a month and some pots o' bears' grease to obviate the
hinjury."

" And do you really think bears' grease of any use ? "

" Of any use ! " cried Macaw, with a start. " My dear, sir, if
your head was as smooth as the palm of my hand> I could assure you

MR. MACAW. 91

a crop in — in a twinkling ! Rub a block — a head, I mean — as po-
lished as a billiard-ball, and you '11 be surprised— perfectly astounded
— yes, sir, the CROWN WILL HAVE A LITTLE HAIR-APPARENT IN NO
TIME. We have a harticle, sir, as is bin given a preference for by,
I may say, the ' nobs ' of the city ; and the nobs are, without vanity,
the better for it." And here he took breath, and grinned at his own
facetiousness. " There, sir, I think, sir, I have done wonders/' re-
sumed he, giving the finishing touch to his labours, " that is, consi-
dering of the miserrible state to which that West-Ender have reduced
you, sir."

While undergoing a brush to take off the superfluous hairs from
his coat, the youth turned to a small glass-case containing a tempting
display of perfumery, &c.

" Have you any tooth-powder you can recommend ? " said he.
"Ton my honour, sir, we have nothink but we will recommend;
but here 's a thing, sir, as will recommend itself. We sell an im-
mensity of it. Next to a good head of hair, I 'm of opinion, sir, a
fine set o' teeth is the ne plas ultra to a gentleman. Some blades,
indeed, would have little to boast on, if it was not for good grinders.
Half-a-crown, if you please, sir — thank you sir. Good evening."
And he bowed him out.

" I say, Macaw, how thick you laid it on," remarked one of the

" finished" gentlemen, carefully fixing his hat over his poodled crop.

" All in the way of business, as my old governor used to say.

'Mac,' said he, ' when you wish to shave a gentleman easy, always

soap him well.' "

At this moment a dark broad-shouldered man, with black whis-
kers and eyebrows, and a "frosty pow," as Burns pathetically de-
scribes it, entered the " salon," and throwing down his broad-brim-
med beaver, he seized a paper, and seated himself in the vacant
chair.

" How would you like it cut, sir ? " said Macaw, endeavouring to
pass his fingers through the stubble.

" Close," laconically and gruffly growled the gentleman.
" Umph ! — short ! " said Macaw, and, wielding his scissors, set to
work, rather perplexed how to handle his customer. He at last
caught his eye directed to an article on the affairs of Russia, and
took his " cue " accordingly.

" Roosher, sir," said he, " is grabbing at everythink. Got a large
navy ; but it 's my opinion, as an individual, he 's got too many irons
in the fire, and will burn his fingers. Before he lays his paws upon
anythink belonging in any ways to Old England, he 'd better pause,
I think. — Don't you think, sir, as we shall have a war with Roosher,
sir ? "

" Don't chatter, sir, but dress my hair," said the crabbed old gen-
tleman, in a tone that seemed to rumble over a bed of pebbles.

Macaw was silenced, — the journeymen simultaneously dilated
their optics to a perfect stare of wonderment, — while the astonished
"friseur" clipped away until he speedily reduced his customer's
original bristles to the shortness of a tooth-brush.

ALFRED CROWQUILL.

JACK SHEPPARD.

BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.
AUTHOR OP " ROOKWOOD " AND "CRICHTON."

ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

EPOCH THE THIRD. 1724.

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PURSUIT.

AFTER running to some distance down Seacoal-lane, Jack stopped
to give a last look at the vehicle which was bearing away the re-
mains of his beloved and ill-fated mother. It was scarcely out of
sight when two persons, whom he instantly recognized as Jonathan
and Abraham Mendez, turned the corner of the street, and made it
evident from their shouts that they likewise perceived him.

Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane,
skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn-bridge, and
began to ascend the neighbouring hill. By the time he had reached
St. Andrew's Church his pursuers had gained the bridge, and the
attention of such passengers as crowded the streets was attracted to-
wards him by their vociferations. Amongst others, the watchman
whose box was placed against the churchyard wall, near the entrance
to Shoe-lane, rushed out and sprung his rattle, which was immedi-
ately answered by another rattle from Holborn-bars.

Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets
on the left ; but, though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not
unperceived. His course had been observed by the watchman, who
directed Wild which way to take.

" It is Jack Sheppard, the noted housebreaker ! " cried Jonathan,
at the top of his sonorous voice. " He has just broken out of New-
gate. After him ! A hundred pounds to the man who takes him."

Sheppard's name operated like magic on the crowd. The cry
was echoed by twenty different voices. People ran out of their
shops to join the pursuit ; and, by the time Wild had got into Field-
lane he had a troop of fifty persons at his heels, all eager to assist in
the capture.

"Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hur-
rying along a street towards Hatton-garden. " It is Sheppard —
Jack Sheppard — stop him ! " And his shouts were reiterated by the
pack of blood-hounds at his heels.

Jack, meanwhile, heard the shouts, and, though alarmed by them,
held on a steady course. By various twistings and turnings, during
all which time his pursuers, who were greatly increased in numbers,
kept him in view, he reached Gray's-Inn-lane. Here he was hotly
pursued. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by
his fetters, he was by no means — though ordinarily remarkably
swift of foot — a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon
him.

JACK SHEPPARD.

At the corner of Liquorponcl-street stood the old Hampstead
coach-office ; and., on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, wag-
goners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Hearing
the distant shouts, these fellows rushed down to the entrance of the
court, and arrived there just as Jack passed it. " Stop thief! "roar-
ed Jonathan. " Stop thief! " clamoured the rabble behind.

At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed
out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash
at him. But Jack eluded their grasp. A large dog was then set at
him by a stable-boy ; but, striking the animal with his faithful iron-
bar, he speedily sent him yelping back. The two hostlers, however,
kept close at his heels ; and Jack, whose strength began to flag,
feared he could not hold much longer. Determined, however, not
to be taken with life, he held on.

Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road,
till the houses disappeared, and he got into the open country. Here
he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left,
when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts,
rode up, and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-
whips. Warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar,
Jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged
so violently that they not only prevented their riders from assailing
him, but also kept off the hostlers ; and in the confusion that ensued
Jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across
the field in the direction of Sir John Oldcastle's.

The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him
and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred per-
sons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. Ascertaining that it
was Sheppard of whom this concourse was in pursuit, the two horse-
men leapt the hedge, and were presently close upon him. Like a
hare closely pressed, Jack attempted to double, but the device only
brought him nearer his foes, who were crossing the field in every di-
rection, and rending the air with their shouts. The uproar was tre-
mendous ; men yelling, dogs barking ; but above all was heard the
stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Jack was so harassed
that he felt half inclined to stand at bay.

While he was straining every sinew his foot slipped, and he fell
head foremost into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the
dark. This fall saved him, for the horsemen passed over him.
Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the en--
trance to a covered drain, into which he crept. He was scarcely
concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had
overshot their mark, ride back.

By this time Jonathan and the vast mob attending him had come
up, and the place was rendered almost as light as day by the links.

" He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen,
dismounting. " We were close upon him when he suddenly dis-
appeared."

Jonathan made no answer, but snatching a torch from a bystander,
jumped into the trench, and commenced a diligent search. Just as
~ e had arrived at the mouth of the drain, and Jack felt certain he
must be discovered, a loud shout was raised from the further end of
the field that the fugitive was caught. All the assemblage, accom-
panied by Jonathan, set off in this direction, when it turned out that

i;

94 JACK SHEPPARD.

the supposed housebreaker was a harmless beggar, who had been
found asleep under a hedge.

Jonathan's vexation at the disappointment was expressed in the
bitterest imprecations, and he returned as speedily as he could to the
trench. But he had now lost the precise spot ; and thinking he had
examined the drain, turned his attention to another quarter.

Meanwhile the excitement of the chase had in some degree sub-
sided. The crowd dispersed in different directions, and most for-
tunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight.
Jonathan, however, still lingered. He seemed wholly insensible to
the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued
his search as ardently as before.

After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he
thought Jack must have given him the slip. Still his suspicions
were so strong that he ordered Mendez to remain on guard near the
spot all night ; and by the promise of a large reward induced two
other men to keep him company.

As he took his departure he whispered to the Jew : " Take him
dead or alive ; but if we fail now, and you heard him aright in Sea-
coal-lane, we are sure of him at his mother's funeral on Sunday."

CHAPTER XXV.
HOW JACK SHEPi'ARD GOT RID OF HIS IRONS.

ABOUT an hour after this, Jack ventured to emerge from his place
of concealment. It was still raining heavily, and profoundly dark.
Drenched to the skin, — in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy
water, — and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff that he could
scarcely move.

Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some
one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. In
spite of his care he came in contact with a man, who, endeavouring
to grasp him, cried, in the voice of Mendez, " Who goes dere ?
Shpeak ! or I fire ! "

No answer being returned, the Jew instantly discharged his pis-
tol, and though the shot did no damage, the flash discovered Shep-
pard. But as the next moment all was profound darkness, Jack
easily managed to break away from them.

Without an idea where he was going, Jack pursued his way
through the fields ; and, as he proceeded, the numbness of his limbs
in some degree wore off, and his confidence returned. He had need
of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him
through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery
ploughed land. At last he got into a lane ; but had not proceeded
far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread.

Once more breaking through the hedge, he took to the fields. He
was now almost driven to despair. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay
down in the grass, he should perish with cold ; while, if he sought a
night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and
dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the
hands of justice. And then the fetters, which were still upon his
legs : — how was he to get rid of them?

Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. Again returning to

JACK SHEPPARD. 95

the main road, he passed through Clapton ; and, turning off on the
left, arrived at the foot of Stamford-hill. He walked on for an hour
longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another. At length
he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove
his last.

How long he continued thus he scarcely knew; but just before
dawn he managed to regain his legs, and crawling up a bank, per-
ceived he was within a quarter of a mile of Tottenham. A short way
off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither
he contrived to drag his weary limbs. Opening the door, he found
it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell
asleep.

When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. For
some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. His legs
were dreadfully swelled ; his hands bruised ; and his fetters occa-
sioned him intolerable pain. His bodily suffering, however, was no-
thing compared with his mental anguish. All the events of the pre-
vious day rushed to his recollection ; and though he had been unin-
tentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as
severely as if he had been her actual murderer.

" Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into
an agony of tears, " she would never have died thus."

This strong feeling of remorse having found a natural vent, in
some degree subsided, and he addressed himself to his present
situation. Rousing himself, he went to the door. It had ceased
raining, but the atmosphere was moist arid chill, and the ground de-
luged by the recent showers. Taking up a couple of large stones
which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into
an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them.

While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn.
Jack instantly started to his feet, and the man, alarmed at his ap-
pearance, ran off to a neighbouring house. Before he could return
Jack had made good his retreat ; and, wandering about the lanes
and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible.

On examining his pockets he found about twenty guineas in gold,
and some silver. But how to avail himself of it was the question,
for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. When night
fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. As he passed along the
main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found
that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. A
crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of
his stock.

" Here's the full, true, and particular account of Jack Sheppard's
last astonishing, and never-to-be-forgotten escape from the Castle of
Newgate," bawled the hawker, " with a print of him taken from the
life, showing the manner how he was sbackled and handcuffed.
Only one penny — two copies — two pence — thank you, sir. Here 's
the — " — " Let me have one," cried a servant maid, running across
the street, and in her haste forgetting to shut the door, — " here's
the money. Master and missis have been talking all day long
about Jack Sheppard, and I 'm dying to read his life." — " Here you
have it, my dear ! " returned the kawker. «' Sold again ! " — " If
you don't get back quickly, Lucy," observed a bystander, " Jack
Sheppard will be in the house before you."

1)6 JACK SHEPPARD.

This sally occasioned a general laugh.

"If Jack would come to my house, I 'd contrive to hide him," re-
marked a buxom dame. " Poor fellow ! I 'm glad he has escaped." — -
"Jack seems to be a great favourite with the fair sex/' observed a
smirking grocer's apprentice. — " Of course/' rejoined the bystander,
who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn, — " the
greater the rascal, the better they like him." — " Here 's a particular
account of Jack's many robberies and escapes/' roared the hawker,
— tf how he broke into the house of his master, Mr. Wood, at Dol-
lis-Hill — " — " Let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing
by at the moment, — <( Mr. Wood was an old friend of mine — and
I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him." — " A
penny, if you please, sir," said the hawker, — " Sold again ! Here
you have the full, true, and particular account of the barbarous
murder committed by Jack Sheppard and his associate, Joseph
Blake, alias Blueskin, upon the body of Mrs. Wood — " — " That 's
false ! " cried a voice behind him.

The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the by-
standers ; but they could not make out who had uttered it.

Jack, who had been lingering near the group, now walked on.

In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in
old clothes. The owner was at the door, unhooking a few articles
of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. Amongst
other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy,—
a species of surtout much worn at the period.

" What do you want for that coat, friend ? " asked Jack, as he
came up. — " More than you '11 pay for it, friend," snuffled the Jew.
— " How do you know that? " rejoined Jack. "Will you take a
guinea for it ? " — " Double that sum might tempt me," replied the
Jew ; " it's a nobleman's coat, upon my shoul ! " — " Here 's the mo-
ney," replied Jack, taking the coat. — " Shall I help you on with it,
sir? " replied the Jew, becoming suddenly respectful. — " No/' re-
plied Jack. — I half suspect this is a highwayman, thought the
Jew ; he 's so ready with his cash. " I 've some other things inside,
sir, which you might wish to buy, — some pistols."

Jack was about to comply ; but, not liking the man's manner, he
walked on.

Further on there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack ob-
served an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl.
Seeing provisions in the window, Jack ventured in and bought a
loaf. Having secured this, — for he was almost famished, — he said
that he had lost a hammer, and wished to purchase one. The old
woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recom-
mended him to a neighbouring blacksmith.

Guided by the glare of the forge, which threw a stream of ruddy
light across the road, Jack soon found the place of which he was in
search. Entering the workshop, he found the blacksmith occupied
in heating the tire of a cart-wheel. Suspending his labour on Jack's
appearance, the man demanded his business. Making up a similar
story to that which he had told the old woman, he said he wanted
to purchase a hammer and a file.

The man looked hard at him.

"Answer me one question first/' he said; "I half suspect you're
Jack Sheppard." — " I am," replied Jack, without hesitation ; for he

JACK SHEPPARD. 97

felt assured from the man's manner that he might confide in him. — .
" You 're a bold fellow, Jack/' rejoined the blacksmith. " But
you 've done well to trust me. I '11 take off your irons — for I guess
that 's the reason why you want the hammer and file, — on one con-
dition."— "What is it ? " — "That you give 'em to me." — "Readily."

Taking Jack into a shed behind the workshop, the smith in a
short time freed him from his fetters. He not only did this, but
supplied him with an ointment which allayed the swelling of his
limbs, and crowned all by furnishing him with a jug of excellent
ale.

" I 'm afraid, Jack, you '11 come to the gallows," observed the
smith; "but if you do, I'll go to Tyburn to see you. But I'll
never part with your irons."

Noticing the draggled condition Jack was in, he then fetched him
a bucket of water, with which Jack cleansed himself as well as he
could, and thanking the honest smith, who would take nothing for
his trouble, left the shop.

Having made a tolerably good meal upon the loaf, overcome by
fatigue, Jack turned into a barn in Stoke Newington, and slept till
late in the day, when he awakened much refreshed. The swelling
in his limbs had also subsided. It rained heavily all day, so he did
not stir forth.

Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards
London. When he arrived at Hoxton he found the walls covered
with placards offering a reward for his apprehension, and he every-
where appeared to be the general subject of conversation. From a
knot of idlers at a public-house he learnt that Jonathan Wild had
just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in
every direction.

Entering London, he bent his way towards the West-end ; and
having some knowledge of a second-hand tailor's shop in Rupert-
street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourn-
ing, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. The
man asked twelve guineas, but after a little bargaining he came
down to ten.

Taking his new purchase under his arm, Jack proceeded to a small
tavern in the same street, where, having ordered dinner, he went to
a bedroom to attire himself. He had scarcely completed his toilet
when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name
pronounced in no friendly accents. Fortunately the window was
not far from the ground ; so opening it gently, he dropped into a
back-yard, and from thence got into the street.

Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who
were collected round a street-singer. Jack paused for a moment,
and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad.
Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on.

CHAPTER XXVI.
HOW JACK SHEPPARD ATTENDED HIS MOTHER'S FUNERAL.

THAT night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters
at a small tavern called the Wheatsheaf, near the green. On the
next morning — Sunday — the day on which he expected his mother's
funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.

VOL. VII. II

98 JACK SHEPPARD.

It was a clear, lovely, October morning. The air was sharp and
bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were
falling from the trees. The road which wound by Westbourne-
green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its
church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees.

Jack's heart was too full to allow him to derive any pleasure from
this scene ; so he strolled on without raising his eyes till he arrived
at Kensal-green. Here he obtained some breakfast, and mounting
the hill, turned off into the fields on the right. Crossing them, he
ascended an eminence, which, from its singular shape, seems to have
been the site of a Roman encampment, and which commands a mag-
nificent prospect.

Leaning upon a gate, he looked down into the valley. It was the
very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt
to rescue him at the Mint ; but, though he was ignorant of this, her
image was alone present to him. He beheld the grey tower of Wil-
lesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed in all
the glowing livery of autumn. There was the cottage she had in-
habited for so many years, — in those fields she had rambled, — at
that church she had prayed. And he had destroyed all this. But
for him she might have been alive and happy. The recollection was
too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears.

Aroused by the sound of the church bells, he resolved, at whatever
risk, to attend Divine service. With this view he descended the hill,
and presently found a footpath leading to the church. But he was
destined to have every tide of feeling awakened — every wound
opened. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's
humble dwelling. When she occupied it, it was neatness itself; the
little porch was overrun with creepers — the garden trim, and ex-
quisitely kept. Now it was a wilderness of weeds. The glass in
the windows was broken — the roof unthatched — the walls dilapi-
dated. Jack turned away with an aching heart. It seemed an em-
blem of the ruin he had caused.

As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. At
every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. There
was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected dis-
tinctly the effect of his mocking glance — how it had hardened his
heart against his mother's prayer. " O God ! " he exclaimed, " I am
severely punished."

He had now gained the high road. The villagers were thronging
to church. Rounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his
former place of imprisonment. Some rustic hand had written upon
the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE ; " and upon the wall was
affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward
for his capture. Muffling up his face, Jack turned away ; but he
had not proceeded many steps when he heard a man reading aloud
an account of his escapes from a newspaper.

Hastening to the church, he entered it by the very door near
which his first crime had been committed. His mother's scream
seemed again to wring in his ears, and he was so deeply affected
that, fearful of exciting attention, he was about to quit the sacred
edifice when he was stopped by the entrance of Thames, who looked
pale as death, with Winifred leaning on his arm. They were fol-
lowed by Mr. Wood, in the deepest mourning.

JACK SHEPPARD. 99

Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat,
Jack buried his face in his hands. The service began. Jack, who
had not been in a place of worship for many years, was powerfully
affected. Accidentally raising his eyes, he saw that he was perceived
by the family from Dollis-Hill, and that he was an object of the
deepest interest to them.

As soon as the service was over, Thames contrived to approach
him, and whispered, " Be cautious — the funeral will take place after
evening service."

Jack would not hazard a glance at Winifred ; but, quitting the
church, got into an adjoining meadow, and watched the party slowly
ascending the road leading to Dollis Hill. At a turn in the road he
perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she
discovered him she waved her hand.

Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the
western side, near a small yew-tree, discovered a new-made grave.

" Whose grave is this ?" he inquired of a man who was standing
near it. — " I can't say," answered the fellow ; " but I '11 inquire from
the sexton, William Morgan. Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed
lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, " ask your father
to step this way."

The little urchin set off, and presently returned with the sexton.

" It 's Mrs. Sheppard's grave, — the mother of the famous house-
breaker," said Morgan, in answer to Jack's inquiry ; " and it's well
they let her have Christian burial after all — for they say she de-
stroyed herself for her son. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yester-
day,— and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have
been buried at four lane-ends."

Jack could stand no more. Placing a piece of money in Morgan's
hands, he hurried out of the churchyard.

" By my soul," said the sexton, " that 's as like Jack Sheppard as
any one I ever seed i' my born days."

Hastening to the Six Bells, Jack ordered some refreshment, and
engaged a private room, where he remained till the afternoon, ab-
sorbed in grief.

Meantime a change had taken place in the weather. The day had
become suddenly overcast; the wind blew in fitful gusts, and scat-
tered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Roused
by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. On
reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession
descending the hill. Just then a carriage, drawn by four horses,
drove furiously up to the Six Bells; but Jack was too much ab-
sorbed to take any notice of it.

At this moment the bell began to toll in a peculiar manner, an-
nouncing the approach of the corpse. The gate was opened ; the
coffin brought into the churchyard; and Jack, whose eyes were filled
with tears, saw Mr. Wood and Thames pass him, and followed at a
foot's pace behind them.

Meanwhile, the clergyman, bareheaded, and in his surplice, ad-
vanced to meet them. Having read the three first verses of the im-
pressive service appointed for the burial of the dead, he returned to
the church, whither the coffin was carried through the south-western
door, and placed in the centre of the aisle — Mr. Wood and Thames
taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance
behind.

100 JACK SHEPPARD.

Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely
prostrated. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly
profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother,, and he could not
help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of
Heaven for the crime he had committed. His grief was so audible,
that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames
was obliged to beg him to control it. In doing this, he chanced to
raise his eyes, and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the
extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-
taker.

Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from
the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by
Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard.

The carriage, which it has been mentioned drove up to the Six
Bells, contained four persons, — Jonathan Wild, his two janizaries,
and his porter, Obadiah Lemon. As soon as they had got out, the
vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. Having
watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could
discern the figure of Jack ; but not being quite sure, he entered the
church. He was daring enough to have seized and carried him off
before the whole congregation, but he preferred waiting.

Satisfied with his scrutiny, he returned, despatched Abraham and
Obadiah to the north-west corner of the church, placed Quilt behind
a buttress near the porch, and sheltered himself behind one of the
mighty elms.

The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around
which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the
sad ceremonial, had gathered. A slight rain fell at the time ; and a
few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. Jonathan mixed
with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time.

The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the
coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave.

Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the
earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest
exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his
mother, and invoking the vengeance of heaven on his own head.

A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack
was recognised. But such was the violence of his grief, — such the
compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of
compassion. That person advanced towards him.

" I have killed her," cried Jack. — " You have," rejoined Jonathan,
laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. " You are my prisoner."

Jack started to his feet ; but before he could defend himself, his
right arm was grasped by the Jew, who had silently approached him.

" Hell-hounds ! " he cried ; " release me ! "

At the same moment Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste,
that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the
grave.

" Wretch ! " cried Jack. " Are you not content with the crimes
you have committed, but you must carry your villany to this point.
Look at the poor victim at your feet."

Jonathan made no reply, but ordered his myrmidons to drag the
prisoner alone:.

Thames, meanwhile, had drawn his sword, and was about to rush
upon Jonathan ; but he was withheld by Wood.

'46&?Z' ^£^j!tefr%6?^Jt&^ &&yfy6frtd/ a^/
.•-^Jfry/L, / . xv . /

"/&{•// •&&&.

JACK SHEPPARD. 101

" Do not shed more blood/' cried the carpenter.

Groans and hoots were now raised by the crowd, and there was an
evident disposition to rescue. A small brickbat was thrown, which
struck Jonathan in the face.

" You shall not pass/' cried several of the crowd. — "I knew his
poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done/' cried John
Dump. — " Slip on the handcuffs/' cried the thieftaker. " And now
let 's see who '11 dare to oppose me. I am Jonathan Wild. I have ar-
rested him in the King's name." — A deep indignant groan followed.
— " Let me see the earth thrown over her/' implored Jack ; " and
take me where you please." — " No/' thundered Wild. — " Allow him
that small grace/' cried Wood. — " No, I tell you," rejoined Jonathan,
shouldering his way out of the crowd. — "My mother — my poor
mother ! " exclaimed Jack.

But, in spite of his outcries and resistance, he was dragged along
by Jonathan and his janizaries.

At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the
steps lowered. The mob pursued the thieftaker and his party all
the way, and such missiles as could be collected were hurled at them.
They even threatened to cut the traces and take off the wheels from
the carriage. The Jew got in first. The prisoner was then thrust
in by Quilt. Before Jonathan followed he turned to face his as-
sailants.

" Back ! " he cried fiercely. " I am an officer in the execution of
my duty. And he who opposes me in it shall feel the weight of my
hand."

He then sprung into the coach, the door of which was closed by
Obadiah, who mounted the box.

" To Newgate,'"' cried Jonathan, putting his head out of the win-
dow.

A deep roar followed this order, and several missiles were launched
at the vehicle, which was driven off at a furious pace.
. And while her son was reconveyed to prison, the body of the un-
fortunate Mrs. Sheppard was committed to the earth.

CHAPTER XXVII.
HOW JACK SHEPPARD WAS BROUGHT BACK TO NEWGATE.

JACK SHEPPARD'S escape from Newgate on the night of the 15th
of October was not discovered till the following morning ; for, al-
though the intelligence was brought by several parties to the Lodge
in the course of the night, Austin, who was the officer in attendance,
paid no attention to them.

After pursuing the fugitive, as before related, Jonathan Wild re-
turned to his own habitation, where he was occupied during the
remainder of the night with Quilt Arnold and Obadiah Lemon in
removing everything which, in case of a search, might tend to cri-
minate him. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair,
for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and
sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day.

He was aroused from his slumber about six o'clock by the return
of Abraham Menclez, who, not choosing to confess that Jack had
eluded his vigilance, contented himself with stating that he had kept
watch till daybreak, when he had carefully searched the field, and,
finding no trace of him, had' thought it better to return.

102 JACK SHEPPARD.

This information was received by Jonathan with a lowering brow.
He comforted himself, however, with the certainty which he felt of
capturing his prey on the Sunday. His breakfast despatched, which
he ate with a wolfish appetite, he walked over to Newgate, chuck-
ling as he went at the consternation which his appearance would
create amongst the turnkeys.

Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who
was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed.
A glance satisfied Jonathan that the turnkey was not aware of the
prisoner's escape ; and he resolved not to destroy what he considered
a good jest by a premature disclosure of it.

" You are out betimes this morning, Mr. Wild," observed Austin,
as he put on his coat, and adjusted his minor bob. " Something
fresh on hand, I suppose ? ''' — ' ' I 'm come to inquire after Jack Shep-
pard," returned Jonathan. — " Don't alarm yourself about him, sir,"
replied Austin. " He 's safe enough, I assure you." — " I should like

to satisfy myself on that score," rejoined Wild, drily. — " So you shall,
sir," replied Austin, who at this moment recollected, with some un-

repl

— " Instantly, sir," replied Austin, " instantly. Here, Caliban, at-
tend to the door, and keep the wicket locked till I return. D'ye
hear. Now, sir." — Taking the keys, he led the way, followed by
Jonathan, who chuckled internally at the shock that awaited the poor
fellow.

The door was opened, and Austin entered the cell, when he abso-
lutely recoiled before the spectacle he beheld, and could scarcely
have looked more alarmed if the prison had tumbled about his ears.
Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who
was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying
before him.

" 'Sdeath ! " cried Jonathan, staring at the breach in the wall.
" Some one must have assisted him. Unless he has dealings with
the devil, he could never have done this alone." — "I firmly believe
he has dealings with the devil," replied Austin, trembling from head
to foot. " But perhaps he has not got beyond the room above. It 's
as strong, if not stronger, than this. I '11 see."

So saying, he scrambled over the rubbish, and got into the chim-
ney. But though the breach was large enough to admit him below,
he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the
Red Room.

" I believe he 's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. " The
door 's open, and the room empty." — " You believe — you know it,"
replied Jonathan, fixing one of his sternest and most searching glances
upon him. " Nothing you can say to the contrary will convince me
that you have not been accessory to his flight." — " I, sir ! — I swear — "
— •" Tush ! " interrupted Jonathan, harshly. " I shall state my sus-
picions to the governor. Come down with me to the Lodge directly.
All further examinations must be conducted in the presence of
proper witnesses."

With these words, he strode out of the room, darted down the stone
stairs, and, on his arrival at the Lodge, seized the rope of the great
bell communicating with the interior of the prison, which he rang

JACK SHEPPARD. 103

violently. As this was never done except in some case of great
emergency, the application was instantly answered by all the other
turnkeys, by Marvel, the four partners, and Mrs. Spurling. Nothing
could exceed the dismay of these personages when they learnt why
they had been summoned. All seemed infected with Austin's ter-
rors except Mrs. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfac-
tion otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected
husband.

Headed by Jonathan, all the turnkeys then repaired to the upper
part of the gaol, and, approaching the Red Room by a circuitous
route, several doors were unlocked, and they came upon the scene
of Jack's exploits. Stopping before each door, they took up the
plates of the locks, examined the ponderous bolts, and were struck
with the utmost astonishment at what they beheld.

Arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased. All the gaolers
declared it utterly impossible he could have accomplished his asto-
nishing task unaided ; but who had lent him assistance was a ques-
tion they were unable to answer. Proceeding to the entry to the
Lower Leads, they came to the two strong doors, and their surprise
was so great at Jack's marvellous performance, that they could
scarcely persuade themselves that human ingenuity could have ac-
complished it.

<f Here 's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest
the leads, " which I could have sworn would have resisted anything.
I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars."

Mounting the roof of the prison, they traced the fugitive's course
to the further extremity of the building, where they found his blanket
attached to the spike, proving that he escaped in that direction.

After severely examining Austin, and finding it proved, on the
testimony of his fellow-gaolers, that he could not have aided Jack in
his flight, Jonathan retracted his harsh sentence, and even went so
far as to say that he would act as mediator between him and the
governor.

This was some satisfaction to the poor fellow, who was dreadfully
frightened, as indeed he might well be, it being the opinion of the
gaolers and others who afterwards examined the place, that Jack
had accomplished, single-handed, in a few hours, and, as far as it
could be ascertained, with imperfect implements, what it would
have taken half a dozen men several days, provided with proper
tools, to effect. In their opinion, a hundred pounds would not repair
the damage done to the prison.

As soon as Jack's escape became known, thousands of persons
flocked to Newgate to behold his workmanship; and the gaolers
reaped an abundant harvest from their curiosity.

Jonathan, meanwhile, maintained profound secrecy as to his hopes
of capturing the fugitive; and when Jack was brought back to
Newgate on the Sunday evening, his arrival was wholly unexpected.

At a little after five on that day, four horses dashed round the
corner of the Old Bailey, and drew up before the door of the Lodge.
Hearing the stoppage, Austin rushed out, and could scarcely believe
his eyes when he beheld Jack Sheppard in the custody of Quilt
Arnold and Abraham Mendez.

Jack's recapture was speedily made known to all the officers of
the gaol, and the Lodge was instantly crowded. The delight of the

104- JACK SHEPPARD.

turnkeys was beyond all bounds ; but poor Mrs. Spurling was in a
state of distraction, and began to abuse Jonathan so violently, that
her future husband was obliged to lay forcible hands upon her and
drag her away.

By Wild's command the prisoner was taken to the Condemned
Hold, whither he was followed by the whole posse of officers and by
the partners, two of whom carried large hammers and two the fet-
ters. There was only one prisoner in the ward. He was chained to
the ground, but started up at their approach. It was Blueskin.
When he beheld Jack he uttered a deep groan.

" Captain," he cried, in a voice of the bitterest anguish, " have
these dogs again hunted you down ? If you hadn't been so unlucky,
I should have been with you before to-morrow night."

Jack made no answer, nor did he even cast his eyes upon his fol-
lower. But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried,

" Ha ! say you so ? You must be looked to. My lads," he con-
tinued, addressing the partners, " when you 've finished this job,
give that fellow a fresh set of darbies. I suspect he has been at
work upon those he has on." — " The link of the chain next the staple
is sawn through," said Ireton, stooping to examine Blueskin's fetters.
— " Search him, and iron him afresh," commanded Jonathan ; " but
first let us secure Sheppard. We '11 then remove them both to the
Middle Stone Hold, where a watch shall be kept over them night
and day till they 're taken to Tyburn. As they 're so fond of each
other's society, they shan't part company even on that occasion, but
shall swing from the same tree." — " You '11 never live to see that
day," cried Blueskin, fixing a menacing look upon him. — " What
weight are these irons ? " asked Jonathan, coolly addressing one of
the partners. — •" More than three hundred weight, sir," replied the
man. "They 're the heaviest set we have, and were forged expressly
for Captain Sheppard." — " They 're not half heavy enough," replied
Wild. " Let him be handcuffed, and doubly ironed on both legs ;
and when we get him into the Stone Ward, he shall not only be
chained down to the ground, but shall have two additional fetters
running through the main links, fastened on each side of him.
We'll see whether he '11 get rid of his new bonds," he added with a
brutal laugh, which was echoed by the bystanders. — " Mark me,"
said Jack, sternly, " I have twice broken out of this prison in spite
of all your precautions ; and were you to load me with thrice the
weight of iron you have ordered, you should not prevent my es-
caping a third time." — " That 's right, captain," cried Blueskin.
" We '11 give them the slip yet, and hang that butcherly thieftaker
upon his own gibbet." — " Be silent, dog," cried Jonathan ; and with
his clenched hand he struck him a violent blow in the face.

For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality.
The blow was scarcely dealt when, with a bound like that of a tiger,
Blueskin sprang upon him. The chain, which had been partially
cut through, snapped near the staple. Before any assistance could
be rendered by the gaolers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got
Wild in his clutches. His strength has been described as prodi-
gious ; but now, heightened by his desire for vengeance, it was irre-
sistible. Jonathan, though a very powerful man, was like an infant
in his gripe. Catching hold of his chin, he bent back the neck,
while with his left hand he pulled out a clasp-knife, which he opened

JACK SHEPPARD. 105

with his teeth, and grasping Wild's head with his arm, notwith-
standing his resistance, cut deeply into his throat. The folds of a
thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash
was desperate. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second
time, widening and deepening the wound ; and wrenching back the
head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have
severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had reco-
vered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him and
withheld him.

" Now 's your time," cried Blueskin, struggling desperately with
his assailants, and inflicting severe cuts with his knife. <{ Fly, cap-
tain— fly ! "

Aroused to a sense of the possibility of escape, Jack, who had
viewed the Deadly assault with savage satisfaction, burst from his
captors, and made for the door. Blueskin fought his way towards
it, and exerting all his strength, cutting right and left as he pro-
ceeded, reached it at the same time. Jack, in all probability, would
have escaped, if Langley, who was left in the Lodge, had not been
alarmed at the noise, and rushed thither. Seeing Jack at liberty, he
instantly seized him, and a struggle commenced.

At this moment Blueskin came up, and kept off the officers with
his knife. He used his utmost efforts to liberate Jack from Langley,
but, closely pressed on all sides, he was not able to render any
effectual assistance.

" Fly ! " cried Jack ; escape if you can ; don't mind me,"

Casting one look of anguish at his leader, Blueskin then darted
down the passage.

The only persons in the Lodge were Mrs. Spurling and Marvel.
Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack
making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the exe-
cutioner, threw open the wicket. Blueskin therefore had nothing to
stop him. Dashing through the open door, he crossed the Old
Bailey, plunged into a narrow court on the opposite side of the way,
and was out of sight in a minute, baffling all pursuit.
I On their return, the gaolers raised up Jonathan, who was welter-
ing in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. Efforts were made
to staunch his wounds, and surgical assistance sent for.

" Has he escaped ? " asked the thieftaker, faintly. — " Blueskin ? "
said Ireton. — " No — Sheppard," rejoined Wild — " No, no, sir," re-
plied Ireton ; " he 's here." — " That 's right," replied Wild, with a
ghastly smile. "Remove him to the Middle Stone Hold — watch
over him night and day. Do you mind ? " — " I do, sir."—" Irons —
heavy irons — night and day." — " Depend upon it, sir." — -" Go with
him to Tyburn — never lose sight of him till the noose is tied.

Where 's Marvel ? " — " Here, sir," replied the executioner "A

hundred guineas if you hang Jack Sheppard. I have it about me.
Take it, if I die." — " Never fear, sir," replied Marvel. — " Oh ! that I
could live to see it ! " gasped Jonathan. And with a hideous expres-
sion of pain he fainted. — " He 's dead ! " exclaimed Austin. — " I am
content," said Jack. " My mother is avenged. Take me to the Stone
Room. Blueskin, you are a true friend."

The body of Jonathan was then conveyed to his own habitation,
while Jack was taken to the Middle Stone Room, and ironed in the
manner Wild had directed.

VOL. VII. I

106

SONG OF THE LAUREL.

BELTEVE me difficult, but worth to wear: —

(Forgive upon my vernal leaves a tear !)
Long ages back, a wand'rer from the skies*

Thought e'en to lose his godship were not dear,
If he could find sweet favour in my eyes ! —

But Daphne fled him — yes ! — and was transform'd
To shape less lovely than she had before ;

Which chill'd his flame : though hers, too late, then warmM ;
Repenting at the, still sweet, words he swore !

" Oh ! though thou may'st not be my loved wife,
And I must mourn such joy-deprived life —

Thy verdant leaves shall yet my signals be
Of all that in the Arts' or Glory's strife

Achieve the envies of a victory It
On the proud heads of heroes, in each clime,

Shalt thou wreath nobly, as my high approof ;
But from all traitors in love, war, or rhyme,

Virtue or friendship, shall thou be aloof!"

He said : and crown'd with a tiny wreath,
Warm'd by a warming, ling'ring woman's breath,

Too late to change her shape or sentiment,
He vow'd to wear me to his very death, —

Though, being a god, no death was surely meant !
So I, for aye was doom'd a vernal tree

In my cold chasteness,J 'mid an envious grove-
Could I revoke my state, I 'd rather be

The thing I was, and listen to his love !

* It is hardly necessary to say APOLI.O,— whose "primus amor" according to
Ovid, was excited by the Thessalian maid Daphne.

"I* " At conjux quoniam mea non potes esse,

Arbor eris certe, dixit, mea. Semper habebunt

Te coma, te citharae, te nostran, Laure, pharetrae." — OViD. lib. i.

J S .; ietimes, nevertheless, tbe Laurel relaxes her severity, and admits of an union
with the Black-cherry. This is mentioned by PALLADIUS amongst the ancients ; — •

" Inseritur Lauro Cerasus, partuque coacto
Tingit adoptivus virginis ora pudor :"

ftnd by COWLEV amongst the moderns. Speaking of the gardener's power, he says,
With a wondrous felicity of expression : —

" E'en Daphne's coyness he doth mock,
And weds the Cherry to her stock ;

Though she refused Apollo's suit, —
E'en she, that chaste and virgin tree,
Now wonders at herself to see
That she 's a mother made, and blushes in her fruit."

•

107

GUY FAWKES.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.

ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER III.

ORDSALL HALL.

SOON after sunset, on the evening of the events previously related,
the inmates of Ordsall Hall were disturbed and alarmed (for in those
times of trouble any casual disturbance at night was sufficient to occa-
sion alarm to a Catholic family) by a loud clamour for admittance
from some one stationed at the farther side of the moat, then, as now,
surrounding that ancient manorial residence. The drawbridge being
raised, no apprehension was entertained of an attempt at forcible en-
trance on the part of the intruder, who, so far as he could be dis-
cerned in the deepening twilight, rendered yet more, obscure by the
shade of the trees under which he stood, appeared to' be a solitary
horseman. Still, for fear of a surprise, it was judged prudent by
those inside the hall to turn a deaf ear to the summons ; nor was it
until it had been more than once repeated in a peremptory tone that
any attention was paid to it. The outer gate was then cautiously
opened by an old steward, and a couple of serving-men, armed with
pikes and swords, who demanded the stranger's business, and were
answered that he desired to speak with Sir William Radcliffe. The
steward rejoined that his master was not at home, having set out the
day before for Chester ; but that even if he were, he wotild.take upon
himself to affirm that no audience would be given, on any pretence
whatever, to a stranger at such an unseasonable hour. To this the
other replied, in a haughty and commanding voice, that he was neither
a stranger to Sir William Radcliffe, nor ignorant of the necessity of
caution, though in this instance it was altogether superfluous ; and,
as notwithstanding the steward's assertion to the contrary, he was
fully persuaded his master was at home, he insisted -upon being con-
ducted to him without further parley; as his business would not brook
delay. In vain, the steward declared he had spoken the truth. The
stranger evidently disbelieved him ; but, as he could obtain no more
satisfactory answer to his interrogations, he suddenly shifted his
ground, and inquired whether Sir William's daughter, Mistress Vivi-
ana, was likewise absent from home.

" Before I reply to that question, I must know by whom and where-
fore it is put ? " returned the steward, evasively.

" Trouble not yourself further, friend, but deliver this letter to her,"
rejoined the horseman, flinging a packet across the moat. " It is ad-
dressed to her father, but there is no reason why she should not be
acquainted with its contents."

" Take it up, Olin Birtwissel," said the steward, eying the packet
which had fallen at his feet suspiciously, — " take it up, I say, and
hold it to the light, that I may consider it well before I carry it to our

VOL. VII. K

108 GUY FAWKES.

young mistress. I have heard of strange treacheries practised by such
means, and care not to meddle with it."

" Neither do I, good Master Heydocke," replied Birtwissel. " I
would not touch it for a twelvemonth's wages. It may burst, and
spoil my good looks, and so ruin my fortunes with the damsels. But
here is Jeff Gellibronde, who having no beauty to lose, and being,
moreover, afraid of nothing, will pick it up for you."

" Speak for yourself, Olin," rejoined Gellibronde, in a surly tone.
" I have no more fancy for a shattered limb, or a scorched face, than
my neighbours."

" Dolts ! " cried the stranger, who had listened to these observa-
tions with angry impatience, " if you will not convey my packet,
which has nothing more dangerous about it than an ordinary letter, to
your mistress, at least acquaint her that Mr. Robert Catesby, of Ashby
St. Legers, is without, and craves an instant's speech with her."

" Mr. Catesby ! " exclaimed the steward, in astonishment. " If it
be indeed your worship, why did you not declare yourself at once ? "

" I may have as good reason for caution as yourself, Master Hey-
docke," returned Catesby, laughing.

" True," rejoined the steward ; " but, methinks, it is somewhat
strange to find your worship here, when I am aware that my master
expected to meet you, and certain other honourable gentlemen that
you wot of, at a place in a clean opposite direction, — Holy well, in
Flintshire."

" The cause of my presence, since you desire to be certified of the
matter, is simply this," replied Catesby, urging his steed towards the
edge of the moat, while the steward advanced to meet him on the
opposite bank, so that a few yards only lay between them ; " I came
round by Manchester," he continued in a lower tone, " to see if any
assistance could be rendered to the unfortunate fathers Woodroof and
Forshawe ; but found on my arrival this morning that I was too late,
as they had just been put to death."

" Heaven have mercy on their souls ! " ejaculated Heydocke, shud-
dering, and crossing himself. " Your's was a pious mission, Mr.
Catesby. Would it had been availing ! "

" I would so, too, with all my soiil ! " rejoined the other, fervently ;
" but fate ordained it otherwise. While I was in the town I accident-
ally learnt from one, who informed me he had just parted with him,
that your master was at home; and, fearing he might not be able to
attend the meeting at Holywell, I resolved to proceed hither at
nightfall, when my visit was not likely to be observed ; having motives,
which you may readily conjecture, for preserving the strictest secrecy
on the occasion. The letter was prepared in case I should fail in
meeting with him. And now that I have satisfied your scruples,
good master steward, if Sir William be really within, I pray you lead
me to him forthwith. If not, your young mistress must serve my turn,
for I have that to say which it imports one or other of them to know."

" In regard to my master," replied the steward, " he departed yes-
terday for Chester, on his way to join the pilgrimage to St. Winifred's
Well, as I have already assured your worship. And whoever informed
you to the contrary, spoke falsely. But I will convey your letter and
message to my young mistress, and on learning her pleasure as to
receiving you, will instantly return, and report it. These are dange-

GUY FAWKES. 109

rous times, your worship, — dangerous times. A good Catholic knows
not whom to trust, there are so many spoilers abroad."

11 How, sirrah ! " cried Catesby, angrily ; te do you apply that ob-
servation to me ? "

" Far be it from me," answered Heydocke, respectfully, " to apply
any observation that may sound offensive to your worship, whom I
know to be a most worthy gentleman, and as free from heresy, as any
in the kingdom. I was merely endeavouring to account for what may
appear my over-caution in detaining you where you are, till I learn
my lady's wishes. It is a rule in this house not to lower the draw-
bridge without orders after sunset ; and 1 dare not, for my place, dis-
obey it. Young Master Humphrey Chetham, of Crumpsall, was de-
detained in the like manner no later than last night ; and he is a
visiter," he added, in a significant tone, " who is not altogether un-
welcome to my mistress — ahem ! But duty is no respecter of persons ;
and in my master's absence my duty is to protect his household.
Your worship will pardon me."

" I will pardon anything but your loquacity and tediousness," re-
joined Catesby, impatiently. " About your errand quickly."

" I am gone, your worship," returned the steward, disappearing
with his companions.

Throwing the bridle over his horse's neck, and allowing him to
drink his fill from the water of the moat, and afterwards to pluck a
few mouthfuls of the long grass that fringed its brink, Catesby aban-
doned himself to reflection. In a few moments, as the steward did
not return, he raised his eyes, and fixed them upon the ancient ha-
bitation before him, — ancient, indeed, it was not at this time, having
been in a great measure rebuilt by its possessor, Sir William Rad-
cliffe, during the latter part of the reign of Elizabeth, in the rich and
picturesque style of that period. Little could be distinguished of its
projecting and retiring wings, its walls decorated with black and white
chequer-work, the characteristic of the class of architecture to which
it belonged, or of its magnificent embayed windows filled with stained
glass ; but the outline of its heavy roof, with its numerous gables, and
groups of tall and elaborately-ornamented chimneys might be distinctly
traced in strong relief against the warm and still-glowing western sky.

Though much gone to decay, grievously neglected, and divided into
three separate dwelling-houses, Ordsall Hall still retains much of its
original character and beauty, and viewed at the magic hour above
described, when the changes which years have produced cannot be
detected, it presents much the same striking appearance that it of-
fered to the gaze of Catesby. Situated on the north bank of the Ir-
well, which supplies the moat with a constant stream of fresh water,
it commands on the south-west a beautiful view of the winding course
of the river, here almost forming an island, of Trafford Park and its
hall, of the woody uplands beyond it, and of the distant hills of Che-
shire. The mansion itself is an irregular quadrangle, covering a con-
siderable tract of ground. The gardens, once exquisitely laid out in
the formal taste of Elizabeth's days, are also enclosed by the moat,
which surrounds (except in the intervals where it is filled up,) a space
of some acres in extent. At the period of this history, it was ap-
proached on the north-east by a noble avenue of sycamores, leading
to within a short distance of its gates.

K 2

110 GUY FAWKES.

As Catesby surveyed this stately structure, and pondered upon the
wealth and power of its owner, his meditations thus found vent in
words : — " If I could but link Radcliffe to our cause, or win the hand
of his fair daughter, and so bind him to me, the great attempt could
not fail. She has refused me once. No matter. — I will persevere
till she yields. With Father Oldcorne to back my suit, I am assured
of success. She is necessary to my purpose, and shall be mine."

Descended from an ancient Northamptonshire family, and number-
ing among his ancestry the well-known minister of the same name,
who flourished in the reign of Richard the Third, Robert Catesby —
at this time about forty, — had in his youth led a wild and dissolute
life ; and though bred in the faith of Rome, he had for some years
abandoned its worship. In 1580, when the Jesuits, Campion and Par-
sons, visited England, he was reconciled to the church he had quitted,
and thenceforth became as zealous a supporter and promoter of its doc-
trines as he had heretofore been their bitter opponent. He was now
actively engaged in all the Popish plots of the period, and was even
supposed to be connected with those designs of a darker dye which
were set on foot for Elizabeth's destruction, — with Somerville's con-
spiracy,— with that of Arden and Throckmorton, — the latter of whom
was his uncle on the maternal side, — with the plots of Bury and
Savage, — of Ballard, — and of Babington. After the execution of the
unfortunate Queen of Scots, he devoted himself to what was termed
the Spanish faction, and endeavoured to carry out the schemes of a
party, who, distrusting the vague promises of James, were anxious to
secure the succession to a Catholic, — the Infanta of Spain, or the
Duke of Parma. On the insurrection of the Earl of Essex, he took
part with that ill-fated nobleman, and, though he escaped condign
punishment for the offence, he was imprisoned and heavily fined.

From this time his career ran in darker channels. " Hunger-starved
for innovation," as he is finely described by Camden, — imbued with
the fiercest religious fanaticism, — eloquent, wily, resolute, — able alike
to delude the powerful and intimidate the weak, — he possessed all
the ingredients of a conspirator. Associating with men like himself,
of desperate character and broken fortunes, he was ever on the look
out for some means of retrieving his own condition, and redressing
the wrongs of his church. Well informed of the actual state of
James's sentiments, when, on that monarch's accession, confident
hopes were entertained by the Romanists of greater toleration for their
religion, Catesby was the first to point out their mistake, and to fore-
tel the season of terrible persecution that was at hand. It was on
this persecution that he grounded his hopes — hopes, never realized,
for the sufferers, amid all the grievances they endured, remained con-
stant in their fidelity to the throne — of creating a general rebellion
among the Catholics.

Disappointed in this expectation, — disappointed, also, in his hopes
of Spain, of France, and of aid from Rome, he fell back upon himself,
and resolved upon the execution of a dark and dreadful project which
he had long conceived, and which he could execute almost single-
handed, without aid from foreign powers, and without the co-opera-
tion of his own party. The nature of this project, which, if it suc-
ceeded, would, he imagined, accomplish all or more than his wildest
dreams of ambition or fanaticism had ever conceived, it will be the

GUY FAWKES. Ill

business of this history to develope. Without going further into
detail at present, it may be mentioned that the success of the plot
depended so entirely on its secrecy, and so well aware was its con-
triver of the extraordinary system of espionage carried on by the
Earl of Salisbury and the Privy Council, that for some time he
scarcely dared to trust it out of his own keeping. At length, after
much deliberation, he communicated it to five others, all of whom
were bound to silence by an oath of unusual solemnity ; and as it was
necessary to the complete success of the conspiracy that its outbreak
should be instantaneously followed by a rise on the part of the Catho-
lics, he darkly hinted that a plan was on foot for their deliverance
from the yoke of their oppressors, and counselled them to hold them-
selves in readiness to fly to arms at a moment's notice. But here
again he failed. Few were disposed to listen to him ; and of those
who did, the majority returned for answer, " that their part was en-
durance, and that the only arms which Christians could use against
lawful powers in their severity were prayers and tears."

Among the Popish party of that period, as in our own time, were
ranked many of the oldest and most illustrious families in the king-
dom,— families not less remarkable for their zeal for their religion
than, as has before been observed, for their loyalty ;— a loyalty after-
wards approved in the disastrous reign of James the Second, by their
firm adherence to what they considered the indefeasible right of in-
heritance. Plots, indeed, were constantly hatched throughout the
reigns of Elizabeth and James by persons professing the religion of
Rome. But in these the mass of the Catholics had no share. And
even in the seasons of the bitterest persecution, when every fresh
act of treason, perpetrated by some lawless and disaffected individual,
was visited with additional rigour on their heads, — when the scaffold
reeked with their blood, and the stake smoked with their ashes, —
when their quarters were blackening on the gates and market-crosses
of every city in the realm, — when their hearths were invaded, their
religion proscribed, and the very name of Papist had become a by-
word,— even in those terrible seasons, as in the season under con-
sideration, they remained constant in their fidelity to the crown.

From the troubled elements at work some fierce and turbulent
spirits were sure to arise, — some gloomy fanatics who, having brooded
over their wrongs, real or imaginary, till they had lost all scruples of
conscience, hesitated at no means of procuring redress. But it would
be unjust to hold up such persons as representatives of the whole
body of Catholics. Among the conspirators themselves there were
redeeming shades. All were not actuated by the same atrocious
motives. Mixed feelings induced Catesby to adopt the measure.
Not so Guy Fawkes, who had already been leagued with the design.
One idea alone ruled him. A soldier of fortune, but a stern religious
enthusiast, he supposed himself chosen by Heaven for the redemp-
tion of his church, and cared not what happened to himself, provided
he accomplished his (as he conceived) holy design.

In considering the causes which produced the conspiracy about
to be related, and in separating the disaffected party of the Papists
from the temperate, due weight must be given to the influence of
the priesthood. Of the Romish clergy there were two classes—the
secular priests, and the Jesuits and missionaries. While the former,

112 GUY FAWKES.

like the more moderate of the laity, would have been well-contented
with toleration for their religion, the latter breathed nothing but
revenge, and desired the utter subversion of the existing govern-
ment,— temporal as well as ecclesiastical. Men, for the most part,
of high intellectual powers, of untiring energy, and unconquerable
fortitude, they were enabled by their zeal and ability to make many
proselytes. By their means, secret correspondence was carried on
with the different courts of Europe ; and they were not without hope
that, taking advantage of some favourable crisis, they should yet
restore their church to its former supremacy. To these persons, — who
held as a maxim, " Qui religionem Catholicam deserit regnandi jus
omne amisit," — Catesby and his associates proved ready and devoted
agents. Through their instrumentality, they hoped to accomplish
the great work of their restoration. To Father Garnet, the pro-
vincial of the English Jesuits, of whom it will be necessary to speak
more fully hereafter, the plot had been revealed by Catesby under
the seal of confession ; and, though it subsequently became a question
whether he was justified in withholding a secret of such importance
to the state, it is sufficient for the present purpose to say that he
did withhold it. For the treasonable practices of the Jesuits and
their faction some palliation may perhaps be found in the unrelenting
persecution to which they were subjected ; but if any excuse can be
admitted for them, what opinion must be formed of the conduct of
their temperate brethren ? Surely, while the one is condemned,
admiration may be mingled with the sympathy which must be felt
for the unmerited sufferings of the other !

From the foregoing statement, it will be readily inferred that Sir
William Radcliffe, a devout Catholic, and a man of large possessions,
though somewhat reduced by the heavy fines imposed upon him as a
recusant, must have appeared an object of importance to the conspi-
rators; nor will it be wondered at, that every means was used to gain
him to their cause. Acting, however, upon the principles that swayed
the well-disposed of his party, the knight resisted all these overtures,
and refused to take any share in proceedings from which his con-
science and loyalty alike revolted. Baffled, but not defeated, Catesby
returned to the charge on a new point of assault. Himself a widower,
he solicited the hand of the lovely Viviana Radcliffe, Sir William's
only child, and the sole heiress of his possessions. But his suit in
this quarter was, also, unsuccessful. The knight rejected the pro-
posal, alleging that his daughter had no inclination to any alliance,
inasmuch as she entertained serious thoughts of vowing herself to
Heaven. Thus foiled, Catesby ostensibly relinquished his design.

Shortly before the commencement of this history, a pilgrimage to
St. Winifred's Well, in Flintshire, was undertaken by Father Garnet,
the provincial of the Jesuits before mentioned, in company with se-
veral distinguished Catholic personages of both sexes, and to this
ceremonial Sir William and his daughter were urgently bidden. The
invitation was declined on the part of Viviana, but accepted by the
knight, who, though unwilling to leave home at a period of so much
danger, or to commit the care of his daughter to any charge but his
own, even for so short a space, felt it to be his duty to give counte-
nance by his presence to the ceremonial.

Accordingly, he had departed for Chester on the previous day, as

GUY FAWKES. 113

stated by the steward. And, though Catesby professed ignorance on
the subject, and even affirmed that he had heard to the contrary, it
may be doubted whether he was not secretly informed of the circum-
stance, and whether his arrival, at this particular conjuncture, was
not preconcerted.

Thus much in explanation of what is to follow. — The course of
Catesby 's reflections was cut short by the return of the steward, who,
informing him that he had his mistress's commands to admit him,
immediately lowered the drawbridge for that purpose. Dismounting,
and committing his steed to one of the serving-men, who advanced
to take it, Catesby followed his conductor through a stone gateway,
and crossing the garden, was ushered into a spacious and lofty hall,
furnished with a long massy oak table, at the upper end of which was
a raised dais. At one side of the chamber yawned a huge arched
fire-place, garnished with enormous andirons, on which smouldered a
fire composed of mixed turf and wood. Above the chimney-piece
hung a suit of chain-armour, with the battle-axe, helmet, and gaunt-
lets of Sir John Radcliffe, the first possessor of Ordsall, who flourished
in the reign of Edward the First : on the right, masking the entrance,
stood a magnificent screen of carved oak.

Traversing this hall, Heydocke led the way to another large apart-
ment, and placing lights on a gothic-shaped table, offered a seat to
the new-comer, and departed. The room in which Catesby was left
was termed the star-chamber — a name retained to this day — from
the circumstance of its ceiling being moulded and painted to re-
semble the heavenly vault when studded with the luminaries of
night. It was terminated by a deeply-embayed window filled with
stained glass of the most gorgeous colours; now, however, concealed
from view by the rich curtains drawn before it. The walls, in some
places, were hung with arras, in others, wainscoted with dark, lustrous
oak, embellished with scrolls, cyphers, and fanciful designs. The
mantel-piece was of the same solid material, curiously carved, and of
extraordinary size. It was adorned with the armorial bearings of
the family — two bends engrailed, and in chief a label of three, — and
other devices and inscriptions. The hearth was considerably raised
above the level of the floor, and there was a peculiarity in the con-
struction of the massive wooden pillars flanking it, that attracted the
attention of Catesby, who rose with the intention of examining them
more narrowly, when he was interrupted by the entrance of the lady
of the mansion.

Advancing at a slow and dignified pace, Viviana Radcliffe courte-
ously but gravely saluted her guest, and, without offering him her
hand, motioned him to a chair, while she seated herself at a little
distance. Catesby had seen her twice before; and whether the
circumstances under which they now met might have caused some
change in her demeanour he could not tell, but he thought her
singularly altered. A year ago, she had been a lively, laughing girl
of seventeen, with a bright brown skin, dark flowing tresses, and
eyes as black and radiant as those of a gipsy. She was now a
grave, collected woman, infinitely more beautiful, but wholly changed
in character. Her complexion had become a clear, transparent
white, and set off to great advantage her large, luminous eyes, and
jetty brows. Her figure was tall and majestic ; her features regular,

114- GUY FAWKES.

delicately formed, and of the rarest and proudest class of beauty.
She was attired in a dress of black wrought velvet, entirely without
ornament except the rosary at her girdle, with a small ebony crucifix
attached to it. She wore a close-fitting cap, likewise of black velvet,
edged with pearls, beneath which her raven tresses were gathered in
such a manner as to display most becomingly the smooth and snowy
expanse of her marble forehead. The gravity of her manner, not less
than her charms of person, seemed to have struck Catesby mute. He
gazed on her in silent admiration for a brief space, utterly forgetful
of the object of his visit, and the part he intended to play. During
this pause, she maintained the most perfect composure, and fixing
her dark eyes full upon him, appeared to await the moment when he
might choose to open the conversation.

Notwithstanding his age, and the dissolute and distracted life he had
led, Catesby was still good-looking enough to have produced a favour-
able impression upon any woman easily captivated by manly beauty.
The very expression of his marked and peculiar physiognomy, — in
some degree an index to his character, — was sufficient to rivet atten-
tion ; and the mysterious interest generally inspired by his presence
was not diminished on further acquaintance with him. Though some-
what stern in their expression, his features were strikingly handsome,
cast in an oval mould, and clothed with the pointed beard and mus-
taches invariably met with in the portraits of Vandyck. His frame
was strongly built, but well proportioned, and seemed capable of en-
during the greatest fatigue. His dress was that of an ordinary gentle-
man of the period, and consisted of a doublet of quilted silk, of sober
colour and stout texture ; large trunk-hose swelling out at the hips ;
and buif boots, armed with spurs with immense rowels. He wore a
deep and stiffly-starched ruff round his throat; and his apparel was
completed by a short cloak of brown cloth, lined with silk of a similar
colour. His arms were rapier and poniard, and his high-crowned
plumed hat, of the peculiar form then in vogue, and looped on the
" leer-side " with a diamond clasp, was thrown upon the table.

Some little time having elapsed, during which he made no effort to
address her, Viviana broke silence.

" I understood that you desired to speak with me on a matter of
urgency, Mr. Catesby," she remarked.

" I did so," he replied, as if aroused from a reverie; " and I can only
excuse my absence of mind and ill manners, on the plea that the con-
templation of your charms has driven all other matter out of my head."

" Mr. Catesby," returned Viviana, rising, " if the purpose of your
visit be merely to pay unmerited compliments, I must at once put an
end to it."

" I have only obeyed the impulse of my heart," resumed the other,
passionately, " and uttered what involuntarily rose to my lips. But,"
he added, checking himself, " I will not offend you with my admira-
tion. If you have read my letter to your father, you will not require
to be informed of the object of my visit."

" I have not read it," replied Viviana, returning him the packet
with the seal unbroken. " I can give no opinion on any matter of
difficulty. And I have no desire to know any secret with which my
father might not desire me to be acquainted."

" Are we overheard ? " inquired Catesby, glancing suspiciously at
the fire-place.

GUY FAWKES. 115

" By no one whom you would care to overhear us," returned the
maiden.

" Then it is as I supposed," rejoined Catesby. " Father Oldcorne
is concealed behind that mantel-piece ? "

Viviana smiled an affirmative.

" Let him come forth, I pray you, Miss Radcliffe," returned Catesby
" What I have to say concerns him as much as yourself or your father ;
and I would gladly have his voice in the matter."

" You shall have it, my son," replied a reverend personage, clad in
a priestly garb, stepping from out one side of the mantel-piece, which
flew suddenly open, disclosing a recess curiously contrived in the
thickness of the wall. " You shall have it," said Father Oldcorne,
for he it was, approaching and extending his arms over him. " Ac-
cept my blessing and my welcome."

Catesby received the benediction with bowed head and bended
knee.

" And now," continued the priest, " what has the bravest soldier of
our church to declare to its lowliest servant?"

Catesby then briefly explained, as he had before done to the steward,
why he had taken Manchester in his route to North Wales; and, after
lamenting his inability to render any assistance to the unfortunate
priests, he went on to state that he had accidentally learnt, from a few
words let fall by the pursuviant to his attendant, that a warrant had
been sent by the Earl of Salisbury for Sir WTilliam Radcliffe's arrest.

" My father's arrest ! " exclaimed Viviana, trembling violently.
" What — what is laid to his charge ? "

" Felony," rejoined Catesby, sternly — " felony, without benefit of
clergy — for so it is accounted by the present execrable laws of our
land, — in harbouring a Jesuit. If he is convicted of the offence, his
punishment will be death — death on the gibbet, accompanied by in-
dignities worse than those shown to a common felon."

" Holy Virgin ! " ejaculated Father Oldcorne, lifting up his hands,
and raising his eyes to heaven.

" From what I gathered the officers will visit this house to-night,"
continued Catesby.

" Our Lady be praised, they will not find him ! " cried Viviana, who
had been thrown into an agony of distress. " What is to be done in
this frightful emergency, holy father ? " she added, turning to the
priest, with a supplicating look.

" Heaven only knows, dear daughter," replied Oldcorne. " You
had better appeal for counsel to one who is more able to afford it
than I am, — Mr. Catesby. Well aware of the crafty devices of our
enemies, and having often eluded their snares himself, he may enable
you to elude them. My own course is clear. I shall quit this roof at
once, deeply and bitterly regretting that by entering it, 1 have placed
those whom I hold so dear, and from whom I have experienced so
much kindness, in such fearful jeopardy."

" Oh, no, father! ' exclaimed Viviana, " you shall not go."
" Daughter," replied Oldcorne, solemnly, " I have long borne the
cross of Christ, — have long endured the stripes, inflicted upon me by
the adversaries of our faith, in patience ; arid my last actions and last
breath shall testify to the truth of our holy religion. But, though I
could endure aught on my own account, 1 cannot endure to bring

116 GUY FAWKES.

misery and destruction upon others. Hinder me not, dear daughter.
I will go at once."

" Hold, father I " interposed Catesby. "The step you are about
to take may bring about what you are most anxious to avoid. If you
are discovered and apprehended in this neighbourhood, suspicion will
still attach to your protectors, and the inquisitors will wring the secret
of your departure from some of the domestics. Tarry where you are.
Let the pursuivant make his search. I will engage to baffle his
vigilance."

" He speaks the truth, dear father," returned Viviana. " You must
not — shall not depart. There are plenty of hiding-places, as you
know, within the mansion. Let them be as rigorous as they may in
their search, they will not discover you."

" Whatever course you adjudge best for the security of others
I will pursue," rejoined Oldcorne, turning to Catesby. " Put me out
of the question."

" My opinion has already been given, father/' replied Catesby.
" Remain where you are."

" But, if the officers should ascertain that my father is at Chester,
and pursue him thither ? " cried Viviana, as if suddenly struck by a
new cause of alarm.

" A messenger must be immediately despatched after him to give
him warning," returned Catesby.

" Will you be that messenger ? " asked the maiden, eagerly.

" I would shed my heart's best blood to pleasure you," returned
Catesby.

" Then I may count upon this service, for which, rest assured, I
will not prove ungrateful," she rejoined.

" You may," answered Catesby. " And yet I would, on Father
Oldcorne's account, that my departure might be delayed till to-
morrow."

" The delay might be fatal," cried Viviana. " You must be in
Chester before that time."

" Doubt it not," returned Catesby. " Charged with your wishes,
the wind shall scarcely outstrip my speed."

So saying, he marched irresolutely towards the door, as if about to
depart, when, just as he reached it, he turned sharply round, and
threw himself at Viviana's feet.

" Forgive me, Miss Radcliffe," he cried, " if I once again, even at
a critical moment like the present, dare to renew my suit. I fancied
I had subdued my passion for you, but your presence has awakened it
with greater violence than ever."

" Rise, sir, I pray," rejoined the maiden, in an offended tone.

" Hear me, I beseech you," continued Catesby, seizing her hand.
" Before you reject my suit, consider well that in these perilous sea-
sons, when no true Catholic can call his life his own, you may need a
protector.3'

" In the event you describe; Mr. Catesby," answered Viviana, «' 1
would at once fulfil the intention I have formed of devoting myself to
Heaven, and retire to the convent of Benedictine nuns, founded by
Lady Mary Percy, at Brussels."

" You would much more effectually serve the cause of your religion
by acceding to my suit," observed Catesby, rising.

GUY FAWKES. 117

" How so ? " she inquired.

" Listen to me, Miss Radcliffe," he rejoined, gravely, " and let my
words be deeply impressed upon your heart. In your hands rests the
destiny of the Catholic Church."

" In mine ! " exclaimed Viviana.

" In yours," returned Catesby. " A mighty blow is about to be
struck for her deliverance."

" Ay, marry, is it," cried Oldcorne, with sudden fervour. " Re-
demption draweth nigh; the year of visitation approacheth to an
end ; and jubilation is at hand. England shall again be called a
happy realm, a blessed country, a religious people. Those who knew
the former glory of religion shall lift up their hands for joy to see it
returned again. Righteousness shall prosper, and infidelity be pluck-
ed up by the root. False error shall vanish like smoke, and they
which saw it shall say where is it become ? The daughters of Baby-
lon shall be cast down, and in the dust lament their ruin. Proud
heresy shall strike her sail, and groan as a beast crushed under
a cart-wheel. The memory of novelties shall perish with a crack, and
as a ruinous house falling to the ground. Repent, ye seducers, with
speed, and prevent the dreadful wrath of the Powerable. He will
come as flame that burneth out beyond the furnace. His fury shall
fly forth as thunder, and pitch upon their tops that malign him. They
shall perish in his fury, and melt like wax before the fire."

"Amen!" ejaculated Catesby, as the priest concluded. "You
have spoken prophetically, father."

" I have but recited a prayer transmitted to me by Father Garnet,"
rejoined Oldcorne.

" Do you discern any hidden meaning in its words ?" demanded
Catesby.

" I do, my son," returned the priest. " In the 'false error which
shall vanish like SMOKE, — in the « house which shall perish with a
CRACK,' — and in the 'fury which shall fly forth as THUNDER/ — I read
the mode by which the great work shall be brought about."

" And you applaud the design ?" asked Catesby, eagerly.

" Non verofactum probo, sed eventum amo," rejoined the priest.

" The secret is safe in your keeping, father?" said Catesby,
uneasily.

" As if it had been disclosed to me in private confession," replied
Oldcorne.

" Hum !" muttered Catesby. "Confessions of as much consequence
to the state have ere now been revealed, father."

" His holiness, Clement VIII, hath passed a decree, forbidding all
such revelations," replied Oldcorne. " And the question has been re-
cently propounded by a learned brother of our order, Father Antonio
Delrio, who, in his Magical Disquisitions, putteth it thus : — ' Sup-
posing a malefactor shall confess that he himself or some other has
laid GUNPOWDER, or the like combustible matter, under a building — ' "

" Ha !" exclaimed Catesby, starting.

" — « And, unless it be taken away/ proceeded the priest, regard-
ing him fixedly, * the whole house will be burnt, the prince destroy-
ed, and as many as go into or out of the city will come to great mis-
chief or peril ! ' "*

* Confitetur maleficus se vel alium posuisse pulverem vel quid aliud sub tali

118 GUY FAWKES.

" Well ! " exclaimed Catesby.

" The point now arises," continued Oldcorne, " whether the
priest may make use of the secret thus obtained for the good of the
government, and the averting of such danger ; and, after fully dis-
cussing it, Father Delrio decides in the negative."

" Enough," observed Catesby.

'< By whom is the blow to be struck ? " asked Viviana, who had
listened to the foregoing discourse in silent wonder.

" By me," answered Catesby. " It is for you to nerve my arm."

" You speak in riddles," she returned. " I understand you not."

" Question Father Oldcorne then, as to my meaning," rejoined
Catesby; " he will tell you that, allied to you, 1 could not fail in the
enterprise on which I am engaged."

" It is the truth, dear daughter," Oldcorne asseverated.

" I will not inquire further into this mystery," returned Viviana,
" for such it is to me. But, believing what you both assert, I answer,
that willingly as I would lay down my life for the welfare of our holy
religion, persuading myself, as I do, that I have constancy enough to
endure martyrdom for its sake, — I cannot do this. Nay, if I must
avouch the whole truth/' she continued, blushing deeply, " my affec-
tions are already engaged, — though to one with whom I can never
hope to be united."

" You have your answer, my son," observed the priest.

" I have," replied Catesby, with a look of the deepest mortification
and disappointment. " Miss Radcliffe, I now depart to obey your
behests."

" Commend me in all duty to my dear father/' replied Viviana,
" and believe that I shall for ever feel bound to you for your zeal."

" Neglect not all due caution, father/' said Catesby, glancing sig-
nificantly at Oldcorne. " ' Forewarned, forearmed.' "

" Doubt me not, my son," rejoined the Jesuit. " My prayers shall
be for you.

Centem auferte perfidam
Credentium de finibus ;
Ut Christo laudes debitas
Persolvamus alacriter."

After receiving a parting benediction from the priest, Catesby took
his leave. His steed was speedily brought to the door by an attend-
ant ; and mounting him, he crossed the drawbridge, which was imme-
diately raised behind him, and hastened on his journey.

CHAPTER IV.
THE SEARCH.

IMMEDIATELY after Cateshy's departure, Heydocke was summoned
to his mistress's presence. He found her with the priest, and was in-
formed that in all probability the house would be visited that night by
the messengers of the Privy Council. The old steward received the
intelligence as he might have done his death-warrant, nnd looked so
bewildered and affrighted, that Viviana half repented having acquainted
him with it.

lirnine, et nisi tollantur domum comlmrendam, principem iiiteriturum, quotquot
urbem egredientarftM in magmim perniciem aut periculura ventures. — DELHIO.
Disq. Mag., lib. vi, cap. i. [Edit. 1000.]

GUY FAWKES. 119

" Compose yourself, Master Heydocke," she said, trying to reason
him out of his fears; " the search may not take place. And if it does,
there is nothing to be alarmed at. I am not afraid, you perceive."

" Nothing to be alarmed at, my dear young lady ! " gasped the
steward. " You have never witnessed a midnight search for a priest
by these ruffianly officers, as I have, or you would not say so Father
Oldcorne will comprehend my uneasiness, and excuse it. The mis-
creants break into the house like thieves, and treat its inmates worse
than thieves. They have no regard for decency, — no consideration for
sex, — no respect for persons. Not a chamber is sacred from them. If
a door is bolted, they burst it open ; a cabinet locked, they tarry not
for the key. They pull down the hangings, thrust their rapier-points
into the crevices of the wainscot, discharge their fire-arms against the
wall, and sometimes threaten to pull down the house itself, if the object
of their quest be not delivered to them. Their oaths, abominations,
and menaces are horrible ; and their treatment of females, even of your
degree, honoured mistress, too barbarous to relate. Poor Lady Nevil
died of the fright she got by such a visit at dead of night to her resi-
dence in Holborn. Mrs. Vavasour, of York, lost her senses ; and many
others whom I could mention have been equal sufferers. Nothing to
be alarmed at ! Heaven grant, my dear, dear young lady, that you
may never be fatally convinced to the contrary ! "

" Suppose my apprehensions are as great as your own, Master Hey-
docke," replied Viviana, who, though somewhat infected by his terrors,
still maintained her firmness ; " I do not see how the danger that
threatens us is to be averted by idle lamentations and misgivings.
We must meet it boldly ; and trust to Him who is our only safeguard
in the hour of peril, for protection. Do not alarm the household, but
let all retire to rest as usual."

" Right, daughter," observed the priest. " Preparations for resist-
ance would only excite suspicion."

" Can you depend on the servants, in case they are examined ? "
asked Viviana of the steward, who by this time had partially recover-
ed his composure.

" I think so," returned Heydocke ; " but the threats of the officers
are so dreadful, and their conduct so violent and outrageous, that I can
scarcely answer for myself. I would not advise your reverence to remain
in that hiding-place," he added, pointing to the chimney-piece ; " they
are sure to discover it."

" If not here, where shall I conceal myself? " rejoined Oldcorne,
uneasily.

" There are many nooks in which your reverence might hide," re-
plied the steward ; " but the knaves are so crafty, and so well expe-
rienced in their vocation, that I dare not recommend any of them as
secure. I would advise you to remain on the watch, and, in case of
alarm, I will conduct you to the oratory in the north gallery, adjoin-
ing Mistress Viviana' s sleeping-chamber, where there is a panel in the
wall, known only to myself and my master, opening upon a secret pas-
sage running many hundred yards under-ground, and communicating
with a small outbuilding on the other side of the moat. There is a con-
trivance in this passage, which I will explain to your reverence if need
be, which will cut off any possibility of pursuit in that quarter."

" Be it so," replied the priest. " I place myself in your hands, good
Master Heydocke, well assured of your fidelity. I shall remain through-
out the night in this chamber, occupied in my devotions."

GUY FAWKES.

" You will suffer me to pray with you, father, I trust," said Viviana.

" If you desire it, assuredly, dear daughter," rejoined Oldcorne ; " but
I am unwilling you should sacrifice your rest."

" It will be no sacrifice, father, for I should find no rest, even if I
sought my couch," she returned. te Go, good Heydocke. Keep vigilant
watch : and, if you hear the slightest noise without, fail not to give us
warning.

The steward bowed, and departed.

Some hours elapsed, during which nothing occurred to alarm Vivi-
ana and her companion, who consumed the time in prayer and devout
conversation; when, just at the stroke of two, — as the former was
kneeling before her spiritual adviser, and receiving absolution for the
slight offences of which a being so pure-minded could be supposed capa-
ble, — a noise like the falling of a bar of iron was heard beneath the
window. The priest turned pale, and cast a look of uneasiness at the
maiden, who said nothing, but snatching up the light, and motioning
him to remain quiet, hurried out of the room in search of the steward.
He was nowhere to be found. In vain, she examined all the lower
rooms, — in vain, called to him by name. No answer was returned.

Greatly terrified, she was preparing to retrace her steps, when she
heard the sound of muttered voices in the hall. Extinguishing her
light, she advanced to the door, which was left ajar, and, taking care
not to expose herself to observation, beheld several armed figures, some
of whom bore dark lanterns, while others surrounded and menaced with
their drawn swords the unfortunate steward. From their discourse she
ascertained that, having thrown a plank across the moat, and concealed
themselves within the garden until they had reconnoitred the premises,
they had contrived to gain admittance unperceived through the win-
dow of a small back room, in which they had surprised Heydocke, who
had fallen asleep on his post, and captured him. One amongst their
number, who appeared to act as leader, and whom, from his garb, and
the white wand he carried, Viviana knew must be the pursuivant, now
proceeded to interrogate the prisoner. To every question proposed to
him the steward shook his head ; and, in spite of the threats of the ex-
aminant, and the blows of his followers, he persisted in maintaining
silence.

" If we cannot make this contumacious rascal speak, we will find
others more tractable," observed the pursuivant. " I will not leave any
corner of the house unvisited ; nor a soul within it unquestioned. Ah !
here they come ! "

As he spoke, several of the serving-men, with some of the female do-
mestics, who had been alarmed by the noise, rushed into the hall, and
on seeing it filled with armed men, were about to retreat, when they
were instantly seized and detained. A scene of great confusion now
ensued. The women screamed, and cried for mercy, while the men
struggled and fought with their captors. Commanding silence at length,
the pursuivant proclaimed in the King's name that whoever would
guide him to the hiding-place of Father Oldcorne, a Jesuit priest, whom
it was known, and could be proved, was harboured within the mansion,
should receive a free pardon and reward ; while those who screened
him, or connived at his concealment, were liable to fine, imprisonment,
and other punishment. Each servant was then questioned separately.
But, though all were more or less severely dealt with, no information
could be elicited.

GUY FAWKES. 121

Meanwhile, Viviana was a prey to the most intolerable anxiety.
Unable to reach Father Oldcorne without crossing the hall, which she
did not dare to attempt, she gave him up for lost ; her sole hope being
that, on hearing the cries of the domestics, he would provide for his
own safety. Her anxiety was still farther increased when the pur-
suivant, having exhausted his patience by fruitless interrogatories, and
satisfied his malignant spirit by frightening two of the females into fits,
departed with a portion of his band to search the house, leaving the
rest as a guard over the prisoners. Viviana then felt that, if she would
save Father Oldcorne, the attempt must be made without a moment's
delay, and at any hazard. Watching her opportunity, when the troopers
were occupied, — some in helping themselves to such viands and liquors
as they could lay hands upon, — some in searching the persons of the
prisoners for amulets and relics, — while others, more humane, were
trying to revive the swooning women, she contrived to steal unperceiv-
ed across the lower end of the hall. Having gained the passage, she
found to her horror that the pursuivant and his band were already
within the star-chamber. They were sounding the walls with ham-
mers and mallets, and from their exclamations, she learnt that they had
discovered the retreat behind the fire-place, and were about to break it
open.

" We have him," roared the pursuivant, in a voice of triumph. " The
old owl's roost is here ! "

Viviana, who stood at the door, drew in her breath, expecting that
the next moment would inform her that the priest was made captive.
Instead of this, she was delighted to find, from the oaths of rage and
disappointment uttered by the troopers, that he had eluded them.

" He must be in the house, at all events/' growled the pursuivant ;
"nor is it long since he quitted his hiding-place, as this cushion
proves. We will not go away without him. And now, let us proceed
to the upper chambers."

Hearing their footsteps approach, Viviana darted off, and quickly
ascending the principal staircase, entered a long corridor. Uncertain
what to do, she was about to proceed to her own chamber and bar the
door, when she felt her arm grasped by a man. With difficulty re-
pressing a shriek, she strove to disengage herself, when a whisper
told her that it was the priest.

" Heaven be praised ? " murmured Viviana, " you are safe. How —
how did you escape ? "

" I flew up stairs on hearing the voices," replied Oldcorne. " But
what has happened to the steward ? "

" He is a prisoner," replied Viviana.

" A prisoner ! " echoed Oldcorne. " All, then, is lost ; unless you
are acquainted with the secret panel he spoke of in the oratory."

"Alas! father, I am wholly ignorant of it," she answered. "But,
come with me into my chamber. They will not dare to invade it."

" 1 know not that," returned the priest, despairingly. " These sa-
crilegious heretics would not respect the sanctity of the altar itself."

" They come ! " cried Viviana, as lights were seen at the foot of the
stairs. " Take my hand — this way, father."

They had scarcely gained the room, and fastened the door, when the
pursuivant and his attendants appeared in the corridor. The officer, it
would seem, had been well instructed where to search, or was suffici-
ently practised in his duty, for he proceeded at once to several hiding-
places in the different chambers which he visited. In one room he de-

122 GUY FAWKES.

tected a secret staircase in the wall, which he mounted, and disco-
vered a small chapel built in the roof. Stripping it of its altar, its
statue of the Virgin, its crucifix, pix, chalice, and other consecrated
vessels, he descended, and continued his search. Viviana's chamber
was now the only one unvisited. Trying the door, and finding it
locked, he tapped loudly against it with his wand.

" Who knocks ? " asked the maiden.

" A state-messenger/' was the reply. " I demand entrance in the
King's name."

" You cannot have it/' she replied. " It is my sleeping-chamber."

" My duty allows me no alternative," rejoined the pursuivant, harshly.
" If you will not admit me quietly, I must use force."

" Do you know to whom you offer this rudeness ? " returned Viviana.
" I am the daughter of Sir William RadclifFe."

" I know it," replied the pursuivant ; " but I am not exceeding my
authority. I hold a warrant for your father's arrest. And, if he had
not been from home, I should have carried him to prison along with
the Jesuit priest, whom I suspect is concealed within your chamber.
Open the door, I command you ; and do not hinder me in the execu-
tion of my duty."

As no answer was returned to the application, the pursuivant com-
manded his men to burst open the door ; and the order was promptly
obeyed.

The chamber was empty.

On searching it, however, the pursuivant found a door concealed by
the hangings of the bed. It was bolted on the other side, but speedily
yielded to his efforts. Passing through it, he entered upon a narrow
gallery, at the extremity of which his progress was stopped by another
door, likewise fastened on the outside. On bursting it open, he en-
tered a small oratory, wainscoted with oak, and lighted by an oriel
window filled with stained glass, through which the newly-risen moon
was pouring its full radiance, and discovered the object of his search.

" Father Oldcorne, I arrest you as a Jesuit and a traitor," shouted
the pursuivant, in a voice of exultation. " Seize him ! " he added,
calling to his men.

" You shall not take him," cried Viviana, clinging despairingly to
the priest, who offered no resistance, but clasped a crucifix to his breast.

" Leave go your hold, young mistress," rejoined the pursuivant,
grasping Oldcorne by the collar of his vestment, and dragging him
along ; " and rest thankful that I make you not, also, my pri-
soner."

" Take me ; but spare him ! — in mercy, spare him ! " shrieked Vi-
viana.

" You solicit mercy from one who knows it not, daughter," observed
the priest. " Lead on, sir. I am ready to attend you."

" Your destination is the New Fleet, father," retorted the pursui-
vant, in a tone of bitter raillery ; " unless you prefer the cell in Rad-
cliffe Hall lately vacated by your predecessor, Father Woodroof."

" Help ! help ! " shriekei Viviana.

" You may spare your voice; fair lady," sneered the pursuivant.
" No help is at hand. Your servants are all prisoners."

The words were scarcely uttered, when a sliding panel in the wall
flew open, and Guy Fawkes, followed by Humphrey Chetham, and
another personage, sprang through the aperture, and presented a pe-
tronel at the head of the pursuivant.

•jm

m

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN, (DECEASED.)

RECENTLY-DISCOVERED.

WE are indebted for these peculiar papers to no less celebrated a
personage than the late — lamented Mrs. Butler. It must be in
the recollection of many of our more elderly readers (male) that
our Mrs. Butler was for many years a distinguished person in Co-
vent-Garden. Mrs. Butler was one of the warmest supporters of
Richard Brinsley Sheridan in the various Westminster elections.
Her eloquence was so powerful that it is said that one remonstrance
she uttered to Mr. Paull, M.P., and tailor, caused the unhappy gen-
tleman to put an end to his existence. We are not aware that this
was the positive fact ; but we remember hearing Mrs. Butler record
it. But to our immediate object. Mrs. Butler, it is well known,
kept a hospitable house of entertainment in the neighbourhood of
Covent-Garden. Sign it had not, until lately, when it began to ex-
hibit a sign of decay. This tavern, in the days of hard-drinking
bloods, (who never met convivially but they must make confusion
worse confounded by ending their evening at four o'clock in the
morning,) was denominated " The Finish." Some sneaking-cigar-
smoking- wishy-washy- would-be-late-sitters endeavoured to alter the
name of the house, and called it " The Conclusion" but the innova-
tion did not answer. " The Finish " was the veritable word, and
many a bold fellow-frequenter gradually dropped off to his final
resting-place, in compliment to the house.

It is imagined, and probably with some reason, that the above-
named gentleman, Mr. Peter Popkin, was an occasional visiter at
this tavern ; and our motive for saying so is, that Mrs. Butler one
night found under the stuffed horse-hair cushion of a favourite elbow
chair, a black portfolio, which was the property of Mr. Peter Popkin :
though we must acquit Mrs. B. of a knowledge of that circumstance.

Popkin was a bachelor, and had lived for years in an ancient set
of chambers in Clifford's Inn, in perfect quietude, over the heads of
Marshalsea attorneys, — a more agreeable situation, we may reason-
ably conclude, than under their hands. He had on the eventful
night that he disappeared from the stage of life, carried his portfolio
first to George's coffee-house, near Temple-Bar, to read some of
the anecdotes contained therein to his dinner associates, having
made up his mind to try for the first time their effect, but the
various bottles of port gave him no opportunity of achieving fame
by the produce of his portfolio ! Rather disappointed, he then
wandered to the Burton ale-house in Henrietta Street, to discover
some literary admirers in that emporium of tobacco-smoke and
poached eggs ; but every soul was too misty for him to venture on
the subject : so, after several moody potations, and sitting until it
was the customary time of night to close the tavern, he musingly
sauntered to " The Finish ;" and thatehe might not lose his favourite
lucubrations in that somewhat disorderly house, he placed the port-
folio under the cushion of the arm-chair ; and, alas ! to relate, he
was suddenly seized with a fit of apoplexy, and shortly afterwards
" died by the visitation of a physician."

We shall not fatigue our readers with describing the way in which

VOL. VII. L

124 THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN.

this portfolio fell into our hands, we content ourselves by merely
echoing the remark of the late Mrs. Butler, " That it 's not no business
of nobody 's to ax." But, on a careful perusal of the anecdotes detailed
in the hand-writing of Mr. Popkin, we, in the end, carae to the con-
clusion that Mr. Peter Popkin must have been an acute observer of
life, and that he also could claim much praise as a patient listener,
with a tolerable memory, for he had diligently transcribed the sto-
ries he nightly heard. These we have now extracted, and present
from his

MATHEWS AND THE SILVER SPOON.

Amongst Mathews's pranks of younger days, that is to say, when
he first came from York to the Haymarket theatre, he was invited

with F and some other performers to dine with Mr. A ,

now an eminent silversmith, but who at that period followed the

business of a pawnbroker. It so happened that A was called

out of the parlour at the back of the shop during dinner. Mathews,
with wonderful celerity altering his hair, countenance, hat, &c. took
a large gravy- spoon off the dinner-table, ran instantly into the street,
entered one of the little dark doors leading to the pawnbroker's

counter, and actually pledged to the unconscious A his own

gravy-spoon. Mathews contrived with equal rapidity to return and
seat himself (having left the street-door open) before A re-ap-
peared at the dinner-table. As a matter of course, this was made
the subject of a wager. An eclaircissement took place before the party
broke up, to the infinite astonishment of A Rabelais never
accomplished a neater practical joke than this.

A person once inquired in a court of justice, why witnesses, on
being sworn, were obliged to kiss the cover of the book. To make
the oath binding, was the reply.

SIR RICHARD BIRNIE.

George the Fourth knighted Birnie, the active police magistrate,
at one of his Majesty's levees. Sir Richard, delighted with the ho-
nour, invited his old friend, Mr. Day (of the Home Department
office) to dine with him. After dinner they walked into the green-
room of the English Opera House ; where Sir Richard announc-
ed the event that had taken place at the levee. On the treasurer
of the theatre hearing it, he gravely exclaimed,

" Oh, Day and Knight! but this is wondrous strange ! "

DICKY SUETT.

This eccentric genius was attached to field-sports, and he occa-
sionally paid a visit to a relative in Surrey who could give him a

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPK1N. 125

day's shooting. Arrived at Drury-Lane theatre, one evening, to per-
form, Suett went up to the dressing-room, which was also used by
Bannister and S. Russell, "My boys/' he said to ?them, "O Lord!
such capital sport ! O la ! but I 've only brought one brace of birds
to town ; left the rest with my cousin at Tooting. Come and sup
with me to-night, — brace of partridges, — nothing else, but some
bread-sauce. O la ! here, Aberdeen, — where 's the dresser ? You,
sir, feel in my greatcoat pocket, and carry that brace of birds home
to Miss Wood, my housekeeper. Tell her that Mr. Bannister and
Mr. Russell are coming to supper."

At this moment Suett and Bannister were called to go on the
stage. Russell, always aufait at a practical joke, sent the dresser
away on a pretended errand, locked the door of the room, rapidly
went to a poulterer's, in Covent-Garden market, and bought two
white pigeons. With these he returned to the dressing-room, took
the partridges out of Suett's pocket, and replaced them with the
pigeons.

The dresser came back to execute Mr. Suett's orders, and carried
the pigeons home from the great-coat pocket to the housekeeper ;
Russell concealing the partridges for his own use.

Supper-time arrived. Suett, Russell, and Bannister were seated.
On the cover being taken off, Suett said,

" O la ! not quite so large as I expected out of their feathers, —
fine brace of birds, too, in the morning, when I killed 'em."

" Why, they look to me like pigeons," Russell said very inno-
cently.

" Pigeons, you succubus ! ha ! O la ! " exclaimed Suett. " They
were partridges at Tooting at half after ten this forenoon. What do
you know about game ? "

Suett then cut the birds up. Bannister was helped first. Russell
on tasting, asking him if they were pigeons or partridges ? Con-
founded with the bread sauce, Bannister could not immediately de-
cide, but from the size, as well as the flavour, he thought that they
were pigeons.

Suett, upon this, grew energetic, and assured his friends that he
had shot that brace of birds with his own individual fowling-piece.
"They were partridges, and nobody but a couple of d— d fools,
could imagine for one moment that they were anything else."

Russell then said, that he did not like his taste to be disputed.
He had no intention to give offence, but, might he ask a question of
Miss Lucy Wood, Mr. Suett's housekeeper, who had picked and
dressed the birds ?

" Oh, yes ! O la ! certainly," replied Suett triumphantly. Here
Lucy, my dear — my dovey ! "

" Dovey" said Russell, and winked to Bannister, — " pigeons!
Pray, Miss Wood, may I inquire of what colour were the feathers of
the birds that were brought by Aberdeen, the dresser, this evening ?"
" White, sir."

Suett stared, " Impossible ! O la ! "

Russell said, " I was sure of it, — there are no white partridges.
To be sure, there 's the ptarmigan, a sort of white grouse."

" Ptarmigan be d — d ! Hells bells ! " exclaimed Suett, enraged.
He then recapitulated how, where, and when he had killed the birds,
and ended by abusing his housekeeper, who, rather offended, said,

L 2

126 THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN.

" If you will not believe ine, Mr. Suett, Aberdeen is below, sir ;
he brought the birds from the theatre."

Suett ordered him up ; and Aberdeen very gravely and minute-
ly entered into an explanation, that he had by Mr. Suett's direction
taken the birds with his own hands from Mr. Suett's great-coat
pocket."

" And of what colour were they ? "
« White/-
The redoubtable Dicky was utterly mystified, nor was the im-
posture ever discovered.

THE ECCENTRIC MAJOR DOWNS.

Downs, commonly called Billy Downs, was a corpulent major of
the St. James's corps of Loyal Volunteers. From his size he was
denominated the major part of the regiment. He was on a visit at
the country residence of Mr. Grubb, (then one of the partners of
Drury-Lane theatre,) situated at Horsendon, near Prince's Risbo-
rough, Bucks.

The Major had gone down without his servant, and sometimes
from a nervous affection was unable to perform the very necessary
operation of shaving himself. The barber of Risborough, a Me-
thodist of the most rigid sect,— a long, sallow, melancholy, wild-
looking being, dealt in religious tracts, and would not condescend to
leave his shop. Downs had been apprized at the manor-house that
this person was an enthusiast, and conjectured to be slightly de-
ranged ; but the Major had no alternative, so he marched over to
the village, entered the shop, and commanded himself to be shaved.
Wrapped in a striped cloth, tied up to the throat, over his obesity, and
lathered, (by the way, one of the most interesting positions for effect
in which a gentleman can possibly be placed,) Major Downs glanced
at the evangelical tracts in the window, and in very bad taste, it
must be acknowledged, said to the melancholy operator,

" D — me ! my good fellow, why do you put all those infernal
things there in your shop ? Enough to poison the whole neigh-
bourhood."

N.B. — The Major's principles were " Church and King ! King
and Constitution ! "

The tonsor did not deign to answer so improper a remark, but
with a penetrating, yet restless eye, he rapidly passed his keen razor
up and down a huge thong of leather, which was nailed to the top
frame of the chair, close to Downs's ear.

The Major perceived that he had given deep offence by his ques-
tion. A dead silence ensued. Downs winced, and began to think
of the barber's supposed derangement. He was tied up, — in his
power ; but he was too proud, or too brave, to recant. As the razor
approached his face, something moving attracted his attention out-
side the shop-window, and at that critical moment the Major saw
two little rogues of boys peeping through, who were passing their
hands across their necks, imitating the action of throat- cutting, and
pointing to the melancholy tonsor.

This was too much for the valiant Major, in the state of nervous
excitement into which he had worked himself. In a twinkling,
therefore, up he jumped, tore off the striped cloth, and without even

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN. 127

waiting to wipe the soap from his face, he threw down a shilling to
the astonished Wesleyan barber for not being shaved, and hastily
made a judicious retreat from the shop.

THEATRICAL ALARM.

The original Lyceum theatre was surrounded by very ancient
buildings, untenanted and dilapidated portions of which would some-
times fall down while the performances were going on, and cause
alarm to the audience. One night, when the performances were for

the benefit of Mr. T. P , the singer, and when a very full house

had assembled in compliment to that popular vocalist, a loud crash
was suddenly heard, and the people in the front of the theatre in

dismay rose in all directions. P , who was on the stage, came

forward, and entreated " the ladies and gentlemen " to be perfectly
calm, as he was convinced "it was only something that had given
nay." This, of course, only increased the consternation. Where-
upon P s, perceiving B y, the architect, at the side-scene,

adroitly persuaded him to come on the stage to assure the audi-
ence as to the perfect safety of the building.

Mr. B y accordingly made his first appearance, and bowing

gracefully, he said, " Ladies and gentlemen, I am the surveyor to
this theatre, and I beg to assure you that C( there is no foundation

whatever " — (loud uproar). He meant to have continued "for the

cause of your present apprehensions," but the noise and alarm pre-
vented him from becoming more elucidatory.

A PAIR OF BULLS.

S K was one evening behind the scenes of Co vent Gar-
den theatre, when he observed a remarkable-looking person at the

side-scene. " Who 's that? " inquired K of Farley. " That is

O. Smith," replied Farley. " I thought everybody knew him." —

" Introduce me," said K . The introduction immediately took

place, when K , with great warmth of feeling, said, " Mr. O.

Smith, I have long wished to be introduced to you as a man of ta-
lent. I have the pleasure to be very intimate with your namesake,
Mr.T.P.Cooke."

At the conclusion of an engagement at the Victoria theatre, when

Abbott was the lessee, K said, " My dear Abbott, I am off to

the country : can I carry any letters for you ? " Abbott thanked him,

and inquired to what part of the country K was going. " Faith,

/ have not yet made up my mind" answered K .

D'EGVILLE AND POOLE.

Mathews being invited by D'Egville to dine one day with him ai
Brighton, D'Egville inquired what was Mathews's favourite dish ?
" A roasted leg of pork, with sage and onions." This was provided ;
and D'Egville carving, swore that he could not find the stuffing. He
turned the joint all over, but in vain. Poole was at table, and in
his quiet way said, " Don't make yourself unhappy, D'Egville ; per-
haps it is in the other leg."

128 THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN.

CHURCH LEARNING IN 1560.

The Bishop of Dunkelden, in Scotland, thanked God that he
never knew what the Old or New Testament was, and yet had
prospered well enough all his days.

GEORGE COLMAN, THE LICENSER.

When George Colraan was appointed reader of plays to the Li-
censer, he became (though an old offender) extremely punctilious
about the introduction of oaths in the manuscript of a drama, and
invariably erased them. A party dining one day at his agreeable
table at Brompton, some very fine Hollands was presented as liqueur.
Colman's son Edmund recommended it. " Taste this admirable
Sckie," said he. — " Schie?" says Colman. " Why do you call it Sc/iie,
sir? " — " Because, father, you know you always cut out the d — n."

NEW ADAPTATION OF "GOD SAA'E THE KING."

Immediately after the marriage of the Duke and Duchess of Kent,
the royal pair visited the theatres publicly. It was notified that
they were to honour the performances at the English Opera-house.

Mr. A , the proprietor, felt it to be his duty on this auspicious

occasion to add some complimentary stanzas to the national anthem,
" God save the King." Being, however, much occupied with per-
plexing business, he left this task until the last moment. It should
be stated that the notice of the royal visit had been sent to Mr.

A 's house in Golden Square. Mr. A was all bustle at the

theatre for the reception of his royal visiters, but sat down to write
his verses. He had concluded one to his satisfaction, and had ar-
rived at the middle of another, when his muse forsook him. He
there stuck, pen in hand, at

" So may the royal pair,
Joy of the nation, share —

Joy of the nation, share — "

P came into the room at this moment, and A put him in

requisition to furnish the absent line, singing,

(singing') " So may the royal pair,

Joy of the nation, share —

P (sung) Thirty-one Golden Square,

God save the King."

POPES, AND THEIR ASSUMED NAMES.

Sergius the Second was the first Pope that ever changed his name ;
for his name being before Bocca di Porco, he thought that title be-
neath his dignity, so caused himself to be called Sergius. His suc-
cessors, it appears, followed precedents ; so that if one Pope be a
coward, he is called Leo, — if a tyrant, Clement, — if an atheist, Pius,
— if unjust, Innocent, — if a rustic, Urban ux.

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN. 129

JOHN TAYLOR.

John Taylor was asked if he was a descendant of Taylor the
water-poet ? He shook his thin white head, and said, " No ; I be-
lieve I am Taylor the milk-and-water poet."

NATIONAL SYMBOLS.

The new Covent Garden theatre had received a splendid embel-
lishment to the fronts of the boxes, proscenium, &c. consisting of
modelled roses, shamrocks, and thistles, while the old Lyceum ex-
perienced frequently the inconvenience of the rain coming through
the roof in various places. Some one praising the beauty of this
decoration as the national symbols of England, Ireland, and Scot-
land, " Well," said the Lyceum proprietor, " my theatre has got the
national symbol of the other part of the island, which they have
omitted, — Wales. Observe the leaks ! "

MATHEWS'S YORKSHIRE SERVANT.

Soon after Mathews had married the present Mrs. Mathews, he
paid a visit to his mother, who was in an infirm state of health.
Mathews had brought a bumpkin of a servant lad from York, who
frequently formed a capital model for many of his master's admirable
representations of rustic ignorance. This fellow was always in
error. One day, Mrs. Lichfield sent with her compliments to inquire
how old Mrs. Mathews was. The York lad went up stairs to Mrs.
Mathews, Junior, and delivered the message thus : " Missus Lich-
field's compliments, marm, and wants to know how old you be ? "

A WATCHMAKERS RUSE.

A poor devil of a watchmaker came down to settle at «*****. The
village was populous. This person was utterly unknown ; but he
rather ingeniously hit on a project to procure employ. He con-
trived, when the church door was opened daily, to send up his son
(a lad of address) to the church tower unseen, and to alter the clock.
This the boy was enabled to do by a slight knowledge of his father's
business. This measure, of course, made all the watches in the
neighbourhood wrong so repeatedly, (and every one swears by his
church-clock,) that the owners sent them to the new comer to be
cleaned and repaired. This ruse established the artisan.

SHERIDAN, AND HIS SON TOM.

Tom Sheridan, when a lad, was one day asking his father (the
celebrated Richard Brinsley) for a small sum of money. Sheridan
tried to avoid giving any, and said, " Tom, you ought to be doing
something to get your living. At your age my father made me
work. My father always — " — " I beg your pardon, sir," interrupted
Tom : " I will not hear your father compared with mine."

130 THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN.

LUDICROUS MISTAKE OP MATHEW8.

During the height of the popularity of his celebrated entertain-
ment " At Home," Mathews, walking down the Strand, observed, or
thought he observed, his old acquaintance, Lee the actor, looking
into the windows of a print-shop. Mathews came behind Lee, and
putting one hand on each side of his head, blindfolded him, and
concluded by rubbing his ears heartily, and beating his hat over his
head. The person so treated struggled, and turned very indignantly,
when, to the inexpressible horror of Mathews, he saw in an instant
that it was not Mr. Lee, but an utter stranger, with whom he had
taken this familiar liberty. " What do you mean, you scoundrel ? "
said the old gentleman. Mathews attempted an apology and ex-
planation, but nothing would satisfy the affront. A crowd gathered
round ; most of the spectators knew Mathews by sight, and were
laughing at the untoward event. On hearing the name of Mathews
mentioned, the old gentleman became doubly incensed, and would
not be convinced that he had not been grossly and wantonly
insulted. He commenced such a torrent of abuse, that Mathews was
at last obliged to walk off. Any one acquainted with the nervous
temperament of Mathews, will imagine the ludicrous distress of the
scene.

TOM DIBDIN AND THE LOZENGE.

Tom Dibdin had a cottage near Box Hill, to which, after his thea-
trical labours, he was delighted to retire. One stormy night, after
Mr. and Mrs. Dibdin had been in bed some time, Mrs. D. being
kept awake by the violence of the weather, aroused her husband,
exclaiming, " Tom, Tom, get up ! " — " What for ? " said he. —
" Don't you hear how very bad the wind is ? " — " Is it? " replied
Dibdin, half asleep, but could not help punning. " Put a pepper-
mint lozenge out of the window, my dear. It is the best thing in
the world for the wind."

NO WHISTLING !

Mrs. M was taking a walk one Sunday in Edinburgh. She

had a favourite little dog with her, which frisked away round the
corner of the street. A respectable-looking person passing, and

Mrs. M fearing to lose the dog, addressed him, saying, " Would

you be so obliging, sir, as to whistle my dog back ? " The reply
was, " I canna whistle on the Sabbath."

THE BOTTOMLESS PIT.

One night at Covent Garden, where there was a very scanty
audience, the benches of the pit being visible in all directions : a
grave-looking person, peeping over the boxes, audibly exclaimed,
" Well ! I have often heard of the bottomless pit, but I never before
saw it."

131

MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.— No. III.
INDIGENCE AND BENEVOLENCE.

PAllT II.
RELIEF OF THE POOR.

WE have seen that the amount of false indigence is vast and varied ;
that it is fostered and encouraged by mistaken benevolence, and that
it is fraught with multitudinous evils to the social system. We have
also shown that in every organized society it has been considered a
public duty to detect and punish imposture, whence we inferred that
there was scarcely a less 'obligation on society to subject indiscriminate
charity to some regulations ; not because it is so important to protect
dupes as to punish knaves, but because the dupes to a great extent
create the knavery, and are accessories before the fact. We have now
to consider the case of real indigence, the greatest acknowledged evil
of society, and examine how benevolence may be most beneficially ap-
plied as a remedy. For this purpose we must first determine what in-
digence is ; has it any normal type ? has it any attributes so fixed and
invariable that they can be recognised the instant they are seen ?
There is only one form of indigence thus immutable, and that begins
and ceases to exist at the same moment. Absolute indigence, a com-
plete and utter destitution of all means of subsistence, is equivalent to
death ; its conditions include in their terms immediate extinction ; we
can mark distinctly its end, but this is obviously of no use, — what we
want to discover is the beginning.

Indigence is generally defined to be a privation of the necessaries of
life ; but, what are these necessaries ? We find them vary with time,
fitness, circumstances, without being the less imperious under all these
diversities.

There is no indigence in savage life. The Hon. Mr. Murray, whose
travels in North America contain the best account of the present con-
dition of the Indians that has been laid before the public, found no
state which could properly be designated either as riches or poverty
among the Pawnees ; the vital question with them was not between
comfort and discomfort, but between life and death ; if food could be
procured all was well, if not, starvation was inevitable. The enter-
prising traveller himself found a piece of the raw liver of a buffalo a
dainty morsel, — the rejection of which would be a practical bull. The
Australians will eat anything, "eye of newt, or tongue of frog;"
spiders, and other more odious insects are grateful additions to their
larder. Their necessaries of life are easily obtained. With them, as
with others, destitution is destruction, but total destitution must be of
rare occurrence.

Indigence is almost equally unknown in a state of slavery. It is his
master's interest to keep the slave in a condition fit for labour ; when
debilitated by age or infirmity he has, however, to dread destitution,
unless, as at Rome or Sparta, his sufferings are abridged by violent
death. In the modified state of slavery which exists in modern times,
masters usually make a provision for disabled slaves ; but, without an
abuse of terms the relations between them could not be described as
indigence on the one hand, and benevolence on the other.

132 . MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

Indigence, therefore, commences with civilisation ; when man enters
freely into competition with his fellows, his life becomes a constant
struggle; society enjoins certain conditions of existence, and these
conditions necessarily generate wants, because their fulfilment requires
means. This is the fundamental truth, on which all reasonings re-
specting indigence must be based. With the progress of civilization
indigence must necessarily increase and extend, because wants are
multiplied and rendered more imperious. It follows that, in order to
determine what are the necessaries of life, we must not limit ourselves
to discovering what are the absolute requisites to support existence.
Neither the Pawnee nor the Australian can furnish the standard for
the Englishman. Even within narrower limits what would be com-
parative luxury to one man would be sheer destitution to another.
The independent labourer in Ireland is infinitely worse fed, clothed,
and lodged, than the denizens of the worst workhouse in England, yet
the pauper receives sympathy and compassion denied to the labourer.

It would be bad economy and worse philosophy to describe these ad-
ditional wants as factitious, the result of increasing luxury and dimin-
ished hardihood. Indigence must be measured by the general esti-
mate of average comforts formed in any given age or country. That
estimate is formed by society, or what is the same thing, by the state ;
and is as much a matter of positive law as if it had been enacted by
both houses of parliament. The government is not the state, no more
than a helm is a ship, or editorial superintendence a magazine. The
state is the entire community, however organised ; its opinions are
laws which cannot be violated with impunity. As society advances,
human nature itself is extended and developed, moral wants arise, as
well as physical necessities, and such wants are honourable to him who
feels them. Far from lamenting that the standard of condition, below
which indigence commences, should be placed several degrees above
zero in the social scale, we should rather rejoice at the extension of the
number of comforts that are deemed necessaries ; each of them is a new
impulse to industry, a new motive for exertion ; each of them increases
the relations of man to his fellows, and thus strengthens the principle
of sociality by which every community is held together. It is a com-
mon objection to economic science, that those who cultivate it are
anxious to lower the standard of comfort for the pauper, and, therefore,
for the independent labourer ; while, in fact, the tendency of the sci-
ence is not only to adjust the equitable position of both in the scale,
but also to raise the condition of both ; increasing the value of life
must necessarily increase the comforts of living.

The most marked characteristic of savage life is improvidence; a
recklessness of all that is behind and all that is before, which can
neither be overcome by the experience of past suffering, or the pros-
pect of future comfort. Every new want given to man is an additional
incentive to thought and reflection ; there is more for which he has to
contend, and, consequently, more preparation is required for the
contest.

Society has fixed a certain set of conditions, the fulfilment of which
it proclaims necessary to social existence ; indigence is the failure to
fulfil these conditions, whether through voluntary remissness, positive
fault, or inability to perform them. This principle would seem to sug-
gest an easy system of classification ; but when we come to apply it in
actual life, we find these causes so mixed and blended that it is gene-

RELIEF OF THE POOR. 133

rally impossible to disentangle them, and to assign in any particular
case of indigence how much belongs to one cause, and how much to
another. There are probably few indigent persons who have not to
reproach themselves either with faults or imprudence ; and there are
probably just as few who have not met with reverses which no human
foresight could predict, and no human exertions could prevent. Indi-
vidual benevolence, when it offers relief in such cases, undertakes a
very perilous task. The indigence, indeed, is real, but so are the
causes that produce it ; the alms bestowed may give temporary relief,
and also ensure permanent misery. This is the more likely to be the
case, as the failings which for the most part entail the heaviest social
sufferings are precisely those which the moralist is most ready to pardon.
Improvidence is the most common source of poverty ; it is a great so-
cial crime, though it scarcely has a place in the code of moral delin-
quency. Unenlightened benevolence encounters the risk of fostering
improvidence when it gives pecuniary relief without inquiry, and it
does not always escape the imputation of injustice when it refuses re-
lief to persons supposed to have brought their misfortunes on them-
selves. Vice is very often a consequence as well as a cause : when we
proceed to investigate alleged misconduct, we frequently find indivi-
dual responsibility disappear in some political error, or deficiency in
the social system. Thus, there are many who say to the poor as Pha-
raoh did to the children of Israel, " ye are idle — ye are idle ! " but if
society adopts a system which greatly increases the number of la-
bourers, and at the same time diminishes the amount of employment,
idleness is an inevitable result, for which society, and not the indivi-
dual, is responsible.

We have described indigence as a failure in a contest, and shown
that there are conditions under which success may be impossible. In-
fancy, extreme old age, paralysis, idiocy, insanity, &c« are conditions
of original feebleness which incapacitate the individual for the contest
altogether. In these cases the duties of benevolence are so obvious
that no one has ever n\ade them the subject of controversy. But to
these physical conditions some that are purely moral must be added.
The possibility of evil is an inherent condition of liberty, and every
free state abandons its duties when it does not impress this possibility
on its subjects. Society invites, or rather compels, every individual to
engage in a struggle, the nature of which it has previously fixed and
determined, it is therefore bound to state the terms of the contest, the
conditions it has imposed on the maintenance of social existence to
every individual summoned to the contest, — nay more, it is bound to
show that such conditions are of possible fulfilment.

We are not about to discuss here the great question of national
education, — a subject on which more nonsense has been written than
on any other that has engaged public attention since the commence-
ment of the century. There are, however, two remarkable fallacies or
blunders which require to be exposed because they are equally com-
mon and mischievous. Reading and writing are no more education
than a knife and fork are a good dinner ; education, properly so called,
is a training to fulfil the conditions which society has imposed on
social existence, — a preparation tf to do our duty in that state of life to
which it has pleased God to call us." Most men have to maintain
themselves by their thews and sinews : their bodies, therefore, must be
educated as well as their minds. Physical training is, at the least, as

134 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

important to them as mental training ; they require to have their limbs
strengthened, and their muscles developed. Some years ago no provi-
sion was necessary for this purpose ; there were unenclosed fields and
open commons, where healthy sports could be enjoyed, where pure air
and bracing exercise could be obtained; now we are all "cribbed,
cabined," and confined, by the rapid progress of brick and mortar ;
streets and roads choked by coaches, cabs, and 'busses, are the only
spots available for the young, with policemen to break their hoops,
kick down their tops, and pocket their marbles. Verily we are an en-
lightened generation, while we increase indefinitely the amount of la-
bour required for support, we at the same time diminish the capacity
for toil. We are battling about the school-room, when our greatest
want is the play-ground.

The controversy is carried on as if the question were between edu-
cation and no education. Was there ever such a thing as an unedu-
cated human being, except, perhaps, Peter the wild boy ? Archbishop
Sharpe said many good things, but none better than his reply to a
lady, who said she would give no religious instruction to her children
until they Avere of an age to seek it for themselves. " Madam," re-
plied the witty prelate, " if you do not teach them, the devil will."
His satanic majesty has indeed organized a very efficient system of
national education. Fagin the Jew was one of his best schoolmasters,
the Artful Dodger a first-form boy, and Oliver Twist an unruly pupil,
who deserved chastisement for disobedience. It was said of yore that
certain squires received their education in the kitchen, and took their
degrees in the stable. The parallel, however, will not hold ; for the
devil has not the entire business of education to himself. The State
has kindly provided Newgate as a college for those who aspire to
higher degrees, and annually ships off some scores of professors to ex-
tend the same system of instruction through the southern hemisphere.
Could philanthropy require more ?

Leaving controversialists to settle their disputes as best they may,
we confine ourselves to pointing out the very obvious duty of society,
that is of the State, to make known the conditions which it has im-
posed on social existence, and to remove the obstacles, whether physical
or moral, that impede their fulfilment. Benevolent individuals have
undertaken to perform the duty which the State has neglected ; but
ignorance is too powerful to be overcome by desultory efforts. Igno-
rance cannot register the past, understand the present, or calculate
for the future ; it must therefore of necessity generate indigence ; for
it perpetuates the moral feebleness that unfits men for the great
struggle of life. The remedy for this evil is not benevolence in indi-
viduals, but common sense in the nation. After all, Fagin's voluntary
system entails considerable expense; and our county colleges, com-
monly called gaols, cost more than a school and play-ground. It would
be tiresome to enter into the items of the calculation, and not very
agreeable at the present moment, as a silk handkerchief should be
added to the account, just abstracted by a promising pupil.

Indigence, arising from original feebleness, or from the imposition of
such conditions as render success hopeless, cannot be removed by bene-
volence. In such cases, indeed, benevolence is to a certain extent
mischievous, because it directs attention from the nature of the evil.
Enlightened humanity looks to the cause rather than the consequence-

RELIEF OF THE POOR. 135

Indolent benevolence is satisfied with the temporary relief of the
latter.

We have seen that cases of indigence differ in their origin, nature,
and character; we shall also find that they vary in their duration.
Bad harvests, severe winters, political convulsions, sudden changes in
the demand for labour generally, or for labour in some particular
branch of manufactures, frequently generate extensive distress, and
afford ample scope for the exercise of benevolence. The same may be
said of such individual instances as disease, accidental wounds, and
other calamities, against which no human foresight can guard. Relief
in such cases is not only a work of humanity, but of prudence ; for
temporary indigence is always more disposed to crime than that which
is permanent. Indigence, indeed, bears the blame of more crimes than
it has a right to support, as is at once evident from the fact that crimes
are at a maximum between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, pre-
cisely the period of life when poverty is at a minimum. It is not in-
digence so much as the fear of indigence that predisposes to crime.
The fallen man generally lies on the ground without a struggle ; the
falling man grasps at everything that may avert his fate. It has been
observed that, in the predial disturbances arising out of the tenure of
land in Ireland, outrages were rarely committed by ejected and starving
tenants, but were usually contrived by persons of better condition, who
dreaded sharing their fate.

A cry of alarm was recently raised throughout Europe about the
rapid extension of pauperism. The world was said to be menaced by
a universal Jacquerie ; a social revolution infinitely worse than that
threatened by Jacques Bonhomme or Jack Cade. Landlords in ima-
gination beheld their estates invaded, deer becoming cheap, racers sent
to another Newmarket, the pheasantry seized by the peasantry, hounds
rendered dog-cheap, parks dismantled, and estates divided. They
feared that their hot-houses would be too hot to hold them, and that
grape-shot would be necessary to protect their vines. Capitalists
shared the alarm ; Mammon trembled at the name of Malthus ; they
feared that, in a very bitter sense, their fortunes would soon be on
'Change, and that others would claim the dividends. Manufacturers
were also in terror, dreading to see their machinery destroyed by mil-
lions of indigent wretches, whose number, in their belief, had increased,
was increasing, and could not be diminished. But was this terror
justified by facts ? We have already, shown that the extreme of in-
digence is absolute destitution, and consequent death. Were indi-
gence on the increase, the average duration of life would be shortened ;
but, on the contrary, its duration has been considerably increased, and
most remarkably in England, where this senseless alarm was first
raised.

This bugbear led the rich to regard the poor as their enemies. The
inevitable consequence was, that the poor took the alarm, and regarded
the proceedings of the rich as the result of hostility. It is unnecessary
to dwell on the mischievous effects of either delusion. It is not true
that indigence has increased on the one hand, or indifference to suffer-
ing on the other ; above all things, it is untrue that the progress of
philosophy is adverse to the interests of humanity. All philosophy is
systematised experience ; the use of a system is to present a waste of
power, to economize force in the moral as well as the physical world.

136 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

The apparent great amount of pauperism need not alarm the philan-
thropist, since it must increase in its demands proportionate to the
average comforts of the population. Society is progressive ; but all its
elements are not simultaneously developed, and therefore every advance
presses hard on somebody. For instance, the hand-loom weavers have
suffered severely from improvements in machinery ; and the physical
condition of the poor in large towns has been greatly deteriorated by
the progress of brick and mortar. These are matters too generally
neglected by philanthropists : there is a much closer connection be-
tween the physical and moral condition of humanity than is generally
imagined. " Cleanliness," says an old proverb, " is next to godliness ;"
air, drainage, and light are important adjuncts to virtue. When the
operatives are found huddled together in garrets and cellars, — when
not only is the same room occupied by several families, but five or six
individuals share the same bed, anything like delicacy is impossible,
domestic comfort is unattainable, and the heads of families are driven
to the pot-house by the sheer want of a place where they can sit down.
Can we doubt that female modesty and virtue must necessarily and
inevitably be perilled in the crowded haunts which we have described ?
Is it not notorious that the worst dens of the worst vices are found
where the drainage is bad, and the supply of water limited ? Noah
Claypole was an eminent practical philosopher. When he came to
London as a practitioner in conveyancing, he almost instinctively di-
rected his course to the regions of dirt and darkness.

The great error into which benevolent persons fall is, that they
regard indigence as a simple fact. We trust that we have, on the
contrary, shown it to be one of the most complicated of social facts,
and that every individual constituting himself the judge of the extent
of the want, and the nature of the relief required, undertakes a task
which cannot be beneficially executed without very extensive know-
ledge both of the general subject and the individual instance. Do we
then condemn benevolence ? — God forbid 1 We only propose that it
should be so directed as to gain its own ends ; that the nature of the
disease should be studied before the cure is attempted ; and that reme-
dies should not be applied at random. There are quacks in morals, as
in medicine, and both find patrons among very respectable people ; but
this should not discourage us in pursuing our investigations. We firmly
believe in the ultimate triumph of truth ; we believe that enlightened
humanity, guided by science, can do much for the correction of social
evils, can remove many, relieve more, and alleviate all ; we further be-
lieve that the causes of indigence should be investigated, and, so far as
possible, removed, not merely for the sake of the suffering individual,
but for the general interests of the community. There are no clashing
interests to be reconciled. Whatever makes the poor man rich will
make the rich man richer ; whatever makes the rich man poor will
make the poor man poorer. In conclusion, we may be allowed to re-
peat what we have said elsewhere, " The misery of the meanest indi-
vidual, permitted to continue while means exist for its removal, in
every country, but more especially in a free country, is fraught with
peril to the entire community."

137

JACK SHEPPARD.

BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.
AUTHOR OP "ROOKWOOD" AND "CRICHTON."

ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

EPOCH THE THIRD. 1724.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
WHAT HAPPENED AT DOLLIS HILL.

"AT length this tragedy is at an end/' said Mr. Wood,, as, having
seen the earth thrown over the remains of the unfortunate Mrs.
Sheppard, he turned to quit the churchyard. " Let us hope that,
like her who ' loved much/ her sins are forgiven her."

Without another word, and accompanied by Thames, he then
took his way to Dollis Hill in a state of the deepest depression.
Thames did not attempt to offer him any consolation, for he was al-
most as much dejected. The weather harmonized with their feel-
ings. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and
obscured the beautiful prospect.

On his arrival at Dollis Hill, Mr. Wood was so much exhausted
that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued
for some hours overpowered by grief. The two lovers sat toge-
ther, and their sole discourse turned upon Jack and his ill-fated
mother.

As the night advanced Mr. Wood again made his appearance in a
more composed frame of mind, and at his daughter's earnest solicit-
ation was induced to partake of some refreshment. An hour was
then passed in conversation as to the possibility of rendering any
assistance to Jack ; in deploring his unhappy destiny ; and in the
consideration of the course to be pursued in reference to Jonathan
Wild.

While they were thus occupied, a maid-servant entered the room,
and stated that a person was without who had a packet for Captain
Darrell, which must be delivered into his own hands. Notwith-
standing the remonstrances of Wood and Winifred, Thames instant-
ly followed the domestic, and found a man with his face muffled up,
at the door, as she had described. Somewhat alarmed at his appear-
ance, Thames laid his hand upon his sword.

" Fear nothing, sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames in-
stantly recognised as that of Blueskin. " I am come to render you
a service. There are the packets which my captain hazarded his
life to procure for you, and which he said would establish your
right to the estates of the Trenchard family. There are also the let-
ters which were scattered about Wild's room after the murder of Sir
Rowland. And there/' he added, placing in his hands a heavy bag
of money, and a pocket-book, " is a sum little short of fifteen thou-
sand pounds." — "How have you procured these things ?" asked
Thames, in the utmost astonishment. — "I carried them off on the

438 JACK SHEPPARD.

fatal night when we got into Wild's house, and you were struck
down," replied Blueskin. " They have ever since been deposited
in a place of safety. You have nothing more to fear from Wild." —
" How so ? " asked Thames. — " I have saved the executioner a labour
by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. " And, may I be cursed if
I ever did anything in my whole life which gave me so much satis-
faction."— "Almighty God! is this possible?" exclaimed Thames. —
" You will find it true," replied Blueskin. " All I regret is, that I
failed in liberating the captain. If he had got off they might have
hanged me, and welcome." — " What can be done for him ? " cried
Thames. — "That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blue-
skin. " But I shall watcli night and day about Newgate, in the
hope of getting him out. He wouldn't require my aid, but before I
stopped Jonathan's mouth he had ordered him to be doubly-ironed,
and constantly watched. And, though the villain can't see his orders
executed, I've no doubt some one else will." — "Poor Jack ! " ex-
claimed Thames. " I would sacrifice all my fortune — all my hopes
— to liberate him." — " If you 're in earnest," rejoined Blueskin,
" give me that bag of gold. It contains a thousand pounds ; and, if
all other schemes fail, I '11 engage to free him on the way to Ty-
burn."— " May I trust you ? " hesitated Thames. — " Why did I not
keep the money when I had it ? " returned Blueskin, angrily. " Not
a farthing of it shall be expended except in the captain's service." —
"Take it," replied Thames. — "You have saved his life," replied
Blueskin. "And now, mark me. You owe what I have done for
you, to him, not to me. Had I not known that you and your affi-
anced bride are dearer to him than life, I should have used this
money to secure my own safety. Take it, and take the estates, in
Captain Sheppard's name. Promise me one thing before I leave
you." — "What is it?" asked Thames. — "If the captain is taken to
Tyburn, be near the place of execution — at the end of the Edgeware
Road." — "I will." — " In case of need you will lend a helping
hand ? "— " Yes — yes."—" Swear it ! "— " I do."— « Enough ! " re-
joined Blueskin. And he departed just as Wood, who had become
alarmed by Thames' long absence, made his appearance with a blun-
derbuss in his hand.

Hastily acquainting him with the treasures he had unexpectedly
obtained, Thames returned to the room to apprize Winifred of his
good fortune. The packets were hastily broken open ; and, while
Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him
by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he
had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan
Wild's. As soon as he had read it he let it fall from his grasp.

Winifred instantly picked it up.

" You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes
rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon." — "My father was
of the blood-royal of France," exclaimed Thames. — " Eh- day !
what 's this ? " cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles.
" Who — who is the Marquis de Chatillon ? " — f< Your adopted son,
Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. — " And the Marchioness is
your daughter," added Thames. — " O, Lord!" ejaculated Wood.
"My head fairly turns round. So many distresses — so many joys
coining at the same time are too much for me. Read that letter,
Thames — my lord marquis, I mean. Read it, and you '11 find that

JACK SHEPPARD. 139

your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the
estates in Lancashire. You 've nothing to do but to take posses-
sion."— "What a strange history is mine!" said Thames. "Kid-
napped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into
the hands of another, — my father's own brother, the Marshal
Gaudier deChatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed
all my good fortune." — " The ways of Providence are inscrutable,"
observed Wood. — " When in France, I heard from the Marshal that
his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm.
It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body
had never been found. Little did I imagine at the time that it was
my own father to whom he referred." — "I think I remember read-
ing something about your father in the papers," observed Wood.
" Wasn't he in some way connected with the Jacobite plots ? " —
"He was," replied Thames. "He had been many years in this
country before his assassination took place. In this letter, which is
addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir
Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad ; but entreats her to
keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully
developed." — " And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend," remarked
Wood. " Crime upon crime." — " Unconsciously, perhaps," replied
Thames. " But, be it as it may, he is now beyond the reach of
earthly punishment." — " But Wild still lives," cried Wood. — " He,
also, has paid the penalty of his offences," returned Thames. " He
has fallen by the hand of Blueskin, who brought me these packets."
— " Thank God for that ! " cried Wood, heartily. " I could almost
forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor
dear wife — no, not quite that" he added, a little confused. — " And
now," said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) " you
will no longer defer my happiness." — " Hold ! " interposed Winifred,
gravely. " I release you from your promise. A carpenter's daugh-
ter is no fit match for a peer of France." — " If my dignity must be
purchased by the loss of you, I renounce it," cried Thames. " You
will not make it valueless in my eyes," he added, catching her in his
arms, and pressing her to his breast. — " Be it as you please," replied
Winifred. "My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you."
— "And now, father, your blessing — your consent ? " cried Thames.
— « You have both," replied Wood, fervently. " I am too much ho-
noured— too happy in the union. Oh- ! that I should live to be fa-
ther-in-law to a peer of France ! What would my poor wife say to
it, if she could come to life again ? O Thames ! — my lord mar-
quis, I mean — you have made me the happiest — the proudest of
mankind."

Not many days after this event, on a bright October morning, the
bells rang a merry peal from the old grey tower of Willesden
church. All the village was assembled in the church-yard. Young
and old were dressed in their gayest apparel ; and it was evident
from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish
looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several
pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony which never fails to interest
all classes — a wedding — was about to take place.

At the gate opening upon the road leading to Dollis Hill were
stationed William Morgan and John Dump. Presently two carri-
ages dashed down the hill, arid drew up before it. From the first
VOL. vir. M

140 JACK SHEPPARD.

of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis
de Chatillon. From the second descended Mr. Wood — and after
him came his daughter.

The sun never shone upon a lovelier couple than now approached
the altar. The church was crowded to excess by the numbers
eager to witness the ceremony ; and as soon as it was over the wed-
ded pair were followed to the carriage, and the loudest benedictions
uttered for their happiness.

In spite of the tumultuous joy which agitated him the bridegroom
could not prevent the intrusion of some saddening thoughts, as he
reflected upon the melancholy scene which he had so recently
witnessed in the same place.

The youthful couple had been seated in the carriage a few mi-
nutes, when they were joined by Mr. Wood, who had merely ab-
sented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered
at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness.
He likewise gave directions that in the after part of the day a whole
bullock should be roasted on the green, and distributed, together
with a barrel of the strongest ale.

In the evening a band of village musicians, accompanied by most
of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill,
where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the
door. Here they were regaled with another plentiful meal by the
hospitable carpenter, who personally superintended the repast.

These festivities, however, were not witnessed by the newly-
married pair, who had departed immediately after the ceremony for
Manchester.

CHAPTER XXIX.
HOW JACK SHEPPARD WAS TAKEN TO WESTMINSTER HALL.

LOADED with the heaviest fetters, and constantly watched by two
of the gaoler's assistants, who neither quitted him for a single mo-
ment, nor suffered any visiter to approach him, Jack Sheppard
found all attempts to escape impracticable.

He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apart-
ment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the
western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but
for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or
more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it
with him.

Through this, his last trial, Jack's spirits never deserted him. He
seemed resigned, but cheerful, and held frequent and serious dis-
courses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence.
The only circumstance which served to awaken a darker feeling in
his breast was, that his implacable foe, Jonathan Wild, had survived
the wound inflicted by Blueskin, and was slowly recovering.

As soon as he could be moved with safety, Jonathan had himself
transported to Newgate, where he was carried into the Middle
Ward, that he might feast his eyes upon his victim. Having seen
every precaution taken to ensure his safe custody, he departed, mut-
tering to himself, " I shall yet live to see him hanged — I shall live
to see him hanged."

Animated by his insatiate desire of vengeance, he seemed to gain

JACK SHEPPARD. 141

strength daily, — so much so, that within a fortnight after receiving
his wound he was able to stir abroad.

On Thursday, the 12th of November, after having endured near-
ly a month's imprisonment, Jack Sheppard was conveyed from New-
gate to Westminster Hall. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed,
and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers, to
Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to West-
minster.

By this time Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the
populace, — his exploits having become the universal theme of dis-
course, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds col-
lected to obtain a view of him. The vast area in front of Westmin-
ster Hall was thronged with people, and it was only by a vigorous
application of their staves that the constables could force a passage
for the vehicle. At length, however, the prisoner was got out ; when
such was the rush of the multitude that several persons were tram-
pled down, and received severe injuries.

Arrived in the Hall, the prisoner's handcuffs were removed, and
he was taken before the Court of King's Bench. The record of his
conviction at the Old Bailey sessions was then read ; and, as no ob-
jection was offered to it, the Attorney-General moved that his exe-
cution might take place on Monday next. Upon this, Jack earnest-
ly and eloquently addressed himself to the bench, and besought that
a petition which he had prepared to be laid before the King might
be read. This request, however, was refused ; and he was told that
the only way in which he could entitle himself to his Majesty's cle-
mency would be by discovering who had abetted him in his last
escape ; the strongest suspicions being entertained that he had not
effected it alone.

Sheppard replied by a solemn assertion, " that he had received no
assistance except from Heaven," — an answer for which he was im-
mediately reprimanded by the court. It having been stated that it
was wholly impossible he could have removed his irons in the way
he represented, he offered, if his handcuffs were replaced, to take
them off in the presence of the court. The proposal, however, was
not acceded to ; and the Chief Justice Powis, after enumerating his
various offences, and commenting upon their heinousness, awarded
sentence of death against him for the following Monday.

As Jack was removed he noticed Jonathan Wild at a little distance
from him, eyeing him with a look of the most savage satisfaction.
The thieftaker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and
his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an
undefinable and horrible expression to his glances.

Meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had
begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. The coach in which the
prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the
driver was glad to escape with life. Terrific shouts were raised by
the rabble, who threatened to tear Wild in pieces if he showed
himself.

Amid this tumult several men, armed with tremendous bludgeons,
with their faces besmeared with grease and soot, and otherwise dis-
guised, were observed to be urging the populace to attempt a rescue.
They were headed by an athletic-looking, swarthy-featured man,

M 2

142 JACK SHEPPARD.

who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to
cheer on his companions.

These desperadoes had been the most active in demolishing the
coach, and now, being supported by the rabble, they audaciously ap-
proached the very portals of the ancient hall. The shouts, yells,
and groans, which they uttered, and which were echoed by the con-
course in the rear, were perfectly frightful.

Jonathan, who with the other constables had reconnoitred this
band, and recognised in its ringleader Blueskin, commanded the
constables to follow him, and made a sally for the purpose of seizing
him. Enfeebled by his wound, Wild had lost much of his strength,
though nothing of his ferocity and energy, and fiercely assailing
Blueskin, he made a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to appre-
hend him.

He was, however, instantly beaten back ; and the fury of the mob
was so great that it was with difficulty he could effect a retreat. The
whole force of the constables, gaolers, and others, was required to
keep the crowd out of the hall. The doors were closed and barri-
caded, and the mob threatened to burst them open if Jack was not
delivered to them.

Things now began to wear so serious an aspect that a messenger
was secretly despatched to the Savoy for troops, and in half an hour
a regiment of the guards arrived, wno by dint of great exertion suc-
ceeded in partially dispersing the tumultuous assemblage. Another
coach was then procured, in which the prisoner was placed.

Jack's appearance was hailed with the loudest cheers, but when
Jonathan followed, and took a place beside him in the vehicle, de-
termined, he said, never to lose sight of him, the abhorrence of the
multitude was expressed by execrations, hoots, and yells of the most
terrific kind. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect
upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank oht of sight.

It was well for him that he had taken his place by Sheppard, as
regard for the latter alone prevented the deadliest missiles being
hurled at him. As it was, the mob went on alternately hooting and
huzzaing as the names of Wild and Sheppard were pronounced,
while some individuals, bolder than the rest, thrust their faces into
the coach-window, and assured Jack that he should never be taken
to Tyburn.

" We '11 see that, you yelping hounds ! " rejoined Jonathan, glaring
fiercely at them.

In this way, Jack was brought back to Newgate, and again
chained down in the Middle Ward.

It was late before Jonathan ventured to his own house, where he
remained up all night, and kept his janizaries and other assistants
well armed.

CHAPTER XXX.
HOW JONATHAN WILD'S HOUSE WAS BURNT DOWN.

THE day appointed for the execution was now close at hand, and
the prisoner, who seemed to have abandoned all hopes of escape,
turned his thoughts entirely from worldly considerations.

On Sunday he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had

JACK SHEPPARD. 143

passed on the occasion of his great escape, and once more took his
seat in the Condemned Pew. The Rev. Mr. Purney, the ordinary,
who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in
a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of peni-
tence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. The chapel
was crowded to excess. But here — even here the demon was suf-
fered to intrude, and Jack's thoughts were distracted by Jonathan
Wild, who stood at a little distance from him, and kept his blood-
thirsty eyes fixed on him during the whole of the service.

On that night an extraordinary event occurred, which convinced
the authorities that every precaution must be taken in conducting
Jack to Tyburn, — a fact of which they had been previously made
aware, though scarcely to the same extent, by the riotous proceed-
ings near Westminster Hall. About nine o'clock an immense mob
collected before the Lodge at Newgate. It was quite dark ; but, as
some of the assemblage carried links, it was soon ascertained to be
headed by the same party who had mainly incited the former dis-
turbance. Amongst the ringleaders was Blueskin, whose swarthy
features and athletic figure were easily distinguished. Another was
Baptist Kettleby, and a third, in a Dutch dress, was recognized by
his grizzled beard as the skipper, Van Galgebrok.

Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased.
The area in front of the gaol was completely filled. Attempts were
made upon the door of the Lodge ; but it was too strong to be
forced. A cry was then raised by the leaders to attack Wild's house,
and the fury of the mob was instantly directed to that quarter.
Wrenched from their holds, the iron palisades in front of the thief-
taker's dwelling were used as weapons to burst open the door.

While this was passing, Jonathan opened one of the upper win-
dows, and fired several shots upon the assailants. But, though he
made Blueskin and Kettleby his chief marks, he missed both. The
sight of the thieftaker increased the fury of the mob to a fearful de-
gree. Terrific yells rent the air. The heavy weapons thundered
against the door, and it speedily yielded to their efforts.

" Come on, my lads ! " vociferated Blueskin, "we'll unkennel the
old fox/-
As he spoke several shots were fired from the upper part of the
house, and two men fell mortally wounded. But this only incensed
the assailing party the more. With . a drawn cutlass in one hand,
and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed upstairs. The
landing was defended by Quilt Arnold and the Jew. The former
was shot by Blueskin through the head, and his body fell over the
bannisters. The Jew, who was paralysed by his companion's fate,
offered no resistance, and was instantly seized.

" Where is your accursed master ? " demanded Blueskin, holding
the sword to his throat.

The Jew did not speak, but pointed to the audience-chamber.
Committing him to the custody of the others, Blueskin, followed by
a numerous band, darted in that direction. The door was locked ;
but, with the bars of iron it was speedily burst open. Several of the
assailants carried links, so that the room was a blaze of light. Jona-
than, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched
the secret spring. He was not there. Opening the trap-door, he

144 JACK SHEPPARD.

then descended to the vaults, searched each cell, and every nook
and corner separately. Wild had escaped.

Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable.
At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. Shep-
pard had been confined, Blueskin discovered a trap-door, which he
had not previously noticed. It was instantly burst open, when the
horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a
receptacle for the murdered victims of the thieftaker.

Holding a link into the place, which had the appearance of a deep
pit, Blueskin noticed a body richly dressed. He dragged it out,
and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body
of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it
upstairs — an order which was promptly obeyed.

Returning to the audience-chamber, Blueskin had the Jew
brought before him. The body of Sir Rowland was then laid on
the large table. Opposite to it was placed the Jew. Seeing from
the threatening looks of his captors that they were about to wreak
their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in
abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes.
His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce
auditors.

One of the cases in Jonathan's museum was now burst open, and
a rope taken from it. In spite of his shrieks, the miserable Jew was
then dragged into the well-hole, and the rope being tied round his
neck, he was launched from the bridge.

The vengeance of the assailants did not stop here. They broke
open the entrance into Jonathan's store-room — plundered it of
everything valuable — ransacked every closet, drawer, and secret
hiding-place, and stripped them of their contents. Large hoards of
money were discovered, gold and silver plate, cases of watches, and
various precious articles. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable
was left. Old implements of housebreaking were discovered; and
the thieftaker's most hidden depositories were laid bare.

The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. Straw
and other combustibles being collected, were placed in the middle
of the audience-chamber. On these were thrown all the horrible
contents of Jonathan's museum, together with the body of Sir Row-
land Trenchard. The whole was then fired, {and in a few minutes
the room was in a blaze. Not content with this, the assailants set
fire to the house in half-a-dozen other places ; and the progress of
the flames was rapid and destructive.

Meanwhile the object of all this fearful disturbance had made his
escape to Newgate, from the roof of which he witnessed the de-
struction of his premises. He saw the flames burst from the win-
dows, and perhaps in that maddening spectacle suffered torture
equivalent to some of the crimes he had committed.

While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made
the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of
the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven
from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles.

The mob now directed their attention to Newgate ; and, from
their threats, appeared determined to fire it. Ladders, paviour's
rams, sledge-hammers, and other destructive implements, were pro-
cured ; and in all probability their purpose would have been cf-

JACK SHEPPARD. 145

fected but for the opportune arrival of a detachment of the guards,
•who dispersed them, not without some loss of life.

Several prisoners were taken, but the ringleaders escaped. En-
gines were brought to play upon Wild's premises, and upon the ad-
joining houses. The latter were saved; but of the former nothing
but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow.

CHAPTER XXXf.
THE PROCESSION TO TYBURN.

THE noise of this disturbance did not fail to reach the interior of
the prison. In fact, the reflection of the flames lighted up the ward
in which Jack Sheppard was confined.

The night before his execution was therefore passed in a most
anxious state of mind ; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the ap-
pearance of Jonathan Wild, who, after he had been driven from the
roof of the gaol, repaired to the Middle Stone Ward in a fit of un-
governable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he
looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. Such was his
fury, that, if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two
turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice,
by laying violent hands upon his victim.

After venting his wrath in the wildest manner, and uttering the
most dreadful execrations, Jonathan retired to another part of the
prison, where he passed the night in consultation with the governor,
as to the best means of conveying the prisoner securely to Tyburn.
Mr. Pitt endeavoured to dissuade him from attending in person,
representing the great risk he would incur from the mob, which was
certain to be assembled. But Jonathan was not to be deterred. " I
have sworn to see him hanged," he said, " and nothing shall keep

me away — nothing, by ."

By Wild's advice, the usual constabulary force was greatly aug-
mented. Messengers were despatched to all the constables and
head-boroughs to be in attendance, — to the sheriffs to have an extra-
ordinary number of their officers in attendance, — and to the Savoy,
to obtain the escort of a troop of grenadier-guards. In short, more
preparations were made than if a state criminal was about to be
executed.

The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length
dawned. It was a dull foggy day, and the atmosphere was so thick
and heavy, that at eight o'clock the curious who arrived near the
prison could scarcely discern the tower of St. Sepulchre's church.

By and by the tramp of horses' feet was heard slowly ascending
Snow Hill, and presently a troop of grenadier guards rode into the
area facing Newgate. These were presently joined by a regiment
of foot. A large body of the constables of Westminster next made
their appearance, the chief of whom entered the Lodge, where they
were speedily joined by the civic authorities. At nine o'clock the
sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men.

Meantime, the Stone Hall was crowded by all the inmates of the
gaol, debtors, felons, turnkeys, and officers who could obtain permis-
sion to witness the ceremony of the prisoner's irons being struck off.
Caliban, who, through the interest of Mr. Ireton, was appointed to
the office, stood with a hammer in one hand, and a punch in the

146 JACK SHEPPAHD.

other, near the great stone block, ready to fulfil his duty. Close
behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large
bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. Next
to the executioner stood his wife — the former Mrs. Spurling. Mrs.
Marvel held her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared in great
distress. But her husband, whose deportment to her was consider-
ably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention
whatever to her grief.

At this moment the bell of Newgate began to toll, and was an-
swered by another bell from St. Sepulchre's. The great door of the
Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the
javelin-men, entered the room. They were followed by Jonathan,
who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near
the stone. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage ; but a hush
of expectation reigned throughout.

Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary,
with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room.
Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his de-
meanour dignified. His countenance was pale as death, but not a
muscle quivered, nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
On the contrary, it was impossible to look at him without perceiving
that his resolution was unshaken.

Advancing with a slow firm step to the stone-block, he placed his
left foot upon it, drew himself up to his full height, and fixed a look
so stern upon Jonathan, that the thief-taker quailed before it.

The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily un-
riveted the chains. The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vin-
dictive passions of Jonathan. Fixing a ferocious and exulting look
upon Jack Sheppard, he exclaimed,

" At length my vengeance is complete." — "Wretch ! " cried Jack,
raising his hand in a menacing manner, " your triumph will be
short-lived. Before a year has expired, you will share the same
fate." — " If I do, I care not," rejoined Wild ; " I shall have lived to
see you hanged." — " O Jack, dear, dear Jack ! " cried Mrs. Marvel,
who was now quite dissolved in tears, " I shall never survive this
scene." — " Hold your tongue, hussy ! " cried her husband gruffly.
" Women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless
they can behave themselves properly." — " Farewell, Jack," cried
twenty voices.

Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with se-
veral of those who addressed him.

" My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he ob-
served with a smile, " that I am half inclined to dance." — " You '11
dance upon nothing, presently," rejoined Jonathan, brutally. —
" Farewell for ever," said Jack, extending his hand to Mrs. Marvel.
— " Farewell ! " blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand
to her lips. " Here are a pair of gloves and a nosegay for you. Oh
dear ! — oh dear ! Be careful of him," she added to her husband,
" and get it over quickly, or never expect to see me again." — " Peace,
fool ! " cried Marvel, angrily. " Do you think I don't know my own
business ? "

Austin and Langley then advanced to the prisoner, and, twining
their arms round his, led him down to the Lodge, whither he was
followed by the sheriffs, the ordinary, Wild, and the other officials.

JACK SHEPPARD. 147

Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his de-
parture. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart,
•with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. At the head of the cart
was placed the coffin. On the right were several mounted grena-
diers ; on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. Soldiers were sta-
tioned at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others
were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for
the passage of the procession.

The assemblage which was gathered together was almost countless.
Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had
its occupants. The wall of St. Sepulchre's church was covered — so
was the tower. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far
as Smithfield. No one was allowed to pass along Newgate Street,
which was barricaded and protected by a strong constabulary force.

The first person who issued from the Lodge was Mr, Marvel, who
proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. The hang-
man is always an object of peculiar detestation to the mob ; a tre-
mendous hooting hailed his appearance, and both staves and swords
were required to preserve order.

A deep silence, however, now prevailed, broken only by the toll-
ing of the bells of Newgate and St. Sepulchre's. The m*ighty con-
course became for a moment still. Suddenly such a shout as has
seldom smitten human ears rent the air. " He comes ! " cried a
thousand voices, and the shout ascended to Smithfield, descended to
Snow Hill, and told those who were assembled on Holborn Hill that
Sheppard had left the prison.

Between the two officers, with their arms linked in his, Jack
Sheppard was conducted to the cart. He looked around, and as he
heard that deafening shout, — as he felt the influence of those thou-
sand eyes fixed upon him, — as he listened to the cheers, all his mis-
givings — if he had any — vanished, and he felt more as if he were
marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death.

Jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart than he was followed
by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the
book of prayer, began to read aloud. Excited by the scene, Jack,
however, could pay little attention to the good man's discourse, and
was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions.

The cavalcade was now put slowly in motion. The horse-soldiers
wheeled round and cleared a path : the foot closed in upon the cart.
Then came the javelin-men, walking' four abreast ; and, lastly, a long
line of constables, marching in the same order.

The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful
groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations was heard. This
was occasioned by Jonathan Wild, who was seen to mount his horse
and join the train. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to
this demonstration of hatred. He had buckled on his hanger, and
had two brace of pistols in his belt, as well as others in his holsters.

By. this time the procession had reached the west end of the wall
of St. Sepulchie's church,, where, in compliance with an old custom,
it halted. By the will of Mr. Robert Dow, merchant tailor, it was
appointed that the sexton of St. Sepulchre's should pronounce a
solemn exhortation upon every criminal on his way to Tyburn, for
which office he was to receive a small stipend. As soon as" the caval-
cade stopped, the sexton advanced, and, ringing a hand-bell, pro-
nounced the following admonition :

148 JACK SHEPPARD.

" All good people pray heartily unto God for this poor sinner, who is
now going to take his death, for whom this great bell doth toll.

" You who are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears. Ask
mercy of the Lord for the salvation of your own soul, through the merits
of the death and passion of Jesus Christ, who now sits at the right hand
of God, to make intercession for you, if you penitently return to him.
The Lord have mercy upon you ! "

This ceremony concluded, the cavalcade was again put in motion.
Slowly descending Snow Hill, the train passed on its way, attended
by the same stunning vociferations, cheers, yells, and outcries which
had accompanied it on starting from Newgate. The guards had
great difficulty in preserving a clear passage without resorting to
severe measures; for the tide which poured upon them behind,
around, in front, and at all sides, was almost irresistible. The houses
on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in the Old Bailey. Every
window, from the ground-floor to the garret, had its occupant, and
the roofs were covered with spectators. Words of encouragement
and sympathy were addressed to Jack, who, as he looked around,
beheld many a friendly glance fixed upon him.

In this way they reached Holborn Bridge. Here a little delay
occurred. The passage was so narrow that there was only sufficient
room for the cart to pass, with a single line of foot-soldiers on one
side ; and, as the walls of the bridge were covered with spectators,
it was not deemed prudent to cross it till these persons were dis-
lodged.

While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable
mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded.
The advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while
the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled
up Holborn Hill.

The entrance of Shoe Lane, and the whole line of the wall of St.
Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with
spectators. Upon the steps leading to the gates of the church stood
two persons whom Jack instantly recognised. These were his mis-
tresses, Poll Maggot and Edge worth Bess. As soon as the latter
beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. She was caught
by some of the bystanders, who offered her every assistance in their
power. As to Mrs. Maggot, whose nerves were more firmly strung,
she contented herself with waving her hand affectionately to her
lover, and encouraging him by her gestures.

While this was taking place, another and more serious interrup-
tion occurred. The advanced guard had endeavoured to disperse
the mob in Field Lane, but were not prepared to meet with the re-
sistance they encountered. The pavement had been hastily picked
up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks,
barrels, and other barricades were laid. Most of the mob were
armed with pikes, staves, swords, muskets, and other weapons, and
offered a most desperate resistance to the soldiery, whom they drove
back with a shower of paving-stones.

The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane appeared the sig-
nal for an attempt at rescue. With a loud shout, and headed by a
powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and
armjed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and
rushed towards the vehicle. An immediate halt took place. The

JACK SHEPPARD. 149

soldiers, surrounded the cart, drew their swords, and, by striking the
rioters first with the blunt edge of their blades, and afterwards with
the sharp points, succeeded in driving them back.

Amid this skirmish Jonathan greatly distinguished himself.
Drawing his hanger, he rode amongst the crowd, trampled upon
those most in advance, and made an attempt to seize their leader, in
whom he recognised Blueskin.

Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a
thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles
at the soldiery. Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides ;
and Mr. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by
a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the
face.

At length, however, by dealing blows right and left with their
swords, and even inflicting severe cuts on the foremost of the rabble
the soldiers managed to gain a clear course, and to drive back the
assailants, who, as they retreated behind the barricades, shouted in
tones of defiance, " To Tyburn ! to Tyburn ! "

The object of all this tumult, meanwhile, never altered his posi-
tion, but sat back in the cart, as if resolved not to make even a
struggle to regain his liberty.

The procession now wound its way, without further interruption,
along Holborn. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered
force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it.
Fetter Lane on the left, Gray's Inn on the right, added their supplies.
On all hands Jack was cheered, and Jonathan hooted.

At length the train approached St. Giles's. Here, according to
another old custom, already alluded to, a criminal taken to execu-
tion was allowed to halt at a tavern, called the Crown, and take a
draught from St. Giles's bowl, " as his last refreshment on earth."
At the door of this tavern, which was situated on the left of the
street, not more than a hundred yards distant from the church, the
bell of which began to toll as soon as the procession came in sight,
the cart drew up, and the whole cavalcade halted. A wooden bal-
cony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of
whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full
of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with ad-
miration of his appearance. Every window in the public house was
filled with guests, and, as in the case of St. Andrew's, the churchyard
wall of St. Giles's was lined with spectators.

A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age and the occa-
sion. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character.
Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. Their ex-
ample was immediately imitated by the officers, constables, javelin-
men, and other attendants ; and nothing was to be heard but shouts
of laughter and jesting, — nothing seen but the passing of glasses and
the emptying of foaming jugs. Mr. Marvel, who had been a little
discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill,
very composedly filled and lighted his pipe.

One group at the door attracted Jack's attention, inasmuch as it
was composed of several of his old acquaintances, — Mr. Kneebone,
Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby, — all of whom greeted him
cordially. Besides these, there was a sturdy-looking fellow, whom
he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him
from his irons at Tottenham.

150 JACK SHEPPARD.

" I am here, you see," said the smith.

" So I perceive," replied Jack.

At this moment the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout
personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the
house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered
to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. Raising the bowl in his
right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group
of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths ; he then
turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands to-
wards him, and raised it to his lips. Just as he was about to drain
it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused.

" I leave this bowl for you," he cried, returning it to the landlord
untasted. — " Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, ma-
lignantly ; " and yet it has tarried thus long." — "You will call for
it before six months are passed," rejoined Jack, sternly.

Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by
St. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time,
passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not
unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. After passing Tottenham
Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand,
and opposite Wardour Street it was open country.

The crowd now dispersed amongst the fields, and thousands of
persons were seen hurrying towards Tyburn as fast as their legs
could carry them, leaping over hedges, and breaking down every
impediment in their course.

Besides those who conducted themselves more peaceably, the con-
ductors of the procession noticed with considerable uneasiness large
bands of men armed with staves, bludgeons, and other weapons, who
were flying across the field in the same direction. As it was feared
that some mischief would ensue, Wild volunteered, if he were allowed
a small body of men, to ride forward to Tyburn, and keep the ground
clear until the arrival of the prisoner.

This suggestion being approved, was instantly acted upon, and the
thieftaker, accompanied by a body of the grenadiers, rode forward.

The train, meantime, had passed Mary-le-bone Lane, when it
again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a
public house called the City of Oxford.

Scarcely had it come to a halt when a stalwart man shouldered his
way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the
cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner.

" I told you I would call to bid you farewell, Mr. Figg," said Jack.
— " So you did," replied the prize*fighter. " Sorry you 're obliged
to keep your word. Heard of your last escape. Hoped you 'd not
be retaken. Never sent for the shirt." — " I didn't want it," replied
Jack ; " but who are those gentlemen ? " — " Friends of yours," re-
plied Figg, " come to see you — Sir James Thornhill, Mr. Hogarth,
and Mr. Gay. They send you every good wish." — " Offer them my
hearty thanks," replied Jack, waving his hand to the group, all of
whom returned the salutation. '•' And now, farewell, Mr. Figg ! In
a few minutes all will be over."

Figg turned aside to hide the tears that started to his eyes, — for
the stout prize-fighter, with a man's courage, had a woman's heart,
— and the procession again set forward.

r

14: ,

_^Z^

JACK SHEPPARD. 151

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE CLOSING SCENE.

TYBURN was now at hand. Over the sea of heads arose a black
and dismal object. It was the gallows. Jack, whose back was to-
wards it, did not see it ; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations
of the crowd, that it was in view. This circumstance produced no
further alteration in his demeanour,, except that he endeavoured to
abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention
to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting.

Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention it was again
shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. Wood, who
was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his
hand to him.

Jack instantly sprang to his feet, and as his guards construed the
motion into an attempt to escape, several of them drew their swords,
and motioned him to sit down. But Jack did not heed them. His
looks were fixed on his old benefactor.

" God in heaven bless you, unhappy boy ! " cried Wood, bursting
into tears, ee God bless you ! "

Jack extended his hand towards him, and looked anxiously for
Thames ; but he was nowhere to be seen. A severe pang shot
through Jack's heart, and he would have given worlds if he pos-
sessed them to have seen his friend once more. The wish was vain ;
and, endeavouring to banish every earthly thought, he addressed
himself deeply and sincerely to prayer.

While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to
tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions,

" You '11 lose no time," said the thieftaker. " A hundred pounds
if you do it quickly." — " Rely on me," rejoined the executioner,
throwing away his pipe, which was just finished.

A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunder-storm,
now prevailed amongst the assemblage. The thousand voices which
a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed.
Not a breath was drawn. The troops had kept a large space clear
around the gallows. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with
spectators, — so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house
standing at the end of the Edgeware Road, — so were the trees, — the
walls of Hyde Park, — a neighbouring barn,— a shed, — in short, every
available position.

The cart, meantime, had approached the fatal tree. The guards,
horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep
off the mob. It was an awful moment — so awful, that every other
feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended.

At this terrible juncture Jack maintained his composure, a smile
played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it, and the last
words he uttered were, " My poor mother ! I shall soon join her ! "
The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move.

The next instant he was launched into eternity !

Scarcely had he been turned off a moment when a man with
swarthy features leapt into the cart with an open clasp-knife in his
hand, and, before he could be prevented, severed the rope, and cut
down the body. It was Blueskin. His assistance came too late. A

152

JACK SHEPPARD.

ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of
musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet
breathing body of his leader.

Blueskin, however, was not unattended. A thousand eager as-
sistants pressed behind him. Jack's body was caught, and passed
from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the
fatal tree.

The shouts of indignation, the frightful yells now raised, baffle
description. A furious attack was made on Jonathan, who, though
he defended himself like a lion, was desperately wounded, and
would inevitably have perished, if he had not been protected by the
guards, who were obliged to use both swords and fire-arms upon the
mob in his defence. He was at length rescued from his assailants,
— rescued to perish, seven months afterwards, with every ignominy,
at the very gibbet to which he had brought his victim.

The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that
tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean,
until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road.

At this point a carriage with servants in sumptuous liveries was
stationed. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb, with
a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and
gestures. At length the body was brought towards him. Instantly
seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door,
and commanded his servants to drive off. The order was promptly
obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edge-
ware Road.

Half an hour afterwards the body of Jack was carefully examined.
It had been cut down before life was extinct ; but a ball from one of
the soldiers had pierced his heart.

Thus died Jack Sheppard.

That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that
in which Mrs. Sheppard had been interred. Two persons, besides
the clergyman and sexton, alone attended the ceremony. They were
a young man and an old one, and both appeared deeply affected.
The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed.
A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without
any name or date. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the
inscription, which ran thus, —

153

« Then
"No

en you won't discount this for me ? "

, sir, I can't. I 've got a heavy bill to provide for myself !

MR. NIBBLE.

IN our schoolboy days with what a joyous heart we beheld our
kites raised by the wind ! To manhood grown, we now daily wit-
ness this pleasant pastime practically reversed by " children of a
larger growth," who, more cunning, now " raise the wind " by means
of " kites/' — for that name, innocent reader, is the technical or cant
term for a bill or promissory note, the art of circulating which is
called <c kite-flying."

The extent to which this agreeable amusement is indulged in by
thousands in the commercial world is incalculable. Necessity is the
mother of the invention.

The plumber is led to accept the cheesemonger's bill for accommo-
dation, and the cheesemonger (whose credit is probably as decayed
as an old Cheshire, and who has not a mite to bless himself withal)
is obliging enough to " put his name " to a " bit o' paper " for the
same purpose.

This amiable reciprocity, in the elegant phraseology of the money-
market, is called " pig upon bacon ! "

The draft of the publican (who finds it as easy to draw bills as
beer, and being on the verge of going to "pot" is compelled to resort
to these illegal "measures") is accepted by a half-ruined hop-mer-
chant, who has nothing in his "pockets."

154 MR. NIBBLE.

The indigent^poulterer, who, from his confined views of probity,
might appropriately exclaim with Shakspeare's witches,

" Fair is foul, and^cm/ is fair,"

keeps the " game alive " by drawing upon a bird of the same feather,
and for a time feathers his nest, at the expense of every goose from
whom he can get trust, — and most frequently the issue is, that he
takes the benefit of the act ; proving, in the language of the Alley,
a lame duck, and — " pigeons " his creditors.

The tailor (celebrated for his fine drawing) gives a bill upon some
worthy woollen-draper of the same ' ' pattern ;" and should the bill
at maturity fall on the ' ' ninth" of course he " cuts " — according to
his cloth. It don't " fit," and he is probably " sewn up ;" for a suit
at law is not in his line.

The timber-merchant draws upon the carpenter and builder, (who
proves himself a, joiner in the transaction by his acceptance,) and
" out of debt, out of danger," and " right reckoning makes long
friends," not being of the number of his "saws" impudently
answers, when pressed for payment, " that he is really bored, and
has no brads"

The farmer issues a scrap of paper upon some hay-salesman, who
proves a " man of straw."

The sage, who hath never dreamt of such proceedings in his phi-
losophy, will, we are confident, upon perusing this veritable cata-
logue, begin himself to draw — certain inferences, not at all calcu-
lated to raise the delinquents in his estimation.

We have as yet, however, only imperfectly attempted to describe
the manufacture of the commodity : we now proceed to unveil the
system employed in the circulation. Nothing is easier than the in-
vention of a lie (and these documents are nothing more than pal-
pable lies, pretending to a value which in truth they have not); but
in the circulation lies the difficulty. Learn, then, sapient and curious
reader, there is a set of men known to the initiated as purchasers of
these precious scraps, nay, who make a living by discounting these
same " kites," ludicrously disproving the axiom, " ex nihilo nihiljit."
Mr. Nibble is one of the most notorious of the tribe, who so
amiably offer succour and assistance to the unfortunate for a " con-
sideration."

He lives in a dark room, which he calls an office, up three pair of
stairs in an obscure alley, in the most obscure part of this foggy city.
Two well-worn chairs, one hungry lad, — a sort of human "mule,"
between an errand-boy and a clerk, one ricketty table with drawer,
one brass candlestick, one cheque-book, writing materials, and one
iron chest, form the interesting inventory of the " moveables " in his
gloomy abode.

A " dim religious light " struggles through the dirty panes of
glass, and adds to the chilling effect produced by the uncomforta-
bleness of a dingy apartment, with a cold, rusty grate, whose iron
jaws appear grinning with an expression of despair and famine !

As for Mr. Nibble, what pen can describe his person? His lank,
attenuated body, in truth, somewhat resembles the three long, meagre
red-ink lines in his own journal, while " £. s. d. " may, perhaps, as
appropriately indicate his head — for there is nothing else in it ! His
shabby suit of an indefinable colour " harmonises " with the sur-

MR. NIBBLE. 155

rounding objects. In fine, the place, as well as the occupant, ap-
pears, like mortal comfort — at a very considerable discount !

A timid tap at the door disturbs the slumbering silence of this
sanctum ; and a shabby little man, like a small tradesman reduced,
glides softly into the office.

"Good mornin', Mister Nibble."

Mr. Nibble gravely answers this salutation by a freezing inclina-
tion of the head ; his dull, cold eyes scanning his visitor from top
to toe.

" We done a little business together afore," continued the man.

" Oh !— ay— yes— Mr. Brown "

" Smith," correctively interpolates the tradesman.

"Ay, Smith! Thirty at two months? Let me see, was that
draft honoured ? "

" Punctoo-al-ly ! I 'm happy for to assure you on it, sir," replied
Mr. Smith, with confidence. " And I 've a trifle here, Mister Nib-
ble, is as good — as good as that ere any day, and no mistake."

And he presented the trifle — a bill for forty pounds at three
months — for the inspection of the acute Nibble.

" Umph !" mutters he, turning it about. " Smith on Bubble —
backed by Liggins. Won't do, sir ! Money is now at such a pre-
mium that I do believe it would be difficult to raise it even on a
bank-note. Six per cent, on the best paper, and a heavy commis-
sion ; exchequer at a ruinous discount ; bankers' acceptances touch-
ed with caution ; for it's impossible to know in these serious times
who 's who. Must decline."

"Dear me!" says the discomfited Mr. Smith, taking back the
bill, and scratching his ear,

" The infallible resource,
To which embarrassed people have recourse."

" Then you won't discount this for me ? "

" No, sir," coolly replied Mr. Nibble, " I can't — I 've got a heavy
bill to provide for myself."

"It's unfortnit — wery," soliloquizes Mr. Smith. "P'r'aps, do
you happen to know anybody as is likely to "

"Why, let me see," says Nibble, paradoxically closing his eyes,
" why, yes, there 's Grabb j but then he won't do it unless you '11
make a sacrifice."

" Well, but I don't care standing anythink — in reason," cried
Smith, eagerly grasping at the shadow of a chance. " What do you
think, now ? "

" I dare say (you see the paper 's so very unmarketable) he might
do it for — for ten pounds ! "

Smith opens his eyes, and fairly whistles. <c No, by goles ! " cries
he, " that is coming it too strong."

" I 've done," says Nibble mildly, extending his skinny palms,
and dropping his long and melancholy head with an eloquent shrug.
" Good morning, Mr. Smith. Excuse me, I have business. Samuel ! "

The elderly errand-boy starts to the door, and Mr. Smith is " let
out," only to be " taken in " ten minutes afterwards by the accom-
modating Mr. Nibble, who boldly ventures on his own responsibi-
lity to advance ten pounds on the unmarketable commodity, pro-
mising at the latter end of the ensuing week to give him a cheque
for the remaining twenty ! ALFRED CROWQUILL.

VOL. VII. N

156

A RAMBLING CRUISE ALONG THE COASTS OF
POSILYPO AND BALE.

Naples, May 1839.

Winter's gloomy reign is o'er ;
Seek we, now, that smiling shore
Where a Caesar banished grief:
Caesar, grateful for relief
From the weighty cares of state,
Ventured thus to mock at Fate,
And its flatt'ring name bestow
On the bright Posilypo. (')

But 'tis not the crowded height (2)
Which to us must yield delight.
Vernal breezes fan the sea,
Enter, then, the bark with me ;
And, as we together glide
Smoothly o'er the sparkling tide,
Call we Fancy to our aid.
Hark ! at once th' enchanting maid
Seems to listen to our prayer,
Filling the surrounding air
With sweet music, as the waves,
Echoed from the vaulted caves,
Gently break with mellow sound
On the rocks their course that bound !

Fancy holds a fairy wand ;
When she waves it to command,
With a quick but easy change,
Scenes and apparitions strange,
Sweet the charm her vot'ries feel
O'er their spell-bound senses steal,
As they to her bland control
Yield the guidance of the soul.
Yes, beneath that crumbling rock, (3)

(Where some vestige of its form
Still remains to brave the shock

Of the envious wintry storm,)
Let her now for us upraise,
As it stood in ancient days,

From its ruins a retreat,
Where the favoured of the great,
Shunning courtly scenes awhile,
Sought her own approving smile.

But 'twas not with features dim,
As to us she has appeared,

That the Nymph was seen by him
When the fabric he upreared

Of those last immortal lays

That obtained his epic bays.

No ! in this secluded spot,

In the depths of yonder grot,

She, more vividly defined

In her favoured poet's mind,

Drew so truly from afar

Scenes of shipwreck, love, and war,

That himself could scarcely deem

What he wrote was but a dream.

Yet, to grace his varied lay,

Scenes from nature, too, were drawn;
And to Baiae's neighb'ring bay

Oft at eve, or morning's dawn,
Would the pensive bard repair,
Gaining from the objects there —
As his light bark moved along —
Inspiration for his song.
Thither, then, with fav'ring gale,
Let us, too, admiring sail,
Whilst to our enchanted sight,
As we near yon verdant height, (4)
Fancy, ever at our side,
Points to where his native tide
(Roused to fury by his shell)
Venged the angry Triton well j
And the boastful Trojan bore
Lifeless to that rock-girt shore

(') Posilypo, whose etymology from " oratxn? rtif Xvw? " has been explained
by many a" guide-book, is sometimes said to have received its name, in the manner
here mentioned, from the Emperor Augustus. Its public drive, called the " Strada
Nuova," is one of the numerous benefits which Naples owes to the munificent
Murat. (2) The "Strada Nuova."

(3) The " Scoglio " (corruptly called the "Scuola") "di Virgilio" may either
be the rocky islet, " La Gaiola," distant not a stone's-throw from the shore,
or a rock on the shore itself, where considerable remains of ancient buildings may
be traced. This spot, which presents as great attractions to the lover of the pic-
turesque as to the antiquary or the 'classic topographer, was the site probably of a
marine villa. ' And why not give it to Virgil ? At a short distance beyond the
ruins, under the rock itself on which they are placed, but facing in a different di-
rection, is a large cavern, into which flow the deep blue waters of the sea, bringing
with them a constant and delicious coolness, and producing in calm weather a lull-
ing and not unmusical sound. (4) Cape Misenus.

COASTS OF POSI-LYPO AND BALE. 157

Which perpetuates his name, We, at least, without a sneer,

Aiding well the voice of Fame. (') Fancy-led, will wander here.

Westward, next, our course we take Landing on the Lucrine beach, (4)

T'wards the once tremendous lake, (2) Soon Avernus' banks we reach;

Where, as though its power to mock, And to us the chestnut-shade,

Feathered minstrels love to flock. Hanging lightly o'er the glade,

Hence arose the sceptics' cry, (3) Shall the awful forest be,

Who the poet's haunts deny. Where the Sibyl's mystic tree, (5)

" If, in Virgil's day, as now, 'Midst its thickest foliage, bore

Vineyards smiled upon that brow, Golden passports for the shore ;

Which by him was said to frown Which the unfavoured and profane

O'er the fatal gates of hell, Sought — unless through death — in
Fancy, he was all thine own, vain. (6)

Potent was, indeed, thy spell ! "

Thus let those exclaim who prize So the poets sang. But, now,

Nought but dull realities. Crowds profane without the bough,

(') " Atque illi Misenum in litore sicco,

Ut venere, vident indigna morte peremtum.

Sed turn forte cava dum personal aequora concha
Demens et cantu vocat in certamina divos,
jEmulus exceptum Triton (si credere dignum est),
Inter saxa virum spumosa immerserat unda.

* * * * * *

At pius ./Eneas ingenti mole sepulcrum,
Imponit, suaque arma viro, remumque, tubamque,
Monte sub ae'rio ; qui nunc Misenus ab illo

Dicitur, aeternumque tenet per saecula nomen." — VIRGIL. ./EN. vi.
" Qua jacet et Trojae tubicen Misenus arena." — PROPERT. iii. Eleg. 18.

(2) Lake Avernus.

(3) Strabo leads the way amongst these sceptics, and treats as fabulous the
whole story which Virgil tells as the reason

" Unde locum Graii dixerunt nomine Aornon."

He doubts its having been the scene of Ulysses* descent to the internal regions. In
spite of his authority, however, it has served the turn of both ancient and modern
poets ; and, were it the only " hell upon earth," we ought to thank them for
having placed it so agreeably.

(4) The low dike which separates the Lucrine Lake from the sea was ascrib-
ed by tradition to the labours of Hercules, who was not less remarkable as an
architect and an engineer than as a hero. Propertius, in the passage quoted above,
alludes to this fact :

" Qua jacet et Trojae tubicen Misenus arena,

Et sonat Herculeo structa labore via."
And Silius Italicus gives a fuller account :

" Ast hie Lucrino mansisse vocabula quondam
Cocyti memorat, medioque in gurgite ponti
Herculeum commendat iter, qua discidit aequor
Amphitryoniades, armenti rector Iberi." — PUNIC, xii. 116.

The lake itself was originally of considerable size, forming the outer, as Avernus
(connected with it by a narrow channel) formed the inner basin of the Julian port.
But a mightier power than that of Hercules curtailed its dimensions. The subter-
raneous eruption of 1538, by which the hill called Monte Nuovo was raised, dis-
placed its waters, and reduced it to its present insignificance.
(5) The Sibyl says,

" Latet arbore opaca,
Aureus et foliis et lento vimine ramus
Junoni infernae dictus sacer : mine tegit omnis
Lucus, et obscuris claudunt convallibus umbrae/' &c. &c.

VIRG. JEx. vi. 136.
(6) " Lucos Stygios, regna invia vivis." — VIRG. ib.

Che non lascio giammai persona viva." — DANTE, INFERN.

N2

158

A RAMBLING CRUISE ALONG THE

And with silver passports, see
Scenes of ancient mystery. X1)
For within that grot profound, (2)

Entrance to "the shades '' of old,
Merry voices oft resound,

Tales of love are often told.
Merry voices that appear
Strange in scene so dark and drear —
Tales that (though unseen the blush)
Bid undoubted life-blood rush
From the bosom to the face
In the quickly-snatched embrace
Such as inmate of the grave
Never yet received or gave.

" Whither, Fancy, hast thou led
One who thought with thee to tread
In a more befitting mood
Shores that bound the Stygian flood ?
Know'st thou not that Charon's bark
In its waters deep and dark
Would at once with mortals sink,
Who of love should dare to think 1 "

" Chide not me," I hear her say,
" Such your thoughts have ever been,

'Midst the revels of the gay,
Or in Nature's wildest scene.
And, if now your muse, indeed,
Seeks, at length for Wisdom's meed,
Think no more on Beauty's daughters,

Lo ! the only means are nigh !
Drink — drink deep of Lethe's
waters, (3)

Ere such novel themes you try."

Slightly of the cup I sip,
Kaised by Fancy to my lip,
Hast'ning through th' Elysian

fields, (4)
Lest th' oblivion that it yields

Should too quickly pass away,
And again my thoughts should stray.
Lest, if I should chance to see
Wand'ring there some Lalage, (*)
And on me the shadow smiled,
By its witcheries beguiled,
Like ^Lneas I should dare
Seek to press the empty air. (a)

But although, fair Fancy, now
Thoughts more serious knit my

brow,

Much I fear me that my song,
Whilst I rove these scenes among, —
E'en with potent aid like thine, —
Never can become " divine." (7)
I have not a Dante's skill
(Raising phantoms at my will)
To review the sins of all
Who obey my muster-call,
And their punishments decide
With inquisitorial pride.
'Tis not mine, with Pagan bard
To dispute on point so hard,
That e'en doctors disagree
(Doctors of divinity !)
On their merits ; nor can tell
If to limbo, or to hell,
Or to purgatory's glow,
Dying babes are doomed to go.
Fancy, what would be our fate
Did we seek to populate
Scenes ourselves on suff 'ranee tread
With a host of modern dead ?
Or audaciously invade
(Passing sentence on each shade)
That tremendous judgment-seat
Where the righteous King of Crete
Drew, at every fatal turn
Of the famed " capacious urn," (8)

(*) A few u carlini " are the lure now successfully thrown out to the " ja-
nitor Orci," who fails not to profess himself as hungry as any Cerberus. The
sudden transition from light to darkness as he enters the grotto, and the close sup-
port and protection which he is bound to afford to his fair and timid companion,
are strong temptations to the enamoured gallant to indulge in conduct such as is
alluded to in the text. (2) The Sibyl's grotto.

(3) There is but one little streamlet in the whole of the pseudo-infernal re-
gions, which must serve the curious stranger, as it probably did Virgil, at once
for Lethe, for Styx, and for Phlegethon.

(4) There was an outlet from the extremity of the Sibyl's grotto into a deep
valley (Virgil's Tartarus — why not?), beyond which, again, are "the Elysian
fields," so called by universal consent. The reader is supposed to have followed
this route, though the visiter to the spot would doubtless prefer a less scrambling
but more circuitous one.

(5) " Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,

Dulce loquentem." — Hon. OD.

(6) Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum,
Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago

Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima sonano. — VIRO. JEy. vi.

(7) In the " Divina Commedia," Dante seems to me to have led the forces
of " the sublime " into " debateable laud," and therein to have achieved a signal
victory over those of the opposite borderer, u the ridiculous."

(8) " Omne capax movet urna nomen." — HOR. On.

COASTS OF FOS1LYPO AND BALE.

159

Some expectant Pagan's name,

And his future lot decreed
To the fierce Tartarean flame

Or Elysium's flow'ry mead ?
Such attempt would surely rouse
Pluto and his awful spouse
To a tow'ring pitch of rage
Orpheus' self could not assuage;
And their daughters three^1) who stand
Near the throne, at their command
Back to earth, with serpent scourge,
Would our trembling footsteps urge ;
Whilst their ministers of state,
Harpies, on our course would wait,
And the dog with triple yell
Fairly bark us out of hell !

We will not such perils run,

But on yonder rising ground,
Where Anchises' pious son

Cast his eager looks around, (a)
Fancy, we will take our stand ;
Thence, o'er mingled sea and land
Gazing with renew'd delight,
Thou may'st take an easy flight
From the regions of the dead
To the Roman greatness fled.

Where the fisher's humble bark
Seems with lonely wake to mark
The Duilian waters clear, (3)
Gently rippling to the ear,
Other objects to our eyes
At thy bidding quickly rise,
Other sounds our ears assail ; —
Clouds of canvass court the gale,
Warlike galleys in their pride
Dashing spurn the foamy tide,
And around the rock-girt shores
Echo twice ten thousand oars !

Haply, 'tis the fleet that, led

By Duilius to the fii>ht,
First bade Roman eagles spread

Seaward their victorious flight.
Haply his whose merits claim
Praises dearer still to fame,
Pliny's self, the warrior-sage,
Doom'd to perish by the rage
Of yon mount that rears its head
Proudly o'er the buried dead.

Have we left Italians soil ?(4)

And is this some Saxon fane
Rifled of its costly spoil

In the British Henry's reign,
But whose massive arches still
Brave a sterner tyrant's will,
And e'en Time itself defy,
Strong in their simplicity ?
Fancy, thou, indeed, might'st here
Picture shrines, and monkish gear,
Votive off'rings on the wall,

And in the remoter shade

Some devout and white-robed maid
Seeking the confessional.
But the nymph who (legends tell)
Loves to linger in a well
Here, at least, must reign supreme. —
Truth, dispelling Fancy's dream,
Tells that from the liquid store
Held within these vaults, of yore,
Roman navies were supplied
With the cool refreshing tide.

Nor did warlike hosts alone
This fair region's merits own ; —
The luxurious and the gay
Sought no less the favour'd bay.
Hither 'twas Lucullus brought (5)
(Tired of each ambitious thought)

(') The Furies.

(2) The rising ground near the modern village of Bauli commands a view,
not only of the Elysian fields, but of an extensive prospect unrivalled for picturesque
beauty and interesting associations. It was to this spot, OF COURSE, that the po-
lite shade of Musaeus conducted ^Eaeas and the Sibyl, when they applied to him for
assistance in their search, for Anchises.

" Sed vos," says he, u si fert ita corde voluntas,
Hoc superate jugum ; et facili jam tramite sistam.
Dixit, et ante tulit gressum, camposque nitentes
Desuper ostentat." — VIRG. Ma. vi.

(3) The " Portus Duilius," now called the " Mare mortuo.'' Duilius, the
founder of the port, was the first Roman who was honoured by a " triumph" for a
naval victory.

(4) The reader is here supposed to be visiting the reservoir called the " Pis-
cina mirabile."

(5) Lucullus, like Cicero, had many villas ; and many, if tradition is to be
credited, near this identical spot. Of these, however, the principal one was that
situated on the height of Misenum, to which Phaedrus thus alludes, in words which
seem to mark its locality :

" Caesar Tiberius quum petens Neapolim
In Misenensem villam venisset suam,
Quae monte summo posita Luctilli manti

Prospectat Siculum et prospicit Tusculum mare." — 11 FAB. 3G.
This villa, or its site at least, was first possessed by C. Marius. It was afterwards

160

A RAMBLING CRUISE.

Boundless riches to expend ,
Seeking for the wished-for end,
Which the great Gargettian sage (])
Says should all our thoughts engage.
Hither to some cool retreat

Did the proud patricians come,
When the dog-star's noxious heat

Drove them from Imperial Rome.
Hither with his shameless court
Did the tyrant (2) oft resort,
Whose enormities defile
Th' annals of yon lovely isle.
'Midst the cheerful scenes around
Here was heard the hollow sound
Of his hapless victims' woe,
Issuing from the vaults below. (3)
And 'twas here, at length, he fell,

Murder'd by a kindred hand,
His (4) whom he had chosen well (5)

For imperial command,
Since with crimes himself might own
Still was stain'd the purple throne.
There, encroaching on the tide,

Once a splendid villa rose,
Where the monster matricide (6)

(Monster more refined than those)
To his murderM mother gave
All the honours of the grave. (")

But 'tis time to change the view ;
For with sunset's glowing hue
Milder beams have blended now,

Baffling our imperfect sight —
Like the streaks of Iris* bow —

To divide the mingled light.
Westward, 'tis the God of Day
Gilds the sea with parting ray ;
Eastward, 'tis his sister queen
Silvers o'er the mountain scene ;•—
But can any mortal eye
The mysterious point descry
In the airy vault above
Where they meet in kindred love ?

purchased by Lucullus, and subsequently passed into the hands of the emperors.
Oa the submission of the last of these to the conqueror Odoacer, it was made the
prison of Romulus Augustulus, the miserable degrader of time-honoured names.

(') Epicurus. (2) Tiberius.

(3) The subterranean vaults called the "cento camarelle " are said to have been
used as dungeons by the tyrant Tiberius. (4) Caligula's.

(5) Caligula was chosen by Tiberius as bis successor, in consideration of his
vices, and be did honour to the choice. He was strongly suspected of having
hastened the death of Tiberius by suffocation. (6) Nero.

(7) A ruin called Agrippiua's tomb is shown on the beach near Bauli.

(*) That learned and elegant writer, Forsythe, declares that this was no
temple. He is probably right ; but It is not always agreeable to be so.

Deeds that darken hist'ry's page
Should not now our thoughts engage.
Haste we to that ancient pile,

Wherethrough arch with ivy bound,
Ev'ning's star is seen to smile

On the ruin'd walls around.
Well may Venus o'er the site
Hover still with fav'ring light,
And, in spite of learned frown, (8)
Claim the precincts as her own ;
For in those more prosp'rous days,

Ere her myst'ries were forgot,
Never did her vot'ries raise

Altars in a lovelier spot.
And e'en now her genial power,
Aided by the scene and hour,
To my mind recals the theme,
Check'd awhile by Lethe's stream.
Shall I venture here to tell
Of the chances that befel
Gentle Lydia", ere she pray'd
To the goddess for her aid ?
Or shall I reserve the tale
Till again we homeward sail ?
Better so ; for, as we gaze

On the distant mountain's height,
Stronger grow the silvery rays,

Till at length the Queen of Night,
Rising there in all her pride,

Sheds her radiance o'er the tide.
Let us then the shore forsake,
And our homeward progress make
O'er a shining path, that seems
Bright as youth's most sanguine dreams
Ere misfortune's envious cloud
Comes too quickly to enshroud
All those false or borrow'd rays
Of ambition, hope, and praise,
Which, upon its prospects thrown,
Lend them brilliance not their own.
(Xb be continued.')

161

A CHAPTER ON HAUNTED HOUSES.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

THE PALACE OF WOODSTOCK.— THE COCK LANE GHOST, &c.

WHO has not either seen or heard of some house, shut up and un-
inhabitable, fallen into decay, and looking dusty and dreary, from
which, at midnight, strange sounds have been heard to issue — aerial
knockings, the rattling of chains, and the groaning of perturbed
spirits ? — a house that people have thought it unsafe to pass after
dark, and which has remained for years without a tenant, and which
no tenant would occupy, even were he paid to do so? There are
hundreds of such houses in England at the present day ; hundreds
in France, Germany, and almost every country of Europe, which
are marked with the mark of fear — places for the timid to avoid,
and the pious to bless themselves at, and ask protection from, as
they pass — the abodes of ghosts and evil spirits. There are many
such houses in London ; and if any vain boaster of the march of in-
tellect would but take the trouble to find them out and count them,
he would be convinced that intellect must yet make some enormous
strides before such old superstitions can be eradicated.

Sir Walter Scott, in his Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft,
tells a story, the hero of which was a gentleman of birth and dis-
tinction, well known in the political world. Shortly after he suc-
ceeded to his title and estates, there was a rumour among the
servants concerning a strange noise that used to be heard at night
in the family mansion, and the cause of which no one could ascertain.
The gentleman resolved to discover it himself, and to watch for that
purpose with a domestic who had grown old in the family, and who,
like the rest, had whispered strange things about the knocking
having begun immediately upon the death of his old master. These
two watched until the noise was heard, and at last traced it to a
small store-room, used as a place for keeping provisions of various
kinds for the family, and of which the old butler had the key. They
entered this place, and remained for some time, without hearing the
noises which they had traced thither. At length the sound was
heard, but much lower than it seemed to be while they were further
off, and their imaginations were more excited. They then discovered
the cause without difficulty. A rat, caught in an old-fashioned trap,
had occasioned the noise by its efforts to escape, in which it was able
to raise the trap-door of its prison to a certain height, but was then
obliged to drop it. The noise of the fall resounding through the
house had occasioned the mysterious rumours, which, but for the
investigation of the proprietor, would, in all probability, have ac-
quired so bad a name for the dwelling that no servants would have
inhabited it. The circumstance was told to Sir Walter Scott by the
gentleman to whom it happened.

One of the best stories of a haunted house is that of the royal
palace of Woodstock, in the year 1649, when the commissioners
sent from London by the Long Parliament to take possession of it,
and efface all the emblems of royalty about it, were fairly driven

162 A CHAPTER ON HAUNTED HOUSES.

out by their fear of the devil and the annoyances they suffered from
a roguish cavalier, who played the imp to admiration. The com-
missioners, dreading at that time no devil, arrived at Woodstock on
the 13th of October 1649. They took up their lodgings in the late
King's apartments — turned the beautiful bedrooms and withdraw-
ing-rooms into kitchens and sculleries — the council-hall into a brew-
house, and made the dining-room a place to keep firewood in.
They pulled down all the insignia of royal state, and treated with
the utmost indignity everything that recalled to their memory the
name or the majesty of Charles Stuart. One Giles Sharp accom-
panied them in the capacity of clerk, and seconded their efforts ap-
parently with the greatest zeal. He aided them to uproot a noble
old tree, merely because it was called the King's Oak, and tossed the
fragments into the dining-room to make cheerful fires for the com-
missioners. During the first two days, they heard some strange
noises about the house, but they paid no great attention to them.
On the third, however, they began to suspect they had got into
bad company ; for they heard, as they thought, a supernatural dog
under their bed, which gnawed their bedclothes. On the next day,
the chairs and tables began to dance, apparently of their own ac-
cord. On the fifth day, something came into the bedchamber and
walked up and down, and fetching the warming-pan out of the with-
drawing-room, made so much noise with it that they thought five
church-bells were ringing in their ears. On the sixth day, the plates
and dishes were thrown up and down the dining-room. On the
seventh, they penetrated into the bedroom in company with several
logs of wood, and usurped the soft pillows intended for the commis-
sioners. On the eighth and ninth nights, there was a cessation of
hostilities ; but on the tenth, the bricks in the chimneys became
locomotive, and rattled and danced about the floors, and round the
heads of the commissioners, all the night long. On the eleventh, the
demon ran away with their breeches ; and on the twelfth filled their
beds so full of pewter-platters that they could not get into them.
On the thirteenth night, the glass became unaccountably seized with
a fit of cracking, and fell into shivers in all parts of the house. On
the fourteenth, there was a noise as if forty pieces of artillery had
been fired oft', and a shower of pebble-stones, which so alarmed the
commissioners that, " struck with great horror, they cried out to one
another for help."

They first of all tried the efficacy of prayers to drive away the
evil spirits ; but these proving unavailing, they began seriously to
reflect whether it would not be much better to leave the place alto-
gether to the devils that inhabited it. They ultimately resolved,
however, to try it a little longer ; and having craved forgiveness of
all their sins, betook themselves to bed. That night they slept in
tolerable comfort, but it was merely a trick of their tormentor to lull
them into false security. When, on the succeeding night, they heard
no noises, they began to flatter themselves that the devil was driven
out, and prepared accordingly to take up their quarters for the
whole winter in the palace. These symptoms on their part became
the signal for renewed uproar among the fiends. On the 1st of
November, they heard something walking with a slow and solemn
pace up and down the withdrawing-room, and immediately after-
wards a shower of stones, bricks, mortar, and broken glass pelted
about their ears. On the 2nd the steps were again heard in the

THE PALACE OF WOODSTOCK. 163

withdrawing-room, sounding to their fancy very much like the
treading of an enormous bear, which continued for about a quarter
of an hour. This noise having ceased, a large warming-pan was
thrown violently upon the table, followed by a number of stones and
the jawbone of a horse. Some of the bold'est walked valiantly into
the withdrawing-room, armed with swords and pistols ; but could
discover nothing. They were afraid that night to go to sleep, and
sat up, making fires in every room, and burning candles and lamps
in great abundance ; thinking that, as the fiends loved darkness,
they would not disturb a company surrounded with so much light.
They were deceived, however : buckets of water came down the
chimneys and extinguished the fires, and the candles were blown
out, they knew not how. Some of the servants who had betaken
themselves to bed were drenched with putrid ditch-water as they
lay ; and arose in great fright, muttering incoherent prayers, and
exposing to the wondering eyes of the commissioners their linen all
dripping with green moisture, and their knuckles red with the blows
they had at the same time received from some invisible tormentors.
While they were still speaking, there was a noise like the loudest
thunder, or the firing of a whole park of artillery ; upon which they
all fell down upon their knees and implored the protection of the
Almighty. One of the commissioners then arose, the others still
kneeling, and asked in a courageous voice, and in the name of God,
who was there, and what they had done that they should be troubled
in that manner. No answer was returned, and the noises ceased for
a while. At length, however, as the commissioners said, "the devil
came again, and brought with it seven devils worse than itself."
Being again in darkness, they lighted a candle and placed it in the
doorway that it might throw a light upon the two chambers at
once ; but it was suddenly blown out, and one commissioner said
that he had " seen the similitude of a horse's hoof striking the can-
dle and candlestick into the middle of the chamber, and afterwards
making three scrapes on the snuff to put it out." Upon this, the
same person was so bold as to draw his sword ; but he asserted po-
sitively that he had hardly withdrawn it from the scabbard before
an invisible hand seized hold of it and tugged with him for it, and
prevailing, struck him so violent a blow with the pommel that he
was quite stunned. Then the noises began again ; upon which,
with one accord, they all retired into' the presence-chamber, where
they passed the night, praying and singing psalms.

They were by this time convinced that it was useless to struggle
any longer with the powers of evil, that seemed determined to make
Woodstock their own. These things happened on the Saturday
night ; and, being repeated on the Sunday, they determined to leave
the place immediately, and return to London. By Tuesday morn-
ing early, all their preparations were completed ; and, shaking the
dust off their feet, and devoting Woodstock and all its inhabitants to
the infernal gods, they finally took their departure.*

Many years elapsed before the true cause of these disturbances
was discovered. It was ascertained, at the Restoration, that the
whole was the work of Giles Sharp, the trusty clerk of the commis-
sioners. This man, whose real name was Joseph Collins, was a con-
cealed royalist, and had passed his early life within the bowers of

* Dr. H. More's Continuation of Glanvil's Collection of Relations in proof of
Witchcraft.

164 A CHAPTER ON HAUNTED HOUSES.

Woodstock ; so that he knew every hole and corner of the place,
and the numerous trap-doors and secret passages that abounded in
the building. The commissioners, never suspecting the true state of
his opinions, but believing him to be revolutionary to the back-bone,
placed the utmost reliance upon him ; a confidence which he abused
in the manner above detailed, to his own great amusement, and that
of the few cavaliers whom he let into the secret.

Quite as extraordinary and as cleverly managed was the trick
played off* at Ted worth, in 1661, at the house of Mr. Mompesson,
and which is so circumstantially narrated by the Rev. Joseph Glan-
vil, under the title of " The Demon of Ted worth/' and appended,
among other proofs of witchcraft, to his noted work, called " Sad-
ducismus Triumphatus." About the middle of April, in the year
above mentioned, Mr. Mompesson, having returned to his house at
Tedworth, from a journey he had taken to London, was informed
by his wife that during his absence they had been troubled with
the most extraordinary noises. Three nights afterwards he heard
the noise himself ; and it appeared to him to be that of " a great
knocking at his doors, and on the outside of his walls." He imme-
diately arose, dressed himself, took down a pair of pistols, and
walked valiantly forth to discover the disturber, under the impres-
sion that it must be a robber : but, as he went, the noise seemed to
travel before or behind him ; and, when he arrived at the door from
which he thought it proceeded, he saw nothing, but still heard " a
strange hollow sound." He puzzled his brains for a long time, and
searched every corner of the house ; but, discovering nothing, he
went to bed again. He was no sooner snug under the clothes, than
the noise began again more furiously than ever, sounding very much
like a " thumping and drumming on the top of his house, and then
by degrees going off into the air."

These things continued for several nights, when it came to the re-
collection of Mr. Mompesson that, some time before, he had given
orders for the arrest and imprisonment of a wandering drummer,
who went about the country with a large drum, disturbing quiet
people and soliciting alms, and that he had detained the man's
drum, and that, probably, the drummer was a wizard, and had sent
evil spirits to haunt his house, to be revenged of him. He became
strengthened in his opinion every day, especially when the noises
assumed, to his fancy, a resemblance to the beating of a drum, " like
that at the breaking up of a guard." Mrs. Mompesson being brought
to bed, the devil, or the drummer, very kindly and considerately re-
frained from making the usual riot ; but, as soon as she recovered
strength, began again " in a ruder manner than before, following
and vexing the young children, and beating their bedsteads with so
much violence that every one expected they would fall in pieces."
For an hour together, as the worthy Mr. Mompesson repeated to his
wondering neighbours, this infernal drummer '• would beat ' Round-
heads and Cuckolds/ the ' Tat-too/ and several other points of war,
as cleverly as any soldier." When this had lasted long enough, he
changed his tactics, and scratched with his iron talons under the
children's bed. " On the 5th of November," says the Rev. Joseph
(ilanvil, "it made a mighty noise ; and a servant, observing two
boards in the children's room seeming to move, he bid it give him
one of them. Upon which the board came (nothing moving it, that
he saw) within a yard of him. The man added, 'Nay, let me have

THE DEMON OF TEDWORTH. 165

it in my hand;' upon which the spirit, devil, or drummer pushed it
towards him so close, that he might touch it. This," continues
Glanvil, " was in the day-time, and was seen by a whole room-full
of people. That morning it left a sulphureous smell behind it, which
was very offensive. At night the minister, one Mr. Cragg, and
several of the neighbours, came to the house on a visit. Mr. Cragg
went to prayers with them, kneeling at the children's bedside, where
it then became very troublesome and loud. During prayer-time, the
spirit withdrew into the cock-loft, but returned as soon as prayers
were done ; and then, in sight of the company, the chairs walked
about the room of themselves, the children's shoes were hurled over
their heads, and every loose thing moved about the chamber. At
the same time, a bed-staff was thrown at the minister, which hit him
on the leg, but so favourably, that a lock of wool could not have
fallen more softly." On another occasion, the blacksmith of the
village, a fellow who cared neither for ghost nor devil, slept
with John the footman, that he also might hear the disturbances,
and be cured of his incredulity, when there " came a noise in the
room, as if one had been shoeing a horse, and somewhat came, as it
were, with a pair of pincers," snipping and snapping at the poor
blacksmith's nose the greater part of the night. Next day it came,
panting like a dog out of breath ; upon which some woman present
took a bed-staff to knock at it, " which was caught suddenly out of
her hand, and thrown away ; and company coming up, the room
was presently filled with a bloomy noisome smell, and was very hot,
though without fire, in a very sharp and severe winter. It continued
in the bed, panting arid scratching for an hour and a half, and then
went into the next room, where it knocked a little, and seemed to
rattle a chain."

The rumour of these wonderful occurrences soon spread all over
the country, and people from far and near flocked to the haunted
house of Tedworth, to believe or doubt, as their natures led them,
but all filled with intense curiosity. It appears, too, that the fame
of these events reached the royal ear, and that some gentlemen
were sent by the King to investigate the circumstances, and draw
up a report of what they saw or heard. Whether the royal com-
missioners were more sensible men than the neighbours of Mr.
Mompesson, and required more clear and positive evidence than
they, or whether the powers with which they were armed to punish
anybody who might be found carrying on this deception, frightened
the evil-doers, is not certain ; but Glanvil himself reluctantly con-
fesses, that all the time they were in the house the noises ceased,
and nothing was heard or seen. " However," says he, " as to the
quiet of the house when the courtiers were there, the intermission
may have been accidental, or perhaps the demon was not willing to
give so public a testimony of those transactions which might pos-
sibly convince those who he had rather should continue in un-
belief of his existence.

As soon as the royal commissioners took their departure, the
infernal drummer recommenced his antics, and hundreds of persons
were daily present to hear ?nd wonder. Mr. Mompesson's servant was
so fortunate as not only to hear, but to see this pertinacious demon ;
for it came and stood at the foot of his bed. The exact shape and
proportion of it he could not discover ; but he saw a great body,
with two red and glaring eyes, which, for some time, were fixed

166 A CHAPTER ON HAUNTED HOUSES.

steadily on him, and at length disappeared." Innumerable were the
antics it played. Once it purred like a cat ; beat the children's legs
black and blue ; put a long spike into Mr. Mompesson's bed, and a
knife into his mother's ; filled the porrengers with ashes ; hid a
Bible under the grate ; and turned the money black in people's
pockets. " One night/' said Mr. Mompesson, " there were seven
or eight of these devils in the shape of men, who, as soon as a gun
was fired, would shuffle away into an arbour;" a circumstance which
might have convinced Mr. Mompesson of the mortal nature of his
persecutors, if he had not been of the number of those worse than
blind, who shut their eyes and refuse to see.

In the mean time the drummer, the supposed cause of all the
mischief, passed his time in Gloucester gaol, whither he had been
committed as a rogue and a vagabond. Being visited one day by
some person from the neighbourhood of Tedworth, he asked what
was the news in Wiltshire, and whether people did not talk a great
deal about a drumming in a gentleman's house there ? The visiter
replied, that he heard of nothing else; upon which the drummer
observed, " I have done it ; I have thus plagued him ! and he shall
never be quiet until he hath made me satisfaction for taking away
my drum." No doubt the fellow, who seems to have been a gipsy,
spoke the truth, and that the gang of which he was a member knew
more about the noises at Mr. Mompesson's house than anybody else.
Upon these words, however, he was brought to trial at Salisbury
for witchcraft ; and, being found guilty, was sentenced to transpor-
tation ; a sentence which, for its leniency, excited no little wonder
in that age, when such an accusation, whether proved or not, gene-
rally insured the stake or the gibbet. Glanvil says, that the noises
ceased immediately the drummer was sent beyond the seas ; but
that, somehow or other, he managed to return from transportation, —
" by raising storms and affrighting the seamen, it was said ;" when
the disturbances were forthwith renewed, and continued at intervals
for several years. Certainly, if the confederates of this roving gipsy
were so pertinacious in tormenting poor weak Mr. Mompesson,
their pertinacity is a most extraordinary instance of what revenge is
capable of. It was believed by many, at the time, that Mr. Mom-
pesson himself was privy to the whole matter, and permitted and
encouraged these tricks in his house for the sake of notoriety ; but
it seems more probable that the gipsies were the real delinquents,
and that Mr. Mompesson was as much alarmed and bewildered as
his credulous neighbours, whose excited imaginations conjured up
no small portion of these stories,

" Which rolled, and, as they rolled, grew larger every hour."

Many instances of a similar kind, during the seventeenth century,
might be gleaned from Glanvil and other writers of that period ; but
they do not differ sufficiently from these to justify a detail of them.
The most famous of all haunted houses acquired its notoriety much
nearer our own time ; and the circumstances connected with it are
so curious, and afford so fair a specimen of the easy credulity even
of well-informed and sensible people, as to merit a little notice in this
chapter. The Cock Lane Ghost, as it was called, kept London in
commotion for a considerable time, and was the theme of conversa-
tion among the learned and the illiterate, and in every circle, from
that of the prince to that of the peasant.

THE COCK LANE GHOST. 167

At the commencement of the year 17GO, there resided in Cock
Lane, near West Smithfield, in the house of one Parsons, the parish
clerk of St. Sepulchre's, a stockbroker, named Kent. The wife of
this gentleman had died in child-bed during the previous year ; and
his sister-in-law, Miss Fanny, had arrived from Norfolk to keep
his house for him. They soon conceived a mutual affection, and
each of them made a will in the other's favour. They lived some
months in the house of Parsons, who, being a needy man, borrowed
money of his lodger. Some differences arose betwixt them, and Mr.
Kent left the house, and instituted legal proceedings against the
parish clerk for the recovery of his money.

While this matter was yet pending, Miss Fanny was suddenly
taken ill of the small-pox ; and, notwithstanding every care and
attention, she died in a few days, and was buried in a vault under
Clerkenwell church. Parsons now began to hint that the poor lady
had come unfairly by her death, and that Mr. Kent was accessory
to it, from his too great eagerness to enter into possession of the pro-
perty she had bequeathed him. Nothing further was said for nearly
two years ; but it would appear that Parsons was of so revengeful a
character, that he had never forgotten or forgiven his differences with
Mr. Kent, and the indignity of having been sued for the borrowed
money. The strong passions of pride and avarice were silently at
work during all that interval, hatching schemes of revenge, but dis-
missing them one after the other as impracticable, until, at last, a
notable one suggested itself. About the beginning of the year 1762,
the alarm was spread over all the neighbourhood of Cock Lane, that
the house of Parsons was haunted by the ghost of poor Fanny, and
that the daughter of Parsons, a girl about twelve years of age, had
several times seen and conversed with the spirit, who had, moreover,
informed her, that she had not died of the small-pox, as was cur-
rently reported, but of poison, administered by Mr. Kent. Parsons,
who originated, took good care to countenance these reports ; and,
in answer to numerous inquiries, said his house was every night,
and had been for two years, in fact ever since the death of Fanny,
troubled by a loud knocking at the doors and in the walls. Having
thus prepared the ignorant and credulous neighbours to believe
or exaggerate for themselves what he had told them, he sent for
a gentleman of a higher class in life, to come and witness these
extraordinary occurrences. The gentleman came accordingly, and
found the daughter of Parsons, to whom the spirit alone ap-
peared, and whom alone it answered, in bed, trembling violently,
having just seen the ghost, and been again informed that she had
died from poison. A loud knocking was also heard from every
part of the chamber, which so mystified the not very clear under-
standing of the visiter, that he departed, afraid to doubt and
ashamed to believe, but with a promise to bring the clergyman
of the parish and several other gentlemen on the following day,
to report upon the mystery.

On the following night he returned, bringing with him three cler-
gymen, and about twenty other persons, including two negroes,
when, upon a consultation with Parsons, they resolved to sit up the
whole night, and await the ghost's arrival. It was then explained
by Parsons, that although the ghost would never render itself visible
to anybody but his daughter, it had no objection to answer the ques-
tions that might be put to it by any person present, and that it ex-

1G8 A CHAPTER ON HAUNTED HOUSES.

pressed an affirmation by one knock, a negative by two, and its dis-
pleasure by a kind of scratching. The child was then put into bed
along with her sister, and the clergymen examined the bed and bed-
clothes to satisfy themselves that no trick was played, by knocking
upon any substance concealed among the clothes, as, on the previous
night, the bed was observed to shake violently.

After some hours, during which they all waited with exemplary
patience, the mysterious knocking was heard in the wall, and the
child declared that she saw the ghost of poor Fanny. The follow-
ing questions were then gravely put by the clergyman, through the
medium of one Mary Frazer, the servant of Parsons, and to whom
it was said the deceased lady had been much attached. The an-
swers were in the usual fashion, by a knock or knocks : —

' f Do you make this disturbance on account of the ill usage you
received from Mr. Kent ? " — ' e Yes."

" Were you brought to an untimely end by poison? " — " Yes."

" How was the poison administered, in beer or in purl ? " — " In
purl."

" How long was that before your death ? " — " About three hours."

" Can your former servant, Carrots, give any information about
the poison ? " — " Yes."

" Are you Kent's wife's sister ? " — ' ' Yes."

" Were you married to Kent after your sister's death ? " — " No."

" Was anybody else, besides Kent, concerned in your murder ? "
—"No."

" Can you, if you like, appear visibly to any one ? " — " Yes."

" Will you do so ? "— " Yes."

" Can you go out of this house ? " — " Yes."

"Is it your intention to follow this child about everywhere?"
— " Yes/'

" Are you pleased in being asked these questions ? " — " Yes."

" Does it ease your troubled soul ? " — " Yes."

[Here there was heard a mysterious noise, which some wiseacre
present compared to the fluttering of wings.]

" How long before your death did you tell your servant, Carrots,
that you were poisoned ? — An hour ? " — " Yes."

QCarrots, who was present, was appealed to ; but she stated po-
sitively that such was not the fact, as the deceased was quite speech-
less an hour before her death. This shook the faith of some of the
spectators, but the examination was allowed to continue.]

" How long did Carrpts live with you ? " — " Three or four days."

[Carrots was again appealed to, and said that this was true.]

" If Mr. Kent is arrested for this murder, will he confess ? "—
" Yes."

" Would your soul be at rest if he were hanged for it ? " — " Yes."

" Will he be hanged for it ? "— " Yes."

" How long a time first ? " — " Three years."

" How many clergymen are there in this room ? "— •" Three."

" How many negroes ? " — " Two."

" Is this watch (held up by one of the clergymen) white ? " — " No."

" Is it yellow ? " — " No."

" Is it blue ? "— " No."

" Is it black ? "— •" Yes."

[The watch was in a black shagreen case.]

" At what time this morning will you take your departure ? "

THE COCK LANE GHOST. 169

The answer to this question was four knocks, very distinctly
heard by every person present; and accordingly, at four o'clock
precisely, the ghost took its departure to the Wheatsheaf public-
house, close by, where it frightened mine host and his lady almost
out of their wits by knocking in the ceiling right above their bed.

The rumour of these occurrences very soon spread over London,
and every day Cock Lane was rendered impassable by the crowds
of people who assembled around the house of the parish clerk, in
expectation of either seeing the ghost or of hearing the mysterious
knocks. It was at last found necessary, so clamorous were they
for admission within the haunted precincts, to admit those only who
would pay a certain fee, an arrangement which was very convenient
to the needy and money-loving Mr. Parsons. Indeed, things had
taken a turn greatly to his satisfaction ; he not only had his revenge,
but he made a profit out of it. The ghost, in consequence, played
its antics every night, to the great amusement of many hundreds of
people, and the great perplexity of a still greater number.

Unhappily, however, for the parish clerk, the ghost was induced
to make some promises which were the means of utterly destroying
its reputation. It promised, in answer to the questions of the Reve-
rend Mr. Aldritch of Clerkenwell, that it would not only follow the
little Miss Parsons wherever she went, but would also attend him,
or any other gentleman, into the vault under St. John's church,
where the body of the murdered woman was deposited, and would
there give notice of its presence by a distinct knock upon the coffin.
As a preliminary, the girl was conveyed to the house of Mr. Aldritch
near the church, where a large party of ladies and gentlemen, emi-
nent for their acquirements, their rank, or their wealth, had assem-
bled. About ten o'clock on the night of the 1st of February, the
girl, having been brought from Cock Lane in a coach, was put to
bed by several ladies in the house of Mr. Aldritch, a strict exami-
nation having been previously made that nothing was hidden in the
bedclothes. While the gentlemen, in an adjoining chamber, were
deliberating whether they should proceed in a body to the vault,
they were summoned into the bedroom by the ladies, who affirmed,
in great alarm, that the ghost was come, and that they heard the
knocks and scratches. The gentlemen entered accordingly, with a
determination to suffer no deception. The little girl, on being asked
whether she saw the ghost, replied, •" No ; but she felt it on her
back like a mouse." She was then required to put her hands out
of bed, and, they being held by some of the ladies, the spirit was
summoned in the usual manner to answer, if it were in the room.
The question was several times put with great solemnity ; but the
customary knock was not heard in reply in the walls, neither was
there any scratching. The ghost was then asked to render itself
visible, but it did not choose to grant the request. It was next so-
licited to give some token of its presence by a sound of any sort, or
by touching the hand or cheek of any lady or gentleman in the
room ; but even with this request the ghost would not comply.

There was now a considerable pause, and one of the clergymen
went down-stairs to interrogate the father of the girl, who was
waiting the result of the experiment. He positively denied that
there was any deception, and even went so far as to say that he him-
self, upon one occasion, had seen and conversed with the awful
ghost. This having been communicated to the company, it was

170 A CHAPTER ON HAUNTED HOUSES.

unanimously resolved to give the ghost another trial ; and the cler-
gyman called out in a loud voice to the supposed spirit that the gen-
tleman to whom it had promised to appear in the vault was about
to repair to that place, where he claimed the fulfilment of its pro-
mise. At one hour after midnight they all proceeded to the church,
and the gentleman in question, with another, entered the vault alone,
and took up their position alongside of the coffin of poor Fanny.
The ghost was then summoned to appear, but it appeared not ; it
was summoned to knock, but it knocked not ; it was summoned to
scratch, but it scratched not ; and the two retired from the vault,
with the firm belief that the whole business was a deception prac-
tised by Parsons and his daughter. There were others, however,
who did not wish to jump so hastily to a conclusion, and who sug-
gested that they were, perhaps, trifling with this awful and super-
natural being, which, being offended with them for their presump-
tion, would not condescend to answer them. Again, after a serious
consultation, it was agreed on all hands that, if the ghost answered
anybody at all, it would answer Mr. Kent, the supposed murderer ;
and he was accordingly requested to go down into the vault. He
went with several others, and summoned the ghost to answer whe-
ther he had indeed poisoned her. There being no answer, the
question was put by Mr. Aldritch, who conjured it, if it were in-
deed a spirit, to end their doubts — make a sign of its presence, .and
point out the guilty person. There being still no answer for the
space of half an hour, during which time all these boobies waited
with the most praiseworthy perseverance, they returned to the
house of Mr. Aldritch, and ordered the girl to get up and dress
herself. She was strictly examined, but persisted in her statement
that she used no deception, and that the ghost had really appeared
to her.

So many persons had, by their openly expressed belief of the re-
ality of the visitation, identified themselves with it, that Parsons and
his family were far from being the only persons interested in the
continuance of the delusion. The result of the experiment convinced
most people ; but these were not to be convinced by any evidence,
however positive, and they therefore spread about the rumour that
the ghost had not appeared in the vault because Mr. Kent had taken
care beforehand to have the coffin removed. That gentleman, whose
position was a very painful one, immediately procured competent
witnesses, in whose presence the vault was entered, and the coffin of
poor Fanny opened. Their deposition was then published; and
Mr. Kent indicted Parsons and his wife, his daughter, Mary Frazer,
the servant, the Reverend Mr. Moor, and a tradesman, two of the
most prominent patrons of the deception, for a conspiracy. The
trial came on in the Court of King's Bench, on the 10th of July,
before Lord Chief-Justice Mansfield, when, after an investigation
which lasted twelve hours, the whole of the conspirators were found
guilty. The Reverend Mr. Moor and his friend were severely re-
primanded in open court, and recommended to make some pecu-
niary compensation to the prosecutor for the aspersions they had
been instrumental in throwing upon his character. Parsons was
sentenced to stand three times in the pillory, and to be imprisoned
for two years: his wife to one year's, and his servant to six month's
imprisonment in the Bridewell. A printer, who had been employed

THE COCK LANE GHOST. 171

by them to publish an account of the proceedings for their profit,
was also fined fifty pounds, and discharged.

The precise manner in which the deception was carried on has
never been explained. The knocking in the wall appears to have
been the work of Parson's wife, while the scratching part of the
business was left to the little girl. That any contrivance so clumsy
could have deceived anybody, cannot fail to excite our wonder.
But thus it always is. If two or three persons can only be found
to take the lead in any absurdity, however great, there is sure to be
plenty of imitators. Like sheep in a field, if one clears the stile,
the rest will follow.

About ten years afterwards, London was again alarmed by the
story of a haunted house. Stockwell, near Vauxhall, the scene of
the antics of this new ghost, became almost as celebrated in the
annals of superstition as Cock Lane. Mrs. Golding, an elderly
lady, who resided alone with her servant, Anne Robinson, was
sorely surprised on the evening of Twelfth-Day, 1772, to observe a
most extraordinary commotion among her crockery. Cups and
saucers rattled down the chimney — pots and pans were whirled
down stairs, or through the windows; and hams, cheeses, and
loaves of bread disported themselves upon the floor as if the devil
were in them. This, at least, was the conclusion that Mrs. Golding
came to ; and being greatly alarmed, she invited some of her neigh-
bours to stay with her, and protect her from the evil one. Their
presence, however, did not put a stop to the insurrection of china,
and every room in the house was in a short time strewed with the
fragments. The chairs and tables joined, at last, in the tumult,
and things looked altogether so serious and inexplicable, that the
neighbours, dreading that the house itself would next be seized
with a fit of motion, and tumble about their ears, left poor Mrs.
Golding to bear the brunt of it by herself. The ghost in this case
was solemnly remonstrated with, and urged to take its departure ; but
the demolition continuing as great as before, Mrs. Golding finally
made up her mind to quit the house altogether. She took refuge
with Anne Robinson in the house of a neighbour ; but his glass and
crockery being immediately subjected to the same persecution, he was
reluctantly compelled to give her notice to quit. The old lady, thus
forced back to her own house, endured the disturbance for some
days longer, when suspecting that Anne Robinson was the cause of
all the mischief, she dismissed her from her service. The extra-
ordinary appearances immediately ceased, and were never after-
wards renewed ; a fact which is of itself sufficient to point out the
real disturber. A long time afterwards, Anne Robinson confessed
the whole matter to the Reverend Mr. Brayfield. This gentleman
confided the story to Mr. Hone, who has published an explanation
of the mystery. Anne, it appears, was anxious to have a clear
house, to carry on an intrigue with her lover, and resorted to this
trick to effect her purpose. She placed the china on the shelves in
such a manner that it fell on the slightest motion, and attached
horse-hairs to other articles, so that she could jerk them down from
an adjoining room without being perceived by any one. She was
exceedingly dexterous at this sort of work, and would have proved a
formidable rival to many a juggler by profession.

VOL. vn. o

172
THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE.

BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY.

ODILLE was a maid of a dignified race;
Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace ;

Such an air, such a grace,

Such a form, such a face,

All agreed 'twere a fruitless endeavour to trace
In the Court, or within fifty miles of the place.
Many ladies in Strasburg were beautiful, still
They were beat all to sticks by the lovely Odille.

But Odille was devout, and, before she was nine,

Had " experienced a call " she consider'd divine,

To put on the veil at St. Ermengarde's shrine.

Lords, Dukes, and Electors, and Counts Palatine,

Come to seek her in marriage from both sides the Rhine ;

But vain their design,

They are all left to pine,

Their oglings and smiles are all useless ; in fine,
Not one of these gentlefolks, try as they will,
Can draw " Ask my papa" from the cruel Odille.

At length one of her suitors, a certain Count Herman,
A highly-respectable man as a German,
Who smoked like a chimney, and drank like a merman,
Paid his court to her father, conceiving his firman

Would soon make her bend,

And induce her to lend
An ear to a love-tale in lieu of a sermon.
He gained the old Count, who said, " Come, Mynheer, fill !
Here 's luck to yourself and my daughter Odille !"

The lady Odille was quite nervous with fear
When a little bird whispered that toast in her ear ;

She murmur'd "Oh, dear !

My papa has got queer,

I am sadly afraid, with that nasty strong beer !
He 's so very austere, and severe, that it 's clear
If he gets in his ' tantrums,' I can't remain here;
But St. Ermengarde's convent is luckily near ;

It were folly to stay,

Pour prendre conge,

I shall put on my bonnet, and e'en run away ! "
She unlock' d the back-door, and descended the hill,
On whose crest stood the towers of the sire of Odille.
When he found she 'd levanted, the Count of Alsace
At first turn'd remarkably red in the face ;
He anathematized, with much unction and grace,
Every soul who came near, and consigned the whole race
Of runaway girls to a very warm place.

With a frightful grimace

He gave orders for chase.
His vassals set off at a deuce of a pace,

THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 173

And of all whom they met, high or low, Jack or Jill,
Ask'd, " Pray, have you seen anything of Odille ? "
Now I think I 've been told, — for I 'm no sporting man, —
That the "knowing-ones " call this by far the best plan,
" Take the lead and then keep it ! " — that is if you can.
Odille thought so too, so she set off and ran ;

Put her best leg before,

Starting at score,

As I said some lines since, from that little back door,
And not being missed until half after four,
Had what hunters call " law " for a good hour and more ;

Doing her best,

Without stopping to rest,

Like " young Lochinvar who came out of the West,"
"'Tis done ! I am gone ! — over brier, brook, and rill !
They '11 be sharp lads who catch me ! " said young Miss Odille.
But you 've all read in ^sop, or Phoedrus, or Gay,
How a tortoise and hare ran together one day,

How the hare, " making play,

Progress'd right slick away,"
As " them tarnation chaps " the Americans say ;
While the tortoise, whose figure is rather outre
For racing, crawled straight on, without let or stay,
Having no post-horse duty, or turnpikes to pay,

Till ere noon's ruddy ray

Chang'd to eve's sober grey,
Though her form and obesity caused some delay,
Perseverance and patience brought up her lee-way,
And she chased her fleet-footed " praycursor," until
She o'ertook her at last ; — so it fared with Odille.

For although, as I said, she ran gaily at first,

And show'd no inclination to pause, if she durst;

She at length felt opprest with the heat, and with thirst

Its usual attendant ; nor was that the worst,

Her shoes went down at heel ; at last one of them burst.

Now a gentleman smiles

At a trot of ten miles ;

But not so the Fair ; then consider the stiles,
And as then ladies seldom wore things with a frill
Round the ancle, these stiles sadly bother'd Odille.

Still, despite all the obstacles placed in her track,

She kept steadily on, though the terrible crack

In her shoe made of course her progression more slack,

Till she reached the Swartz Forest (in English The Black),

Though I cannot divine

How the boundary line
Was passed which is somewhere there formed by the Rhine.

Perhaps she 'd the nack

To float o'er on her back,

Or perhaps crossed the old bridge of boats at Brisach
(Which Vauban some years after secured from attack,

o2

174 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE.

By a bastion of stone, which the Germans call " Wacke").

All I know is, she took not so much as a snack,

Till hungry and worn, feeling wretchedly ill,

On a mountain's brow sank down the weary Odille.

I said on " its brow/' but I should have said " crown,"

For 'twas quite on the summit, bleak, barren, and brown,

And so high that 'twas frightful indeed to look down

Upon Friburg, a place of some little renown,

That lay at its foot ; but imagine the frown

That contracted her brow, when full many a clown

She perceived coming up from that horrid post town.

They had followed her trail,

And now thought without fail,
As little boys say, to " lay salt on her tail ; "
While the Count, who knew no other law but his will,
Swore that Herman that evening should marry Odille.

Alas, for Odille ; poor dear ! what could she do ?
Her father's retainers now had her in view,
As she found from their raising a joyous halloo ;
While the Count, riding on at the head of his crew.
In their snuff-coloured doublets and breeches of blue,
Was huzzaing and urging them on to pursue.

What indeed, could she do?

She very well knew

If they caught her how much she should have to go through
But then — she 'd so shocking a hole in her shoe I
And to go further on was impossible; — true
She might jump o'er the precipice ; still there are few
In her place who could manage their courage to screw
Up to bidding the world such a sudden adieu :
Alack I how she envied the birds as they flew ;
No Nassau balloon with its wicker canoe
Came to bear her from him she loathed worse than a Jew !
So she fell on her knees in a terrible stew,

Crying " Holy St. Ermengarde !

Oh, from these vermin guard
Her whose last hope rests entirely on you !
Don't let papa catch me, dear Saint ! — rather kill
At once, sur le champ, your devoted Odille ! "

It 's delightful to see those who strive to oppress

Get baulk'd when they think themselves sure of success.

The Saint came to the rescue ! I fairly confess

I don't see, as a Saint, how she well could do less

Than to get such a votary out of her mess.

Odille had scarce closed her pathetic address

When the rock, gaping wide as the Thames at Sheerness,

Closed again, and secured her within its recess,

In a natural grotto,

Which puzzled Count Otto,

Who could not conceive where the deuce she had got to.
Twas her voice ! — but 'twas Vox et prceterea Nil!
Nor could any one guess what was gone with 0 dille.

THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE. 175

Then burst from the mountain a splendour that quite

Eclipsed in its brilliance the finest Bude light,

And there stood St. Ermengarde drest all in white,

A palm-branch in her left hand, her beads in her right;

While with faces fresh gilt, and with wings burnish'd bright,

A great many little boys' heads took their flight

Above and around to a very great height,

And seem'd pretty lively considering their plight,

Since every one saw,

With amazement and awe,
They could never sit down, for they hadn't de quoi.

All at the sight,

From the knave to the knight,
Felt a very unpleasant sensation call'd fright ;

While the Saint, looking down,

With a terrible frown,

Said, " My Lords, you are done most remarkably brown I —
I am really ashamed of you both ; my nerves thrill
At your scandalous conduct to poor dear Odille !

Come, make yourselves scarce ! it is useless to stay,

You will gain nothing here by a longer delay.

' Quick I Presto ! Begone ! ' as the conjurors say ;

For as to the lady, I 've stow'd her away

In this hill, in a stratum of London blue clay ;

And I shan't, I assure you, restore her to-day

Till you faithfully promise no more to say Nay,

But declare, * If she will be a nun, why she may.'

For this you 've my word, and I never yet broke it,

So put that in your pipe, my Lord Otto, and smoke it! —

One hint to your vassals,— a month at ' the Mill '

Shall be nuts to what they '11 get who worry Odille ! "

The Saint disappear'd as she ended, and so

Did the little boys' heads, which, above and below,

As I told you a very few stanzas ago,

Had been flying about her, and jumping Jem Crow ;

Though, without any body, or leg, foot, or toe,

How they managed such antics, I really don't know ;

Be that as it may, they all " melted like snow

Off a dyke," as the Scotch say in sweet Edinbro',

And there stood the Count,

With his men on the mount,
Just like " twenty-four jackasses all in a row."
What was best to be done ? — 'twas a sad bitter pill ;
But gulp it he must, or else lose his Odille.

The lord of Alsace therefore alter'd his plan,

And said to himself, like a sensible man,

" I can't do as I would, — I must do as I can ;"

It will not do to lie under any Saint's ban,

For your hide, when you do, they all manage to tan ;

So Count Herman must pick up some Betsey or Nan,

Instead of my girl, — some Sue, Polly, or Fan ; —

If he can't get the corn he must do with the bran,

And make shift with the pot if he can't have the pan.

176 THE LAY OF ST. ODILLE.

After words such as these

He went down on his knees,

And said, " Blessed St. Ermengarde, just as you please —
They shall build a new convent, — I '11 pay the whole bill,
(Taking discount,) its Abbess shall be my Odille 1 "

There are some of my readers, I '11 venture to say,

Who have never seen Friburg, though some of them may,

And others 'tis likely may go there some day.

Now if ever you happen to travel that way,

I do beg and pray, — 'twill your pains well repay, —

That you'll take what the Cockney folks call a ' po-shay '

(Though in Germany these things are more like a dray);

You may reach this same hill with a single relay, —

And do look how the rock,

Through the whole of its block,
Is split open as though by some violent shock
From an earthquake, or lightning, or horrid hard knock
From the club-bearing fist of some jolly old cock
Of a Germanized giant, Thor, Woden, or Lok ;

And see how it rears

Its two monstrous great ears,

For when once you 're between them such each side appears ;
And list to the sound of the water one hears
Drip, drip from the fissures, like rain-drops or tears :
— Odille' s, I believe, — which have flowed all these years ;
— I think they account for them so ; — but the rill
I 'm sure is connected some way with Odille.

MORAL.

Now then for a moral, which always arrives
At the end, like the honey-bees take to their hives,
And the more one observes it the better one thrives. —
We have all heard it said in the course of our lives,
" Needs must when a certain old gentleman drives,"
'Tis the same with a lady, — if once she contrives
To get hold of the ribands, how vainly one strives
To escape from her lash, or to shake off her gyves.
Then let 's act like Count Otto, and while one survives
Succumb to our She-Saints — videlicet wives.

(Aside.)

That is if one has not a " good bunch of fives." —
(I can't think how that last line escaped from my quill,
For I am sure it has nothing to do with Odille.)
Now young ladies to you ! —
Don't put on the shrew !

And don't be surprised if your father looks blue
When you 're pert, and won't act as he wants you to do !
Be sure that you never elope ; — there are few, —
Believe me you '11 find what I say to be true, —
Who run restive, but find as they bake they must brew,
And come off at the last with "a hole in their shoe;"
Since not even Clapham, that sanctified ville,
Can produce enough Saints to save every Odille.

ANECDOTES OF FLEET MARRIAGES.

MRS. FORESIGHT. — Married ! How ?

TATTLE. — Suddenly, before we knew we were — that villain, Jeremy ! It is the
most cruel thing to marry one does not know how, nor why, nor wherefore.

CONGREVE.

IF it be true that " one-half of the world knows not how t' other
lives," it is equally certain that the greater part of the people in one
century can form not the slightest idea of the manner of their coun-
trymen and countrywomen in that which preceded it. It is scarcely a
hundred years ago when the novels and dramas of the day contained
dialogues and scenes, perused, witnessed, and talked of, by the young
and the old in all classes of life, which at present would not only be in-
tolerable, but would subject their writers to the punishment of the law.
There is not a single work of Fielding, Smollett, Sterne, or even Rich-
ardson, which could now be read aloud in a family having the slightest
pretensions to decency ; nor could any one of the plays of Wycherly,
Congreve, Farquhar, Vanbrugh, or Mrs. Centlivre, (to say nothing of
the abominations in the comedies of Dryden, Southern, Otway, and
Mrs. Behn,) be represented on the stage without very numerous ex-
purgations in every scene. Yet these very works, wherein, among
other offences, marriage was laughed to scorn, and connubial infidelity
held up to admiration, formed the pastime of our grandfathers ancl
grandmothers, who, nevertheless, and as a great wonder, do not appear
to have been less discreet and virtuous than ourselves. Still the change
from open grossness to purity of manner has been of valuable service in
casting a grace over our social life, and in saving youth of both sexes
from the confusion and pain always occasioned by the first contact with
undisguised indecorum. Much of this good has been attributed
to the writers in the Spectator and the Tatler; but, though the
essays of Addison are comparatively pure, and though the comedies
of Steele are almost free from offences against a proper taste, it is ne-
vertheless apparent in the practice of succeeding popular writers that
the evil was but imperfectly remedied. The " snake was scotch'd, not
killed." Decorum is, after all, but a very modern affair, and can date
no further back than the reign of George III, whose strict adherence
to the proprieties, aided by the tone which Goldsmith, and still more,
Johnson, gave to literature, brought decency into fashion, and rendered
for ever infamous the indelicate sallies of wit, and the scandalous levity
with which the most sacred obligations were treated.

Among the singular customs of our forefathers, arising in great mea-
sure from their indifference to decorum, one of the most remarkable
was matrimony, solemnized we were going to say, but the fittest word
would be, " performed " by the parsons in the Fleet prison. These
clerical functionaries were disreputable and dissolute men, mostly pri-
soners for debt, who, to the great injury of public morals, dared to in-
sult the dignity of their holy profession, by marrying in the precincts
of the Fleet prison, and at a minute's notice, any persons who might
present themselves for that purpose. No questions were asked ; no
stipulations made except as to the amount of the fee for the service,
or the quantity of liquor to be swallowed on the occasion. It not unfro-
quently happened, indeed, that the clergyman, the clerk, the bride-

178 ANECDOTES OF

groom, and the bride, were drunk at the very time the ceremony was
performed. These disgraceful members of the sacred calling had their
" plyers," or " barkers," who, if they caught sight of a man and woman
walking together along the streets of the neighbourhood, pestered them
as the Jew clothesmen in the present day tease the passers-by in Holy-
well-Street, with solicitations, not easily to be shaken otF, as to whether
they wanted a clergyman to marry them. Mr. Burn, a gentleman
who has recently published a curious work on the Fleet Registers, says
he has in his possession an engraving (published about 1747>) of "A
Fleet Wedding between a brisk young Sailor and Landlady's daughter
at Rederiff." " The print," he adds, " represents the old Fleet market
and prison, with the sailor, landlady, and daughter, just stepping from
a hackney-coach, while two Fleet parsons in canonicals are contending
for the job. The following verses are in the margin :

" Scarce had the coach discharg'd its trusty fare,
But gaping crowds surround th' amorous pair ;
The busy Flyers make a mighty stir,
And whisp'ring cry, D'ye want the Parson, Sir ?
Pray step this way — just to the Pen in Hand,
The Doctor's ready there at your command :
This way (another cries), Sir, I declare,
The true and ancient Register is here :

"Th* alarmed Parsons quickly hear the din,
And haste with soothing words t* invite 'em in :
In this confusion jostled to and fro,
Th' inamour'd couple know not where to go ;
Till slow advancing from the coaches side,
ThJ experienc'd matron came, (an artful guide,)
She led the way without regarding either,
And the first Parson splic'd 'em both together."

One of the most notorious of these scandalous officials was a man of
the name of George Keith, a Scotch minister, who, being in desperate
circumstances, set up a marriage-office in May-Fair, and subsequently
in the Fleet, and carried on the same trade which has since been prac-
tised in front of the blacksmith's anvil at Gretna-Green. This man's
wedding-business was so extensive and so scandalous, that the Bishop
of London found it necessary to excommunicate him. It has been said
of this person and " his journeyman," that one morning, during the
Whitsun holidays, they united a greater number of couples than had
been married at any ten churches within the bills of mortality. Keith
lived till he was eighty-nine years of age, and died in 1735. The Rev.
Dr. Gaynham, another infamous functionary, was familiarly called the
Bishop of Hell.

" Many of the early Fleet weddings," observes Mr. Burn, " were
really performed at the chapel of the Fleet ; but as the practice ex-
tended, it was found more convenient to have other places, with the
Rules of the Fleet, (added to which, the Warden was compelled by act
of parliament not to suffer them,) and, thereupon, many of the Fleet
parsons and tavern-keepers in the neighbourhood, fitted up a room in
their respective lodgings or houses as a chapel ! The parsons took the
fees, allowing a portion to the plyers, &c. ; and the tavern-keepers, be-
sides sharing in the fees, derived a profit from the sale of liquors which
the wedding- party drank. In some instances the tavern-keepers kept
a parson on the establishment, at a weekly salary of twenty shillings !

FLEET MARRIAGES. 179

Most of the taverns near the Fleet kept their own registers, in which (as
well as in their own books) the parsons entered the weddings." Some
of these scandalous members of the highest of all professions were in
the habit of hanging signs out of their windows with the words '* WED-
DINGS PERFORMED CHEAP HERE."

Keith, of whom we have already spoken, seems to have been a bare-
faced profligate ; but there is something exceedingly affecting in the
stings of conscience and forlorn compunction of one Walter Wyatt, a
Fleet parson, in one of whose pocket-books of 1716, are the following
secret (as he intended them to be) outpourings of remorse : —

" Give to every man his due, and learn ye way of Truth."

"This advice cannot be taken by those that are concerned in ye Fleet
marriages ; not so much as ye Priest can do ye thing yl it is just and
right there, unless he designs to starve. For by lying, bullying, and
swearing, to extort money from the silly and unwary people, you ad-
vance your business and gets ye pelf, which always wastes like snow
in sun shiney day."

" The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. The marrying
in the Fleet is the beginning of eternal woe."

" If a clerk or plyer tells a lye, you must vouch it to be as true as
ye Gospel, and if disputed, you must affirm with an oath to ye truth of
a downright damnable falsehood. — Virtus laudatur & algetV*

" May God forgive me what is past, and give me grace to forsake
such a wicked place, where truth and virtue can't take place unless
you are resolved to starve."

But alas, for the weakness of human nature ! This very man, whose
sense of his own disgrace was so deep, and apparently so contrite, was
one of the most notorious, active, and money-making of all the Fleet
parsons. His practice was chiefly in taverns, and he has been known
to earn nearly sixty pounds in less than a month.

With such facilities for marriage, and with such unprincipled minis-
ters, it may easily be imagined that iniquitous schemes of all sorts
were perpetrated under the name of Fleet weddings. The parsons
were ready, for a bribe, to make false entries in their registers, to ante-
date weddings, to give fictitious certificates, and to marry persons who
would declare only the initials of their names. Thus, if a spinster or
widow in debt desired to cheat her creditors by pretending to have
been married before the debt was contracted, she had only to present
herself at one of the marriage-houses in the Fleet, and upun payment
of a small additional fee to the clergyman, a man could instantly be
found on the spot to act as bridegroom for a few shillings, and the
worthless chaplain could find a blank place in his Register for any
year desired, so that there was no difficulty in making the necessary
record. They would also, for a consideration, obliterate any given en-
try. The sham bridegrooms, under different names, were married over
and over again, with the full knowledge of the clerical practitioners.
If, in other instances, a libertine desired to possess himself of any

* " On Saturday last a Fleet parson was convicted before Sir Ric. Brocas of
forty-three oaths, (on the information of a plyer for weddings there,) for which a
warrant was granted to levy 41. 6s. on the goods of the said parson ; but, upon ap-
plication to his Worship, he was pleased to remit Is. per oath; upon which the
plyer swore he would swear no more against any man upon the like occasion, find-
ing he could get nothing by it." — Grub Street Journal, 20 July, 1732.

180 ANKCDOTKS OF

young and unsuspecting woman, who would not yield without being
married, nothing was easier than to get the service performed at the
Fleet without even the specification of names ; so that the poor girl
might with impunity be shaken off at pleasure. Or, if a parent found
it necessary to legitimatize his natural children, a Fleet parson could
be procured to give a marriage-certificate at any required date. In fact,
all manner of people presented themselves for marriage at the unholy
dens in the Fleet taverns, — runaway sons and daughters of peers, — •
Irish adventurers and foolish rich widows, — clodhoppers and ladies
from St. Giles's, — footmen and decayed beauties, soldiers and servant-
girls, — boys in their teens and old women of seventy, — discarded mis-
tresses, " given away " by their former admirers to pitiable and sordid
bridegrooms, — night-wanderers and intoxicated apprentices, — men and
women having already wives and husbands, — young heiresses conveyed
thither by force, and compelled, in terrorem, to be brides, — and com-
mon labourers, and female paupers, dragged by parish-officers to the
profane altar, stained by the relics of drunken orgies, and reeking with
the fumes of liquor and tobacco ! Nay, it sometimes happened that
the "contracting parties" would send from houses of vile repute for a
Fleet parson, who could readily be found to attend even in such places,
and under such circumstances, and there unite the couple in matri-
mony !

Of what were called the " Parish Weddings," it is impossible to
speak in terms of sufficient reprobation. Many of the churchwardens
and overseers of that day were in the frequent practice of "getting
up " marriages in order to throw their paupers on neighbouring pa-
rishes. For example, in the Daily Post of the 4th July, 1741, is the
following paragraph : —

" On Saturday last, the churchwardens for a certain parish in the
city, in order to remove a load from their own shoulders, gave forty
shillings, and paid the expense of a Fleet marriage, to a miserable
blind youth, known by the name of Ambrose Tally, who plays on the
violin in Moorfields, in order to make a settlement on the wife and
future family in Shoreditch parish. To secure their point, they sent a
parish-officer to see the ceremony performed. One cannot but admire
the ungenerous proceeding of this city parish, as well as their unjusti-
fiable abetting and encouraging an irregularity so much and so justly
complained of, as these Fleet matches. Invited and uninvited were a
great number of poor wretches, in order to spend the bride's parish
fortune." ,

In the Grub Street Journal for 1735 is the following letter, faith-
fully describing, says Mr. Burn, the treachery and low habits of the
Fleet parsons: —

" SIB, — There is a very great evil in this town, and of dangerous
consequence to our sex, that has never been suppressed, to the great
prejudice and ruin of many hundreds of young people every year,
which I beg some of your learned heads to consider of, and consult of
proper ways and means to prevent for the future. I mean the ruinous
marriages that are practised in the liberty of the Fleet and thereabouts,
by a sett of drunken swearing parsons, with their myrmidons, that
wear black coats, and pretend to be clerks and registers to the Fleet.
These ministers of wickedness ply about Ludgate Hill, pulling and
forcing people to some pedling alehouse or a brandy-shop to be mar-
ried, even on a Sunday stopping them as they go to church, and almost

FLEET MARRIAGES. 181

tearing their clothes off their backs. To confirm the truth of these
facts, I will give you a case or two which lately happened.

" Since Midsummer last, a young lady of birth and fortune was de-
luded and forced from her friends, and, by the assistance of a wry-
necked swearing parson, married to an atheistical wretch, whose life is
a continued practice of all manner of vice and debauchery. And since
the ruin of my relation, another lady of my acquaintance had like to
have been trepanned in the following manner. This lady had appointed
to meet a gentlewoman at the Old Playhouse in Drury-lane, but ex-
traordinary business prevented her coming. Being alone when the
play was done, she bade a boy call a coach for the city. One dressed
like a gentleman helps her into it, and jumps in after her. f Madam,'
says he, ' this coach was called for me, and since the weather is so bad,
and there is no other, I beg leave to bear you company I am going
into the city, and will set you down wherever you please.' The lady
begged to be excused ; but he bade the coachman drive on. Being
come to Ludgate Hill, he told her his sister, who waited his coming
but five doors up the court, would go with her in two minutes. He
went, and returned with his pretended sister, who asked her to step in
one minute, and she would wait upon her in the coach. Deluded with
the assurance of having his sister's company, the poor lady foolishly
followed her into the house, when instantly the sister vanished, and a
tawny fellow in a black coat and black wig appeared. ' Madam, you
are come in good time ; the Doctor was just a-going.' — ' The Doctor !'
says she, horribly frighted, fearing it was a madhouse ; ' what has the
Doctor to do with me ? ' — ' To marry you to that gentleman. The
Doctor has waited for you these three hours, and will be payed by you
or that gentleman before you go ! ' — ' That gentleman,' says she, reco-
vering herself, ' is worthy a better fortune than mine,' and begged hard
to be gone. But Doctor Wryneck swore she should be married, or if
she would not, he would still have his fee, and register the marriage
from that night. The lady, finding she could not escape without money
or a pledge, told them she liked the gentleman so well, she would cer-
tainly meet him to-morrow night, and gave them a ring as a pledge,
which, says she, c was my mother's gift on her death-bed, injoining
that, if ever I married it should be my wedding-ring.' By which cun-
ning contrivance she was delivered from the black Doctor and his
tawny crew. Some time after this I went with this lady and her
brother in a coach to Ludgate Hill in the day time, to see the manner
of their picking up people to be married. As soon as our coach stopt
near Fleet Bridge, up comes one of the myrmidons. ' Madam,' says
he, ' you want a parson ? ' — c Who are you ? ' says I. — ' I am the clerk
and register of the Fleet.' — ' Show me the chapel.' At which comes a
second, desiring me to go along with him. Says he, ' That fellow will
carry you to a pedling alehouse/ Says a third, ' Go with me ; he will
carry you to a brandy shop. In the interim comes the Doctor. * Ma-

this in regard to the honour and safety of my own sex : and if for our
sakes you will be so good as to publish it, correcting the errors of a
woman's pen, you will oblige our whole sex, and none more than, sir,
" Your constant reader and admirer,

" VIRTUOUS."

182 ANECDOTES OF

Such are but a few of the iniquities practised by the ministers of the
Fleet. Similar transactions were carried on at the Chapel in May Fair,
the Mint in the Borough, the Savoy, and other places about London,
until the public scandal became so great, especially in consequence of
the marriage at the Fleet of the Hon. Henry Fox with Georgiana Ca-
roline, eldest daughter of the Duke of Richmond, that at length, — not,
however, without much and zealous opposition, — a Marriage Bill was
passed, enacting that any person solemnizing matrimony in any other
than a church or public chapel, without banns or license, should, on
conviction, be adjudged guilty ofjelony, and be transported for four-
teen years, and that all such marriages should be void. This act was
to take effect from the 25th of March, 1754.

Upon the passing of this law, Keith, the parson who has already
been alluded to, published a pamphlet entitled, " Observations on the
Act for Preventing Clandestine Marriages." To this he prefixed his
portrait. The following passages are highly characteristic of the mail :

" Happy is the wooing that is not long a-doing, is an old proverb,
and a very true one ; but we shall have no occasion for it after the
25th day of March next, when we are commanded to read it back-
wards, and from that period (fatal indeed to Old England!) we must
date the declension of the numbers of the inhabitants of England." —
" As I have married many thousands, and consequently have on those
occasions seen the humour of the lower class of people, I have often
asked the married pair how long they had been acquainted ; they would
reply, some more, some less, but the generality did not exceed the ac-
quaintance of a week, some only of a day, half a day, £c." — " Another
inconvenieucy which will arise from this act will be, that the expense
of being married will be so great, that few of the lower class of people
can afford ; for I have often heard a Flete-parson say, that many have
come to be married when they have had but half-a-crown in their
pockets, and sixpence to buy a pot of beer, and for which they have
pawned some of their cloaths." — " I remember once on a time, I was at
a public house at Rad cliff, which then was full of sailors and their
girls ; there there was fiddling, piping, jigging, and eating ; at length,
one of the tars starts up, and says, ' D — m ye, Jack, I '11 be married

just now ; I will have my partner, and ' The joke took, and

in less than two hours ten couple set out for the Flete. I staid their
return. They returned in coaches ; five women in each coach ; the
tars, some running before, others riding on the coach-box, and others
behind. The cavalcade being over, the couples went up into an upper
room, where they concluded the evening with great jollity. The next
time I went that way, I called on my landlord and asked him concern-
ing this marriage-adventure. He at first stared at me, but recollecting,
he said those things were so frequent, that he hardly took any notice of
them ; for, added he, it is a common thing when a fleet comes in, to
have two or three hundred marriages in a week's time, among the
sailors." He humorously concludes, " If the present Act in the form
it now stands should (which I am sure is impossible) be of service to
my country, I shall then have the satisfaction of having been the occa-
sion of it, because the compilers thereof have done it with a pure de-
sign of suppressing my Chapel, which makes me the most celebrated
man in this kingdom, though not the greatest."

The passing of the Marriage Act put a stop to the marriages at

FLEET MARRIAGES. 183

May Fair ; but the day before the Act came into operation (Lady Day
1 754) * sixty-one couple were married there.t

It would exceed the limits of this brief sketch were we to give the
official history of the different scandalous ministers who thus disgraced
themselves, and impiously trifled with one of our most sacred institu-
tions. That some of these wretched adventurers were merely pretended
clergymen is certain ; but it cannot be denied that many of them were
actually in holy orders.

Our curiosity has been recently attracted to this subject by the fol-
lowing circumstance : — A tradesman sent us a packet the other day
wrapped in paper covered with writing in a hand which Goldsmith's
Croaker calls as cramp as the devil. We are naturally inquisitive into
stray papers, and accordingly betook ourselves to the deciphering of
this. Many of the words were in short hand, and some appeared in
fantastic and grotesque characters, evidently with a view that parti-
cular passages should be legible only to the writer. With a little at-
tention, however, it was not difficult to penetrate " the heart of his
mystery," and we soon discovered that the paper was a leaf out of some
private journal, and that the details were almost all connected with
marriage ceremonies. The facts developed were so singular that we
desired, if possible, to obtain more of the book out of which the leaf
had evidently been torn, and therefore despatched the servant to the
shop whence the fragment had been sent, with orders to purchase the
remainder of the journal, if possible. In this he was unsuccessful, but
the shopkeeper in rummaging among his waste-paper found one or two
other loose leaves in the same queer penmanship, from the examination
of which we ascertained that they undoubtedly formed part of a diary
kept by one of the Fleet parsons. The name of the writer did not
appear. As the circumstances recorded are abundantly characteristic,
we shall give the ensuing extracts : —

"May 1st, 1721. To bed late, as I had been up till midnight
drinking with Dr. Floud and Mrs. Blood. Before I was fairly awake,
and not more than half sober, in comes Jack Connor, and wants me to
marry a woman to a boy that sweeps the crossing over against St.
Dunstan's. I came down in my night-gown. ' Where 's the chap ? '
says I. — ' You shall have him directly, master/ says he ; and in a trice
hauls in a young slip of a tatterdemalion. Upon this, I ordered Jack
to call the woman, which he did, and a broad substantial landlady-like
body appeared. They both looked sheepish enough, especially the boy,
who hung down his head, and didn't seem to know what to make of
the affair. ' Come,' said I, ' what is to be the garnish for this job ? ' —
' Half a guinea/ answered the woman. — ' Very well ; Jack, take down
their names.' — ' Susan Pilcher and Ralph Woodgate/ said Jack. Upon

• In a letter to George Montagu, Esq. dated July 17, 1753, Horace Walpole
says:—

"Lady Anne Paulett's daughter is eloped with a country clergyman. The
Duchess of Argyle harangues against the Marriage Bill not taking place immedi-
ately, and is persuaded that all the girls will go off before next Lady-day."

t In a letter to George Montagu, Esq. from Horace Walpole, is the following
notice of Keith.

« Strawberry Hill, llth June 1753.

I shall only tell you a Ion mot of Keith's, the marriage-broker, and conclude :
< ' G— d d— n the Bishops ! ' said he, (I beg Miss Montagu's pardon,) * so they
will hinder my marrying. Well, let 'em, but I '11 be revenged : I '11 buy two or
three acres of ground, and by G— d I '11 under-bury them all " Vol. i. p. 292.

184 AX IK.ISH REASON FOR NOT ROBBIN'G THE MAIL.

this, the boy comes out with, ' That a'nt ray name ; my name is Bob
Dawby.' — ' Why, you fool/ whispered the woman, ha'nt 1 told you that
you are to be Mr. Ralph Woodgate to-day, and to have five shillings to
do what you like with ? ' — ' Oh, oh/ said I ; " I see plain enough this is
a hired job — a skreen ; I '11 have nothing to do with it ; more especially
in regard that I know Woodgate well, and wouldn't do him an ill turn.'
So I told Jack to take the couple to Brother Stubbs, at the Bishop
Blaze and Two Lawyers, in Fleet Lane, who, being blind, could marry
them without detriment to his conscience. Having so settled the
matter, I went to bed again, and slept sound till the afternoon."

The eccentricities of even the regular clergy at a period when the
education and manners of a gentleman were by no means considered a
necessary qualification for their sacred office, led to many similar ex-
travagances ; witness the Rev. Mr. Patten, for an account of which
whimsical personage see Grose's Olio. He was curate of Whitstable,
and Sea-Salter in Kent, in the early part of the last century ; and
from the register of the latter parish we give the following extracts
(verbatim}, which have never before been published.

" John Ponney of Canterbury, huntsman to that ancient corpora-
tion, and Elizabeth Johnson, daughter to the Devil's vicegerent, com-
monly called a bailiff, were trammelled at Cathedral of Sea-salter,
April 26, 1734."

" John Honsden, widower, a gape-mouthed lazy fellow, and Hannah
Matthews, hot 'apont, an old toothless hag, both of P'eversharn, were
tramell'd by licence at the Cathedral of Seasalter, June 6, 1744. A
Caspian bowl of well-acidulated Glimigrim."

" Old Tom Taylor, the great smoaker of Whitstable, and a deaf old
woman called Elizabeth Church, were married at Seasalter with imo
rings, Oct. 29, 1734. Si quis ex successor ibus nostris hoc forte legal,
rideat si velit."

" Rachael, daughter of Will, and Elizth. Fox, baptd. NovT. 10, 1/34.
— Mrs. Wigmore made the Punch, &c."

AN IRISH REASON FOR NOT ROBBING THE MAIL.

" Let 's rob the mail ! " cried Pat to Tim O'Shay,

" And sack the bags before they reach Kilkenny."
Says Tim, " Be aisy ! that same spec won't pay,
*•' For now a letter's only worth a penny." '

J. o.

ENGLAND'S QUEEN'.

ODE FOR MUSIC.

THE trumpet-call of Liberty

Through England's wide domain !
It fires the bosoms of the free,

It thrills their every vein :

From our seas the Goddess sprang, and here she built her throne.
Tyrants may not breathe our air;
If to taint our soil they dare,
Rouse thee, lion, from thy lair,
Swift as lightning's angry glare,
Strike them down !

Hero-chiefs of native valour,

Ye have earned your laurels well,
Nor crave I aught of magian lore

Your destinies to tell ;

New-rising triumphs o'er uiy soul expand their proud array !
Ere the Roman eagle flew,
Ere th* Athenian olive grew,
Freedom long had dwelt with you,
And if to her your hearts be true,
She will stay.

There is virtue in the breeze

That lightly fans our temperate skies,
As it murmurs through the old oak-trees,

And o'er the violet sighs ;

For our souls with patriot-love its breath inspires.
We may wander far and long
Balmy Eastern groves among,
Yet re-seek the Atlantic strand
Dearer but to prize the land
Of our sires.

O LADY , young and fair,

To whom such noble realm is given,
Loftier state than thine was ne'er

To mortal lent by fav'ring heaven.
Good angels ever guard thy sacred head !
Sweetest flower of this sweet isle,
Thousands wait upon thy smile ;
Far from thy lips be taste of woe,
On the neck of each proud foe

May'st thou tread !
Blest auguries abide,

Royal Maiden, in thy narae ;
No evil chance divide

Thy sovereignty from Britain's fame !
Her faithful love is sworn to be thy shield !
This is thy most costly robe,
Queen of half a subject globe !
This the geui which far outshines
AH that from her rifled mines
Earth can yield.

More than magic spells

Guard thy oft-imperiU'd youth,
While with thee an inmate dwells,

That unspotted vestal, Truth :
O scorn not thou her mild mysterious voice !
Like the Jove-born goddess, she
Will not stoop to flattery ;
Yet to form thy pliant age
By her counsel, heavenly sage,
Be thy choice !

186

A DAY IN THE BLACK FOREST.

" If care and sorrowe youre mynde oppresse,

Come hitherre and taste of ye hunterres cheere,

Let youre foode be nought but ye redde deeres fleshe,

And your onlie drinke our nutte-browne beere."

Old Song.

I REMEMBER some years since, when a schoolboy, going to see
Weber's "Der Freischiitz," and from that moment was filled with a
desire to roam through the extensive forests of Germany, and to take
part in those invigorating pursuits in which the Schwarzwalders so
enthusiastically engage, and listen to their wild and supernatural
legends. It was with no small degree of pleasure, therefore, that I
received an invitation from the Jagd Gesellschaft of Forbach to par-
ticipate in the pleasures of a day's sport in the romantic Black
Forest. The time was at length arrived when I should visit the scene
where the immortal opera is laid, the very spot where the Schwartz
Jager is supposed to hold his midnight revels.

Having made the requisite preparations, I started from Carlsruhe,
accompanied by two friends, on a clear frosty morning in February,
1839. The air was sharp and chill, and the snow very deep upon
the ground ; but, although the thermometer stood at twenty degrees
below zero, the sun shone brilliantly over head, and not a cloud
was to be seen. Having arrived at Baden at five o'clock, we pro-
ceeded thence to Lichtenthal, a small village about a mile further,
and passed the night there, in consequence of having received in-
formation that the ordinary tracks through the forest had been
obliterated by the snow, which was twenty feet deep in some
parts, rendering the journey somewhat hazardous in the darkness
of night. I never remember to have spent a pleasanter evening;
seated in a snug room before a well-spread table, by the side of a de-
lightful stove, that bade defiance to the frost. Whatever may be
said or sung of the cheerfulness of a blazing fire, commend me in such
a climate to a German ofe.n, that diffuses its genial warmth into
every corner of the room, while a coal fire usually roasts you to death
on one side, and leaves the other in a state of frigidity not to be en-
dured. The apartment was not, however, entirely destitute of bril-
liancy, for in one corner were to be seen four pair of the prettiest
eyes imaginable ; belonging to four maidens, employed over their
spinning-wheels. One of them was a betrothed bride, the others
were spinning for her peculiar advantage as fast as their fingers
would let them. In the course of the evening they sang a succession
of those beautifully simple ballads for which Germany is so famous ;
and, being possessed of really excellent voices and considerable
musical skill, the effect was delightful. After supper we could not
do less than invite them to partake of a bowl of mulled wine ; and,
being reinforced by the village-schoolmaster, a rather novel game
of cards was introduced called " Hast du das Blattchen der Liebe
nicht gesehen ? " in which kissing was the principal incident. The
parties who were to co-operate in performing this interesting cere-
mony being determined by the fall of the cards. So cheerfully
passed the evening that the party did not break up till past mid-

A DAY IN THE BLACK FOREST. 187

night. We started the next morning at seven o'clock, after a sub-
stantial breakfast, (according to Tom Cringle's advice,) that is, to
stow the ground-tier dry with meat and other solids,, and afterwards
taking a top-dressing of coffee, eggs, bread and butter, &c. — not for-
getting to pouch the most considerable part of a cold hare, and a
flask or so of kirchenwasser. Our track lay over a dense pine forest.
After a tremendous fag of about two hours, wading up to our mid-
dle in snow, we reached the top. A glorious landscape now met our
view. The Murgthal lay about a thousand feet immediately below
us, and the Murg, which at other times was wont to roar and foam
over its rocky bed, now glided silently through the snow, with its
sides pinched up by the intensity of the weather, resembling a small
inky stream. At a short distance was to be seen a little village ;
and the tiny tinkling of the church bell alone broke the stillness
that reigned around. Mountain ridges, covered by the interminable
pine forest, bounded the view. The air was sharp and bracing, and
produced an exhilaration of spirits only to be felt on a mountain
on a clear frosty day.

" Oh ! the fresh morning, heaven's kind messenger."

On approaching a village we met a number of those specimens of
womankind whom Lord Byron is pleased to call the

" Peasant girls, with deep blue eyes,
And hands that offer early flowers."

Now, poetical licence is a very good sort of thing in its way ; but
to a matter-of-fact-personage like myself the deep-blue eyes of these
peasant girls bore a striking resemblance to those of a dead fish,
glowering with lack-lustre gaze from beneath their hollow sockets ;
their appearance betokening severe labour and scanty rations. As
for the hands that were supposed to offer early flowers, they were
on the present occasion employed in dragging a mud-cart; and I
can bear testimony that, although the fields might give promise of
corn and wine, the poor creatures who cultivated them did not walk
smiling over this paradise. I should say that their life appeared
rather to resemble that of a London donkey. The female peasantry
all along the banks of the Rhine, seem to be in a state of hopeless
degradation.

Having put up at a small Wirthaus to drink a glass of wine, I
took a survey of the " stube " in which we were ensconced. It was a
low, white-washed room, fitted with benches and stools ; the walls
were hung about with a few coloured prints, and the eternal por-
traits of Leopold and Sophia, the Grossherzog and Grossherzogin,
which are to be seen in every Gasthaus in Baden. These were in-
terspersed with a few effusions, the general burthens of which were
to the effect that the room of those persons who had no money in
their pockets was more desirable than their company. Take a
specimen.

" Good cheer and welcome to each guest,

Whose pouch well-furnished is with pence!
You that can pay, here take your rest,

You that can't, go quickly hence."

Mine host was a remarkably kind and disinterested fellow, who
seemed to think that no trouble was, too great to relieve his guests

VOL. VII. P

188 A DAY IN THE BLACK FOREST.

from the trouble of acting for themselves. He invariably emptied
the bottle into their glasses when he fancied they were too much
fatigued to perform that operation for themselves ; and then very
good-naturedly refilled it from the tap ; thereby saving them the
trouble of ordering another, certainly a very considerate proceeding.
He was a little man, with piercing grey eyes, and with an exceed-
ingly sharp nose. His rib was the ugliest woman I had seen even
in Germany, — and that is saying a great deal. She was the exact
counterpart of the figure of the Lady in the Saque in an illustration
to Sir Walter Scott's " Tapestried Chamber ;" and when she grinned,
which was often enough (for she was a good-natured old soul,) her
face assumed an appearance bordering upon the diabolical, and such
a one as I should by no means wish to see between my bed-curtains
at midnight.

After leaving this house of entertainment for man and beast, a
quarter of an hour's walk brought us to the domicile of our wor-
thy friend, Sebastian Fritz, the jager. We found a party just pre-
paring to start for the chase ; and the previous walk of twelve
miles not having at all damped our ardour, we resolved to accom-
pany them. The party consisted of about a dozen ; each man was
provided with a rifle, a hunting-bag, and iron spikes in the heels
of his boots ; and the cortege was followed by two or three of those
good-natured, ragged vagabonds, which the Germans call taugenichts,
and the Scotch ne'er-do-weel, who are always ready to go on such
expeditions to beat the bushes, and take care of the dogs, if it is only
to delude themselves into the idea that they are doing a day's work.
On the way I was very much struck by the beautiful appearance of
the various waterfalls and watermills. They were all completely
frozen, and looked like glass as they glittered in the sunbeams.

After beating about the mountain's side for two or three hours with-
out success, we struck into the depth of the forest, and were stationed
at different points by an old huntsman, who seemed to have his
weather-eye up ; and the before-mentioned " ne'er-do-weels," were
despatched to beat the bushes. A quarter of an hour elapsed, during
which the deepest stillness prevailed, with the exception of the faint
baying of the dogs in the distance. The scene was sombre and
gloomy in the extreme : we were surrounded on every hand by the
black tannenbaumen which bent beneath the weight of snow which
covered them, their stems cased in a thick rind of moss ; several
scattered over the rock, evidently overthrown by some recent tem-
pest : added to which, the night began to fall, and the cold became
intense. My ardour was fast cooling for I was standing up to my
middle in snow, when, hush ! — whiz — bang — a shot was heard, a
faint rustling, and in another moment a splendid roebuck was seen
plunging through the thicket; he staggered onwards for a few paces,
and then fell dead at my feet. What a picture for Landseer ! The
beautiful animal lay bleeding upon the snow, still graceful even in
death, surrounded by the dogs, which crouched down as if guarding
their prey ; while a party of huntsmen were discussing weighty mat-
ters touching the animal's age, and congratulating the marksman,
who was no other than the Sebastian himself. Suddenly another
shot was heard in a distant part of the forest ; but this was not
attended by similar success. ^The buck was hit, however, and track-
ed by his blood till all traces were lost in a dense thicket. It was

THE HUNTSMAN'S STORY. 189

now high time to return ; but it was first necessary to take some re-
freshment ; and, spying at a little distance a blazing fire, which pro-
ceeded from the encampment of a party of charcoal-burners, we
immediately joined them. The German huntsmen were hearty,
good-humoured fellows ; but their enormous beards and moustachios
gave them a wild, not to say ferocious aspect, not a little increased
by the glare of the fire on their weather-beaten faces ; altogether
they would not have conveyed to the eye of an artist a bad idea of
a band of robbers at their midnight carousals. " As hungry as a
hunter " is a well-known proverb, and on this occasion it was suffi-
ciently proved, hunches of cold meat, dried tongue, and ham, dis-
appeared in an incredibly short space of time, washed down with
proportionate quantities of spirits and Rhein wine : and as wine
maketh the heart glad, certain members of the company related
occasionally an anecdote or struck up a song.

" Och ! " said Adolf Asall, " it was on such a night as this that
my father shot the "

" Silence, fool ! " roared Sebastian, " are we never to hear the last
of that cursed story of your father shooting the seven poachers ? "

" Shooting seven poachers ! " exclaimed my friend ; " I should
very much like to hear that story."

" It is told in a few words," said Sebastian. — " The said poachers
had committed numerous depredations in the forest, which were at
length discovered by old Asall, and the seven rogues were heavily
fined. For this they swore that they would murder the old hunts-
man whenever they met him alone in the forest ; and there is no
doubt that they would have been as good as their word if he had not
prevented them. On a certain evening he was out with his dog and
gun near this very spot, and fell in with the rascals. He had only
just time to dart into a thicket, when a volley of bullets whizzed
about his ears. Knowing that he should never leave the forest alive
if he did not take hasty measures, he immediately resolved to pick
off every man of them ; which he did, and there is an end of the
story, which this knave would not have told in less than two hours.
But," continued he, " if you have a mind for a good jolly story, old
Peter von Kraft is your man."

The individual alluded to was the Grand Duke's principal hunts-
man in the district ; to which occupation he added the somewhat in-
congruous one of tailor. He was also biirgermeister of the village, and
was altogether rather an important personage. He was a little man,
with very odd small eyes, and seemed to have the faculty of looking
two ways at once; he was reputed the best shot and the best story-
teller in the neighbourhood. After a good deal of persuasion, and
a little coquetting, he was induced to relate the following, which we
shall call

THE HUNTSMAN'S STORY.

" Some years ago there lived in the village of Eberstein a farmer
named Diederich von Raupp, who was tolerably well to do as the
world went. He was a great favourite with everybody except
his wife, who was the most terrible virago in the village, and
thought she was entitled ex qfficio to make him as miserable as she
could. In his turn, the good man thought that, as he could get no

190 A DAY IN THE BLACK FOREST.

peace at home, he had an undoubted right to go where he could get
it This caused a great many domestic altercations, which were
invariably terminated by Diederich marching off to the neighbour-
ing public-house, to make his mind happy over a bowl of mulled
wine, and it was very curious that he generally found about
half-a-dozen disinterested individuals, who lamented his domestic
affliction, assisted him to drink his wine, and listened to his
stories with the most devout attention.

" It so happened that the farmer had on a certain occasion some
affairs to transact in Baden Baden ; and in whatever way he might
commence his business he always made a point of finishing it over a
bowl of his favourite liquor, thereby fulfilling the very wholesome
precept of making pleasure and business agree. He started home-
ward soon after mid-day, and trudged manfully over the pine-clad
mountain which rises between Baden and Eberstein. Diederich was
a firm believer in all sorts of supernatural lore, but he could not
help thinking as he walked along that it was exceedingly strange
what had become of those hosts of sprites and goblins with which
every forest and ruin in Germany used to abound in the days of
yore. Then whenever there happened to be an unusually heavy
thunder storm on an unusually tempestuous night, it could not
possibly proceed from any other cause than that the Black Hunts-
man was pursuing his wild sport through the air ; and if at any
time lights were seen, and strange noises heard, in any of the old
castles, they must have been in consequence of the spirits of the
departed barons holding their midnight revelry in those halls
where they had formerly presided in the flesh. Latterly, however,
those respectable personages had not been known to favour the
longing eyes of mortals with a sight of their interesting visages.
While pondering these matters in his mind, Diederich arrived at
these conclusions, the top of the mountain, and the ruins of Baden
Castle. Walking had produced weariness, and the heat of the wea-
ther thirst ; he therefore betook himself to what had once been the
court-yard of the castle, and seating himself in the shade, re-
lieved the former, and appeased his thirst by application to
a bottle. The old courtyard was now filled 'with pine trees,
some of which grew out of the walls; on one side was a flight
of steps leading to the keep, and on the other the Gothic win-
dows of the large hall ; beneath which was a suspicious-looking
apartment, which evidently led to the dungeons. Diederich seated
himself upon a fragment of stone near a port-hole, which command-
ed a view of Lichtenthal over the tops of the trees. He continued
to lay the bottle under constant contribution, drinking all manner
of toasts and sentiments. As all things must come to an end, so
Diederich came to the bottom of his flask, and the last draught was
devoted to his own peculiar honour and glory, — his noble self. In
the height of his enthusiasm, and as an accompaniment to the
cheering with which he honoured the toast, he threAy away the bottle,
ch, as it fell dashed to atoms on the rocks below, disturbed the
dilations of a couple of owls that were reposing in their re-
s.KTtwe ivy-bushes. As, with a loud too-whooing, they flew into
the forest these might have been taken for the spirits of the place
ring their protest against the profanation which had thus been
flered where the loud hebe koch's had resounded in days of old

THE HUNTSMAN'S STORY. 191

in honour of the fair, and noble, and knightly. Being of a thought-
ful cast, as has been already shown, Diederich could not help recur-
ring to those happy times when the banners of the Counts of Eber-
stein used to wave proudly over the battlements, and when a Ger-
man nobleman could cut off one of the ears of his vassals for his
morning's amusement without being obliged to resort to frivolous
employment to pass away his time, as is the case now-a-days ; and
when, if he should be in want of a scarecrow, he could hang up
a retainer without the least ceremony, thus saving a great deal of
time in making an effigy; besides, it looked so much more natural
that no bird in its sober senses would venture to approach it.

"At length Diederich began to doze, and in a few moments he fell
into a profound sleep. How long he remained in this state it is
impossible to say, but he was suddenly aroused by a loud blowing
of horns, and a clashing and clattering of spears. He started up,
and rubbed his eyes in astonishment. Every thing was changed :
the court-yard appeared as it must have done in its most palmy
days, and was filled with individuals clothed in antique hunting-
dresses. Not wanting in courage, he boldly walked into the midst
of the group to make some inquiries into the nature of their pro-
ceedings ; but to his great wonderment no one took the least notice
of him ; they seemed to be quite unaware of his presence. Presently
the whole party filed through a low archway, and, impelled by
curiosity, Diederich followed them. They passed along a gallery
hung round with helmets, spears, and crossbows, and thence emer-
ged into a large apartment ornamented all round with enormous ant-
lers, with an inscription under each stating when, where, and by whom,
the animal to which it had formerly belonged was shot. The new
comers were welcomed by another party, who were carousing at a
long table. Diederich could not help being struck by the ap-
pearance of a personage seated at the upper end of the festive board,
the most prominent feature in whose face appeared to be his nose ;
in fact, the whole fire of his composition seemed to be concentrated
in that remarkable organ, and the pallid colour of the other parts of
his face contrasted strongly with a pair of enormous black mousta-
chios and beard. He was engaged in roaring a bacchanalian song
while reclining gracefully, with one leg on the table, his right arm
employed in flourishing a large goblet over his head, and the left
in the most affectionate manner twined round the neck of the wor-
thy who sat next him. One eye was closed in a very facetious
way, and the other fixed with a comical sort of ferocity upon his
neighbour ; who, by the air of satisfaction which played about his
features, and the bending of his head to the time, seemed to indi-
cate that the sentiments contained in the song met with his entire ap-
probation. Other parties were giving way to those little endearments
which are invariably called forth at a time when man's best feelings
are said to possess him. Indeed, the whole company were evidently
following up the advice contained in the old song, which enjoins

" Now let them drynke tyll they nod and winke,
Even as goode fellowes sholde doe,"

and there certainly did not appear to be the least danger that the
present assemblage would

192 A DAY IN THE BLACK FOREST.

" Mysse to have the blisse
Good wine doth bring man to."

Diederich thought it was a queer business; but he had heard a
great many queer stories, and naturally supposed that the time had
arrived when he should figure as the hero of some wonderful adven-
ture ; but what puzzled him most was, that the company seemed
perfectly unaware that there was a stranger among them. He learn-
ed, however, from the tenor of their conversation, that Bertha, the
fair daughter of the Count von Eberstein, was to be married on the
morrow, and there would be a great banquet this night in honour
of the bridegroom, who was expected every moment. Diederich had
always considered that the Counts of Eberstein had been in their
graves for centuries, and was revolving these incongruities in his
mind, when the loud blast of a horn was heard. The bridegroom
had arrived. All was bustle and activity. What a ringing of horses'
hoofs was there ! and what a clattering of swords and spears when
the Baron von Gurgelschneider and his followers rode into the court-
yard ! Such a display of beards and moustachios as none but a Ger-
man baron's retainers could exhibit ! But who shall describe the
baron himself? He was an interesting youth of between sixty and
seventy, with a bald head, sharp, aquiline nose, and small grey
eyes ; and, if he had but little hair upon his head to boast of, the
deficiency was amply made up by his large white whiskers, which
were united with an equally large pair of moustachios of the same
colour, which added greatly to the general air of benevolence that
played upon his features, and gave a peculiarly pleasing appearance
to the expression of his upper lip ; in a word, his tout ensemble was
that of an ouran outang with his hair powdered.

" The great hall was prepared for the banquet. The old suits of
armour, which were arranged in groups, together with battle-axes,
spears, and other warlike weapons, between the painted glass
windows, had been furbished up ; and the banners waved from the
gallery. The table groaned beneath the weight of the good cheer
with which it was loaded. At the upper end was seated the Count
himself, looking very lordly and ferocious. On his right hand were
the bride and bridegroom, and the whole of the dais was occupied
by knights and ladies. At the lower end sat the retainers, according
to the good old custom ; who, if their fare was not quite so delicate,
seemed to enjoy it quite as much, which was the hauptsache. Soon
after the repast was finished the ladies thought it time to retire,
and the fun became fast and furious ; heads began to droop,
and bodies to disappear in the most mysterious way. If the table
had been previously groaning beneath the weight of good things, it
was by no means to be compared with the groaning that was now
heard under the table, where numerous boars, bears, and fatted
calves were reposing after having thrown their various loads and
cares together with themselves upon the bosom of their mother earth.
The Count and the Baron, however, maintained their respective
positions manfully ; the former was reclining in an easy attitude,
with one leg over the back of his chair, bidding defiance to the ills
of life ; and the latter, while he expressed peace and good will to all
men, was engaged in pouring the contents of a wine flagon over the
knowledge box of a neigbour who had fallen asleep with his head
on the table, fancying in the innocence of his heart that he was fill-

THE HUNTSMAN'S STORY. 193

ing his goblet. It was at this stage of the proceeding that Dieder-
ich caught the eye of an arch-looking little waiting-maid, who was
telegraphing in the doorway, and evidently was beckoning him to
follow her. Glad enough to be taken notice of at last, he followed
the footsteps of the damsel to the private room of the youthful
bride, whom he found bathed in tears, and with a handkerchief
to her eyes, sobbing most mournfully ; she informed Diederich
how she could not endure the Baron Ernest von Gurgelschneider,
but had agreed to marry him from fear of her father, and neverthe-
less would rather die than submit to the embraces of such an old
monster. Diederich assured her that she was perfectly right ; in-
deed, if she acted otherwise it would be without precedent, and he
further agreed to do all in his power to assist her escape. The lady
Bertha was all smiles and gratitude ; and Diederich, who had never
seen any one half so lovely before, soon began to forget his virago
of a wife. Cloaks were provided, and Bertha having packed up
all her valuables, made her way with Diederich towards the postern,
which they opened softly ; no sooner, however, had they safely
bolted it, as they fancied, than they found themselves locked in the
grasp of two stout retainers, while the Count and the Baron were
close by the side of them in a high state of excitement.

" ' Hurl me this rascal from the highest battlement," roared the
Count von Eberstein. ' Or rather stop. Summon the headsman ;
the villain's kopf will make an excellent scarecrow/

" ( Pardon me, my Lord,' said the Baron ; ' we must not be too
hard upon the armer tropf ; besides, I cannot bear the unnecessary
shedding of blood. It affects my nerves. We must temper justice
with mercy. Pray, is there such a thing as a well in the neigh-
bourhood ? '

" ' To be sure there is, in one of the dungeons/ replied the Count;
' I pitched Rudolph Hirchenfunger into it the other day for pre-
suming to spear a wild boar before I came up to give him orders.'

" ' Then, suppose we pitch this scoundrel in, to keep him com-
pany/ replied the Baron. ( It will be more comfortable to his feel-
ings, and it will be over before he is aware of it/ and he smiled
benevolently at the culprit.

" ' Ah ! ' said the Count, { you are a great deal too good-natured.'

" ' I am aware of it,' said the Baron, ' but it is an amiable weak-
ness, you know.'

" f An amiable fiddlestick's end ! ' said the Count. ' If I had my
will he should be rent by wild horses. But, thank God ! I have no
amiable weaknesses. Do what you will with him/

" Poor Diederich wished the baron and his good nature at the
bottom of the Mummel sea, — - if, indeed, there is any bottom to it ;
but he was determined to bear his fate like a man, and comforted
himself with the idea that at all events he should never be troubled
again by his wife, and that was no small consolation. But, when he
was led into the noisome dungeon, he not only began to feel cold
and damp himself, but his courage was considerably damped also,
and when he found himself hanging over the mouth of the well, he
fairly shrieked with horror.

" ' Down with him ! ' roared the Count, and down he went, losing
his senses for a few moments ; and, when he recovered, he found
himself lying in a large puddle by the side of the rock upon which

194 THE ROUND TABLE.

he had sat when he took his doze. It was a tremendous night ; the
lightning was gleaming in the sky, and the rain pouring clown in
torrents, he was wet to the skin, and shivered with cold ; but that
was better than being at the bottom of a well. He made a hasty
retreat homeward, being afraid to look back, for fear of seeing the
benevolent countenance of the Baron Ernest von Gurgelschneider.
There were some persons — his wife among the number — who ven-
tured to hint that he had been drinking too much, and had been
dreaming ; but as this never failed to put him in a towering passion,
and as he was never known to suffer any man to drink out of his
punchbowl who disputed his veracity, it is astonishing how soon
universal credence was given to the wonderful history of Diederich
von Raupp.

W. H. T.

THE ROUND TABLE.

BY OLINTHUS JENKINSON.

THERE is a little river, of about the same size as the one Dr. John-
son jumped over in Scotland, in Hillsborough County, which in the
Indian dialect rejoices in the name of Quohquinopassakirsananna-
quog : — so careful are they to give everything its right name. No
Richmond in Surrey, Richmond in Yorkshire, with them. Certain it
is that names are of great importance, for invariably ideas are at-
tached to them which it is hard to get rid of. Supposing, for in-
stance, a Mr. John Potts to have penetrated into the interior of
France, — let the gossip of Paris be as household words in his mouth,
— let him proceed to Italy, and come back redolent of Camaos. and
Pompaye, and La Scala, and the Maestri, and studios, and all that
sort of thing, — let him talk of Rudesheimer amongst men as though
it were but ditch-water, and go into modified hysterics over Men-
delsohn amongst the weaker vessels, — let him be as familiar with
Poles as the bears in the Zoological Gardens, Regent's Park, — he
may even have extended his researches to that land where the art of
language consists in taking two vowels, and consonants a discretion,
and combining these into one thing, which is called a word, with a
whistleandsneezeandspit sound at the end of it, — he may get dis-
guised on Tokay in Hungary, on Constantia at the Cape, on Hod-
son's pale ale in the East, and on sangaree along with the Baptist
Missionaries in Jamaica. Let him do this — let him, I say, do all this.
He may be tall, and pale, and very interesting, — let his jetty locks
curl in profusion over his high marble brow, — let him have aggera-
wators in addition, without the assistance of Rowland's Opodeldoc,
— Macassar, I mean, — let him write Byron- and- water, renounce ani-
mal diet, and turn down his collars, sing Swiss songs, with a charm-
ing repetition of la, la, la, ayieo, dotted in between every line, — let him

THE ROUND TABLE. 195

throw out dark hints of criminal proceedings and misdemeanours in
which he has been engaged, which would infallibly cause him to be
prosecuted as the law directs if he was discovered. Again, I say, let
him do all this, and be adorned with all these gifts of art and nature,
and then offer to lead the fair Cecilia Milkanwata to the hymeneal al-
tar, and we will give any gentleman any odds that she informs him that
she is very much obliged for his good opinion, but that she would see
him something very unpleasanted first : — Cecilia Potts ! in the name
of the prophet — Figs. Imagine for a moment Donna Maria da Gloria
Isabella Leopoldina da Cruz Francesca Xavier da Paula Isidora
Michaela Gabriela Raphaela Gonzaga — is she not every inch a
queen ? — a question not to be asked. Had she been plain Sophy,
might she not ipso facto have been dethroned ? — a question to be
asked. There is some truth in the old superstition of Greece, that
the name imposed on a man (at the baptismal font, we were going to
write) in some manner prefigured his fate. Thus, with them, Helen
was supposed to have been marked out as a hell to the city of Troy,
and to the people of her own country. Henry, with us, might be
supposed to keep a grey mare in his stable ; John, to be destined
to a perpetual cold in his head, and so forth.

What man, woman, or child (those of the steam-engine go-a-head
class excepted) could ever entertain a respect for the memory of
Home Tooke ? Can we forget the feelings with which in our younger
days we took down the Diversions of Purley from the book-shelves,
under the idea of being instructed in the making of squibs and other
combustibles, or, at any rate, of finding some amusement in the Boy's
Own Book or Elegant Extract style? It is, doubtless, a useful and
a learned production. We must have etymological, and ornitholo-
gical, and icthyological dictionaries ; but why on earth not name
them so ? Who would think of styling Tom Jones or Clarissa Har-
lowe "A Call to the Unconverted ?" — or of refuting the Oxford Tracts
under colour of " Evenings at Home ? " If one was to call Dr.
Dionysius Lardner's inveterate publication " Tales and Romances by
the Author of Waverley," would it not be base, unjust, and unkind?

Such being the importance of names, it may be the less wondered
at that some little hesitation arose as to the title it would be fitting to
affix to these papers, containing a rather promiscuous assortment of
selections from poets ancient and modern, differing in age, and style,
and country, — in fact, in whatever can constitute difference in
poetry, flowing as it does from one fountain through many channels.
After as much internal reasoning as Launce bestowed upon his shoes
to know which was his father and which his mother, we have deter-
mined upon the name of the Round Table, or Table Round (this is
left to the reader's discretion), so that, as in the case of the minor
prophets, all invidious distinctions might be avoided ; and when the
cloth is drawn, the whole of the genus irritabile here present may
pull off their coats, and sit down in all good fellowship to spend a
sociable evening over their favourite liquors.

Amongst the first of our collection we find an epitaph, if it may
be so termed, written upon the Homer of Italy by a kindred spirit,
Michael Angelo. Both of them excelled in the terrible. The fol-
lowing passage is curious, as showing how fond of this writer our
own greatest poet was ; it is taken from a letter of his to Bon-
matthei the Florentine, with whom he made acquaintance during

196 THE ROUND TABLE.

his sojourn in Italy. " As far as my time of life permits," says he
" I, who have drained deep goblets at the fountains of Greece and
Rome, can yet once and again, with a right good will and a hearty
appetite, feast at the table of Dante and Petrarch, and many others
of your nation. Nor can the Attic Athens with her transparent
Ilissus, nor the antique Rome enthroned on the banks of her Tiber,
avail to quench my desire of frequently revisiting your Arno, and
the Fa?sulan hills." But here is the sonnet on Dante :

He went down to the world's dark caves, and then,
When both hells he had seen, alive with God,
Guarded by mighty thoughts, in heaven he trod,
And true light brought from thence on earth to men.
A star of mighty power to mortal ken,
With luminous beams he bared the eternal gloom,
And, as the bad world's wont is, met the doom
At last which small-prized heroes often gain, —
And Dante's labours were but slightly known !
An ingrate nation mourns, slow to confess
The greatness of the great whilst yet they live.
Would I were such ! a kindred fate mine own,
Such virtues mine, such exile's bitterness,
The world's most high estate 1 3d gladly give !

The story of the dissensions between the Cancellieri Bianchi (the
Whiteboys) and the Cancellieri Negri (the blackguards) is quaintly
and beautifully told by Giovanni Fiorentino, who flourished near the
period of Boccaccio. It is contained in the volume entitled II Peco-
rone, or the Dunce. They were the two branches of the family of
Messer Cancelliere by two wives, and resided at Pistoia. Dante,
when chief of the Priors at Florence, recommended that the two
principals should be sent for to the city, and gave occasion thereby
to violent dissensions, which were ultimately the cause of his own
banishment by Charles of Valois. As Dante is said to have gradu-
ated at Oxford, he should possess a more than ordinary interest for
Englishmen. Here is a sonnet of his own in honour of his ladye-love
Beatrice :

So fair my ladye-love is wont to show,

Modest withal when she doth men salute,

That every tongue becomes with reverence mute,
And every timid eye is sunk full low ;
Feeling the praise, she then away will go,

Robing herself in mild humility,

So that one fair thing here on earth should be
A heaven-sent miracle on earth below.
So fair she seems to all who may her meet,

A pleasure each one for himself must prove
Pierceth the heart, shot from her beaming eye.

From her disparted lips the breath so sweet
Proceedeth forth, and laden so with love,

That to the fainting soul it whispers — Sigh.

Could any one imagine this to proceed from the same pen which
wrote —

THE ROUND TABLE. 197

Questi sciaurati che mai non far vivi
Erano ignudi, e stimolati molto
Da mosconi, e da vespe ch' eran ivi :
Elle rigavan lor di sangue il volto,
Che mischiato di lagrime a' lor piedi
Da fastidissi vermi era racolto.

Let us all believe that the Ladye Beatrice was the daughter of
Folco de' Portinari, " bellissima ed onestissima donzella," and not the
meagre allegorical virtue which certain men, sons of Belial, would
make her out to be. Who would reduce Laura, and Beatrice, and
Fiammetta, and Geraldine to the level of the three asterisks to whom
sucking poets address, " Most beautiful, I love thee ! " One might
as well fancy that these exquisite lines were written on the inspira-
tion of the " portrait of a lady " or ff portrait of a gentleman " in
Somerset House. They are by the princely Lorenzo de' Medici.

The thought full many a time returns on me,

Nor can I from my memory efface,
All I can do, the time she drew the place

Where first I did my gentle ladye see.
Love, thou didst always bear her company,

Was she not beauteous ? Thou canst speak to this —
Her beauty, grace, and saint-like loveliness

May not be told, no, nor conceived be.
Her hair upon her robe of white so fell,

As on the snow-capt hills with scatter'd ray
Apollo's splendid light doth fair arise.

It is not time nor place for me to tell
How, where so bright a sun, 'tis ever day —

And where so bright a ladye — Paradise.

Francesco Petrarca has left a record in his brief sketch of his own
life, which any man must be a pagan to disbelieve. " Laura," says
he, " first shone before my eyes in the flower of my youth, in the
. year of our Lord 1327, on the 6th of April, at dawn, in the church
of the Santa Chiara, in Avignon ; and in the same city, in the same
month of April, on the same day, the 6th, at the same hour, in the
year of our Redemption 1340, this bright season was bereft of this
bright light, whilst I was in Verona, ignorant, alas ! of my cala-
mity."

The epigrams which follow scarce need any remark, they belong
to a different age and a different nation ; the first is from Martial, on
a statue of Hercules belonging to Nonius Vindex.

" Alciden modo Vindicis rogabam." — Lib. iv. 45.

" Alcides ? " said I, when Vindex displayed it, —
" Whose happy hand so true to life has made it?"
He laughed — he always does, and, nodding to it,
" Forget your Greek/' says he, " and you a poet ?
The base will tell you. Phidias for ever ! "
1 cried, "Z. Y. Lysippus? well I never!"

" Omnes Sulpiciam legant puellse." — Lib. x. 35.

All maidens should Sulpicia read,
Who seek to please one amn indeed.

198 THE ROUND TABLE.

Each husband here should study deep,

Who seeks one maiden's love to keep.

She does not rave of Colchis' sinner,

Nor spread Thyestes' dreadful dinner.

Scylla and Byblis knows not she ;

True love she sings, and chastity.

Sports, charms, and jestings will delight you

In her sweet verse. Who judges rightly,

No songstress deems more archly witty,

And never holier a ditty ;

Egeria, in her fountain cave,

With Numa used such jokes to have ;

Sappho more skilled and modest were

If brought up with, or taught by her:

Stern Phaon would have far preferred her

If he with her had seen and heard her.

In vain, she would not wish to stay

The Thunderer's wife a single day ;

Nor Bacchus', Phoebus' paramour,

Whene'er Calenus is no more.

To Sulpicia, in Tibullus, iv. 2.

From Heaven descend, great Mars, if wise ; for see,
Sulpicia decked, these calends is for thee.
Thou 'st Venus' leave, surprised, mad god, beware,
Lest to thy shame thine arms dishonoured are ;
For in her eyes, to scorch the gods above,
Twin lamps enkindled are by cruel Love.
Whate'er she does, where'er her footstep goes,
To grace her form a secret beauty glows.
Her hair when loosened shows most beautiful ;
But, when she combs it, then more lovely still.
She wins all hearts, in Tyrian robes arrayed;
She wins them still, with snowy vest displayed,
So bright Vertumrms, on the Olympian height ;
In each one charms, in thousand charms bedight.
Tyre deems her worthiest, and her alone,
The fleece twice steeped in costly dyes to own.
Give her whate'er upon her fragrant plains
Of odorous spice blest Araby contains ;
And shells which near the sun's steed's eastern door
Picks the swart ^Ethiop from the ruddy shore.
Her on this festal day ye Muses praise ;
Thy shelly lyre for her, proud Phoebus, raise;
This sacred rite for many a year shall stand ;
No maiden worthier is to join your band.

Hie festinatu requiescit Erotion umbra," &c. — Martial, x. 61.

Erotion sleeps beneath this greedy shade,
Six winters only Fate decreed the maid.
Who o'er this little farm shalt next hold sway
To her slight manes annual reverence pay.
So may thy house, thy people live ; alone
Within thy bounds this one sepulchral stone.

THE ROUND TABLE. 199

"Haec mihi quae colitur violis pictura rosisque," &c. — Martial, x. 32.
On a picture of Marcus Antonius Primus.

Whose picture this, my friend, you seek to know,
Round which the roses and the violets glow.
Antonius, such when life was in its prime ;
In this, now old, he traces bygone time.
Might art but feign the mind's own purity,
No fairer picture here on earth could be.

" Quisquis Flaminiam tens viator," &c. — Martial, xi. 13.
Epitaph of Paris, the pantomimist.

Who treadest the Flaminian way,

Before this costly marble stay :

The town's delight, the wit of Nile,

Art, pleasure, elegance, each smile,

Joy, sorrow of the stage of Rome, ~j

Each Cupid, and each Venus' bloom, v

With Paris lie within the tomb. j

The ballad which follows is taken from the beautiful collection of
Spanish ballads which have been published at Leipsig by Depping.
Any one who has taste and elegance of mind sufficient to appreciate
our own beautiful English ballads, or Spenser, or Scott, or him who
sang

" Le donne, i cavalier, 1'arme, gli amori,
Le cortesie, 1'audaci imprese,"

will in this collection meet with a never-failing source of delight.
This one may possess some interest from our old associations with
the Knight of La Mancha, and his descent into the cavern of Monte-
sinos : he is conducted by the venerable guide to " una sala baja,
fresquisima sobre modo y toda de alabastro, donde estaba un sepul
cro de marmol con gran maestria fabricado, sobre el cual vi a un
caballero tendido de largo a largo, no de bronce, ni de marmol, ni
de jaspe hecho, como los suele haber en otros sepulcros; sino de
pura carne, y de puros huesos." This cavalier is the miserable Du-
randarte, held in a state of living death by the enchantments of
Merlin. Like the unfortunate father in the monastery, he is pos-
sessed by a singing devil ; but, instead of " Good luck to your
fishing," the burden of his song runs, " O mi primo Montesinos," &c.
There is nothing here attempted beyond a simple version from the
Spanish.

O Belerma ! O Belerma !

Thou wert born my bane to be ;
Seven years I served thee truly,

Nothing did I gain from thee.

In battle, ere I felt thy pity,

A dying man, alas ! 1 lay ;
Thought of death could never move me,

Though I fell before my day.

But I grieve no more to see thee,

Never more to be thy slave ;
O, my cousin Montesinos,

Grant the last boon I shall crave !

200 THE ROUND TABLE.

As soon as I in death shall slumber,
And ray soul and body part,

To the place where is Belerma

That thou wouldst convey my heart.

As from you I have expected,
Keep it well, for sake of me,

Every week but two times only
Call it to your memory.

Bid her call to her remembrance
How very dear she was to me ;

All my manors give, and make her
Ladyeofmysigniory.

And since I, alas ! have lost her,

All is gone that I held dear ;
Montesinos, Montesinos,

O, the torture of that spear !

Now I feel my arm is wearied,
I no more may wield the sword ;

And my wounds are gaping widely,
And my blood in streams outpoured.

With dismay my heart is fainting,

And my hands are very cold ;
Who saw us both from France departing,

In France no more shall both behold.

Kiss, O kiss me, Montesinos !

Now my soul ascends on high,
And my words are uttered thickly,

Mist surrounds my glazed eye.

Take thou to thee all my armour,
In the which I here have died ;

The Lord in whom you trust doth hear you,
If you to your word abide.

Durandarte gave the ghost up

At a lofty mountain's base ;
Loud lamented Montesinos

To be present in the place.

Straight he took his armour off him,
From his side ungirt his blade ;

And then, with a little poniard,
For his friend a grave he made.

His heart from out his side he took it,

To his plighted honour true,
To convey it to Belerma,

As he ordered him to do.

And the words which there he uttered
Sprang from out his very soul,

O my cousin Durandarte !
O thou kinsman of my soul !

,19 ,911

THE ROUND TABLE. 201

O thou gallant blade unconquered !

Most chivalrous of chivalry !
Whoso slew thee, O my kinsman,

Let him guard himself from me !

We come to a few short specimens of a different class — the Greek
epigrams, the sonnets of Greece. They may perhaps not unaptly be
termed so, as mostly embodying one thought, developed in a few
lines. The grace and loveliness of youth, beauty, the joys of drink-
ing, the deformities of old age, the biting sarcasm pointed against the
coward, the impostor, the false pretender to learning, — all these
formed the subject of these exquisite fragments of antiquity. One
prevailing idea runs through the liveliest of them, the deep bass ac-
companying their merriest moods, that of ' ' eat, drink, and be merry,
for to-morrow we die," and thus separates them by a great gulf from
all poetry of modern times. It is to be traced in these lines of Ru-
finus on his mistress Melite, although remotely. Petrarch would
have spoken of a happy meeting in heaven with his Laura ; Boccac-
cio, with his Fiammetta. Rufinus wishes to bestow on his mistress
(let the expression pass) the perishable immortality of sculpture.

Tlov vvv Jlpa.{-iTe\r)s irov S'cu X*PCS a* HoXuKXeiVov; K. T. X.
Praxiteles and Polycleitus, where,
Beneath whose hands their works, yea, souled were ?
These fragrant locks of Melite, who may,
With eye of fire and glowing neck, portray ?
Ye founders, sculptors, come ! a shrine should be
To hold such beauty for a deity !

Here is a shorter one, a compliment to a physician, Magnus — a
rare thing with the Greeks ; for the epigrams abound with sarcasms
against the learned faculty. What would they have said to St.
John Long, and Mesmerism, and homoeopathy ?

Mdyvos or* els 'A.i8r)v naTtfirjv, K. T. X.
When Magnus came to Hades, Pluto said,
Shaking the while — " He 's come to raise the dead! "

Paul the Silentiary to his mistress.

Et/u p.ev ov <f)i\6oivo$, K. T. X.
No drunkard I ; but only taste the cup,
If thou wouldst have me drunk, — I drink it up.
Let thy lips touch it, no such easy thing
Sober to 'scape that cup's sweet offering ;
For then the goblet wafts to me thy kiss,
And so imparts its late received bliss.

The same to his mistress.
Et KOI TTj\OT€pa> MepoTjy, K. T. X.

Further than Meroe should thy footsteps bend,
Winged Love to bear me there his wings can lend.
Go to the East, where like thee glows the sun ;
I, too, on foot the unmeasured course will run.
I send a small sea-gift, propitious be ;
The sea-born Paphian goddess brings it thee.
Thy lovely form eclipses all her charms,
And, for she owns it, all her boasts disarms.

SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN-ASH.

Marianus.

*H Ka\bv a\(ros ""Epearos OTTOV KaXa devdpea TOVTO..
Sacred to love this grovej Through these fair trees
With soft breath whispers on all sides the breeze.
Sparkling with flowers is the dewy ground ;
Her gems the violet cups, that here abound.
Here, from three rows of pipes, the Naiads' fount
Is shot aloft ; each jet doth higher mount.
See, too, along the banks old Iris come,
Girding the long-haired Hamadryads' home.
In these glad fields the olives' rich fruit twines
Throughout the sunny plain with clustering vines.
Here warble nightingales ; in harmony
Chirrups some grasshopper a shrill reply.
My gate is open. Stranger, pass not by ;
Take some small gift of hospitality.

SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN ASH.

IT is not vanity in me, — but all

The wanton zephyrs come and do declare
That when I'm leaning o'er a waterfall,

I am of sylvan beauties the most fair ! *
Think not I bend to see my mirror'd form

In deep and glassy stream beneath my feet.
Graceful or not, it was the mountain storm

That shaped me thus, and not my own conceit.

For I by nature have been tall and straight. —

The warrior's wind-nursed spear of old was 1,-f
And breathed my sweets by fanes now desolate,!

E'en where my sacred brother oak was nigh !
Though here, with scattered memories, I sink

Wherever chance may fix my love for earth :§
But, might I choose, sweet crystal river's brink ||

Is where I 'd rock the cradle of rny birth !

* Virgil, too, amongst the poets, describes the Ash as the fairest tree of the forest :
Fraxinus in sylvis pulcherrima.

•j- Et frax'mus utilis hastis (Ovid) ; and Homer, describing the spear of Aga-
memnon, has, "s'^wv dvtfAer^ls *?%<>!." — II. X. Seneca observes that woods most
exposed to the winds are the strongest and most solid ; and that therefore Chiron
made Achilles's spear of a mountain-tree.

+ The sweet-smelling mountain-ash, or roan-tree, was held in great veneration
by the Dniids.

§ Tantus amor terra (Virg.) ; and Evelyn of the ash says, it is an obstinate and
deep rooter.

|l By the banks of sweet and crystal rivers ^ I have observed them to thrive infi-
nitely.— EVELYN.

/ . /

203
STANLEY THORN.

BY THE AUTHOR OP " VALENTINE VOX."

CHAPTER IV.

Stanley has an interview with Ripstone, and upsets his nerves altogether.

WHEN Stanley had summoned the servants with due promptitude
and violence, he left the room, and such restoratives as were imme-
diately available were applied with great delicacy and zeal to the
temples, palms, and nostrils of the overwhelmed widow. The attend-
ants were, however, in an intellectual maze, out of which they could
not see their way at all clearly, for their mistress had not been ac-
customed to faint : and then that Mr. Ripstone ! — where was Mr.
Ripstone? It really seemed to them, viewing the thing as they did in
all its varied ramifications, to be very suspicious ; and they looked at
each other with an aspect which denoted that they absolutely felt it to
be mysterious in the extreme. Surely Stanley had not pitched the
man out of the window? — and yet it was thought extremely probable;
and Simpson opened the window with a view to the immediate satis-
faction of that thought ; but Mr. Ripstone was not in the area ! — nor
was he impaled upon any one of the spikes ! This had a direct ten-
dency to render the mystery more dense, for who had let him out ?
As not one of them had had that honour, the impression became gene-
ral that he was still in the room. They hence examined every place
in which it was both most likely and most unlikely for a gentleman to
be concealed, and the butler was just on the point of ascertaining
whether the well-known hat and peculiar cloak of Mr. Ripstone were
in the hall, when the widow developed striking symptoms of reanima-
tion and soon after retired for the night, without, however, imparting
the slightest information as to the cause of the occurrence to her
puzzled attendants, who — having created innumerable conjectures with
the celebrated tact and ingenuity of their order — were by no means
satisfied, but felt, strongly and most acutely felt, that there was some-
thing at the bottom of it.

As soon as the widow had retired the drawing-room bell was rung,
in a style in which it never by any chance was rung save when Stanley
was at home. There could not be two opinions about who had pulled
the rope. It was therefore immediately answered by Simpson, who,
while receiving orders for supper, looked curiously round and round
the room.

"What are you looking for? — what have you lost?" demanded
Stanley, in a tone that was not extremely pleasing.

"Me, sir? Nothing, sir — nothing," mumbled Simpson. "I only
thought, sir, that perhaps Mr. Ripstone "

" What ! " exclaimed Stanley.

Simpson muttered something, of which the design was apparently to
convey some idea, and vanished.

Now, albeit the widow retired to bed, her sensibilities had received
so powerful a shock that she found it impossible to sleep. She turned
and turned again, and sighed and wept, and exclaimed, sotto voce,
" Why should I have been so alarmed? The position was peculiar,

VOL. VII. Q

201 STANLEY THORN.

certainly — there's no denying that; but, then, why should a mother
thus fear her own son ? "

To this natural interrogatory she felt unable to give a perfectly
satisfactory answer, and hence really began to form a resolution to
break the chains which she herself had forged to shackle her will.
But then her fond love for Stanley ! And what can be compared with
the love of a mother ? It is ardent, enduring and pure to the last.
There is — there can on earth be — no love so devoted, so constant, so
powerful. By its virtue a mother's soul seems centred in her child,
in whom alone exists the power to nil her heart with pure joy or to
plunge it into misery the most poignant : still be that fond love the
source of rapture or of wretchedness, it shines in the ascendant till
life is extinct.

In its most comprehensive sense the widow was actuated by this
love for Stanley. He was the pride of her heart : she idolized,
adored him i Still she thought it hard, that she should be so con-
trolled, because — as she explained to herself again and again very
pointedly — if there be one state of life in which a lady has the privilege
of being more independent of family influences than in another it is
distinctly the state of widowhood : she therefore held control to be in-
tolerable. She did not, she could not by any means recognise the right
of a son to dictate to a mother at all under the peculiarly afflicting cir-
cumstances of the case : she thought it highly incorrect and very pre-
sumptuous, and the style in which she resolved to be thenceforth mis-
tress of her own actions, as far, at least, as matrimonial matters were
concerned, was so extremely energetic that it eventually sent her to
sleep.

In the morning, when she met Stanley at the breakfast-table, he re-
quested an explanation of the scene on the previous night,
r " What you saw, I grant, was — odd : but then, under the circum-
stances "

" Circumstances ? What were the circumstances ?"

" Why, my love, the fact is — I feel that I must tell you — a proposal
had just been made as you entered."

" A proposal? What, a proposal of marriage ?" exclaimed Stanley,
knitting his brows and pursing his lips into an expression which
fluctuated finely between a smile and a sneer. "I had no idea the
fellow had so much impudence in him. And of course — you accepted
that proposal ? "

"Why, my dearest iove, look at my present position. It is really
very lonely, mere especially "

*' Mother ! do you mean to tell me that you have promised to marry
old Ripstone?"

" Why, what could I do ? He is a very old friend ; and while con-
scious of his fondness for you, I well knew that you had ever been
sincerely attached to him."

" I ! — I attached to him ?"

" What, not to your own Pippin ?"

" Pippin ! Mother, are you mad ? But the thing is too mon-
strously absurd. If you must marry, choose some one worthy of you.
Why have you not a becoming degree of pride ? There are hundreds
of men — men of influence and station ! — with whom you might
form an alliance. For Heaven's sake banish from your mind the idea
of throwing yourself away upon so paltry a creature as this poor fool
Pippin."

STANLEY THORN. 205

The fact of Stanley arguing any point which he hud made up his
mind to carry was a species of condescension for which the widow was
not prepared : it had therefore, alone, no inconsiderable weight : but
when in addition to this he assailed her vanity, the consideration sank
deep into her heart. What Stanley had suggested might occur ! She
might become the wife of a man of influence — perhaps, of a Baronet !
— why not of a Peer ? She could really see nothing to prevent it!
Yet how on earth could she ever look in the face of Mr. Ripstone
again ?

" Leave Pippin to me. Let him be invited here this evening. I will
write to say that I am anxious to see him. I will make him feel that
if he values his peace he had better not attempt to form an alliance
with you."

An invitation was accordingly sent to Mr. Ripstone immediately
after breakfast. Stanley then explained — without, however, enter-
ing at all into particulars — that he had left Eton. The widow, being
of course utterly ignorant of the fact of his having been expelled, was
amazed.

And so was Mr. Ripstone. The night preceding he had not an
hour's sleep. He had been racked with conflicting emotions. He had
placed, — with an eye to his own prospect of peace, — the widow's love
in juxta-position with Stanley's tyrannous spirit, and found the balance
against the former to be so considerable, that he really began to think
that his present state of life was, on the whole, to be preferred. But,
when he received the invitation, his ideas on the subject were in an
instant, as if by magic, metamorphosed. The matter then assumed a
very different aspect. He saw at a glance, and with a distinctness
which was absolutely marvellous in itself, that Stanley, having had the
prominent features of the case explained, wished to acknowledge his
error and to apologize for his abruptness, which Ripstone very natu-
rally held to be very proper. " I always thought," he observed, with
great point to himself, " that that youth was all right at the bottom,
and this tends to confirm the correctness of that thought, for he evi-
dently feels that he was wrong, and is now anxious to make all the re-
paration in his power. But I '11 have no apologies ! No ! it shall
never be said that I exacted humiliation from any living soul."

Actuated by this extremely generous sentiment, he went with a
light heart through those toils of the day which are notoriously insepa-
rable from an official existence, and in the evening repaired to the
mansion of his love.

The widow was invisible. He found Stanley in the drawing-room
alone, and the coldness with which he received him not only contrasted
very strongly with his own elastic bearing, but had the effect of in-
spiring him at once with the conviction that he had made a slight
mistake.

" Be seated, Mr. Ripstone," said Stanley, in a haughty tone. " I
sent for you, sir," he continued, " to demand an explanation of your
conduct last night."

" An explanation ?" echoed Ripstone with great timidity.

" Ay, sir ! An explanation."

" Re-ally," observed Ripstone, who felt much confused, " I thought
— I hoped — that — all had been explained."

" Sir ! you have known me sufficiently long to know that I am not
a man to be trifled with. Instantly, therefore, explain to me all that

Q2

20(5 STANLEY THORN.

has reference to the disgraceful scene I witnessed last night, or you
hear from me, sir, in the morning ; and, if you will not go out, I '11 post
you as the vilest coward that ever crawled."

In this there was nothing which could by any process be misunder-
stood : all was perfectly candid, straightforward and clear ; but, then,
what could Ripstone say ? His gallantry forbade him to explain all,
because that would have been most unfair towards the widow; and
then the idea of going out ! — why, he had never fired off a pistol in his
life ! — he had never even had one in his hand ! — while the fact of his
being posted, or brought before the public in any such shape, would in
all probability accomplish his ruin ! He therefore knew not how to act
in this extremity : he paused and was puzzled ; but at length he ven-
tured to observe, that he really could not in any honourable act see
anything disgraceful."

" Sir," exclaimed Stanley, " you are mistaken if you conceive that I
am thus to be put off; I demand an explanation, and will have it, or
the only alternative society prescribes."

' ' But I have nothing to explain," said Mr. Ripstone, " save that
just as you entered we were performing that which is, I believe, inva-
riably the little playful innocent prelude to the matrimonial bond."
Here Ripstone ventured to smile, for he positively had an idea that he
should thus be enabled to draw Stanley into a belief that it was no-
thing unusual after all.

Stanley, however, was not to be propitiated, for, looking fiercely at
Mr. Ripstone, he demanded in a loud voice, and with authoritative
emphasis, how he dared to presume to propose to his mother.

" Why," said Mr. Ripstone, " I do not conceive that I have been
very daring, or very presumptuous."

" Indeed ! " rejoined Stanley, with an expression of contempt.
" Compare my mother's wealth with your own ! "

"As far as wealth is concerned," said Ripstone blandly, "love
levels all distinctions."

" Love ! — bah ! — an old fool like you talk about love ! "

" That 's very discourteous," observed Mr. Ripstone : ' ' but I '11 not
be offended, because I make it an invariable rule not to be offended
by any one. I must, however, repeat, that the application of the term
' old fool ' is extremely discourteous.

" I know it," said Stanley: " I meant it to be so^ and I mean to
say farther, what you may deem equally discourteous, that if ever I
again catch you beneath this roof, or ascertain that you hold even the
slightest communication with my mother, in any shape, I '11 blow your
brains out."

Ripstone pouted his lips, and looked at Stanley in a very straight-
forward manner. " I '11 blow your brains out " were very strong
words; in fact, it was on the whole a very sanguinary sentence. He
did not approve of it at all, and therefore said with some spirit and
point, " Really this, I must confess, is not exactly the sort of reception
I might reasonably have anticipated : nor do I acknowledge your right
to interfere with the domestic arrangements of your mother and
myself."

''Indeed! — do you not? Then, sir, let me tell you that I have
such right, and will take special care that it is exercised fully. / am
master here, and you shall know it."

' f But I have the strongest possible reason," urged Ripstone, " to

STANLEY THQRN. 207

believe that the feelings of affection between your mother and me are
mutual."

" I care not for that," cried Stanley. " Do you flatter yourself for
one moment that I shall ever be sufficiently idiotic to recognise you in
any shape as my father ! But without condescending to say another
syllable on the subject, — for I will not exact from you anything like a
promise, seeing that that would be leading you to suppose that I doubt
my own power, — be assured that if ever you dare to communicate,
either by word or by letter, with my mother, or ever presume again
to enter this house, — (and if you have the temerity to do either, I
shall be certain to know it,) — I will horsewhip you ! "

There are, questionless, some who would have spurned this menace,
and who — the widow being willing — would have married her at
once, in defiance of all opposition ; but Ripstone was not one of these.
He was dreadfully alarmed ; his whole nervous system had been utterly
astonished. He knew the desperate characteristics of Stanley ; he
knew how fondly his mother loved him, and how zealous she had ever
been in his cause : he also knew that if even they mere to marry in
opposition to him, he should never have a single moment's peace ; and
hence, as he held peace to be one of the greatest blessings in life, he
rose, bowed, and, without giving audible utterance to another word,
left the house, with the firm determination to enter it no more.

CHAPTER V.

Illustrates how an ardent youth may assume more characters than one.

THERE is perhaps nothing so grateful to the feelings of mankind as
the possession of power. From the wearer of the crown, through all
the varied ramifications of society, even down to the vilest beggar that
ever blistered his leg to excite sympathy, however much may be said
of the power of love, the love of power reigns supreme over all.

Without, however, dwelling upon a subject so deep, for it really is
not essential to the progress of this history, it may in all probability be
sufficient, for the present, to state that as Stanley fondly cherished this
universal love, and was ardently enamoured of its developement, he
derived no inconsiderable amount of pleasure from the fact of his
having broken off the match between his mother and Ripstone ; and as
each successful exercise of his power increased it, it soon became abun-
dantly clear that he required but the scope to be one of the most abso-
lute tyrants that ever breathed.

The widow, who, in her innocence, had imagined that as his years
increased he would become more subdued, now had ample cause to feel
that the spirit she had fostered in his infancy was each succeeding year
gaining strength. He would be supreme ; he would be consulted upon
every domestic matter, however foreign to him it might be, from the
most important to the most trivial. She could no longer dress as she
pleased. Her taste was impugned, and denounced by him as vulgar in
the extreme.

" When will you learn to dress in a becoming style ! " he would ex-
claim. " Upon my honour I '11 not go out with you. Look at that
thing, how it hangs ! — there 's a fit I You really have no taste. Upon
my life, unless you choose to dress a little near the mark, I '11 not go
out with you at all."

And this was decidedly the most potent threat he could possibly
hold out ; for although she very frequently felt mortified, the pleasure

208 STANLEY THORN.

she derived from appearing with him in public was sufficient to heal
all the wounds which his tyranny inflicted at home. No mother could
have been more proud of her son. The highest delight she had the
power to conceive was that which she experienced on being driven
round the park by Stanley. He was so handsome, so elegant, so
aristocratic in his bearing ; he drove with so much grace ; his cab was
so attractive, his horse so beautiful ; while Bob looked so much like
the groom of a peer, that really it was such pleasure to be with him !
— nothing could surpass it.

And it was a very stylish turn-out. His horse was full of blood and
pride ; and while his cab was of the most modern build, Bob was one
of the most undeniable tigers that ever sprang.

Of course it was not long before he was surrounded by associates :
but however extraordinary to some it may appear, it is nevertheless
true that he was free from the most prevalent vice. He had given
dinners to dozens of high-spirited fellows, and had accepted invitations
in return ; still in this particular point had he escaped contamination.

The family he visited most frequently at this period was that of
Captain Joliffe, the father of his friend Albert, whose cause he had
espoused at Eton, and who still entertained for him feelings of the
warmest friendship ; and here he soon became a favourite. The
captain himself, although he could not but feel that he was some-
what too inflexible, highly esteemed him, and even applauded him pri-
vately for the part he had taken in the rebellion, invariably addressing
him as General, in honour of his having been the leader on that occa-
sion; for he, like every liberal-minded man, strongly felt that the
practice of flogging young men in precisely the same fashion as that in
which infants are flogged, was, to say the least of it, extremely indeli-
cate. Whether Albert was at home or not, therefore, the captain was
invariably pleased to see the General, and as the pleasure was reci-
procal, his visits were very frequent.

There was, however, one member of the family who derived peculiar
pleasure from these visits, and this was Amelia, the daughter of the
captain, and one of the most elegant, interesting, loveable creatures
that ever fascinated man. Amelia, at the period of Stanley's intro-
duction, had just completed her twentieth year. She was not strictly
beautiful, although her features were regular, and peculiarly express-
ive ; but she was so graceful, so elegant, so intelligent, yet so gentle,
that he who, having conversed with her for an hour, could perceive that
she really lacked absolute beauty, must have been dull and cold.

She became attached to Stanley, not indeed from the very moment
she saw him ; for having associated his expulsion from Eton with the
idea of recklessness, she of course had that prejudice to overcome, albeit
she was even then struck with the extreme manliness of his bearing,
his fine open countenance, and bold expressive eye, — but before she
had been long in his society, she regarded him with a love so intense,
that her heart absolutely seemed centred in his.

Stanley at once perceived this, for in such a case no prompter is re-
quired. No preliminary education is essential to the perfect know-
ledge of that, for a man becomes master of the language of love at once.
No woman who really loves need employ any other. Give her but a
moment's opportunity to let her eyes meet those of the object of her
love, and their souls at once seem to commune with surpassing elo-
quence. Of course the practice of " making eyes" is a very different

STANLEY THORN. 209

thing altogether. They who resort to this practice are fraudulent
bankrupts in love. The timid, soft, involuntary glance alone is en-
titled to claim an alliance with nature, — a glance which even the
eyelids would, but cannot, conceal. Such a glance Stanley did re-
ceive from Amelia as she drew on her glove to retire after dinner on
the day of his first introduction, — by that glance he knew that she
loved him.

And Stanley loved her. She was the first for whom he had ever
entertained an affectionate feeling apart from that which is engendered
by consanguinity ; and as of female society he had known absolutely
nothing, it will not be deemed strange that he should have become at
once enamoured of one so amiable, so innocent, so unaffected as Amelia.
Had he seen more, or known more, of the influence either of the vir-
tuous or of the abandoned, he might not, and would not have been so
immediately susceptible of that sentiment which had taken full pos-
session of his soul ; but being, as he was, uncontaminated and inexpe-
rienced, his heart was taken by storm. He did love her : he felt even
then that he loved her ; and although that feeling did not subdue his
spirit, it appeared to have completely changed its course. Her ap-
pearance, moreover, at once forbade him to suppose that she had not
those intellectual qualities which are essential to the permanency of
affection, and the conversation which he subsequently held with her
that evening had the effect of confirming the belief he had inspired,
that she was as intelligent as she was gentle : as confiding as she was
guileless.

From that day Stanley's visits became constant : and as Albert was
then at home, the lovers had opportunities of conversing with each other
almost daily without exciting the suspicions of the Captain, from whom
Albert advised Stanley to keep the affair at present a secret.

Things, however, were not permitted to go on long thus. Albert
was soon to go to Cambridge, when the affair could be kept secret no
longer, seeing that Stanley could not then go down, day after day, te
the Captain's residence at Richmond without rendering his object ap-
parent. He therefore proposed to himself, first, to convince Albert
that delay was altogether unnecessary, secondly, to declare himself to
Amelia; and, thirdly, to break the subject to the Captain, which he
naturally held to be the most difficult of all.

The first was soon accomplished, and the next day afforded an op-
portunity for the achievement of the .second. Amelia was sitting at
the piano : she, Stanley, and Albert only were in the room ; and when
Albert had received the silent cue, he very correctly went to the door
which opened into the lawn, and left the lovers together.

For Stanley this was a most anxious moment, and even Amelia felt
rather confused and awkward, and ran over the keys with a tremulous
hand, and struck an infinite variety of imperfect chords, and played
really in the most unscientific manner possible ; for it is a striking fact
that she absolutely anticipated something bearing the semblance of a
declaration at that very moment.

" Miss Joliffe," said Stanley, after a pause which created a powerful
sensation, and he stuck at this point for a second or two, and then re-
sumed,— " That is a very sweet air you were playing."

"Yes — it — you have heard it before, I believe?" And as she
spoke, her eyes involuntarily met his ; and she turned very pale, and
slightly trembled.

210 STANLEY THORN.

" Amelia," -said Stanley, and their eyes again met, " I cannot be
mistaken. We love — yes, I feel that we love each other fondly. Am
I not correct ? That look renders me happy in the conviction of
my proudest anticipations being realised." And he kissed her fair
brow, which in an instant became crimson, as if by magic. " From
the moment I first had the happiness to see you," he continued, press-
ing her still tremulous hand with all the fervour of affection, 4C I have
loved — may I not now say my own dear Amelia ? I am impatient —
you will say that I am ; but, Amelia, you will consent to my speaking
upon this subject to your father ? — I knew that you would ! " he con-
tinued, as she slightly — or, as he thought she slightly — pressed the
hand which held hers, and he fervently kissed the hand he held, and
said, " Bless you, my Amelia ! " as Albert, without any strict regard
unto the correctness of the tune, but with electric effect, sang, " And
I 'm coming ; and I 'm coming !" which in itself was strictly proper,
inasmuch as the Captain at that very instant appeared upon the lawn.

Stanley therefore retired from the piano with all the ease at his
command, while Amelia attempted to play a favourite fantasia : but as
she really made very sad havoc of the first dozen bars, she very natu-
rally thought that if she turned over the leaves of her music-book ra-
pidly instead, it would be, under the circumstances, perhaps quite as
well.

et Well, General," said the Captain, as he entered with Albert, " we
think about going for a ride : will you join us ?"

" With pleasure," replied Stanley, being anxious to relieve Amelia.

" My girl," cried the Captain, addressing Amelia, "come; the air
will brace you."

" Not this morning, papa," said Amelia tremulously.

" You are not well," said the Captain, as he kissed her. " There,
there, run away to your mother ; she will make you more cheerful."

Amelia was but too happy to leave the room, which she did very
promptly, when, the horses having been ordered, the General, with the
Captain and Albert, mounted at once.

Stanley, in Amelia's view, never looked so elegant as he did on
passing the window of the chamber to which she had retired.

After riding pretty smartly for nearly an hour, the Captain, as usual,
pulled up, with the view of talking, while his horse was in a short jolt-
ing trot, which, he held, had a more direct tendency not only to
strengthen a man's lungs, but to reduce every corporeal exuberance
than any other description of exercise. To prove this position, whether
disputed or not, he invariably put forth himself as an example ; and
certainly, while he had no superabundance of flesh, his lungs were of
an order the most powerful. Stanley, however, paid little attention
to these distinguishing characteristics at the moment ; but embracing
the first opportunity that offered, said, " Captain, will you allow me
to have five minutes' conversation in the library with you after din-
ner ? "

" Of course ! But what is it, General ? Out with it now. It '11
strengthen your lungs."

" I wish," said Stanley, " to speak quietly on a subject of some im-
portance."

" Ay, I see ; and that you can't very comfortably do in a trot. No ;
very few can : but I have had five-and-twenty years' practice." And
the Captain then commenced a long tale, which reached from Richmond

STANLEY THORN. 211

to Seringapatam and'-'back, after lashing the Peninsula, the great ob-
ject of which was to demonstrate that had he not practised the art of
talking while trotting, he should have been, years ago, a dead man.

Amelia, who had been anxiously watching their return from the
window of her dressing-room, felt her trepidation increase as they en-
tered the gates ; for during their absence, although she was unable to
conceive what objection her father could have to one who was in all
respects so perfect as Stanley, she had imagined it possible, just pos-
sible, that some difficulty might be raised ; and that very possibility,
unsupported as it appeared to be by anything probable, kept her in a
state of the most painful suspense. She however resolved to preserve as
tranquil a bearing as possible while at dinner ; and Stanley, with the
view of relieving her from all embarrassment, addressed nearly the
whole of his observations to Mrs. Joliffe, who held him in high admi-
ration.

" Now, General," said the Captain, when the ladies had retired, " we
may as well settle this business here. It is warmer than in the li-
brary." And he drew nearer the fire, as Albert left the room.

" Sir/' said Stanley, " I feel that I shall but awkwardly open this
affair."

" Well, if that be the case, General, come to the point at once."
"To come, then, at once to the point/' said Stanley; "I love —
Amelia."

The Captain looked at him very steadily, and rather sternly for se-
veral seconds, when, relaxing his features, he said, " Well, well, there
is nothing very incorrect in that. And you wish to propose — eh?
That, I presume, is the point ? "

" It is/' returned Stanley ; " and your consent, sir, will not, I hope,
be withheld."

" Why — why," said the Captain, pursing his lips very thoughtfully,
and filling his glass, " my girl is a good girl ; but then she is young —
very young ; you are both very young. However, Stanley, this is my
answer : I have myself no objection to you personally ; on the contrary
I admire your character, as far as I have seen it developed. If, there-
fore, you can prove to me — what indeed I have at present no reason
to doubt — that you are in a position to support my girl in the style to
which she has ever been accustomed, — (for, being a poor soldier, I can
give her but little,) — I will consent to your marriage, provided, of
course, that all parties be willing to sign the contract, — in five or six
years."

Five or six years ! Had the Captain said five or six thousand, it
would not have struck Stanley as being more absurd. " Five or six
years ! " he exclaimed, on recovering from the state of astonishment
into which it had thrown him, for it really seemed for the moment to
have taken away his breath. " Five or six years ! You are not se-
rious, sir, I presume ? "

" Indeed, sir, I never was more serious in my life. Would you marry
my daughter now ? — you, who have seen nothing, absolutely nothing,
of the world ! Why, sir, it would be about the most insane act of
which you could by possibility be guilty."

" But five or six years ! " repeated Stanley, to whom it still appeared
an age. " Why five or six years ? "

" Understand me," replied Captain Joliffe. " I have lived a long
time in the world, and know something of the passions by which men

212 STANLEY THORN.

are actuated ; something of the rocks upon which they split, and of
the temptations to which they are exposed. I never will consent,
therefore, to the marriage of my daughter with any man, however bril-
liant may be his prospects, unless he has seen at least something of the
world ; nor would any father, who has seen what I have seen, and
who has the happiness of his child at heart, as I have, God bless her!
Take my advice: think of marrying no one until you have had five
or six years more experience ; and then, as you will know many thou-
sand things, of which you have not now the power even to dream, you
will come to me, and say, if I should live so long, ' I feel that you have
been my best friend ;' and you will have cause to feel it till you sink
into the grave, and your children will have reason to bless me."

" But why not say one year ? " urged Stanley. " On reflection, you
must yourself admit that five is an immense length of time."

" Believe me, Stanley, to be your friend when I state that I am in-
flexible upon this point, namely, that nothing shall induce me to con-
sent to your marriage with Amelia in less than five years : therefore
fill your glass, and say no more about it. Continue to come as usual.
I shall at all times be happy to see you — if possible, more so than
ever I have been ; but don't cherish a thought that any power upon
earth can shake my expressed determination. But come, come, come,
let us join the people above. Reflect on what I have said, and be
wise."

CHAPTER VI.

Proves how powerful Sophistry is when an Elopement is the object proposed.

As Stanley entered the drawing-room with the Captain, Amelia
rivetted her eyes upon him with an expression of anxiety the most in-
tense. Her fondest hopes were not to be realized ! — she felt in an
instant that they were not: his features betrayed the disappoint-
ment he had experienced, and she burst into tears.

" Amelia ! Amelia ! " whispered Albert, who liad been endeavouring
to amuse her during the conference below. " Courage, my girl, cou-
rage ! "

Amelia strove to conceal her tears, and succeeded in doing so effec-
tually from her father ; but Stanley in a moment perceived her agi-
tation, and therefore assumed an air of comparative content, which
somewhat relieved her.

" You have no thought of leaving us to-night, General, have you ? "
said the Captain, as gaily as if nothing had transpired.

" I have ordered my cab at ten," replied Stanley, " as I must be in
town early in the morning."

" Well, you will dine with us to-morrow ? "

Stanley bowed ; and although she conceived that bow to be some-
what too distant, she was unable to reconcile the tone of her father
with the idea of his having withheld his consent. She therefore
panted between hope and fear until Stanley embraced an opportunity
of joining her at the table at which she was apparently reading, when
he communicated the result of his conference with the Captain, who,
with his lady, had just commenced a game of chess.

" Then why did you look so serious ? " said Amelia, when Stanley
had explained. " You cannot conceive how much you alarmed me ! "

" Five years ! " whispered Stanley. " It is an age ! "

STANLEY THORN. 213

" Oli, the time will quickly pass," said Amelia ; " and we sliall
have, I hope, many, very many happy hours in each other's society in
the interim. It is not as if we were to be separated for five years."

At this moment Stanley's cab was announced ; and although he
soon after took leave with great gentleness, in driving to town he de-
veloped all the wild impetuosity of his nature.

Bob occupied the smallest conceivable space in the extreme corner
of the vehicle. He perceived at a glance that there was something
rather wrong, and winked, with a view to the acknowledgment of the
quickness of his perception, several times in dark parts of the road.
The horse Hew over the ground with unparalleled swiftness ; for albeit
the whip was not used, an occasional angry rvhiss ! seemed to strike
the conviction into him that nothing less than lightning speed would
do ; and hence, on reaching town, his wide crimson nostrils were ex-
panded to the utmost stretch, while his neck, back, and haunches
were covered with foam.

Five years ! Stanley felt it impossible to wait five : pooh ! he
could not, he would not! Yet what could be done? Why, what
must be done in such a case ? And yet Amelia was a gentle, patient
creature, whom he knew the idea of an elopement would shock. No
matter : she loved him — he firmly believed that she loved him fondly,
passionately ; and this was in his view sufficient to justify the attempt.
On the following day, therefore, he started again for Richmond ;
and as he then appeared to be somewhat more tranquil, Bob did what
he dared not do at the time, namely, venture to intimate something
which had reference to his strong disapproval of the state of his horse
the night preceding. An angry glance from Stanley, however, con-
vinced him that it was not even then a safe course to pursue, and he
therefore, under the circumstances wisely, held his peace.

On his arrival Stanley found the Captain out, and Amelia walking
thoughtfully in the gartlen. She appeared to be somewhat dejected,
while her beautiful Italian greyhound had dropped his tail and was
looking in the face of his gentle mistress with all the intelligence of
which those animals are capable, apparently with the view of ascer-
taining what weighed upon her heart.

" Amelia !" cried Stanley ; and she turned and flew to meet him, and
the dog, as it bounded up the path, seemed filled with delight.

" I scarcely expected this happiness to-day," said Amelia, smiling as
she blushed. "I much feared my dear father — that is — but, come,
come, you must not be impatient ! We are yet young. The time
will swiftly fly away, will it not? "

" Amelia," said Stanley, still holding her hands and watching her
eyes intently, " I cannot wait five years."

" Come, you must not speak so," said Amelia, gaily, " I shall really
begin to be jealous if you do."

•' Then you cannot really love me. Where love is, there confidence
also must be ; and confidence and jealousy cannot co-exist."

" Then," said Amelia, who never dreamed of opposing anything he
advanced. " Then I never can be jealous, for I do love you — dearly !"

" If then you do love me "

"If!" interrupted Amelia, playfully pouting her beautiful lips.

" Well then, as you love me, you will not deny me one favour."

" One favour ! What is it ?"

" Nay, nay ! — you must promise me first."

214 STANLEY THORN.

" My Stanley, I will promise. Secure in your honour and the purity
of every motive by which you are guided, I feel that I can deny you
nothing. What is it ? "

Stanley paused. He felt that he might be too precipitate, and
therefore at length said, " My dearest love, I will tell you — before
I leave."

*' No, now : pray, pray tell me now : it is cruel to keep me in
suspense."

" Amelia, we are, as you have said, both young. It is hence that
your father named this odious five years' probation ; but why should
we waste in doubts and fears the sweetest hours of our youth — the
very period at which we are most susceptible of happiness ? — why,
why, my love, when we have that happiness within our reach should
we fail to embrace it ? "

"I admit," said Amelia, "that it appears a long time: but then,
perhaps, you will be able to prevail on papa to name a somewhat
shorter period."

" Impossible ! The last words he uttered when conversing on this
subject were that he was upon this point inflexible ; that nothing on
earth could alter his expressed determination. Why then should this
be ? Granted that we are young : what brilliant examples have we of
the union of persons under precisely similar circumstances ! Why
should tve be forbidden to act like others ? Why should the ban be
peculiarly upon us ? My Amelia ! — do you believe that we shall be
happy ? "

" Indeed, indeed, I do : oh, most happy ! "

" Then why not at once ? Amelia," he continued, as he perceived
her eyes suddenly droop, " you understand me. I have done all that
a man of honour could do. I have solicited — earnestly solicited —
your hand from the hands of your father, who has consented to our
union, but with a proviso which both you and I deem unnecessary, if
not absolutely unjust. What more can I do ? My love, I can do no
more, and, therefore, as we cannot at once, with his consent, be united,
there is but one course which, in justice to ourselves "

" Stanley — Stanley ! " said Amelia, " do not name it. As you
love me say no more on that subject, I beseech you ! I cannot, must
not, dare not entertain the thought."

" Reflect, my sweet Amelia ; reflect calmly upon the subject. I do
not require an answer now ! — say a week hence — a month ! "

"My Stanley, I will not love you if you urge this matter further.
Indeed, you must never allude to it again. A year, a century, would
be insufficient to win my consent to that. But you are not serious !
Say that you were but jesting, and I will love you more dearly than
ever."

" Amelia, I cannot say that. I am serious."

" Oh ! Stanley ; consider well what it is you would have me do !
Think of my dear father and of my mother, my kind, fond mother,
whose affection for me is, and ever has been, most ardent ! You
would not have me utterly destroy that affection ? "

" I would not," replied Stanley.

" I knew it ! I knew that you would not. Oh, forgive me for
harbouring the thought."

" But, my love, yon take a superficial view of this matter. Your

STANLEY THORN. 215

mother might weep, and your father might be angry ; but all this
would be ephemeral. They would soon become reconciled."

" Never, Stanley, never ! My poor mother, indeed, might, if her
heart were not broken by the shock ; but my father never would !
Oh, Stanley, Stanley, banish the thought for ever. I never can, I
never will "

" When you are calm, my love ; reflect when you are calm."

" I am calm," rejoined Amelia firmly; " quite calm. I love you-— '
you know that I love you — most fondly ; but never, Stanley, never
will I take that step."

Stanley said no more. He dropped his hands, which still held hers ;
and having led her across the lawn into the parlour, he stood over her
in silence for some moments, when, kissing her brew affectionately, he
left her in tears.

He paced the lawn for some considerable time in deep thought. He
could not tell what course to pursue. Eventually, however, he walked
round to the stables, ordered his cab, and drove towards town. On the
road he met the Captain, who endeavoured to prevail upon him to re-
turn ; but, without the slightest manifestation of disappointment, he
declined and drove on.

Poor Amelia had no idea of his having left. As she sat absorbed in
tears she expected him every moment to re-enter the room. She dried
her eyes, and looked again and again towards the lawn. She could not
see him. She went into the garden. No Stanley was there. He
surely could not have left her so ! She would not believe that he had.
Even when she ascertained that he had driven off, she felt sure that he
would shortly return ; but when the Captain came home and explained
that he had seen him, her worst fears were realised, and although she
laboured hard, and to some extent successfully, to conceal her emo-
tion, the thought of his having left her under the circumstances with-
out a word, was, indeed, the most bitter pang she had ever ex-
perienced.

She had still, however, the hope of seeing him on the morrow; but
then the morrow came without Stanley. Well, surely on the next
day ! The next day also came without Stanley ; and the next and
the next : a week, which seemed a year, passed, but Stanley did not
come.

The Captain thought it strange, and sent Albert to ascertain if
he were ill : but excuses came back without Stanley. Another week
passed. The Captain sent no more. He began to regard it as a
matter of extreme delicacy under the circumstances ; and Albert left
for Cambridge.

Amelia now called into action all the power at her command, with
the view of enabling her to bear up against it. But then the thought
of having lost him for ever ! The third week passed. The colour left
her cheeks : her eyes lost their wonted fire — her spirits their usual
buoyancy : yet what could be done ? She felt that to write to him
would be extremely incorrect ; and yet could there be anything very
very indelicate in the pursuit of such a course ? When a month had
passed she could endure it no longer. She must write, and did to the
following effect : —
"Mr DEAR STANLEY,

" If Amelia be not utterly despised you will come down to Rich-
mond at once. Oh ! Stanley, I cannot endure it. I am distracted

216 STANLEY THORN.

It is cruel, very cruel. My heart is too full to say more, but believe
me to be still your most affectionate, although almost broken-hearted.

" AMELIA."

On the receipt of this, Stanley — albeit he could not help feeling its
force — experienced more than that common satisfaction which springs
from the success of a deeply laid scheme. It developed precisely that
state of mind to which he had been ardently anxious to bring her. He
had kept away expressly in order to prove that he had enslaved her by
making her feel that his absence was intolerable. He therefore de-
tained the servant whom she had secretly despatched, and wrote the
following answer : —

"MY OWN SWEET GIRL,

" You are still, and ever will be, dearer to me than life ; but my
absence has been prompted by the conviction, that during the pro-
bationary period which has been named, and which, indeed, you have
sanctioned, it were better, as that period must elapse, for us to com-
municate with each other as seldom as possible, lest I may be tempted
to renew those solicitations which appear to be so utterly abhorrent to
your feelings. I will, however, as you desire it, drive down in the
morning, when I hope to find you perfectly well.

" I am, my Amelia, still your own

" STANLEY."

This greatly relieved her. It reanimated her hopes. She felt that
she was still beloved by him whom she adored, and was comparatively
happy ; and when he came the next morning she endeavoured to smile
with her accustomed sweetness, and forbore to employ even the accents
of reproof; but Stanley perceived that she had endured the most in-
tense mental agony, and that, as he was still most affectionately atten-
tive, she loved him if possible more fondly than before.

The subject was not renewed. Not a syllable having reference to
his absence passed his lips, save to the Captain, to whom he made cer-
tain specious excuses. He dined there ; and as he endeavoured to en-
slave her still more by calling up all his powers of fascination, he left
her so happy ! He went the next day and the next ; still not a single
syllable on the subject was breathed ; but, on the day following that,
lie seized the earliest opportunity for renewing the attack, having
found that he had so completely gained her heart as to render resist-
ance improbable in the extreme.

" My dear Amelia," said he, as they sat in the arbour ; " I cannot of
course tell, love, how you feel ; but really, in your society, I experience
such happiness ! "

" Indeed, my Stanley, it is mutual," said Amelia. " It is hence
that vour absence induced so much agony."

*' Why, then," said Stanley, " should we ever be absent from each
other ? Amelia ! forgive me ; but I feel that I must again urge
my suit. I must again try to prevail upon you to listen to that
which '

" Stanley, Stanley ! " said Amelia, bursting into tears ;- " pray, pray
do not mention that subject again."

" I know your extreme delicacy," he continued, " and appreciate it
highly ; but let me reason with you for a moment. You believe that
your parents have your happiness at heart ? "

4< Oh ! yes," replied Amelia. " Of that I am convinced."

STANLEY THORN.

" How then can you believe that they Avould be angry to see you
happy ? "

"I do not/' said Amelia. " I feel that nothing could impart to
them greater delight."

" Then you do not expect to be happy with me ? "

" O Stanley ! you know I feel sure that our happiness would be per-
fect."

" Then how can you suppose that when they see that you are happy,
their anger will last ? "

Amelia's head drooped, and she was silent.

" Come," continued Stanley, " come, look at this matter in a rational
point of view. I believe, fully believe, their affection to be firm ; but
I cannot associate firmness with the love which one venial act of dis-
obedience can for ever destroy. My sweet girl ! confide in me ! — All,
all, will be well. Come say, my love, say that you will at once be
mine ! "

" O Stanley ! " cried Amelia, who was able to resist no longer,
" you are, indeed, my soul's guide. You will be kind to me, my love ?
Oh, yes ! — I feel, I know that you will be kind to me ! "

" This is a moment of happiness ! Now do I feel that you love me
indeed ! My dear girl, words are insufficient to express the ardour of
my affection : my life shall be devoted to prove it. Prepare, my sweet,
at once. Let our happiness to-inorrow be complete. Once over and all
will be well. I may depend upon your firmness !"

" Stanley ! I will be firm ! "

They now returned from the arbour, and after dinner, Stanley
having delivered into her hands a paper containing a few brief in-
structions, and extorted from her another declaration that her mind
was made up, left with the view of making the arrangements which
were essential to the performance of the highly important business of
the morrow.

The morrow came ; and at ten o'clock Stanley was at breakfast at
an inn at Richmond ; and at eleven a lady closely veiled, enveloped in
a bronze satin cloak and attended by a servant, inquired for Mr. Fitz-
gerald, and was immediately shown — according to instructions — into
the room which Stanley occupied. He received this lady with great
formality, and directed the waiter, by whom she had been introduced,
to send his servant up immediately ; but the moment they were alone
Stanley embraced her, exclaiming, " My noble girl ! now have I proved
your devotion."

"My Stanley," said Amelia, who trembled with great violence and
looked pale as death as she spoke, — "thus far — thus far, have I kept
my word ; but, on my knees, I implore you to urge me no farther."

" Hush ! " cried Stanley, raising her as Bob, who knew his cue,
knocked at the door. "Confide in me, my sweet wife! — Still, still
confide in me ! Come in," he added, and Bob most respectfully entered
hat in hand.

With all the delicacy of which he was capable, and with innume-
rable cheering expressions, Stanley divested Amelia of her bonnet and
cloak, which he placed with great tact upon Bob, who appeared to be
inexpressibly delighted. He was, it is true, somewhat shorter than
Amelia ; but that was of no great importance, as it merely made his
train a little longer, and while he felt that the style of the bonnet
became him well, he held the muff in the most lady-like manner
possible.

218 STANLEY THORN.

While Bob was uniting the little hooks and eyes from the top to the
very bottom of the cloak,with the laudable view of concealing his boots
effectually, Stanley was preparing Amelia's disguise — Bob's hat and his
own roquelaure.

" Now/' said Stanley, " let us see, sir, how much like a lady you
can walk." And Bob paced the room with all the dignity and grace
at his command, although he occasionally turned to look at his train,
and laughed with infinite enthusiasm, while Stanley was endeavouring
to raise the spirits of Amelia, who had sunk into a chair in a state of
exhaustion.

" My dear, sweet girl ! " said Stanley, " have confidence : have
courage. Be assured that we shall both have cause to bless this happy
day. Now," he continued, addressing Bob, " you know, sir, what you
have to do, and take care that you do it well."

" I will, sir. God bless you, miss," said Bob, " I wish you joy, and
many happy returns ;" and having curtsied, and veiled himself closely,
he walked with due elegance from the inn, promptly followed by the
Captain's servant.

Stanley had no sooner seen Bob safely off than he completed Amelia's
disguise, rang for the bill, and ordered his cab to be brought to the
door as soon as possible ; and as the waiter saw Bob, as he believed,
upon a chair with his hat on, he naturally inferred that he had been
taken very suddenly ill, and hence proceeded at once to obey orders.
The horse was already harnessed. He had but to be put to ; and when
the bill was brought the cab was at the door. Stanley, therefore, in an
instant settled the amount, and, to the great admiration of the attend-
ants, who regarded him as a kind and most considerate master, assisted
poor Amelia with great care into the cab, stepped round, seized the
reins, and drove off.

t

219

GUY FAWKES.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

BY W. HARRISON AINS WORTH, ESQ.

ILLUSTRATED BY GEO.RGE CRUIKSHANK.

BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER V.

CHAT MOSS.

THE pursuivant was taken so completely unawares by the sudden
appearance of Guy Fawkes and his companions, that he made no
attempt at resistance. Nor were his attendants less confounded. Be-
fore they recovered from their surprise, Humphrey Chetham seized
Viviana in his arms, and darting through the panel, called to the
priest to follow him. Father Oldcorne was about to comply, when
one of the soldiers, grasping the surcingle at his waist, dragged him
forcibly backwards. The next moment, however, he was set free
by Guy Fawkes, who felling the man to the ground, and, interpos-
ing himself between the priest and the other soldier, enabled the for-
mer to make good his retreat. This done, he planted himself in
front of the panel, and with a petrpnel in each hand, menaced his
opponents.

" Fly for your lives ! " he shouted in a loud voice to the others.
Not a moment is to be lost. I have taken greater odds, and in a worse
cause, and have not been worsted. . Heed me not, I say. I will de-
fend the passage till you are beyond reach 'of danger. Fly~!— tfy ! "

e< After them ! " vociferated the pursuivant, stamping with rage and
vexation ; " — after them instantly ! Hew down that bold traitor: Show
him no quarter. His life is forfeit to the King. Slay him as you
would a dog ! "

But the men, who had no fire-arms, were so much intimidated by
the fierce looks of Guy Fawkes, and the deadly weapons which he
pointed at their heads, that they hesitated to obey their leader's in-
junctions.

tf Do you hear what I say to you, cravens? " roared the pursuivant.
" Cut him down without mercy."

" They dare not move a footstep," rejoined Guy Fawkes, in a de-
risive tone.

"Recreants!" cried the pursuivant, foaming with rage, "is my
prey to be snatched from me at the very moment I have secured it,
through your cowardice ? Obey me instantly, or, as Heaven shall
judge me, I will denounce you to my Lord Derby and the Commis-
sioners as aiders and abettors in Father Oldcorne's escape ! — and you
well know what your punishment will be if I do so. What ! — are you
afraid of one man ? "

" Our pikes are no match for his petronels," observed the foremost
soldier, sullenly.

" They are not," rejoined Guy Fawkes ; " and you will do well not
to compel me to prove the truth of your assertion. As to you,
M aster Pursuivant," he continued, with a look so stern that the other
quailed before it, " unwilling as I am to shed blood, I shall hold your

VOL. VII. R

GUY FAWKES.

life, if I am compelled to take it, but just retribution for the fate you
have brought upon the unfortunate Elizabeth Orton."

" Ha ! " exclaimed the pursuivant, starting. " I thought I recog-
nised you. You are the soldier in the Spanish garb who saved that
false prophetess from drowning."

"I saved her only for a more lingering death," rejoined Guy
Fawkes.

" I know it," retorted the pursuivant. " I found her dead body when
I visited her cell on my way hither, and gave orders to have it
interred without coffin or shroud in that part of the burial-ground of
the Collegiate Church in Manchester which is reserved for common
felons."

" I know not what stays my hand," rejoined Guy Fawkes, fiercely.
" But I am strongly tempted to give you a grave beside her."

" I will put your daring to the proof ! " cried the pursuivant, snatch-
ing a pike from one of his followers, and brandishing it over his head.
" Throw down your arms, or you die ! "

" Back ! " exclaimed Guy Fawkes, presenting a petronel at him,
" or I lodge a bullet in your brain."

" Be advised by me, and rush not on certain destruction, good Mas-
ter Pursuivant," said the foremost soldier, plucking his mantle. " I
see by his bloodthirsty looks that the villain is in earnest."

" I hear footsteps," cried the other soldier ; " our comrades are at
hand."

" Then it is time for me to depart," cried Guy Fawkes, springing
through the secret door, and closing it after him.

" Confusion ! " exclaimed the pursuivant ; " but he shall not escape.
Break open the panel."

The order was promptly obeyed. The men battered the stout oak
board, which was of great thickness, with their pikes, but it resisted
every effort ; nor was it until the arrival of a fresh band of soldiers
with lights, mallets, chisels, and other implements suitable to the pur-
pose, that it could be forced open. This accomplished, the pursuivant,
commanding his attendants to follow him, dashed through the aper-
ture. The passage was so narrow, that they were compelled to pro-
ceed singly along it, and, as they advanced,fthe roof became so low
that they were compelled to adopt a stooping posture. In this manner
they hurried on until their further progress was stopped by a massive
stone door, which appeared to descend from above by some hidden
contrivance, as no trace of bolt or other fastening could be detected ;
but the flag, fitting closely in channels in the walls, had all the appear-
ance of solid masonry. After examining this obstacle for a moment,
the pursuivant was convinced that any attempt to move it would be
fruitless, and muttering a deep execration, he therefore gave the word
to return.

" From what I have observed," he said, " this passage must commu-
nicate with the garden, — perhaps with the further side of the moat.
We may yet secure them, if we use despatch."

Guy Fawkes, meanwhile, had taken the same course as the pursui-
vant. On arriving at the point where the stone door was situated,
which he discovered by the channels in the wall above-mentioned, he
searched for an iron ring, and, having found it, drew it towards him,
and the ponderous flag slowly dropped into its place. He then groped
his way cautiously along in the dark, until his foot encountered the
top of a ladder, down which he crept, and landed on the floor of a

GUY FAWKES. 221

damp deep vault. Having taken the precaution to remove the ladder,
he hastened onwards for about fifty yards, when he came to a steep
flight of stone steps, distinguishable by a feeble glimmer of light from
above, and mounting them, emerged through an open trap-door into
a small building situated at the western side of the moat, where, to
his surprise and disappointment, he found the other fugitives.

" How comes it you are here ? " he exclaimed in a reproachful tone.
" I kept the wolves at bay thus long, to enable you to make good your
retreat."

" Miss Radcliffe is too weak to move/' replied Humphrey Chetham ;
" and I could not persuade Father Oldcorne to leave her."

" I care not what becomes of me," said the priest. " The sooner
my painful race is run the better. But I cannot — will not abandon my
dear charge thus."

" Think not of me, father, I implore you," rejoined Viviana, who
had sunk overpowered with terror and exhaustion. " I shall be better
soon. Master Chetham, I am assured, will remain with me till our
enemies have departed, and I will then return to the hall."

" Command me as you please, Miss Radcliffe," replied Humphrey
Chetham. " You have but to express a wish to insure its fulfilment
on my part."

" Oh ! that you had suffered Mr. Catesby to tarry with us till the
morning, as he himself proposed, dear daughter," observed the priest,
turning to Viviana. " His counsel would have been invaluable at this
frightful juncture."

" Has Mr. Catesby been here ? " inquired Guy Fawkes, with a look
of astonishment.

" He has," replied Oldcorne. " He came to warn us that the hall
would be this night searched by the officers of state ; and he also
brought word that a warrant had been issued by the Privy Council for
the arrest of Sir William Radcliffe."

" Where is he now ? " demanded Fawkes, hastily.

" On the way to Chester, whither he departed in all haste, at Miss
Radcliffe's urgent request, to apprize her father of his danger," rejoined
the priest.

" This is strange ! " muttered Guy Fawkes. " Catesby here, and I
not know it ! "

" He had a secret motive for his visit, my son," whispered Oldcorne,
significantly.

" So I conclude, father," replied Fawkes, in the same tone.

" Miss Radcliffe," murmured Humphrey Chetham, in low and ten-
der accents, " something tells me that this moment will decide my future
fate. Emboldened by the mysterious manner in which we have been
brought together, and you, as it were, have been thrown upon my pro-
tection, I venture to declare the passion I have long indulged for you : —
a passion which, though deep and fervent as ever agitated human bosom,
has hitherto, from the difference of our rank, and yet more from the
difference of our religious opinions, been without hope. What has just
occurred, — added to the peril in which your worthy father stands, and
the difficulties in which you yourself will necessarily be involved, —
makes me cast aside all misgiving, and perhaps with too much pre-
sumption, but with a confident belief that the sincerity of my love ren-
ders me not wholly undeserving of your regard, — earnestly solicit
you to give me a husband's right to watch over and defend you."

R2

222 GUY FAWKES.

Viviana was silent. But even by the imperfect light the young
merchant could discern that her cheek was covered with blushes.

" Your answer ? " he cried, taking her hand.

" You must take it from my lips, Master Chetham," interposed the
priest : " Miss Radcliffe never can be yours."

" Be pleased to let her speak for herself, reverend sir," rejoined the
young merchant, angrily.

" I represent her father, and have acquainted you with his deter-
mination," rejoined the priest. " Appeal to her, and she will confirm
my words."

" Viviana, is this true ? " asked Chetham. " Does your father object
to your union with me ? "

" He does," she replied, in a mournful tone, and gently withdraw-
ing her hand from the young merchant's grasp.

" Then there is no hope for me ? " cried Chetham.

" Alas! no," replied Viviana ; " nor for me — of earthly affection. I
am already dead to the world."

" How so ? " he asked.

" I am about to vow myself to Heaven," she answered.

" Viviana ! " exclaimed the young man, throwing himself at her feet,
"reflect! -—oh! reflect, before you take this fatal — this irrevocable
step."

" Rise, sir," interposed the priest, sternly ; " you plead in vain.
Sir William Radcliffe will never wed his daughter to a heretic. In
his name I command you to desist from further solicitation."

" I obey," replied Chetham, rising.

" We lose time here," observed Guy Fawkes, who had been lost for
a moment in reflection. " I will undertake to provide for your safety,
father. But, what must be done with Miss Radcliffe ? She cannot
be left here. And her return to the hall would be attended with
danger."

" I will not return till the miscreants have quitted it," said Viviana.

" Their departure is uncertain," replied Fawkes. " When they are
baulked of their prey they sometimes haunt a dwelling for weeks."

" What will become of me ? " cried Viviana, distractedly.

" It were vain, I fear, to entreat you to accept an asylum with my
father at Clayton Hall, or at my own residence at Crumpsall," said
Humphrey Chetham.

" Your offer is most kind, sir," replied Oldcorne, " and is duly appre-
ciated. But Miss Radcliffe will see the propriety — on every account
— of declining it."

" I do — I do," she acquiesced.

" Will you entrust yourself to my protection, Miss Radcliffe ? " said
Fawkes.

"Willingly," replied. the priest, answering for her. "We shall
find some place of refuge," he added, turning to Viviana, "where
your father can join us, and where we can remain concealed till this
storm has blown over."

" I know many such," rejoined Fawkes, "both in this county, and
in Yorkshire, and will guide you to one."

" My horses are at your service," said Humphrey Chetham. " They
are tied beneath the trees in the avenue. My servant shall bring them
to the door," and, turning to his attendant, he gave him directions to
that effect. " I was riding hither an hour before midnight/' he con-

GUY FAWKES. 223

tinned, addressing Viviana, " to offer you assistance, having accidentally
heard the pursuivant mention his meditated visit to Ordsall Hall to
one of his followers, when, as I approached the gates, this person,"
pointing to Guy Fawkes, " crossed my path, and, seizing the bridle of
my steed, demanded whether I was a friend to Sir William Radcliffe.
I answered in the affirmative, and desired to know the motive of his
inquiry. He then told me that the house was invested by a numerous
band of armed men, who had crossed the moat by means of a plank,
and were at that moment concealed within the garden. This intelli-
gence, besides filling me with alarm, disconcerted all my plans, as I
hoped to have been beforehand with them, — their inquisitorial searches
being generally made at a late hour, when ail the inmates of a house
intended to be surprised are certain to have retired to rest. While I
was bitterly reproaching myself for my dilatoriness, and considering
what course it would be best to pursue, my servant, Martin Heydocke,
— son to your father's steward, — who had ridden up at the stranger's
approach, informed me that he was acquainted with a secret passage
communicating beneath the moat with the hall. Upon this I dismount-
ed, and fastening my horse to a tree, ordered him to lead me to it with-
out an instant's delay. The stranger, who gave his name as Guy
Fawkes, and professed himself a stanch Catholic, and a friend of Father
Oldcorne, begged permission to join us in a tone so earnest that I at
once acceded to his request. We then proceeded to this building, and
after some search discovered the trap-door. Much time was lost, owing
to our being unprovided with lights, in the subterranean passage ; and it
was more than two hours before we could find the ring connected with
the stone-door, the mystery of which Martin explained to us. This de-
lay we feared would render our scheme abortive, when, just as we
reached the panel we heard your shrieks. The spring was touched,
and — you know the rest."

" And shall never forget it," replied Viviana, in a tone of the deepest
gratitude.

At this juncture, the tramp of horses was heard at the door ; and
the next moment it was thrown open by the younger Heydocke, who,
with a look, and in a voice of the utmost terror, exclaimed, " They are
coming ! — they are coming ! "

" The pursuivant ? " cried Guy Fawkes.

" Not him alone, but the whole gang," rejoined Martin. " Some of
them are lowering the drawbridge, while others are crossing the plank.
Several are on horseback, and I think I discern the pursuivant amongst
the number. They have seen me, and are hurrying in this direction."

As he spoke a loud shout corroborated his statement.

" We are lost ! " exclaimed Oldcorne.

" Do not despair, father," rejoined Guy Fawkes. " Heaven will not
abandon its faithful servants. The Lord will deliver us out of the
hands of these Amalekites."

" To horse, then, if you would indeed avoid them," urged Humphrey
Chetham. " The shouts grow louder. Your enemies are fast ap-
proaching."

" Miss RadclifFe, said Guy Fawkes, " are you willing to fly with
us ? "

" I will do anything rather than be left to those horrible men," she
answered.

-Guy Fawkes then raised her in his arms, and sprang with his

GUY FAWKES.

lovely burden upon the nearest charger. His example was quickly
followed by Humphrey Chetham, who, vaulting on the other horse, as-
sisted the priest to mount behind him. While this took place Martin
darted into the shed, and instantly bolted the door.

It was a beautiful moonlight night, almost as bright as day, and the
movements of each party were therefore fully revealed to the other.
Guy Fawkes perceived at a glance that they were surrounded ; and,
though he had no fears for himself, he was full of apprehension for the
safety of his companion. While he was debating with himself as to
the course it would be best to pursue, Humphrey Chetham shouted to
him to turn to the left, and started off in that direction. Grasping his
fair charge, whom he had placed before him on the saddle, firmly with
his left arm, and wrapping her in his ample cloak, Guy Fawkes drew
his sword, and striking spurs into his steed, followed in the same track.

The little fabric which had afforded them temporary shelter, it has
already been mentioned, was situated on the west of the hall, at a short
distance from the moat, and was screened from observation by a small
shrubbery. No sooner did the fugitives emerge from this cover than
loud outcries were raised by their antagonists, and every effort was
made to intercept them. On the right, galloping towards them
on a light, but swift courser, taken from Sir William Radcliffe's
stables, came the pursuivant, attended by half-a-dozen troopers, who
had accommodated themselves with horses in the same manner as
their leader. Between them and the road leading to Manchester were
stationed several armed men on foot. At the rear, voices proclaimed
that others were in full pursuit ; while in front, a fourth detachment
menaced them with their pikes. Thus beset on all sides, it seemed
scarcely possible to escape. Nothing daunted, however, by the threats
and vociferations with which they were received, the two horsemen
boldly charged this party. The encounter was instantaneous. Guy
Fawkes warded off a blow, — which, if it had taken effect, must have
robbed Miss Radcliffe of life, — and struck down the fellow who aimed
it. At the same moment, his career was checked by another assailant,
who, catching his bridle with the hook of his pike, commanded him to
surrender. Fawkes replied by cleaving the man's staff asunder, and
having thus disembarrassed himself, was about to pursue his course
when he perceived that Humphrey Chetham was in imminent danger
from a couple of soldiers, who had stopped him, and were trying to
unhorse his companion. Riding up to them, Guy Fawkes, by a vigor-
ous and well-directed attack, speedily drove them off; and the fugi-
tives, being now unimpeded, were enabled to continue their career.

The foregoing occurrences were witnessed by the pursuivant with the
utmost rage and vexation. Pouring forth a torrent of threats and im-
precations, he swore he would never rest till he had secured them,
and urging his courser to its utmost speed, commanded his men to give
chase.

Skirting the brink of a sluice which served to convey the water of
the Irwell to the moat, Humphrey Chetham, — who, as better ac-
quainted with the country than his companion, took the lead, — pro-
ceeded in this direction for about a hundred yards, when he suddenly
struck across a narrow bridge covered with sod, and entered the open
fields. Hitherto, Viviaria had remained silent. Though fully aware of
the risk she had run, she gave no sign of alarm, — not even when the
blow was aimed against her life. And it was only now that she con-

GUY FAWKES.

ceived the danger was in some degree passed that she ventured to ex-
press her gratitude.

" You have displayed so much courage, Miss Radcliffe," said Guy
Fawkes, in answer to her speech, " that it would be unpardonable to
deceive you. Our foes are too near us, and too well mounted, to make
it by any means certain we shall escape them, — unless by stratagem."

" They are within a hundred yards of us/' cried Humphrey Chet-
ham, glancing fearfully backwards. " They have possessed themselves
of your father's fleetest horses. And, if I mistake not, the rascally pur-
suivant has secured your favourite barb."

" My gentle Zayda ! " exclaimed Viviana. " Then indeed we are
lost. She has not her match for speed."

" If she bring her rider to us alone, she will do us good service," ob-
served Guy Fawkes, significantly.

The same notion, almost at the same moment, occurred to the pursui-
vant. Having witnessed the prowess displayed by Guy Fawkes in
his recent attack on the soldiers, he felt no disposition to encounter so
formidable an opponent single-handed; and finding that the high-
mettled barb on which he was mounted, by its superior speed and fiery
temper, would inevitably place him in such a dilemma, he prudently
resolved to halt, and exchange it for a more manageable steed.

This delay was of great service to the fugitives, and enabled them
to get considerably a-head. They had now gained a narrow lane, and
tracking it, speedily reached the rocky banks of the Irwell. Gallop-
ing along a foot-path which followed the serpentine course of the
stream for a quarter of a mile, they arrived at a spot marked by a bed
of osiers, where Humphrey Chetham informed them the river was
ford able.

Accordingly, they plunged into the water, and while stemming the
current, which here ran with great swiftness, and rose up above the
saddles, the neighing of a steed was heard from the bank they had
quitted. Turning at the sound, Viviana beheld her favourite courser
on the summit of a high rock. The soldier to whom Zayda was in-
trusted had speedily, as the pursuivant foresaw, distanced his compa-
nions, and had chosen this elevated position to take sure aim at Guy
Fawkes, against whom he was now levelling a caliver. The next mo-
ment a bullet struck against his brigandine, but without doing him any
injury. The soldier, however, did not escape so lightly. Startled by
the discharge, the fiery barb leapt from the precipice into the river,
and throwing her rider, who was borne off by the rapid stream, swam
after her mistress. She reached the opposite bank just as the others
were landing, and at the sound of Viviana's voice stood still, and allowed
Humphrey Chetham to lay hold of her bridle. Viviana declaring she
was able to mount her, Guy Fawkes, who felt that such an arrange-
ment was most likely to conduce to her safety, and who was, more-
over, inclined to view the occurrence as a providential interference in
their behalf, immediately assisted her into the saddle.

Before this transfer could be effected, the pursuivant and his attend-
ants had begun to ford the stream. The former had witnessed the ac-
cident which had befallen the soldier from a short distance; and, while
he affected to deplore it, internally congratulated himself on his pru-
dence and foresight. But he was by no means so well satisfied when
he saw how it served to benefit the fugitives.

" That unlucky beast ! " he exclaimed. " Some fiend must have

GUY FAWKES.

prompted me to bring her out of the stable. Would she had drowned
herself instead of poor Dickon Duckesbury, whom she hath sent to feed
the fishes ! With her aid, Miss Radcliffe will doubtless escape. No
matter. If I secure Father Oldcorne, and that black-visaged trooper
in the Spanish garb, who, I '11 be sworn, is a secret intelligencer of the
pope, if not of the devil, I shall be well contented. I '11 hang them both
on a gibbet higher than Hainan's."

And muttering other threats to the same effect, he picked his way to
the opposite shore. Long before he reached it, the fugitives had disap-
peared. But on climbing the bank, he beheld them galloping swiftly
across a well-wooded district steeped in moonlight, and spread out be-
fore his view, and inflamed by the sight, he shouted to his attendants,
and once more started in pursuit.

Cheered by the fortunate incident above related, which, in present-
ing her with her own steed in a manner so surprising and unexpected,
seemed almost to give her assurance of deliverance, Viviana, inspirited
by the exercise, felt her strength and spirits rapidly revive. At her
side rode Guy Fawkes, who ever and anon cast an anxious look behind,
to ascertain the distance of their pursuers, but suffered no exclamation
to escape his lips. Indeed, throughout the whole affair, he maintained
the reserve which belonged to his sombre and taciturn character, and
neither questioned Humphrey Chetham as to where he was leading
them, nor proposed any deviation from the route he had apparently
chosen. To such remarks as were addressed to him Fawkes answered in
monosyllables ; and it was only when occasion required, that he volun-
teered any observation or advice. He seemed to surrender himself to
chance. And perhaps, if his bosom could have been examined, it would
have been found that he considered himself a mere puppet in the
hands of destiny.

In other and calmer seasons, he might have dwelt with rapture on
the beautiful and varied country through which they were speeding,
and which, from every knoll they mounted, every slope they descended,
every glade they threaded, intricacy pierced, or tangled dell tracked,
presented new and increasing attractions. This charming district, which
has since been formed into a park by the Traffords, from whom it
derives its present designation, was at this time, — though part of
the domain of that ancient family, — wholly unenclosed. Old Traf-
ford Hall lies (for it is still in existence,) more than a mile nearer
to Manchester, a little to the east of Ordsall Hall ; but the modern
residence of the family is situated in the midst of the lovely region
through which the fugitives were riding.

But, though the charms of the scene, heightened by the gentle
medium through which they were viewed, produced little effect upon
the iron nature of Guy Fawkes, they were not without influence on
liis companions, especially Viviana. Soothed by the stillness of all
around her, she almost forgot her danger ; and surrendering herself to
the dreamy enjoyment generally experienced in contemplating such a
scene at such an hour, suffered her gaze to wander over the fair woody
landscape before her, till it was lost in the distant moonlit wolds.

From the train of thought naturally awakened by this spectacle, she
was roused by the shouts of the pursuers ; and, glancing fearfully behind
her, beheld them hurrying swiftly along the valley they had just
quitted. From the rapidity with which they were advancing, it was
evident they were gaining upon them, and she was about to urge

GUY FAWKES. 227

her courser to greater speed, when Humphrey Chetham laid his hand
upon the rein to check her.

" Reserve yourself till we gain the brow of this hill," he remarked ;
" and then put Zayda to her mettle. We are not far from our desti-
nation."

" Indeed ! " exclaimed Viviana. " Where is it ? "

" I will show it you presently," he answered.

Arrived at the summit of the high ground, which they had been for
some time gradually ascending, the young merchant pointed out a vast
boggy tract, about two miles off, in the vale beneath them.

" That is our destination," he said.

" Did I not hold it impossible you could trifle with rne at such a time
as this, Master Chetham, I should say you were jesting," rejoined Vi-
viana. " The place you indicate, unless I mistake you, is Chat Moss,
the largest and most dangerous marsh in Lancashire."

" You do not mistake me, neither am I jesting, Miss Radcliffe,".
replied the young merchant, gravely. " Chat Moss is the mark at
which I aim."

1 ' If we are to cross it, we shall need a Will-o'-the-wisp to guide us,
and some friendly elf to make firm the ground beneath our steeds,"
rejoined Viviana, in a slightly sarcastic tone.

" Trust to me, and you shall traverse it in safety," said Humphrey
Chetham.

" I would sooner trust myself to the pursuivant and his band, than
venture upon its treacherous surface," she replied.

" How is this, young sir ? " interposed Guy Fawkes, sternly. " Is
it from heedlessness or rashness that you are about to expose us to
this new danger? — which, if Miss Radcliffe judges correctly, and my
own experience of such places inclines me to think she does so, — is
greater than that which now besets us."

f( If there is any danger, I shall be the first to encounter it, for I
propose to act as guide," returned Humphrey Chetham, in an offended
tone. " But the treacherous character of the marsh constitutes our
safety. I am acquainted with a narrow path across it, from which the
deviation of a foot will bring certain death. If our pursuers attempt
to follow us, their destruction is inevitable. Miss Radclitfe may rest
assured that I would not needlessly expose so dear a life as hers. " But
it is our best chance of safety."

" Master Chetham is in the right,"- observed the priest. " I have
heard of the path he describes ; and if he can guide us along it, we shall
effectually baffle our enemies."

" I cry you mercy, sir," said Viviana. " I did not apprehend your
meaning. But I now thankfully resign myself to your care."

" Forward, then," cried the young merchant. And they dashed
swiftly down the declivity.

Chat Moss, towards which they were hastening, though now drained,
in part cultivated, and traversed by the busiest and most-frequented
railroad in England, or the world, was, within the recollection of many
of the youngest of the present generation, a dreary and almost impass-
able waste. Surveyed from the heights of Dunham, whence the writer
has often gazed upon it, envying the plover her wing to skim over its
broad expanse, it presented, with its black boggy soil, striped like a
motley garment, with patches of grey, tawny and dunnish red, a sin-
gular and mysterious appearance. Conjecture fixes this morass as the

228 GUY FAWKES.

site of avast forest, whose immemorial and Druid-haunted groves were
burnt by the Roman invaders ; and seeks to account for its present
condition by supposing that the charred trees — still frequently found
within its depths, — being left where the conflagration had placed them,
had choked up its brooks and springs, and so reduced it to a general
swamp. Drayton, however, in the following lines from the Faerie
Land, places its origin as far back as the Deluge : —

Great Chat Moss at my fall

Lies full of turf and marl, her unctuous mineral ;
And blocks as black as pitch, with boring augurs found
There at the General Flood supposed to be drown'd.

But the former hypothesis appears the more probable. A curious
description of Chat Moss, as it appeared at the time of this history, is
furnished by Camden, who terms it, " a swampy tract of great extent,
a considerable part of which was carried off in the last age by swollen
rivers with great danger, whereby the rivers were infected, and great
quantities of fish died. Instead thereof is now a valley watered by a
small stream, and many trees were discovered thrown down, and lying
flat, so that one, may suppose when the ground lay neglected, and the
waste water of brooks was not drained off into the open valleys, or
their courses stopped by neglect or desolation, all the lower grounds
were turned into swamps, (which we call mosses,} or into pools.
If this was the case, no wonder so many trees are found covered, and
as it were, buried in such places all over England, but especially here.
For the roots being loosened by two excessive wet, they must necess-
arily fall down and sink in so soft a soil. The people hereabouts search
for them with poles and spits, and after marking the place, dig them
up, and use them for firing, for they are like torches, equally fit to burn
and to give light, which is probably owing to the bituminous earth that
surrounds them, whence the common people suppose them firs, though
Caesar denies that there were such trees in Britain."

But, though vast masses of the bog had been carried off by the Irwell
and the Mersey, as related by Camden, the general appearance of the
waste, — with the exception of the valley and the small stream, — was
much the same as it continued to our own time. Its surface was more
broken and irregular, and black-gaping chasms and pits filled with
water and slime as dark-coloured as the turf from which it flowed,
pointed out the spots where the swollen and heaving swamp had burst
its bondage. Narrow paths, known only to the poor turf-cutters and
other labourers who dwelt upon its borders, and gathered fuel in the
manner above described, intersected it at various points. But as they
led in many cases to dangerous and deep gulfs, to dismal quag-
mires, and fathomless pits ; and, moreover, as the slightest departure
from the proper track would have whelmed the traveller in an oozy
bed, from which, as from a quicksand, he would have vainly striven to
extricate himself, — - it was never crossed without a guide, except by
those familiar with its perilous courses. One painful circumstance con-
nected with the history of Chat Moss remains to be mentioned, name-
ly, that the attempt made to cultivate it by the great historian Roscoe,
— an attempt since carried out, as has already been shown, with com-
plete success, — ended in a result ruinous to the fortunes of that
highly-gifted person, who, up to the period of this luckless under-
taking, was as prosperous as he was meritorious.

By this time, the fugitives had approached the confines of the marsh.

GUY FAWKES. 229

An accident, however, had just occurred, which nearly proved fatal to
Viviana, and, owing to the delay it occasioned, brought their pursuers
into dangerous proximity with them. In fording the Irwell, which,
from its devious course, they were again compelled to cross, about a
quarter of a mile below Barton, her horse missed its footing, and
precipitated her into the rapid current. In another instant, she would
have been borne away, if Guy Fawkes had not flung himself into the
water, and seized her before she sank. Her affrighted steed, having
got out of its depth, begun to swim off, and it required the utmost
exertion on the part of Humphrey Chetham, embarrassed as he was
by the priest, to secure it. In a few minutes, all was set to right,
and Viviana was once more placed on the saddle, without having
sustained farther inconvenience than was occasioned by her dripping
apparel. But those few minutes, as has been just stated, sufficed to
bring the pursuivant and his men close upon them ; and as they scram-
bled up the opposite bank, the plunging and shouting behind them
told that the latter had entered the stream.

" Yonder is Baysnape," exclaimed Humphrey Chetham, calling Vi-
viana's attention to a ridge of high ground on the borders of the waste.
" Below it lies the path by which I propose to enter the moss. We
shall speedily be out of the reach of our enemies."

" The marsh at least will hide us," answered Viviana, with a shud-
der. " It is a terrible alternative."

" Fear nothing, dear daughter," observed the priest. " The saints,
who have thus marvellously protected us, will continue to watch over
us to the end, and will make the path over yon perilous waste as safe
as the ground on which we tread."

" I like not the appearance of the sky," observed Guy Fawkes, look-
ing uneasily upwards. " Before we reach the spot you have pointed
out, the moon will be obscured. Will it be safe to traverse the moss
in the dark ? "

" It is our only chance," replied the young merchant, speaking in a
low tone, that his answer might not reach Viviana s ears ; " and after
all, the darkness may be serviceable. Our pursuers are so near, that if
it were less gloomy, they might hit upon the right track. It will be a
risk to us to proceed, but certain destruction to those who follow. And
now let us make what haste we can. Every moment is precious."

The dreary and fast- darkening waste had now opened upon them in
all its horrors. Far as the gaze could reach appeared an immense
expanse, flat almost as the surface of the ocean, and unmarked, so
far as could be discerned in that doubtful light, by any trace of
human footstep, or habitation. It was a stern and sombre pros-
pect, and calculated to inspire terror in the stoutest bosom. What
effect it produced on Viviana may be easily conjectured. But her
nature was brave and enduring, and, though she trembled so violently
as scarcely to be able to keep her seat, she gave no utterance to her
fears. They were now skirting that part of the morass, since denomi-
nated, from the unfortunate speculation already alluded to, " Roscoe's
Improvements." This tract was the worst and most dangerous portion
of the whole moss. Soft, slabby, and unsubstantial, its treacherous
beds scarcely offered secure footing to the heron that alighted on them.
The ground shook beneath the fugitives as they hurried past the edge
of the groaning and quivering marsh. The plover, scared from its
nest, uttered its peculiar and plaintive cry ; the bittern shrieked ; other
night-fowl poured forth their doleful notes ; and the bull-frog added

230 GUY FAWKES.

its deep croak to the ominous concert. Behind them came the thun-
dering tramp and loud shouts of their pursuers. Guy Fawkes had
judged correctly. Before they reached Baysnape the moon had with-
drawn behind a rack of clouds, and it had become profoundly dark.
Arrived at this point, Humphrey Chetham called to them to turn off
to the right.

" Follow singly," he said, " and do not swerve a hair's breadth from
the path. The slightest deviation will be fatal. Do you, sir," he
added to the priest, " mount behind Guy Fawkes, and let Miss Rad-
cliffe come next after me. If I should miss my way, do not stir for
your life."

The transfer effected, the fugitives turned off to the right, and pro-
ceeded at a cautious pace along a narrow and shaking path. The
ground trembled so much beneath them, and their horses' feet sank so
deeply in the plashy bog, that Viviana demanded, in a tone of some
uneasiness, if he was sure he had taken the right course ?

" If I had not," replied Humphrey Chetham, " we should ere this
have found our way to the bottom of the morass."

As he spoke, a floundering plunge, accompanied by a horrible and
quickly- stifled cry, told that one of their pursuers had perished in
endeavouring to follow them.

" One poor wretch is gone to his account," observed Viviana, in a
tone of commiseration. " Have a care ! — have a care, Master Chetham,
lest you share the same fate."

" If I can save you, I care not what becomes of me," replied the
young merchant. " Since I can never hope to possess you, life has
become valueless in my eyes."

" Quicken your pace, Master Chetham," shouted Guy Fawkes, who
brought up the rear. " Our pursuers have discovered the track, and
are making towards us."

" Let them do so/' replied the young merchant. " They can do us
no farther injury."

" That is false ! " cried the voice of a soldier from behind. And as
the words were uttered a shot was fired, which, though aimed against
Chetham, took effect upon his steed. The animal staggered, and his
rider had only time to slide from his back when he reeled off the path,
and was ingulfed in the marsh.

Hearing the plunge of the steed, the man fancied he had hit his
mark, and hallooed in an exulting voice to his companions. But his
triumph was of short duration. A ball from the petronel of Guy
Fawkes pierced his brain, and dropping from his saddle, he sank, to-
gether with his horse, which he dragged along with him into the
quagmire.

" Waste no more shot," cried Humphrey Chetham ; " the swamp
will fight our battles for us. Though I grieve for the loss of my faithful
horse, I may be better able to guide you on foot."

With this, he seized Viviana's bridle, and drew her steed along
at a quick pace, but with the greatest caution. As they proceeded, a
light like that of a lantern was seen to rise from the earth, and approach
them.

" Heaven be praised ! " exclaimed Viviana. " Some one has heard
us, and is hastening to our assistance."

" Not so," replied Humphrey Chetham. " The light you behold is
an ignis fatuus. Were you to trust yourself to its delusive gleam, it
would lead you to the most dangerous parts of the moss."

GUY FAWKES. 231

And, as if to exhibit its real character, the little flame, which
hitherto had burnt as brightly and steadily as a wax-candle, suddenly
appeared to dilate, and assuming a purple tinge, emitted a shower of
sparks, and then flitted rapidly over the plain.

" Woe to him that follows it ! " cried Humphrey Chetham.

" It has a strange unearthly look/' observed Viviana, crossing her-
self " I have much difficulty in persuading myself it is not the work
of some malignant sprite."

" It is only an exhalation of the marsh," replied Chetham. " But,
see ! others are at hand."

Their approach, indeed, seemed to have disturbed all the weird chil-
dren of the waste. Lights were seen trooping towards them in every
direction ; sometimes stopping, sometimes rising in the air, — now con-
tracting, now expanding, and when within a few yards of the travel-
lers, retreating with inconceivable swiftness.

"It is a marvellous and incomprehensible spectacle," remarked
Viviana.

" The common folk hereabouts aifirm that these Jack-o'-lanterns, as
they term them, always appear in greater numbers when some direful
catastrophe is about to take place," rejoined the young merchant.

" Heaven avert it from us ! " ejaculated Viviana.

" It is an idle superstition," returned Chetham. " But we must now
keep silence," he continued, lowering his voice, and stopping near the
charred stump of a tree, left, it would seem, as a mark. " The road
turns here. And, unless our pursuers know it, we shall now quit
them for ever. We must not let a sound betray the course we are
about to take."

Having turned this dangerous corner in safety, and conducted his
companions as noiselessly as possible for a few yards along the cross
path, which being mucn narrower, was consequently more perilous
than the first, Humphrey Chetham stood still, and, imposing silence
upon the others, listened to the approach of their pursuers. His pre-
diction was speedily and terribly verified. Hearing the movement
in advance, but unable to discover the course taken by the fugi-
tives, the unfortunate soldiers, fearful of losing their prey, quickened
their pace, in the expectation of instantly overtaking them. They
were fatally undeceived. Four only of their number, besides their
leader, remained, — two having perished in the manner heretofore de-
scribed. The first of these, disregarding the caution of his comrade,
laughingly urged his horse into a gallop, and, on passing the mark,
sunk as if by magic, and before he could utter a single warning
cry, into the depths of the morass. His disappearance was so instan-
taneous, that the next in order, though he heard the sullen plunge,
was unable to draw in the rein, and was likewise ingulfed. A third
followed ; and a fourth, in his efforts to avoid their fate, backed his
steed over the slippery edge of the path. Only one now remained.
This was the pursuivant, who, with the prudence that characterised
all his proceedings, had followed in the rear. He was so dreadfully
frightened, that, adding his shrieks to those of his attendants, he
shouted to the fugitives, imploring assistance in the most piteous
terms, and promising never again to molest them, if they would guide
him to a place of safety. But his cries were wholly unheeded. And
he perhaps endured in those few minutes of agony as much suffering
as he had inflicted on the numerous victims of his barbarity. It was
indeed an appalling moment. Three of the wretched men had not yet

232 GUY FAWKES.

sunk, but were floundering about in the swamp, and shrieking for
help. The horses, as much terrified as their riders, added their piercing
cries to the half-suffocated yells of their riders. And, as if to make the
scene more ghastly, myriads of dancing lights flitted towards them,
and throwing an unearthly glimmer over this part of the morass, fully
revealed their struggling figures. Moved by compassion for the poor
wretches, Viviana implored Humphrey Chetham to assist them ; and
finding him immoveable, she appealed to Guy Fawkes.

" They are beyond all human aid," the latter replied.

" Heaven have mercy on their souls ! " ejaculated the priest. " Pr^y
for them, dear daughter. Pray heartily, as I am about to do." And
he recited in an audible voice the Romish formula of supplication for
those in extremis.

Averting her gaze from the spectacle, Viviana joined fervently in
the prayer.

By this time two of the strugglers had disappeared. The third,
having freed himself from his horse, contrived for some moments, dur-
ing which he uttered the most frightful cries, to keep his head above
the swamp. His efforts were tremendous, but unavailing ; and served
only to accelerate his fate. Making a last desperate plunge towards
the bank where the fugitives were standing, he sank above the chin.
The expression of his face, shown by the ghastly glimmer of the fen-
fires, as he was gradually swallowed up, was horrible.

" Requiem ceternam dona eis, Domine," cried the priest.

" All is over," said Humphrey Chetham, taking the bridle of Vivi-
ana's steed, and leading her onwards. " We are free from our pur-
suers."

" There is one left," she cried, casting a look backwards.

" It is the pursuivant," returned Guy Fawkes, sternly. " He is
within shot," he added, drawing his petronel.

" Oh, no — no ! — in pity spare him ! " cried Viviana. " Too many
lives have been sacrificed already."

" He is the cause of all the mischief," said Guy Fawkes, unwillingly
replacing the petronel in his belt, " and may live to injure you and
your father."

" I will hope not," rejoined Viviana ; " but, spare him ! — oh, spare
him."

" Be it as you please," replied Guy Fawkes. " The marsh, I trust,
will not be so merciful."

With this, they slowly resumed their progress. On hearing their de-
parture, the pursuivant renewed his cries in a more piteous tone than
ever ; but, in spite of the entreaties of Viviana, nothing could induce
her companions to lend him assistance.

For some time, they proceeded in silence, and without accident. As
they advanced, the difficulties of the path increased, and it was fortu-
nate that the moon, emerging from the clouds in which, up to this mo-
ment, she had been shrouded, enabled them to steer their course in safe-
ty. At length, after a tedious and toilsome march for nearly half a mile,
the footing became more secure ; the road widened ; and they were
able to quicken their pace. Another half mile landed them upon the
western bank of the morass. Viviana's first impulse was to give thanks
to Heaven for their deliverance ; nor did she omit in her prayer a
supplication for the unfortunate beings who had perished. t

Arrived at the point now known as Rawson Nook, they entered a
lane, and proceeded towards Astley Green, where perceiving a cluster

GUY FAWKES. 233

of thatched cottages among the trees, they knocked at the door of the
first, and speedily obtained admittance from its inmates — a turf-cutter
and his wife. The man conveyed their steeds to a neighbouring barn,
while the good dame offered Viviana such accommodation and refresh-
ment as her humble dwelling afforded. Here they tarried till the fol-
lowing evening, as much to recruit Miss Radcliffe's strength, as for
security.

At the young merchant's request, the turf-cutter went in the
course of the day to see what had become of the pursuivant. He was
nowhere to be found. But he accidentally learnt from another hind,
who followed the same occupation as himself, that a person answering
to the officer's description had been seen to emerge from the moss near
Baysnape at daybreak, and take the road towards Manchester. Of
the unfortunate soldiers nothing but a steel cap and a pike, which the
man brought away with him, could be discovered.

After much debate, it was decided that their safest plan would be
to proceed to Manchester, where Humphrey Chetham undertook to
procure them safe lodgings at the SeVen Stars, — an excellent hostel,
kept by a worthy widow, who, he affirmed, would do anything to serve
him. Accordingly, they set out at night-fall, — Viviana taking her
place before Guy Fawkes, and relinquishing Zayda to the young mer-
chant and the priest. Shaping their course through Worsley, by
Monton Green and Pendleton, they arrived in about an hour within
sight of the town, which then — not a tithe of its present size, and un-
polluted by the smoky atmosphere in which it is now constantly enve-
loped,— was not without some pretensions to a picturesque appearance.
Crossing Salford Bridge, they mounted Smithy Bank, as it was then
termed, and proceeding along Cateaton Street and Hanging Ditch,
struck into Whithing (now Withy) Grove, at the right of which, just
where a few houses were beginning to straggle up Shude Hill, stood,
and still stands, the comfortable hostel of the Seven Stars. Here they
stopped, and were warmly welcomed by its buxom mistress, Dame
Sutcliffe. Muffled in Guy Fawkes's cloak, the priest gained the chamber
to which he was ushered unobserved. And Dame Sutcliffe, though her
Protestant notions were a little scandalized at her dwelling being made
the sanctuary of a Popish priest, promised, at the instance of Master
Chetham, whom she knew to be no favourer of idolatry in a general
way, to be answerable for his safety.

CHAPTER VI.
THE DISINTERMENT.

HAVING seen every attention that circumstances would admit shown
to Viviana by the hostess, — who, as soon as she discovered that she had
the daughter of Sir William Radcliffe of Ordsall under her roof, be-
stirred herself in right earnest for her accommodation, — Humphrey
Chetham, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, — it was past mid-
night,— expressed his determination to walk to his residence at Crump-
sail, to put an end to any apprehension which might be entertained by
the household at his prolonged absence. With this view, he set forth :
and Guy Fawkes, who seemed to be meditating some project which he
was unwilling to disclose to the others, quitted the hostel with him,
bidding the chamberlain sit up for him, as he should speedily return.
They had not gone far when he inquired the nearest way to the
Collegiate Church, and was answered that they were then proceed-
ing towards it, and in a few moments should arrive at its walls.

234 GUY FAWKES.

He next asked the young merchant whether he could inform him
which part of the churchyard was allotted to criminals. Humphrey
Chetham was somewhat surprised by the question, but replied, " At the
north-west, near the charnel ;" adding, " I shall pass within a short
distance of the spot, and will point it out to you."

Entering Fennel Street, at the end of which stood an ancient cross,
they soon came in sight of the church. The moon was shining
brightly, and silvered its massive square tower, its battlements, pin-
nacles, buttresses, and noble eastern window, with its gorgeous tracery.
While Guy Fawkes paused for a moment to contemplate this reverend
and beautiful structure, two venerable personages, having long snowy
beards, and wrapped in flowing mantles edged with sable fur, passed the
end of the street. One of them carried a lantern, though it was wholly
needless, as it was bright as day, and as they glided stealthily along,
there was something so mysterious in their manner, that it greatly ex-
cited the curiosity of Guy Fawkes, who inquired from his companion if
he knew who they were.

" The foremost is the warden of Manchester, the famous Doctor
Dee," replied Humphrey Chetham, " divine, mathematician, astrologer,
— and, if report speaks truly, conjuror."

" Is that Doctor Dee ? " cried Guy Fawkes, in astonishment.

" It is," replied the young merchant ; " and the other in the Polish
cap is the no less celebrated Edward Kelley, the doctor's assistant, or
as he is ordinarily termed, his seer."

" They have entered the churchyard," remarked Guy Fawkes. " I
will follow them."

" I would not advise you to do so," rejoined the other. " Strange
tales are told of them. You may witness that which it is not safe to
look upon."

The caution, however, was unheeded. Guy Fawkes had already
disappeared, and the young merchant, shrugging his shoulders, pro-
ceeded on his way towards Hunt's Bank.

On gaining the churchyard, Guy Fawkes perceived the warden and
his companion creeping stealthily beneath the shadow of a wall in the
direction of a low fabric, which appeared to be a bone-house, or char-
nel, situated at the north-western extremity of the church. Before
this building grew a black and stunted yew-tree. Arrived at it, they
paused, and looked round to see whether they were observed. They did
not, however, notice Guy Fawkes, who had concealed himself behind a
buttress. Kelley then unlocked the door of the charnel, and brought
out a pickaxe and mattock. Having divested himself of his cloak, he
proceeded to shovel out the mould from a new-made grave at a little
distance from the building. Doctor Dee stood by, and held the lantern
for his assistant. Determined to watch their proceedings, Guy Fawkes
crept towards the yew-tree, behind which he ensconced himself. Kel-
ley, meanwhile, continued to ply his spade with a vigour that seemed
almost incomprehensible in one so far-stricken in years, and of such in-
firm appearance. At length, he paused, and kneeling within the shallow
grave, endeavoured to drag something from it. Doctor Dee knelt to as-
sist him. After some exertion, they drew forth the corpse of a female,
which had been interred without coffin, and apparently in the habili-
ments worn during life. A horrible suspicion crossed Guy Fawkes.
Resolving to satisfy his doubts at once, he rushed forward, and beheld
in the ghastly lineaments of the dead the features of the unfortunate
prophetess, Elizabeth Or ton.

235
THE HERDSMAN.

BY P. MCTEAGUE, ESQ.

WE can scarcely refer to a poet, ancient or modern, who has not
touched his lyre in celebration of the shepherd's useful and honour-
able occupation. If

"The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatten'd with the murrain flock,"

the slothful shepherd is alone to blame (might perhaps have been add-
ed). If, on the contrary, the eye of the vigilant herdsman has fore-
seen the impending calamities of floods and tempests, and in the hour
of peril provided a secure retreat for his cattle, he not only rises in
his own estimation, but advances in the opinion of his employer.
HE is A MAN TO BE DEPENDED UPON, — the greatest encomium we
can bestow upon a servant.

How beautifully has Virgil described the various cares which de-
volve to the lot of the shepherd ! Nor does our own immortal
Shakspeare fail to praise the faithful guardian of the flock : —

"The shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink, out of his leather bottle ;
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade ;
All which, secure and sweetly, he enjoys."

Wherever we go — almost in every land we still see before us the
well-known characteristics of the tranquil shepherd; whose dead-
liest weapon is his crook, and fiercest associate his faithful dog. In
times of cruel warfare his is the occupation of peace ; and, amidst
the changes and chances of states and empires, his state, and his em-
pire, remain unaltered. In the sweet words of Sir Henry Wotton: —

" Nor wars are seen,

Unless upon the green

Two harmless lambs are butting one another ;
Which done, both bleating run each to his mother ;
And wounds are never found,
Save what the ploughshare gives the ground."

There is only one young unhappy scapegrace that ever I heard of
who says a word against this most honourable calling, — and that is
Master Norval ; who, after stripping a certain audacious freebooter
of his arms (which was all very well in its way), thought proper to
turn up his nose, and exclaim that he (forsooth),

" Disdained the shepherd's slothful life ! "

That such words should have been ever written by a Scotchman !
That such words should have been ever repeated by a child of the
Grampians !

" A purty piece of impudence," as our hero, Paddy Morony,
would have said, were he now " to the fore." " Faix ! anything in
the wide world but that same. Slothful, indeed ! Show me a sloth-
ful herdsman, and I '11 show you an ill-conditioned flock."

But, poor fellow ! where is he ? Where is Paddy Morony, the
VOL. vu. s

236 THE HERDSMAN.

pride of shepherds, and the boast of the whole barony of Burrin, in
the sweet county of Clare ?

Alas ! poor Paddy, thou art gone ! — but not for ever. Thy good
deeds, thy love of truth, the remembrance of thy neighbourly acts,
thy social harmless mirth, — all these will survive in the remem-
brance of those who love to cherish the name and service of an HO-
NEST MAN. Thy Great Shepherd will provide for thee !

Well do I remember Paddy Morony, as among the wild valleys
and craggy pastures of Burrin he led forth his flocks and herds, with
the step, and almost with the pride, of a patriarch. To the casual
visiter of this wild part of Ireland everything looks bleak and barren
enough. As a sea, struck by the wand of an enchanter, on a sudden
turned to stone, so do the wilds of Burrin show how fearfully Na-
ture must have been convulsed before she composed herself here to
rest ; yet, to those better acquainted with the nutritive quality of
the herbage interspersed among these rocks, and its plentiful inter-
mixture with the finest clover, trefoil, and yarrow, as also with the
mildness and healthiness of its climate, it will not be surprising
that immense flocks of sheep are annually reared in this barony, be-
sides numerous herds of black cattle.

In proportion as a country is rocky and precipitous, increased
vigilance is of course required, — particularly when an early fall of
snow occurs ; but this is rare in Burrin, though in 1807 great losses
were sustained. For few can provide any store of hay, except for that
portion of a flock which it is designed to fatten for the spring, — and
in that year many sheep were overwhelmed in the snow, and, sin-
gular to say, several were found again in a very tolerable state of
health, after being actually buried three weeks !

Many a time have I walked a mile or two out of my way with
my dogs and gun, just to stumble upon Paddy Morony. When
I first knew him he was about sixty-five years of age, a fine, hale,
vigorous man, with a keen eye and native step. He was as upright as
a dart ; but the uprightness of his body was not half so beautiful as
the uprightness of his mind. His wife was an excellent woman of
her class, and they had reared a large family with great credit.

At the period of which I am speaking he was in a comparative state
of independence ; but in his youth he had served a gentleman of old
family and high character in a distant part of the county which I often
visited, and from a friend of mine still living there, — (a worthy ba-
chelor of the old school,) I had the following anecdote of Morony. I
wish I could give it with half the naivete and racy Hibernicisms of
my good open-hearted old friend, Mr. Terence Coffy, who used to
take great delight in repeating the stories and anecdotes of days
bygone, and certainly never told them so well as when the parlour-
fire burnt clear and bright, and the signal was given to replenish our
glasses with a fresh supply of hot whisky punch.

Often, indeed, have I pressed him hard to write out a few of these
stories ; but he would only laugh at me, and observe, " That writing
and reading were quite different sorts of accomplishments, and
should never be mentioned together in the same breath. — Well,
Mr. M'Teague ! " he would exclaim, " the weather is cold and black,
and, happen what will, I 'm bound to take care of you. Come, draw
nearer the fire. Now I hope you 're in the way to be comfortable?
Will you try the old potheen this evening, or will you stick to the

THE HERDSMAN. 237

£arlimint ? Help yourself, now, and don't be one fbit afraid of the
spirits, for it 's long before we 'd come to the headach between either
of them. I 'm right glad to see you so well after your travels."

" Thank you kindly, Mr. Coffy ; and I was never better pleased
than to find" myself in ould Ireland again, and particularly in your
house."

" I 'm proud to hear you say so ; for we have a power of people
going off, and not coming back again. That I look upon as a sin
and shame both. Some persons will have it that the country is never
the poorer by that means ; but, for the life of me, I can't see either
reason or honesty in the argument. We might just as well say that
our bottles would never miss the glasses poured out of them. But
I suppose you did not get much whisky abroad. I arn told the
French are a queer set of people, and drink their brandy raw, and
their thin wines mixed with more than half could water, — can that
be true, Mr. M'Teague ? "

" Indeed, Mr. Coffy, it 's true enough."

"Well — well, they have a right to please themselves, anyhow ;
but in my way of thinking, it would be far better if they put some
hot water to their brandy, and let their sour wines alone. Was you
in Holland, Mr. M'Teague ? "
" I was, for a short time, sir."

" And, pray, let me ask you how they contrive to keep the could
out of them there ? "

"Oh, they have several very good contrivances. In the first place,
the Dutch are a people that smoke a great deal ; both the men and
women wear plenty of flannels and friezes about them, and take
most kindly to their gin, — which would be decent whisky enough,
only for the juniper-berries they put into it; besides which, they
have many cordials, such as aniseed and curacoa; and then they
have enormous feather-beds; and the ladies have fire-boxes to put
their feet upon, and draw their petticoats over them, so as to keep
all the heat to themselves."

" Oh, Mr. M'Teague, be easy now ! these are your traveller's sto-
ries ; but tell me when were you last in Burrin, and how is Paddy
Morony. Will he ever be as fine a fellow as his old father ? "

" I think he will grow up well, sir ; but it will be hard to match
the old herdsman, whose loss is severely felt in that neighbourhood.
I understand the family are all decently provided for."

"Ay, I always said it would be so; Paddy was a snug man, and
had a good helpmate with Peggy. None of your dirty lazy hussies
was Peggy, but a clean, tidy, active, stirring body ; she was lively
in her youth, and fond of her jokes. Poor Paddy was a long time
before he could get her to say the word ; but she never had but the
one bachelor, and that was Paddy. She delayed while she thought
they were best apart, — and she was right enough ; but there was a
queer matter happened, that brought them together more suddenly
than either of them expected. I was a slip of a lad at that time, but
remember the story very well. She lived dairy-maid at the white
house yonder, with Mr. Rochford, a sporting kind of gentle-
man ; and Paddy, as you well know, was herdsman to Mr. Mac-
namara."

" That 's the very point of Paddy's history I wish to come at,"
said I.

s 2

238 THE HERDSMAN.

" Then I '11 give it you in a few words/' replied Mr. Coffy ; and
with that, after filling himself another tumbler, (for he never could
manage to tell a story without wetting his lips occasionally,) he gave
me, as nearly as I can recollect, the following account : —

" You must know, Mr. M'Teague, that about five-and-forty years
ago, the county of Clare was quite a different sort of county to what
it is at the present day. There was more cordiality and freedom of
speech among all ranks of people, and less of the pride now going,
which, as far as I can find out, must have come from some of the fo-
reign countries. Neither do I think the people told so many lies as
they do now, — and why ? because we had plenty of the good old
blood at that time of day — the real old gentlemen, — sprung from the
right old stock. Oh ! I could cry like a child when I think of the
fields we had then, — such cracking of whips, and cracking of jokes,
— ay, and of bottles of claret, too, when the day's sport was over !
None of your calculators in those times, — none of your save-alls, and
drivers, and five per cent, gentlemen, but all free-and-easy, and
above board. The Macnamaras were the pride of the county ; they
were a noble race, and kept everything alive about them. Their
hands were as open as their hearts, and their doors never closed.
Them were the splendid days ! — But I am wandering. God send us
the good old times back again !

" Well, Mr. M'Teague ; it was exactly at the period I am speak-
ing of that there used to be sporting and betting among our country
gentlemen ; and if a gentleman was ever so high in rank, he did not
think it beneath him to carry on the fun with a neighbour.

<( Now it so happened, as you well know, that our old friend,
Paddy, was herdsman to Mr. Macnamara : and no gentleman was
ever better pleased with a servant ; for he had had many proofs of
Paddy's honesty, and used frequently to boast that if, as he had been
told to his sorrow, telling lies was coming into fashion, he had never
caught his herdsman in one, nor did he believe that anything could
ever induce him to make use of any deception.

" You must, no doubt, have heard of Mr. Macnamara' s fine breed
of sheep, and that his flock was the pride of the whole country ; but
he had a black ram so justly celebrated, that he scarcely ever omitted
looking at it every day. Not a morning came but he would go into
the field to see this favourite black ram ; and upon these occasions he
seldom failed to speak some words of encouragement to his herds-
man, and to give him such instructions as might be necessary — for,
gentleman as he was every inch of him, Mr. Macnamara had great
knowledge of sheep and cattle, and had, in fact, made Paddy — what
he was to the day of his death — the best shepherd in the county of
Clare.

"One fine summer morning, when Mr. Macnamara was in his
fields with Paddy, inspecting his flock of sheep, and admiring his
black ram, who should ride up but the sporting gentleman of the
white house, Mr. Rochford.

" ' Good morning, Mr. Macnamara, I am glad to see you looking
so well, sir. I hope all the family are well ? '

" ' A good morning to you, Mr. Rochford : we are all well, I thank
you. Come and look at my sheep. What do you think of the black
ram ? '

"'Sir, I believe your flock of sheep may safely challenge the

THE HERDSMAN. 239

country ; and, as for the black ram, I really don't think he could be
matched in Ireland.'

" ' I thought you would say so/ rejoined Mr. Macnamara ; 'but to
tell you the truth, and to do justice to a skilful and honest shepherd, I
cannot but attribute the superior condition of my flock to the atten-
tion of my herdsman yonder, Paddy Morony, who has been with me
from a boy ; and, what is more, (eyeing his neighbour, Rochford,
whose character he well knew, and had had frequent cause to de-
spise,) I never knew any one, gentle or simple, upon whose veracity
I would be more constantly disposed to rely/

" Rochford was stung by this remark. In other words, the cap
fitted ; but in a moment he had formed his plan, and, bursting out
into a loud laugh, he exclaimed, ' I tell you what it is, Mr. Macna-
mara, fellows of this kind are well enough till they are found out ;
but, if you are inclined for a bet this morning, I will make you a
wager of twenty pounds that this fine honest herdsman of yours, of
whom you boast so much, will tell you a lie, and a great one, too,
before this very day week, at twelve o'clock.'

" ' Done with you, Rochford,' said Mr. Macnamara, ' it is a bet :
and so confident am I my herdsman will not do that which he has
never yet attempted, that I would willingly double it ; however, let
it be twenty pounds, to be settled this day week, before twelve
o'clock. I shall bring the money in my pocket, and I would re-
commend you to do the same, and we will meet in this very field/

" ' You will pledge your word that you will not caution your
herdsman in any way, or mention the bet to him ? '

" ' Certainly ; you have my word for that/

" ' Quite sufficient. Good morning, sir/ And with these words
Rochford rode away.

" The idea which had occurred to Mr. Rochford when justly
smarting under the remark of that excellent gentleman, Mr. Macna-
mara, and which he was conscious he deserved, was this : — Knowing
the attachment between Peggy and the herdsman, and having re-
marked upon the extraordinary value which Mr. Macnamara put
upon his black ram, he concluded (measuring that honest fellow's
principles by his own) that it would be the easiest thing in the world
for Peggy to coax the black ram away from her sweetheart, and that,
of course, he would then be obliged to conceal the affair from Mr.
Macnamara by pretending that he had lost the animal by some acci-
dent, or theft.

"On his return home, therefore, he took the first opportunity of see-
ing Peggy ; and, after making the usual inquiries as to his stock of
butter, and other domestic matters, he told her he had just had the
pleasure of seeing her bachelor, Paddy Morony.

" At the name of her sweetheart — (for bachelor means sweetheart in
the county of Clare,) Peggy blushed up to the eyes ; but, pretending
to wipe her face with the corner of her apron, and to be thinking of
something else, observed, that the red cow was very ill.

" * Is she so? ' replied Mr. Rochford, ' then, sure enough, we must
have Paddy to look at her ; for there is certainly nothing to equal
his knowledge of cattle. Send little Micky, as from yourself, Peggy,
and he will come over in the evening, I am sure he will/

" Of course Peggy was not slow to fulfil her master's wishes. Away
went little Micky over the ditches and fences ; and in very short

24-0 THE HERDSMAN.

time brought her back word that the herdsman would be there as
soon as he had counted his sheep for the night.

" Peggy was, at that time of day, a fine creature, about twenty years
of age, well brought up for her station in life, and very good-look-
ing ; but, though as virtuous a girl as ever lived in the parish, was,
as I said before, lively, and fond of an innocent joke. The herds-
man might then be about four or five years older, tall and straight,
and well put together. He was one of the finest and truest lads in
the country, and very few could equal him at a wrestling-bout or
hurling-match. Not a doubt but they had made themselves a little
sprucer than usual. Peggy had certainly bestowed some pains upon
herself after milking the cows ; and, true to his appointment, Paddy
arrived at the white house at the edge of evening. It so happened
they had not met for some time before ; and Paddy, after examining
the red cow, and administering the contents of a bottle he had
brought with him, sat down upon a milking-stool, and Peggy upon
another ; and, whichever way it happened, Mr. M'Teague, I never
could find out, but they began by sitting upon two stools, and ended
by each of them sitting upon one. At all events, it was getting
late with them, when, hearing Mr. Rochford's horse coming in, (for
he had purposely absented himself,) they rose up, and went to the
kitchen, whither he soon followed them.

tc ' Well, Paddy/ said Mr. Rochford, f how are you this evening ?
I am greatly obliged to you for coming. Pray what 's the matter
with the cow ? '

" ' Oh, not much, sir, at all — a little touch of the murrain. I have
given her a good dose this evening, and she will be quite well, I
hope, in a day or two. If not, if your honour will send for me, I '11
come again with pleasure.'

" * Thank ye, Paddy, I know that very well, and I won't be long in
your debt. How are all your sheep ? '

" ' Quite well, sir/

" ' And the black ram ? '

" ' Never better/

" ' And do you really think, Paddy, that that black ram of your
master's is anything to boast of, after all ? '

" ' Faith, I think he 's a very fine ram ; only, if I must confess the
truth, I was never partial to the colour/

" ' Then you are not so fond of black sheep as white sheep,
Paddy ? '

" * I am not altogether so partial to them, sir/

" ' Nor I either ; but they tell me the white sheep eat a great deal
more than the black sheep. Did you ever hear that ? '

<e ' Never, your honour ; but I can easily believe it, for there 's at
least a hundred white sheep to one black one, and therefore it stands
to reason the white sheep must eat the most entirely/

" ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! — that 's an old joke of mine, Paddy, and you have
hit it. Good night to you/

" In a few days Mr. Rochford inquired about his cow ; and hearing
a good account of her from Peggy, he told her that he well knew
Paddy's attachment to her, and praised her choice ; ' for,' said he,
' Peggy, that young fellow will never want for a good place ; and if
he and you were married, I would like to give you a spot of ground
and money to build a cabin/

THE HERDSMAN. 21-1

" Peggy's heart swelled within her at this intelligence ; but her na-
tive modesty was such, that she only held down her head, and could
say nothing. She felt more gratitude than power to express it.

" ' At all events/ continued Mr. Rochford, ' there will be nothing
to prevent your being mistress of ten pounds, over and above what
you have saved with me/

"' How can that be, sir? ' said Peggy.

« * Why, you must know, my good girl, that I have a heavy bet
with a gentleman, not less, indeed, than twenty pounds, that Paddy
Morony will give you the very black ram we were talking about
the other night; and I think I was authorised in making such a
bet, because I know of your mutual attachment. I know the ram is
not worth more than five pounds ; and that, even if Paddy should
have to pay the cost of it, it could not be assessed beyond that sum.
I cannot suppose that Paddy will hesitate about giving you the ram.
At least, if he does not do so, it will surely be a proof that he does
not value your affection at more than five pounds/

" * But then, sir, if it is not his to give ? '

" ' Oh, as to that,' replied Mr. Rochford, ' never fear but I will
make everything right with Mr. Macnamara. Sure he knows well
enough that bets are for ever flying about the country ; and when
all is settled between the gentleman with whom I have the bet of
twenty pounds and me, I promise, in the first place, that I will make
you a present of ten pounds for your share in the business, and then
make all smooth and correct with Mr. Macnamara ; for you know
very well, Peggy, the ram can be sent back again/

" ' Very true, sir. I think I '11 be able to manage it so/

" ' Do, my good Peggy. But promise me one thing ; and that is,
that you will not tell Paddy one syllable either about me or the bet.
That is a particular point — quite a condition between the gentleman
and me ; for if one word of it is known my money is lost, and yours,
of course, also. So now be sure to go yourself to Paddy to-morrow
evening when he is counting his sheep, and bring the black ram
away with you, and you will see how happy you will be ever after-
wards/ "

" ( Never fear, sir, but I '11 do my best/ said the poor unsuspecting
girl.

Here my worthy friend, Mr. Coffy, took a good pull at his tumbler
of punch, as if Rochford's foul play had risen in his throat.

" Well, Mr. M'Teague, I 'm tiring you with this long story ; but
we '11 soon be at the end of it now. Did you ever hear of such a
thieving trick for a person calling himself a gentleman to play off on
a poor innocent young creature ? However, the next day came, as
days usually come, one after the other, and in the afternoon Peggy
set out gaily upon her errand, little suspecting she was about to do
anything but what would benefit her lover, and serve her own master,
to whom she was also much attached ; and sure enough she soon saw
her dear herdsman in a field, where he was busy putting in the sheep,
with a pole in his hand.

" Right glad was honest Paddy to catch a glimpse of Peggy's
purty face coming up, as it really gave him a hope that all would be
well and happy with them at last.

" ' Good evening, Paddy/ says she.

" * You 're heartily welcome, agra/ says Paddy.

THE HERDSMAN.

" ' Them's fine sheep, Paddy, says she.

" ' By dad, then they are,' says Paddy ; * and I wish to God a few
of them were my own, that we might live happy and comfortable
with each other.'

" ' Oh ! don't be botherin' me/ says she. ' That 's an elegant fine
one that black ram : what '11 you take for it, and to let it go un~
knonnst ? '

" ' Oh, an sure,' says Paddy, ' you must be certain I 'd be very sorry
to refuse you for anything, darlint; but you know that's my mas-
ter's ; and besides, he is so fond of that very ram, he would not part
with it on any account.'

" ' Will you take five pounds for it, then ? ' says she.

" ' Oh no ! I would not indeed — not one of me could/ says he.

" e I '11 give you anything you '11 ask for it/ says she ; * and it 's
the only thing I '11 ever ask of you.'

" Paddy was silent.

" ' And if I promise to marry you now, Paddy dear, will you give
it me ? '

" ' Oh, now that 's too much entirely/ says Paddy.

" Like a skilful general, Peggy saw that, however difficult to gain
her point, a decisive moment was at hand. O Mr. M'Teague ! " ex-
claimed the old gentleman, " when a woman gets a thing into her
head, all the corkscrews in the world won't draw it out again. But
that 's neither here nor there.

" ( Why, you must know, Paddy/ says she, c I never had but the
one thought about you ; but if I was to be talking for ever, I could
not say more. And if you will only give me the black ram, jewel, I
tell you again I '11 marry you as soon as it is convenient to yourself.
But if you refuse me this request, and deny me the animal, don't
blame me afterwards, Paddy, for I will never have you. Better to
be unhappy all one's life long/ exclaimed Peggy, putting her apron
to her eyes, ' than — than — '

" ' Hush, darlint, hush ! — put away the apron, and give me a kiss.
I can deny you nothing. Take the black ram, in the name of God !
—or anything else — take him away with you ; for if I lost it for
ever, or even was turned out of my good place here on account of it,
I 'd rather have your own four bones than all the rams, and the
money, and the places in the world. And now you 've got the ani-
mal, never fear, Peggy asthorogh, but I '11 do my best to pass it off
to the master. But take care, for the life of you, and never let him
know a word about it, nor see the ram in your master's lands, after
my excuses.'

" ' Oh, then, thank you, my dear Paddy. Never fear but the ram
will be far enough from home before night, and never trouble your
head. I will tell you a great deal more about this business when we
meet again.'

' f So, after a loving farewell embrace, they parted ; and Peggy,
with a light heart and nimble step, drove the black ram home to her
master, who, to be sure, was well pleased to think how nicely he had
got hold of the twenty pounds ; for he could not conceive how it
would be possible for Paddy to escape telling, not one lie only, but
a great many lies, in framing excuses about the ram. He made
Peggy tell her story, and with ungenerous and dishonest exultation
triumphed in his success, though too well aware the advantage

THE HERDSMAN.

must be gained by the ruin of those he had taken such extraordi-
nary pains to deceive. However, to lull her suspicions for the night,
he said,

" ' Well, Peggy, I see now how cleverly you have executed this
business : and, indeed, to tell you the truth, no one in the world can
blame that good fellow, Paddy, for giving up the black ram, consi-
dering how much he is beholden to you for it. And now I will
repeat what I told you before, that the moment I get the money,
which I am quite certain of doing to-morrow morning, I will make
immediate intercession for poor Paddy, and crown the whole by
giving you ten pounds. It will help to set you up, Peggy, and we
will have a merry wedding of it.'

" Nothing could exceed poor Peggy's joy and thankfulness, and
thus they parted.

" But to return to the young herdsman. As soon as Peggy had
left the field with the black ram, Paddy began to feel himself up to
the neck in as fine a piece of bewilderment as ever any poor lad was
in, in this world. His wits were in such a state of confusion as they
had never been in before. He had been taken by surprise : the won-
derful change in Peggy's proceedings,— her unaccountable desire to
possess herself of the ram, — her solemn promise of marriage, — her
tears, — her fondness for him,-— all conspired to involve him in what,
to his imagination, appeared an endless state of confusion, a sea of
troubles !

" But I must now lead you to Mr. Macnamara, for I had the
whole account of it from himself — Heaven rest his soul ! O Mr.
M'Teague ! that was the fine noble-hearted gentleman, the real war-
rant, and not a sharper eye in any man's head than he had in his
own at that time of day. Nothing would happen, but he would be
sure to know it • and do you suppose Peggy could come and go
across his fields, and he not see her ? No, faith ! he was too keen a
sportsman for that. So, as he used to tell the story, he crept very
slyly out, and hid himself behind a wall, where he could see and
hear pretty well, and never stirred hand or foot till Paddy was clean
gone. And even then he used to say, he would not have sold his bet
to Rochford for nineteen pounds nineteen shillings. In the whole
of the business nothing amused him so much as Paddy's botheration.
But to return.

" Paddy walked up and down the. field, and backwards and for-
wards, wondering what excuses he could make about the black ram.
He knew his master would come in the morning — what was he to
say to him ? — that was the question. However, as luck would have
it, he hit upon a notable scheme at least. He determined upon try-
ing the effect of an imaginary interview between his master and
himself, — a sort of rehearsal or preparation for the scene, which was
surely to follow the next morning. He accordingly, after sticking
his pole in the ground, unbuckled his large herdsman's coat (called
in this part of the country a riding-coat), and pulling it off, turned
it inside out ; for the riding-coat being lined with blue serge, and
his master generally wearing a blue coat, Paddy thought this would
make the nearest approximation to Mr. Macnamara's appearance.
Thus altered, therefore, the riding-coat was put upon the pole, and
surmounted by Paddy's hat ; and he, drawing himself up opposite to
the riding-coat, opened the scene.

244 THE HERDSMAN.

"'There, now/ says Paddy, ' there's the master come to look at
the sheep/

1 Good morrow, Paddy/ says the riding-coat.
' Your honour 's welcome,' says Paddy.
'A fine morning/ says the riding-coat.
1 It is indeed, sir, thank God/ says Paddy.

' I hope the stock are all well this morning/ says the riding-
coat.

< They 're all well, indeed/ says Paddy.
e Where 's my sheep ? * says the riding-coat.
' They 're here, sir,' says Paddy, getting a little frightened,
though.

" ' Where ? ' says the riding-coat.

" f Here, inside this wall/ says Paddy.

" *• Gather them up to me/ says the riding-coat, says he. So Paddy
gathered all the sheep round the riding-coat.

" ' Oh, I see/ says the riding-coat. ' But where have you put the
black ram, Paddy ? '

" * Why, your honour, in regard to the black ram, I don't know
what your honour will say ; but last night, unknownst to me, he fell
into a bog-hole, and got drowned.'

" f Ah, Paddy, that won't do/ says the riding-coat. 'Why should
he be drowned, and all the rest escape ? '

"'No, that'll never stand agin the master; — try again/ says
Paddy. — ' O, by dad, sir, I 'm very sorry to tell your honour some
one stole him last night.'

" ' That won't do,' says the riding-coat ; — c the black ram would be
too easily known for that.'

"'Well, what's become of my black ram? ' says the riding- coat.

" Ay, ay ; this was indeed the puzzler. The very shadow of his
master and the force of his own reflections brought him to a full
stop. He had never been tried before in the school of deceit, and
already felt he was a dunce in it.

" ' Well/ says Paddy, ' at any rate I '11 take the master out of that,
for fear he should be coming to life in the riding-coat. Jt won't do
—the game 's up with me.'

" So with that he walked to his riding-coat, turned the blue lining
inwards as it was before, took up his long staff, and with melancholy
steps proceeded home, and went to bed. There he consulted not
only his pillow, but his conscience, — not only the master he had on
earth, but HIM whom he acknowledged in heaven. His mind was
then made up, and he slept in peace.

" The next morning was the eventful one upon which the bet be-
tween Mr. Rochford and Mr. Macnamara was to be decided, and
never was any man more confident of winning twenty pounds than
the former. He rode off in high spirits, and at the appointed hour
he and Mr. Macnamara proceeded to the field where Paddy was
attending the sheep. On reaching the place, Mr. Macnamara, with
a peculiar smile on his face, for which he had a better reason than
Paddy thought for, then began

" ' Good morrow to you, Paddy/ said Mr. Macnamara.

" ' Your honour 's welcome/ said Paddy.

" ' A fine morning/ said Mr. Macnamara.

" ' It is indeed, the Lord be praised 1 ' said Paddy.

THE HERDSMAN. 245

" ' I hope the stock are all well this morning ? ' said Mr. Macna-
mara.

" ' They 're all well, I hope,' said Paddy.

" ' Where are my sheep ? ' said Mr. Macnamara.

" ' They 're here, sir/ said Paddy.

" f Where ? ' said Mr. Macnamara.

"/ Here, inside this wall,' said Paddy.

" ' Gather them up to me,' said Mr. Macnamara. So Paddy ga-
thered up all the sheep round his master.

" ' Oh, I see them all right,' said Mr. Macnamara, * but the black
ram, and that's the very one I want to look at most, as you ought
very well to know, Paddy.'

" ' Oh ! sir/ said Paddy, f did you mean the black ram ? '

" ' To be sure I did/ said Mr. Macnamara.

« ' Why, then, to tell your honour the raal truth, and it 's as good
to tell it at rvansty said Paddy, ' the black ram has left your honour's
service to make a happy man of me, and I '11 tell your honour all
about it. You see, this gentleman here has a servant as dairymaid,
one Peggy Halloran, that I believe your honour may have seen or
heard of, and the girl that I love better than any other woman in the
world ; and I must tell your honour that this Peggy Halloran — '

" ' Stop there ! ' exclaimed Mr. Rochford ; 'you need not go on,
for I will tell the rest of the story myself to your master.' And
upon this he confessed the whole business to Mr. Macnamara, ac-
knowledged that he had fairly lost the money, which he instantly
paid, and attempted to excuse himself with many lame apologies for
what he had done.

" After receiving the money, and putting it safely in his pocket,
Mr. Macnamara with great feeling and dignity addressed Mr. Roch-
ford in the following words : —

" ' Mr. Rochford, in making a remark which seemed to give you
some offence last week, and in my subsequent proceedings with you,
I was actuated by two motives : — The first was a hope that I might
be able to show you the folly and impolicy of that course of occa-
sional subterfuge, which I have had much pain in observing in you
for some time back. My second motive was to testify that confi-
dence in my herdsman, which I then thought, but now know, that
he deserves. For the double injury which you have attempted on
an innocent couple, and upon my purse, I freely forgive you. Your
signal failure will, it is to be hoped, lead you to adopt an opposite
course for the future, and thus enable you to re-establish yourself in
your own opinion and that of others.

" ' As for Peggy Halloran, I blame her not — she has come out of
this business with a pure heart ; and I am certain, from all I have
ever heard of her, would never have acted as she did, had she not
been herself deceived. She will only have to take a useful warning
from the past, and let nothing ever persuade her to practise what her
innocent spirit might condemn.

" « Now, then, Paddy, my faithful true-hearted herdsman/ conti-
nued Mr. Macnamara, < hold up your head, man, and don't be look-
ing down at your brogues. Hold up your head, and bless God that
you did not fall into the cruel snare laid to deprive you of your well-
earned character, and me of my twenty pounds. You love Peggy,
and she loves you : I think she will make you an excellent wife

246 SONG — THE MONKS OF OLD.

take her, then, in God's name ! — may you be happy together ! — and
upon the day of your marriage the whole of this twenty pounds
shall be yours. Nor is this all I intend to do for you ; for I will put
you in a snug little spot of my own over in Burrin, where, with care
and industry, I think and hope you will do well and be happy.'

" Many contending passions were still lurking in Mr. Rochford's
breast ; and had the occurrence taken place with any other person, a
duel might have been the consequence. Gradually, however, his
better feelings prevailed, nor was he afterwards ashamed to confess,
that though he had lost his twenty pounds, he felt that he had still
been a considerable gainer by the transaction.

" But the tumblers are empty ! " said Mr. Coflfy.

SONG— THE MONKS OF OLD.

MANY have told of the monks of old^

What a saintly race they were ;
But 'tis more true that a merrier crew
Could scarce be found elsewhere ;
For they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quaff 'd,
And lived on the daintiest cheer.

And some they would say, that throughout the day

O'er the missal alone they would pore ;
But 'twas only, I ween, whilst the flock were seen
They thought of their ghostly lore ;
For they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quaflfd,
When the rules of their faith were o'er.
And then they would jest at the love confess'd

By many an artless maid ;

And what hopes and fears they have pour'd in the ears
Of those who sought their aid.

And they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quaff'd,
As they told of each love-sick jade.
And the Abbot meek, with his form so sleek,

Was the heartiest of them all,
And would take his place with a smiling face
When refection bell would call ;

And they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quaffd,
Till they shook the olden wall.
In their green retreat, when the drum would beat,

And warriors flew to arm,

The monks they would stay in their convent grey,
In the midst of dangers calm,

Wrhere they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quafFd,
For none would the good men harm.
Then say what they will, we '11 drink to them still,

For a jovial band they were;
And 'tis most true that a merrier crew
Could not be found elsewhere ;

For they sung and laugh'd,
And the rich wine quaff'd.

And lived on the daintiest cheer. W. J.

Leamington.

247

M. JASMIN.

M. JASMIN, the author of the following ballad, is neither an agri-
culturist nor a tender of flocks, but a hair-dresser at Agen, in
the South of France. M. Jasmin is not unsuited to his occupation
(one held dear by Gil Bias and Figaro) by the poetic turn his mind
has taken, or the kind of talent with which he is gifted. He is a
true native of the South of France, of the genuine and sterling race
of the Marots ; one in whose shop Moliere would have delighted to
sit, as was his wont in the house of the barber of Pezenas. Much
has been lately said of M. Reboul of Nismes, who, while following
the humble avocation of a baker, has been inspired with a poetic
vein, to which the lyre of Lamartine has responded, and paid tribute.
But the inspiration of Reboul has nothing in common with that of
Jasmin.

Reboul is essentially a French poet of the meditative school ; he
writes and versifies harmoniously in classic French ; but his origin-
ality consists still more in the contrast between his writings and his
avocation, than in the character of his poetry. Necessitated to a
state of manual labour, Reboul, although not ashamed of his condi-
tion, neither glories nor takes pleasure in it ; sincerely religious, he
considers his lot as a part of the duty imposed upon him by his
Maker. At a certain hour of the day, when Reboul can command a
little leisure, he lays aside his working-dress, and in the retirement
of his little cell, in meditation before a crucifix, with the Bible 011
one hand, and Corneille on the other, he gives up his whole soul to
poetry.

The works of Jasmin consist of a volume entitled Las Papillotos
(Les Papillotes, or the Curl-papers), and of the following charming
little poem, entitled L'Abuglo de Castel Cuille (L'Aveugle de Castel
Cuille, or the Blind Man of Castel Cuille). Les Papillotes is a col-
lection of various poems written by the author between 1825 and
1835. The events of his life are therein related ; but one of them,
in three cantos, called Mons Souvenirs (Mes Souvenirs, or my Remi-
niscences), contains a detail of the adventures and opinions of Jas-
min. This poem bears about it such an impress of reality, as carries
conviction of its truth to the reader's mind.

James Jasmin ( Jaquou Jansemin) was born in 1797 or 1798. " The
last century, old and broken down, had no more," says he, " than a
couple of years to pass upon the earth, when, in the corner of an old
building, inhabited by a nation of rats, one Maunday Thursday there
came into the world a child, the offspring of a lame father and a lame
mother, and this little brat was no other than myself. When a
prince is born, he is saluted with cannon, and the salute is to pro-
claim the general happiness; but as for me, poor son of a poor
tailor, not even a pop-gun proclaimed my arrival. I was born,
however, in the midst of a tremendous clamour, raised at the door of
a neighbour, on the occasion of a nuptial serenade ; the horns and
kettles, the marrow-bones and cleavers, resounded in my new-born
ears, accompanied by a song of thirty couplets, the composition of
my father." Jasmin's father composed the greater part of the bur-
lesque verses sung so frequently at rustic weddings. Here we find
hereditary talent for poetry quite as satisfactorily established, as in
the case of the two Marots.

248 JASMIN.

The boyhood of poor Jasmin was marked by many troubles. He
had an instinctive dread of school ; and when his mother at her work
would look at him sorrowfully, and talk in a low voice about school
to his grandfather, he would shed tears. One day their poverty
burst upon him with a force that made an indelible impression on
his mind. It was a Monday; he was just ten years old, and was
playing in the street. An old man was carried by in an arm-chair,
and in the aged sufferer he recognised his grandfather. " Oh !
grandfather," throwing himself on his neck, "where are you going?
— why do you weep ? " — " My child," said the old man, ' ' I am
going to the hospital : there the Jasmins die." In five days' time he
was no more. From that sad Monday the boy never forgot the po-
verty of his family.

" At length," says Jasmin, " O joyful day ! my mother running
to me in an ecstasy of delight, cried out, ( To school, my child ! — to
school/ — 'What,' I asked, ' are we grown rich, then?' — 'No, my
poor boy,' she replied, ' but you are to have your schooling for no-
thing.' " The boy was diligent ; in six months he knew how to
read ; six months afterwards he could serve at mass ; in another six
months he was raised to the choir. In six months more he entered
college on the foundation, but only for six months : he was, how-
ever, beginning to distinguish himself.

Poor Jasmin was, however, expelled suddenly from college for
meddling with the canon's sweetmeats, and was compelled to return
home.

In the midst of distress Jasmin's love for poetry continued un-
abated. In his small apartment under the tiles the young aspi-
rant spent part of his nights in reading, musing, and making his
first essays in verse. He read with delight the works of Florian :
poverty -was forgotten, and the hospital vanished from his memory.
His razor in the mean time performed its part ; and while his brain
was teeming with poetry, the chins of his customers may be sup-
posed to have been in no small danger. In due time he opened a little
shop on his own account, in the beautiful Promenade du Gravier ;
and from the very commencement he prospered in his business.
His shop was not crowded with customers, to be sure ; but, as the
proverb goes, — " S'il ne pleut pas, il bruine."* In short, curls and
poems produced at last a gentle influx of prosperity ; and Jasmin,
in one of his poetic flights, knocked to pieces the formidable arm-
chair in which his forefathers had been carried to the hospital. In-
stead of going to the hospital he went to a notary, and saw his name
— the first of his family, figuring conspicuously in the tax-gatherer's
book. Oh, what an honour !

Since Jasmin's poetical reputation was established he has been
able — thanks to the sale of his productions, and the interest his
townspeople took in them, — to purchase the house he inhabits, and
to secure a small independence, which seems the extent of his wishes.

Jasmin has already withstood that kind of temptation which in-
variably attends success, — he was advised to repair to Paris, but
his good sense pointed out to him his right sphere. In some
pretty lines, addressed to a rich agriculturist of Toulouse, who
offered him this advice, he refutes playfully the flattering reasons his
friend advanced, by an exposition of his taste and inclinations, to-

* If it does not pour, it drizzles.

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE.

249

gether with his moderate wishes. " In my town where every one
works, leave me as I am. Every summer, happier than a king, I
lay up my provision for the winter, and then I sing like a chaffinch
under the shade of a poplar or an ash, too happy to grow grey in
the land which gave me birth. As soon in the summer as the
pretty chirping of the nimble grasshopper is heard, the young
sparrow takes wing, and forsakes the nest where he first felt his
growing plumage, — the wise man acts not thus."*

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE.

BY LADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON.

THE sky was bright, the air was soft,

On good St. Joseph's eve,
When bursting from the orchard's
stems

The snowy blossoms heave.

While, echoing from the mountain
height

Of Castel Cuille, rose
A strain of passing sweetness through

The valley's deep repose.

And loud and clear the cadence rung

As gay young voices bore
The burthen of that bridal hymn

Their fathers sang of yore.

" Pour your snowy blossoms forth,
Peach, and pear, and almond trees ;

Hang your rosy garlands on,

Wave them with yon waving breeze.

" Mountain paths, and hedges wild,
Bloom, that never bloom 'd before ;

The bride of Castel Cuille comes,
Fling your gifts her pathway o'er."

And now, where on that verging rock
Their careless steps alight,

A troop of fair and laughing girls
Arrest their giddy flight ;

And, placed betwixt the earth and sky,
Like some bright angels sent,

They stood, and o'er the vale below
Their radiant glances bent.

But soon along the mountain's side
With joyous steps they bound,

Where.tow'rds the woods of St. Amand
Their narrow pathway wound.

Why seek they thus with childish glee

St. Amand's laurel grove,
And poise their osier-baskets light

Their smiling heads above ?

And why with youth's unsparing hand

Do these gay truants tear,
And hence in verdant heaps away

The shining foliage bear ?

It is that Castel Cuille"s maids

Are ever wont to shed
Their leafy tribute o'er the path

Where bridal lovers tread :

And she, that laughing, blooming girl
Who, foremost, bounds along,

With dancing step and flying hair,
The thoughtless group among,

Is on the morrow's dawn in all
The pomp of village pride,

To stand in Castel Cuille's church
Young Baptiste's willing bride.

And, wherefore, then, is Baptiste sad

When all around is gay ?
Was ever lover silent thus

On eve of bridal day ?

What ails thee, sullen bridegroom,
say?

Why wear so sad a brow ?
Angele is passing fair, and pure

As yonder mountain snow.

Is it that near the mountain's foot,
Where fast the streamlet glides,

The blind, the orphan Marguerite,
The soldier's daughter, bides ?

Baptiste had woo'd that gentle girl,
Nor long had woo'd in vain,

The youth who fondly sought her love
Full soon she loved again ;

And much she loved him, deeply too ;

She cared for none beside,
Except her little brother Paul,

Who never left her side.

Betroth'd they were, and Marguerite,

His own affianced wife,
When came the diead disease that took

Her sight, but spared her life.
Alas ! for these young lovers now,

Their earthly joys are o'er !
" My son the orphan shall not wed ! "

An angry father swore.

* We are indebted for the foregoing particulars to an interesting paper in
Revue des Deux Mondes." — EDIT.

La

250

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE.

A lone and weary man, Baptiste
His sadden'd home had left,

And, back returning, found that home
Of love and peace bereft.

His father's prayers, his mother's tears,

Extort a hasty vow,
And Baptiste to the rich Angele

His faith has plighted now.

But, hark ! the bridal party shout

With now redoubled glee,
" The witch ! the witch ! the lame old
Jeanne

Close by the fountain see."

And there she was, poor Jeanne, the

witch,

With snowy hair and cheek,
Whose shrivelled skin, and furrows

deep,
Of age and sorrow speak.

Around her crowd the merry group,

And laughingly pursue,
For nought that Jeanne had e'er fore-
told

Had ever proved untrue.

Nor aught had maiden ever learnt,
From Jeanne's prophetic lore,

But what her trembling heart had oft
In secret wish'd before.

But stern is Jeanne the witch's eye,

And wildly glares it now,
From underneath her wizen'd locks,

On Baptiste's sullen brow.

For there he stood, and much, I
ween,

His colour went and came;
And cold as marble, statue-turn 'd,

The faithless lover's frame ;

When, seizing on fair Angele's hand,

The aged sibyl made
The cross's blessed sign thereon,

And thus address'd the maid :

" To-morrow's dawn the wedding sees
Of perjured Baptiste's bride;

God send, Angele, it may not see
A maiden's grave beside ! "

She hush'd, and moved away; her
words

Have for one moment's space
O'ercast the sunny light of joy,

On each bewilder'd face.

But can two troubled drops of rain
The sparkling course obscure

Of yonder silver streamlet's wave,
Or stain its surface pure ?

Oh, no ! for one short instant hush'd,

The bridal voice of song
Burst forth anew, with louder glee,

The joyous hills among.

The bridegroom follows pale as death,
Whilst up the path they bound ;

And as they go their wild refrain,
Awakes the echoes round.

" Mountain paths and hedges wild
Bloom, which never bloom'd before,

The bride of Castel Cuille comes,
Fling your gifts her pathway o'er.

Alone her cottage home within,

In broken accents sweet,
With pale fair face, and thoughtful
brow,

Laments poor Marguerite.

" He 's come, yet three long days are

past

Since little Paul ran in,
And clapp'd his hands for joy, and

cried,
* Baptiste is come again.'

"And knows he not that six long

months

I 've sat and watch'd alone,
And deem'd my dark night's single

star,
For aye and ever gone.

" For what is day, and what is night,
To one whose aching brain

Has strain'd, and sought in agony,
One ray of light in vain.

" When others say the light is come

Then darkest 'tis to me,
For each returning day renews

The light I cannot see.

" One night of fearful gloom is all
These burning eyelids know,

For other's light and joy, for me,
All, all is darkness now.

" Ah me ! my soul is sad, and dark

My musing fancies grow,
But one sweet kiss from Baptiste's lip

Would cool my fever'd brow.

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE.

251

"For light I yearn, and surely light

Is but the sky so blue,
And Baptiste's beaming eyes reflect

That deep unchanging hue.

" A heaven of love like that above

Is mine, ray loved one by ;
No more I care for fields and flowers,

For earth, or sun, or sky;

" But far from him, my spirit mourns

The light of other days,
As ivy, rudely sever'd from

The parent stem, decays.

"They say the love of those who
mourn

Has ever truest been ;
But, oh ! such love as blindness feels

Has never yet been seen.

" But will he come ? God only knows ;

Perchance I wait in vain.
Oh, horrid thought ! away, away !

It scares my weaken' d brain !

" And, oh ! 'tis wrong to doubt him

thus;

On holy cross he swore ;
Hush, hush, my foolish heart ! he '11

come,
And never leave me more.

" Perchance my lover's wearied, ill,
And therefore tarries home ;

But, hark ! a hasty step ! the latch ! —
My Baptiste, art thou come ?"

Then open flew the garden-gate,
And rose poor Marguerite,

With outstretch'd arms, and trembling

pace,
His welcome steps to meet.

But no ; 'tis Paul who comes alone,

And, bounding to her side,
" Come, sister, come ; I fain would

Angele, the pretty bride.

t1
A.nd fain would I the laurel boughs
Have borne from St. Amand :
hy came they not to fetch us here ?
Come, sister, take my hand."
!

Augele a bride ! and hast thou seen
The bridal party gay ?
low secret was this wedding kept !
And who the bridegroom, say ?"

" Why, sister, 'tis thy friend Bap-
tiste !" —

A feeble cry was all
The poor blind orphan gave, and sunk

Against her cottage wall.

Her heart well nigh had ceased to
beat

For some fews seconds' space ;
Whilst, half afraid, the startled child,

Gazed on her alter'd face.

But now her ear has caught the sound,
The well-known bridal strain,

And life returns, and with it, too,
The icy grasp of pain.

" Now, hearken, sister, how they sing,
And shout, and dance along ;

To leave us out, sweet Marguerite,
I can't but think it wrong.

" At early dawn the bells will ring
To mark the wedding time ;

How sad 'twill be, alone the while,
To hear the merry chime."

" Hush, hush ! and fret not, little
Paul,

Thou shalt not miss the show ;
To this gay bridal, brother dear,

Together we will go.

" And now run out awhile, and close

The garden-gate ;" but ere
The boy had left his sister's side,'

Old Jeanne, the witch, was there.

" Why, by my witchdom, ne'er did I

So vile a racket know ;
But, sure thy hand is icy cold,

My child ; what ails thee now ?"

" There 's nothing ails me, Jeanne ;
'tis sweet

For me to sit and hear
Those nuptial voices gay, and think

My wedding day is near.

" When Easter comes, I too shall be
A proud and happy bride ;

Thy fortune-telling cards, good Jeanne,
Have never, never lied.

"And much, I ween, Baptiste and
me

Will praise thy wondrous lore,
And, oh ! 'twill be a blessed thing

To hear his voice once more."

VOL. VII.

252

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CU1LLE.

" Too dearly dost thou love him, child ;

Too fondly dost thou lay
Thy hopes upon a broken reed :

Kneel down, kneel down, and pray."

" The more I pray, the more I love,

A sin it cannot be,
For surely, Jeanne, Baptiste is kind,

And ever true to me ?"

No answer ; all is over then ;

Her last faint hope is gone,
And true the fatal tale that turn'd

Her tender heart to stone.

But wildly smiled poor Marguerite,
And laugh'd, and questioned on,

The while a hectic flush arose
Her pallid cheek upon.

And well till night, when Jeanne with-
drew,

The orphan play'd her part ;
And little thought poor Jeanne she

left
Behind a breaking heart.

Alas ! poor Jeanne the witch, 'tis clear

No magic arts are thine ;
Nor can thy simple skill the depths

Of grief like hers divine.

Perchance this morn thy full heart
found

By yonder well side's brink
A clearer view of future woe

Than even thyself could think.

Slow dawns the day ; the clock has
struck

The hour of nine ; meanwhile
Two maidens in their cottage homes

The weaiy hours beguile.

Queen of the day, the one displays
Her crown of orange flower;

The golden cross, and gay attire,
Must grace the bridal hour.

And gazing on the lovely form
Reflected in her mirror, smiles,

And, pleased, rehearses all her store
Of beauty's playful wiles;

But no bright flowery wreath adorns

The other maiden's brow ;
And 'tis no golden cross, I ween,

Her pale hands clasp e'en now,

As, tottering through her narrow room,
Closer she draws the folds

Of her light vesture o'er the prize
Her grasp securely holds.

With jest and song, a thoughtless group

Around the one repair,
And she embraced, and flatter'd still,

Omits her daily prayer.

The other kneels the while, and prays
In murmured accents low,

Whilst cold her brow the death-drops

stain,
" Oh God ! have mercy thou ! "

And now they start, and, led by Paul,

The orphan calmly wends
Her way the mountain path along,

That towards the church ascends.

The day was foggy, damp the air,
Perfumed with laurel came,

And with it deadly shivers brought,
That wrung her feeble frame.

Not far from where the ruins stand

Of Castel Cuille's tower,
The little Gothic church erects

Its weather-beaten spire;

Around whose cloud-enveloped height

The ocean eagle sings,
Whilst underneath its time-worn roof

Her brood the swallow brings.

" Hush, Paul !" the maiden cries ;
"methinks

The steep ascent we reach."
"Oh, yes! we're come, and, sister, hark,

I hear the ospray screech.

" I hate that dark, ill-omen'd bird,

III luck it surely brings,
And some misfortune follows still

Whene'er it hoarsely sings.

" Dost thou remember, sister dear,
What time our father died,

When, kneeling by his bedside, both
The live-long night we cried.

" We cried all night, but chiefly when
He kiss'd us both, and said, —

* Take care of Paul, my girl, for I
To-morrow shall be dead.'

" Oh, how we wept; and, sure enough

He died ; and on the roof
The ospray sung — I marked it well —

As now she sings aloof.

THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE.

" Ah ! sister, do not clasp me so ;

You hurt me, Marguerite !
You stifle me with kisses : — see,

The bridal-train we meet !

" But, pale thou art, and trembling
too,

I fear me thou wilt swoon."
And true it was, the maiden's strength

O'ertask'd, must fail her soon.

The chord her brother's words have
wrung,

Has snapped with sudden pain ;
Affrighted, back she starts, but Paul

Has urged her on again.

And when the poor bewilder'd girl

The laurel trod beneath
Her feet, and 'gainst her head had
struck

The porch's hanging wreath,

A change came o'er her; on she
rush'd

The moving crowd among —
As if to some gay festive scene, —

The narrow aisle along.

But, lo ! with joyous peal, and loud,
The marriage-bells resound,

And, far and wide, through rock and

vale,
Awake the echos round.

The clouds have pass'd away, the sun

In splendour beams again,
As, winding through the portal gate,

Appears the bridal train.

But, gloomy still, as yester eve
The false one's cheek grew pale,

As in that nuptial hour he mused
On Jeanne's prophetic tale.

Whilst Angele recks of little else

Her golden cross beside ;
Enough for her, she moves along,

The fair and envied bride;

And shakes her pretty head and
smiles,

As all around her say, —
" Was ever bride as fair as her

Whom Baptiste weds to-day?"

And now high mass is said, and near

The altar stood the priest ;
Betwixt his trembling fingers held

The spousal ring, Baptiste.

But, while his bride's expecting hand
The glittering pledge await?,

He needs must speak the few short

words
That seal their mutual fates.

Tis done ; and lo ! a voice has struck
The bridegroom's ear, and chill'd

His heart's warm blood, and wildly

through
The wond'ring crowd has thrill'd,

Who from some dark, sequester'd
shrine,

Behold, with sudden fear,
The waving arms, and face insane

Of Marguerite appear.

" Baptiste has will'd my death ! " she
cried :

" This, this shall set me free !
At this gay wedding blood must needs

The holy-water be."

And as she spoke, a knife she drew

That in her bosom lay;
But ere the fearful deed was done

Her spirit pass'd away.

And God in mercy call'd her home
" Where those who mourn are blest,

Where thewicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest."

That eve, in place of bridal songs,
The " De Profundis " rose,

As borne by weeping girls along
A coffin churchward goes.

And village maids, in white attire,

Around in silence drew,
And then, in murmurM accents low,

Their dirge-like chaunt renew.

" Peach, and pear, and almond trees,
Away your snowy blossoms hide,

For death has woo'd the sweetest flower
That grew on Castel Cuille's side.

" Mountain paths, and hedges wild,
Weep, that never wept before ;

Wave your darkest cypress boughs,
Wave them yonder pathway o'er."

T2

IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

BY EDWARD JESSE, ESQ.
AUTHOR OP "GLEANINGS IN NATURAL HISTORY," ETC.

THE English, perhaps, more than any other nation, are capable of
appreciating the charms of Nature, and those thousand beauties
which are to be found in our little sequestered dells, and in the
smiling valleys through which many of our pretty trout-streams find
their way. The secret satisfaction and complacency which arise from
a contemplation of the beauties of the works of creation, — our walks
in verdant fields and shady woods, — the song of birds, and the
calmness and stillness of Nature in her most sequestered spots, all
these have been dwelt upon and described both by naturalists and
poets. It is indeed impossible to see the verdure of our fields and
woods, to hear the melodious songs of birds, to witness the fer-
tility of the earth, and to view the order and economy which per-
vade all Nature, without appreciating the charms of Walton's pas-
toral, or the tranquil pursuits of Gilbert White.

We have often thought that the amusement of angling has been
too much despised by those who are not anglers themselves. If all
the pleasure of the pursuit consisted in dragging a fish to shore, or
in watching a float to see it go under water, we might join in the
ridicule which has been bestowed on the " brethren of the rod and
line." The pleasure of angling, however, takes a far wider range,
and we are convinced that the mere act of fishing is only a second-
ary consideration with those who join with it a fondness for the
charms of Nature. The enjoyment of air and exercise as the angler
pursues his course through flowery meadows, and fields covered
with herds and flocks, listening to the unseen lark, or watching the
varied movements of the swallows as they glide around him in every
direction, has charms which add a relish to his walk, and harmo-
nize with every kindly feeling of his heart.

Walton, perhaps more than any other writer we are acquainted
with, appreciated the delight of thus strolling on the banks of a river.
His charming pastoral is a proof of this, ancUwe are convinced that
he merely made angling a secondary consideration in describing
those scenes in which he so much delighted. While he amuses he
also instructs his readers ; and his fervent and unaffected piety, the
simplicity of his taste, the benevolence of his mind, and the con-
tentedness of his spirit, are apparent in every thought and expres-
sion.

We are aware that in describing the character of Walton, we have
to encounter the serious charge of a want of humanity, which has
been brought against him.* We are anxious to rescue "our good
father " from this charge, and we are afraid that we can only do it
at the expense of his piscatory skill. In expressing our opinion that

* We have been assured that the two stanzas in Byron's " Don Juan," in which
Walton's supposed cruelty is so severely censured, were written by Mr. Leigh
Hunt, and also the note which is subjoined to them.

1ZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

Walton did not deserve the name of an angler in the modern accept-
ation of the word, we know we shall excite the astonishment, if not
the indignation, of many of his admirers. We must, however, ho-
nestly avow our conviction that " Master Izaak " was almost as igno-
rant of the mystery of fishing as the contented-looking cockneys we
occasionally see every summer dozing in a punt near Richmond-
Bridge. We believe that the old Cromwellian trooper, Richard
Frank, was right when he hinted that Walton had derived his know-
ledge of fishing from " antiquated authors and mouldy records." We
chance to have some of these " mouldy records " in our possession,
— on which we set no little store, — and, on looking over some of
them, we are bound to admit that ft our honest and worthy father "
lias taken not a few of his hints from these rare " treatyses of fyssh-
ynge." It is evident that his own skill was confined to watching his
float as it glided gently down one of the pretty streams he has so
delightfully described ; while his hints and instructions to anglers are
derived from those who had preceded him in piscatory information.
Indeed he appears to have copied from others with but little discri-
mination, and an evident ignorance of the art he professes to teach.
This is apparent in several of the instructions he gives to his disciple,
Venator ; and it is evident that his contemporary, Richard Frank,
thought that they were compiled from authorities which were any-
thing but authentic. The charge of cruelty brought against Walton
is founded on the instructions he gives his scholar for baiting a hook
with a frog, in which he tells him to " use him as though he loved
him, that he may live the longer." In looking through some of our
ancient books on the art of angling, similar instructions may be found ;
and in one of them a recommendation is given to attach the frog by a
string to the leg of " a goose's foot," in order to " see good halynge
whether the gose or the pyke shall have the better." Another autho-
rity, speaking of the best bait for a pike, says, " But the yellow frog,
of all frogs, brings him to hand, for that 's his dainty and select diet,
wherein Nature has placed such magical charms, that all his powers
can never resist them, if fastened on the hook with that exactness, that
his life may shine, and the bait seem undeprived of natural motion."*
That Walton copied implicitly from others, without practising what
he recommends, is evident, as, if he was a fisherman at all, he was
what is called in modern times a ground-bait angler. Sir Henry
Wotton, while he was himself employed in fly-fishing, apostrophized
his companion thus : —

" There stood my friend with patient skill,
Attending to his trembling quill."

Independently of this, however, we may refer to the whole tenor
of Walton's life and writings as sufficient to contradict the charge of

* And in the " Secrets of Angling"(16l2) are the following directions for taking
pike.

" Now for to take this kind of fish withall

It shall be needful to have still in store
Some living baits, as bleiks, and roches small,

Gudgeon, or loch, not taken long before,
Or yellow frogs, that in the waters crawle,

But all alive they must be evermore.
But as for baits that dead and dull do lie,
They least esteem, and set but little by."

#56 IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

cruelty -which has been brought against him. The age in which he
Jived was not one of very great refinement, and the custom of fishing
for pike with a live frog was probably a very prevalent one at the
time he wrote his " Complete Angler." The simplicity and innocence
of our " good father's " character are, however, the best proof which
can be brought forward of the kindness of his heart, and the tender-
ness of his disposition.

But, as we have said, it would appear that the "gentle art of angling"
was only a secondary consideration with Walton, or rather a vehicle to
introduce his beautiful descriptions of the country, and to prove that
pure religion proceeds from a meek, cheerful, and thankful spirit.
Indeed, the charm of his book consists in his taste for the innocent
pleasures of rural life, in his fervent and unaffected piety, the bene-
volence and simplicity of his mind, and the contentedness of his dis-
position. These are apparent in all that he thought, and in all that
he expressed. The contemplation of the works of creation not only
afforded to Walton, as it must to every good man, the certainty of a
benevolent and superintending Providence, but it furnished him with
an endless theme for praise and admiration. We find such men as
Dr. Johnson, Lord Hailes, and Dr. Home, anxious for the preserva-
tion and elucidation of Walton's " Lives," and recommending the pe-
rusal of his " Complete Angler." We find Sir Walter Scott calling him
the " good old man," and stating that " he had so true an eye for na-
ture, so simple a taste for her most innocent pleasures, and, withal, so
sound a judgment both concerning men and things, that he regretted
it had not fallen upon him to detail, in the beautiful simplicity of
his Arcadian language, his observations on the scenery and manners
of Scotland."

Perhaps, however, the greatest compliment paid to the biographi-
cal labours of Izaak Walton is to be met with in the following beau-
tiful sonnet by Mr. Wordsworth.

" There are no colours in the fairest sky
So fair as these ; the feather whence the pen
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
Dropped from an angel's wing. With moistened eye
We read of faith and purest charity,
In statesman, priest, and humble citizen.
Oh ! could we copy their mild virtues, then
What joy to live, what blessedness to die !
Methinks their very names shine still and bright,
Apart — like glow-worms in the woods of spring,
Or lonely tapers shooting far a light
That guides and cheers, — or, seen like stars on high,
Satellites burning in a lucid ring,
Around meek Walton s heavenly memory."

Had he been a cruel, he must necessarily have been a bad, man ;
but, so far from this being the case, we find writers of every
class, and of every degree of fame, all joining in praise of his reli-
gious integrity and undissembled honesty of heart. In fact, he was
his own biographer ; and who can read his works without feeling
convinced that the tranquillity of his mind, and the simplicity of his
manners, were the result of his own unblemished virtues, and the
innocence of his life. We have dwelt the longer on this subject be-

IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS. 257

cause we were anxious to rescue the memory of the "good old Wal-
ton " from a charge which we happen to know has led some excel-
lent persons to depreciate his character.

We have already endeavoured to point out in what the charm of
Walton's writings consists. When we peruse them we are led to
wonder how a man who was apprenticed to the unsentimental trade
of a sempster and haberdasher, and lived in the midst of a crowded
city, should have imbibed his taste for Nature, and described her
beauties in such glowing colours. His love of literature appears to
have commenced at an early period of his life, and never to have de-
serted him, although he resigns all claim " to acquired learning or
study." His acquaintance with the celebrated Dr. Donne, whose
parishioner he was, probably influenced his future character, and
caused his introduction to Sir Henry Wotton, Dr. Henry King — son
of the Bishop of London, — John Hales of Eton, and other eminent
persons, some of whose lives he afterwards wrote. He was also
known to Ben Jonson, and calls Drayton his "honest old friend."
He appears, indeed, to have lived on terms of intimacy with many of
the most distinguished literary men of his age, and his amiable and
placid temper, his agreeable conversation and unaffected benevo-
lence, seem to have inspired them with esteem and regard.

As might be expected from his early habits and associations, Wal-
ton adhered steadfastly during the civil wars to the throne and the
altar, and was in every sense of the word a devoted royalist. His
religious and political opinions may be seen in every page of his
writings, and he suffered with other royalists for his fidelity to his
sovereign. He relates from his own knowledge the following re-
markable fact respecting the execution of Archbishop Laud in 1645.
" About this time," says Walton, " the Bishop of Canterbury, having
been by an unknown law condemned to die, and the execution sus-
pended for some days, many citizens, fearing time and cool thoughts
might procure his pardon, became so maliciously impudent as to
shut up their shops, professing not to open them till justice was
executed. This malice and madness is scarce credible, but I
saw it."

It has been supposed that Walton sought seclusion during the
civil wars in a cottage of his own, near to his native town of Staf-
ford, where he indulged in his favourite pursuits of literature and
angling. It is certain that he was a sufferer during the civil war,
although he praises God that he was not of the party which helped
to bring in the covenant, and occasioned the sad confusions which
followed it. During his rural retirement Walton appears to have en-
joyed the society of many learned and excellent men, and, amongst
others, that of Sir Henry Wotton. A congeniality of disposition
and pursuits, particularly in that of angling, led to the great inti-
macy which existed between them. Sir Henry Wotton writes to
Walton that he hopes shortly to enjoy his own ever-welcome com-
pany at the approaching time of the fly and the cork ; and he also
sends him his beautiful hymn, beginning,

" Oh, them great Power ! in whom I move,
For whom I live, to whom I die," &c.

When he became Provost of Eton, Walton appears to have visited
him frequently ; and a spot is still pointed out, about a mile from

258 IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

the college, where they enjoyed together t
line. The following are the concluding lii

the diversion of the rod and
lines of an imaginary address

by the Provost to his companion, describing this spot, and which
struck us as being a happy imitation of the style of their supposed
author : —

" Good Izaac, let us stay and rest us here ;

Old friends, when near,
Should talk together oft, and not lose time

In silly rhyme,

That only addles men's good brains to write,
While those who read bless God they don't indite.

There is a tree close by the river's side ;

There let 'a abide,
And only hear far off the world's loud din,

Where all is stir ;

While we our peaceful rods shall busy ply
When fish spring upward to the dancing fly.

Our sports and life full oft contemned are

By men that spare
No cost of time, wealth, life, to gain their end,

And often spend

Them all, in hopes some happiness to see
In what they are not, but they wish to be.

We will not search for what we may not find,

But dearly bind
Our hearts, friend Izuac, in a tighter knot ;

And this our lot

Here long to live together in repose,
'Till death for us the peaceful scene shall close."*

Very little is known of Walton between 1645 and 1650. In the
latter year he took a house in the parish of Clerkenwell. In 1651,
he published a collection of the writings of Sir Henry Wotton, under
the title of " Reliquiae Wottonianae," with a memoir of the author.
This appears to have been hastily printed ; and Walton tells us that
" the printer fetched it so fast by pieces from the relater, that he
never saw what he had writ all together till it was past the press."
He also apologises for some deficiencies, in consequence of the State
Paper Office " having suffered a strange alienation." This work went
through several editions, and was repeatedly revised.

Soon after the fatal battle of Worcester, Walton was intrusted
with a commission of some delicacy, if not danger. In consequence
of the sudden flight of the King, the baggage in his quarters at
Worcester fell into Cromwell's hands. A collar and a garter which
belonged to his Majesty formed part of the spoil, and were brought
to the Parliament by Major Corbet, who was despatched by Crom-
well with an account of his victory. The Sovereign's lesser George
was, however, preserved by Colonel Blague, who having taken
shelter at Blow Pipe House, two miles from Eccleshall, in Stafford-
shire, then the residence of Mr. George Barlow, delivered the jewel
into that gentleman's custody. In the ensuing week, Mr. Barlow

* The above verses are extracted from Mr. Pickering's charming edition of Wal-
ton's " Angler," and were, we understand, written by a young lady, one of the con-
tributors to this Miscellany.

IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS. 259

carried it to Robert Milward, Esq. who was at that time a prisoner
in the garrison of Stafford, and Milward shortly afterwards gave it
into " the trusty hands " of Mr. Izaac Walton, to convey to Colonel
Blague, who was confined by the Parliament in the Tower of Lon-
don. It is said that Blague, " considering it had already past so
many dangers, was persuaded it could yet secure one hazardous at-
tempt of his own ;" and having made his escape from the Tower, he
had the gratification of restoring the George to its royal owner. This
anecdote is related by Ashmole, in his " History of the Order of the
Garter," from the statement of Blague, Milward, and Walton them-
selves ; and he takes that opportunity of speaking of the latter as " a
man well known, and as well beloved of all good men, and will be
better known to posterity by his ingenious pen, in the Lives of Dr.
Donne, Sir Henry Wotton, Mr. Richard Hooker, and Mr. George
Herbert." Milward was an intimate friend, if not a distant relation,
of Walton's ; and this circumstance of his being a prisoner at Staf-
ford, when he intrusted the George to him, makes it likely that
Walton was in that town towards the end of 1651. He, however,
appears to have been in London on the 9th of September in that
year, when his son was born ; and if he went to Stafford soon after-
wards, he must have returned to the metropolis before Blague made
his escape from the Tower.

Walton's joyful feelings at the Restoration are not merely pre-
sumed from his known devotion to the cause of monarchy and reli-
gion, but they are expressed in a " humble eclogue," addressed to
his " ingenious friend, Mr. Brome, on his various and excellent
poems." They begin : —

" Hail, happy day ! Dorus, sit down :
Now let no sigh, nor let a frown
Lodge near thy heart, or on thy brow.
The King ! — the King's return'd ! and now
Let 's banish all sad thoughts, and sing
We have our laws, and have our King."

It was probably while he was on a visit to his old friend Dr. Mor-
ley, then Bishop of Worcester, that his second wife, Anne Ken, a
sister of the excellent bishop of that name, died in that city. This
was in 1662. The same year Dr. Morley was translated to the see of
Winchester, and Walton found a permanent asylum for his old age
in the episcopal residence. The occupation attendant upon his re-
moval, the change of scene, and his own practical piety, combined to
alleviate his grief for the loss of his wife ; and the evening of his
days was happily passed in literary pursuits, in the society of his
family and friends, and, it may be added, in the performance of his
religious duties. He was in his sixty-ninth year when he became
the guest of Dr. Morley. In this retirement he wrote his celebrated
lives, which were afterwards collected and printed in one volume, a
copy of which he presented to Walter Lord Aston, which is pre-
served in the library at Tixall ; and the following inscriptions prove
that he was highly esteemed by that nobleman. Walton wrote on
the first leaf,

'* For my Lord Aston,

« Iz. WA."
Beneath which his lordship added,

260 IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

" Izake Walton gift to me, June ye 14, 1670, wch I most thank-
fully for his memmory off mee acknowledge a greate kindnesse.

" WALTER ASTON."

It is a curious fact that Walton had attained his sixtieth year be-
fore he published his " Complete Angler/' although it is written with
all the freshness and vivacity of youth. He is more indebted to it
for the admiration of posterity than to his biographical labours.
" Whether considered as a treatise upon the art of angling, or as a
beautiful pastoral, abounding in exquisite scenery, in sentiments of
the purest morality, or in an unaffected love of the Creator and his
works, it has long ranked amongst the most popular compositions in
our language."* We may add, that it contains a pleasing and accu-
rate picture of many of the manners and customs of the time in
which it was written, forming a curious and interesting contrast
with some of those of the present day.

Walton's book is indeed altogether a delightful work. It breathes
the perfume of country air, and of flowers in the windows of his cot-
tages. The reader is charmed with the varied pictures of rural
scenery, the snatches of old songs, the simplicity and kindness of
heart of the author, and the manner in which the little incidents he
meets with are related. Even his little dinners with his companions
are so well described, that we can almost fancy we see the party
seated round their dish offish and foaming tankards of ale, while we
listen to their harmless and amusing conversation. Walton was like
one who, from the enjoyment of the freshness of country air, seemed
to awake to new life, and added a charm to his descriptions from the
very pleasure which they afforded him.

The publication of his Angler appears to have added considerably
to the reputation which he had already acquired by his biographical
labours. It enlarged the circle of his friends amongst men of worth
and talent, one of whom was Flatman the poet. We have seen a
copy of his poems presented by him to Walton, on the title-page of
which the latter has written, " Izaac Walton, July 3, 1682, given
me by the author." They appear to have been carefully perused
by him, and he has marked those poems which pleased him most,
amongst others the one entitled " A Thought on Death/' which is bet-
ter known in Pope's imitation of it, " The Dying Christian." Pope
never, we believe, acknowledged his obligation to Flatman. Bos-
well, however, records a conversation,t in which Mrs. Thrale ob-
served that Pope had partly borrowed " The Dying Christian " from
Flatman.

His beautiful lines to Walton, commencing —

" Happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows
Except himself,"

have always struck us as conveying a true picture of Walton's cha-
racter, and of the estimation in which he was held after the appear-
ance of his " Angler." It is indeed evident that men of the highest
character both for piety and learning had a veneration and affec-
tion for him, and paid that tribute to his virtues they so well de-
served. Nor has time had any influence upon this feeling. Here
do we find ourselves, after a period of more than one hundred and
sixty years from the appearance of his " Angler/'sitting down to pay,

* Sir Harris Nicolas. f See Mr. Croker's "Boswell," vol. iii. p. 395.

IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS. 261

with no small degree of affection and pleasure, our own trifling meed
of applause to one whose works have afforded us not only instruc-
tion, but gratification of no ordinary kind.

The last male descendant of our " honest father/' the Rev. Dr.
Herbert Hawes, has lately died. He has very liberally bequeathed
the beautiful painting of Walton by Houseman to the National Gal-
lery, a fit and appropriate destination for it. It is, however, a
curious fact, as showing the estimation in which anything connected
with the name of Walton is held in the present day, that the lord of
the manor in which Dr. Hawes resided should have laid claim to this
portrait as a heriot. We heartily hope that this claim will not be
successful. Dr. Hawes also bequeathed the greater portion of his
library to the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury ; and his executor and
friend has presented the celebrated prayer-book, which was Walton's,
to Mr. Pickering It could not have been bestowed in a better or in
a more appropriate manner. We also understand that the watch
which belonged to Walton's connexion, the excellent Bishop Ken, has
been presented to his amiable biographer, the Rev. W. Lisle Bowles.

Walton's death took place in the house of his son-in-law, Dr.
Hawkins, at Winchester. He was buried in Winchester Cathedral,
in the south aisle, called Prior Silkstead's chapel. A large black
marble slab is placed over his remains, and, to use the poetical lan-
guage of Mr. Bowles, " the morning sunshine falls directly on it,
reminding the contemplative man of the mornings when he was for
so many years up and abroad with his angle on the banks of the
neighbouring stream." We went some distance out of our way,
in pure love and admiration of Walton's memory, to pay a visit to
his tomb, and were glad to learn that the Dean and Chapter of
Winchester had offered to forego their fees, and to allot a proper
situation in their beautiful and well-preserved cathedral for a mural
monument to perpetuate the virtues of Walton, in case his honest
and enthusiastic disciples should be disposed to erect one. We hope
that this liberal offer, which does credit to the Chapter of Winches-
ter, will not be lost sight of. During our recent visit to the cathedral,
we were grieved to see the slab which covers the remains of our
" good father " trodden upon by unhallowed feet — they were not
those of anglers, — and we left a small sum in the hands of the verger,
with a request that he would do his best to prevent such profanation
in future.

There are few places in England where an angler may enjoy his
favourite diversion in such perfection as within a morning's drive of
the town of Winchester. The Test and Itchen, sometimes sparkling
over the white chalk, and at others flowing through rich and fertile
meadows, appear as if the speckled trout must delight in their
waters. We have traced their fanciful windings, and could almost
identify in our imagination the favourite haunts of " our venerable
father."

It is probable that Walton's friendship with Charles Cotton began
at an early period, as it would appear from the verses by the latter,
addressed " to my old and most worthy friend, Mr. Izaac Walton,
on his Lives," that Cotton's father was a friend of Walton's.

His acquaintance with Cotton must have been a source of
great pleasure to him. He frequently visited him at Beresford
during the spring and summer months, sometimes alone, and at

262 IZAAK WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

others accompanied by his son or by a friend. Not long before 1676,
Cotton built a little fishing-house on the Staffordshire side of the
banks of the Dove, where the windings of the river form a small
peninsula. In commemoration of their friendship, Cotton caused a
stone to be placed in the centre of the building, with the initials of
his own and Walton's name conjoined in a cipher, a representation
of which was introduced, agreeably to Cotton's request, in the title-
page of his part of the " Complete Angler." This stone, which no
true disciple of the venerable Piscator can contemplate with indif-
ference, was erected between Walton's last visit to Beresford and
that which he is supposed to have paid Cotton in May 1676. The
fishing-house and stone are thus described by Cotton : — " My house
stands upon the margin of one of the finest rivers for trouts and
grayling in England. I have lately built a better fishing-house upon
it, dedicated to anglers, over the door of which you will see the two
first letters of my father Walton's name and mine twisted in cypher."
We can fancy the pleasure the good old angler received on first wit-
nessing this little compliment paid to him, and the delight he took
in the beautiful scenery near the fishing-house. He indeed tells us,
that " the pleasantness of the river, mountains, and meadows about
it cannot be described, unless Sir Philip Sidney or Mr. Cotton's
father were again alive to do it."

Charles Cotton was a country gentleman, of ancient family and
high connections, and a poet withal. His " Wonders of the Peak "
went through four or five editions. It is also well known that
he wrote the second part of the " Complete Angler " at the re-
quest of Walton. His person is said to have been graceful and
handsome ; and his portrait, painted by his friend Sir Peter Lely, is
now in the possession of John Beresford, Esq. of Ashbourn.

Several stories are related of Cotton's pecuniary distress; but,
though it is unquestionable that he generally laboured under embar-
rassments, and that he hints that he had occasionally concealed him-
self from his creditors, yet there is no better authority for the fol-
lowing anecdote than tradition. Sir John Hawkins states, that " a
natural excavation in the rocky hill on which Beresford Hall stands
is shown " (like the Baron of Bradwardine's) " as Mr. Cotton's occa-
sional refuge, from the pursuit of his creditors ; and but a few years
since the grandaughter of the faithful woman who carried him
food while in that humiliating retreat was living." He adds, " that
during Cotton's confinement on one occasion in a prison in the
city, he inscribed these lines on the walls of the apartment :

£ * A prison is a place of care,

Wherein no one can thrive,
A touchstone sure to try a friend,
A grave for men alive.' "

After all, perhaps the greatest compliment which can be paid to
the memory of Cotton was his having been the intimate friend of
Walton, and he tells us that " his Father Walton will be seen twice
in no man's company he does not like, and likes none but such as he
believes to be very honest men."

We cannot conclude our sketch of the life of Walton without ex-
pressing our regret that his character should have been so much
misunderstood and misrepresented, chiefly, we are persuaded, by

IZAAC WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

those who have not read his works. We know that he was but an
humble citizen, yet bearing the significant title of " good " and
" honest," living in dismal and dangerous times, his friends, and
especially the clergy, suffering from the violence of party, and him-
self also suffering with them. Yet amidst all these troubles we find
him steadily following his literary pursuits, and at the same time
making his little piscatory excursions, leaving the din and discord of
the city behind, and trudging over Tottenham Hill to the banks of
his favourite Lea, and there trying

" The all of treachery he ever learnt."

Here he viewed the placid stream, the reflex of his own mind, pos-
sessing a soul full of contentment, meekness, and devotion, by which
he was nurtured and matured for heaven, after having lived the term
of " full ninety years and past."

Few men could boast of more illustrious or numerous friends and
connexions than Walton, with most of whom he appears to have
lived on terms of the greatest intimacy. We may mention, amongst
others, the Archbishops of Canterbury (Sheldon and Bancroft), the
Bishops of London (Henchman), Winchester (Morley), Salisbury
(Duppa and Seth Ward), Exeter (Hall), Durham (Morton), Lin-
coln"(Sanderson), Bath and Wells (Ken), the Archbishop of Armagh
(Usher). His first wife was descended from Cranmer, and his second
was the sister of Bishop Ken.

This list alone would be sufficient to show the estimation in which
the character of Walton was held, especially when we consider his
humble origin and occupation ; but we may add to it the names of
Dr. Donne, Fuller, Chillingworth, Hammond, Pierce, Sir Henry
Wotton, the ever-memorable John Hales, Sir William Dugdale, and
Anthony Wood. His friends also among the poets were Ben Jon-
son, Dray ton, Cartwright, Alexander Brome, Quarles, C. Harvey,
Flatman, and,' though last not least, Charles Cotton. In this list
may be found the names of many who " loved virtue, were quiet,
and went a-angling ; " and these alone should be sufficient to remove
the stigma which has been attached to those who follow the pursuit.
We will now endeavour to show that this stigma is unmerited.

We think Sir Humphrey Davy has clearly proved in his " Sal-
monia " that the nervous system of fish, and cold-blooded animals in
general, is less sensitive than that of warm-blooded animals. He
adds, that " the hook is usually fixed in the cartilaginous part of the
mouth, where there are no nerves ; and the proof that the suffering
of a hooked fish cannot be great is found in the circumstance, that
though a trout has been hooked and played for some minutes, he
will often, after his escape with the artificial fly in his mouth, take
the natural fly, and feed as if nothing had happened, having appa-
rently learnt only from the experiment that the artificial fly is not
proper food." We have ourselves caught a pike soon after it had
broken away from another person, with two or three hooks in its
mouth, which we think is a clear proof that the pike was not under-
going any pain at the time. We believe that it is either from meet-
ing with resistance, or from the sight of an object which alarms
them, that occasions fish to struggle in the water, and not from any
actual pain they suffer from the hook. We must also be allowed to

2G4 IZAAC WALTON AND HIS FRIENDS.

express our doubt whether any animal which is deprived of life for
the purpose of affording food for man does not suffer more pain than
a fish, provided the latter is killed as soon as it is caught. A true
angler not only does this, but he is careful not to inflict unnecessary
pain, and will never use anything but a dead or an artificial bait.

When we recollect the many kind, amiable, and excellent men,
who have followed the graceful and fanciful windings of our pretty
streams, plying their rods, and enjoying the calm serenity of the
scene around them, far removed from the haunts of the idle and the
profligate, we cannot bring ourselves to believe that there is aught of
cruelty either in the disposition of an honest angler, or in the pur-
suits he delights in. A celebrated writer has ventured to assert that
no angler can be a good man ; we would say, on the contrary,
that no real angler can be a bad one. In proof of this, we might
bring forward a long list of humane, generous, tender-hearted, and
excellent men who haunted streams, threw the fly, and caught trout
and salmon amidst the wild and beautiful scenery of Nature. We
will mention a few as they occur to us, and we will begin with one
whose fondness for animals, and whose kindly disposition we invari-
ably associate with his other pre-eminent qualities. We need not
add that we refer to Sir Walter Scott. The next that occurs to us
is Sir Francis Chantrey, a first-rate fly-fisher, and one whose amiable
disposition is only equalled by his talents in the art which has so
greatly distinguished him. We may also mention Dr. Wollaston, an
ardent angler, Sir Charles Bell, Sir H. Davy, Sir Benjamin West,
Dr. Paley, Mr. Mackenzie, the Author of the " Man of Feeling,"
Professor Wilson, and we may add Lord Nelson.*

To the above list of anglers we may add the names of our poets,
Thomson, Gay, Waller, Pope, and perhaps Shakspeare,t with many
others, were it necessary, in further proof of what we have ad-
vanced. We cannot refrain, however, from referring to the amiable
president and members of the Walton and Cotton Fishing-club, a so-
ciety formed of gentlemen expert in the " gentle art," and which
they practise with equal skill and humanity. The art of angling is
at this time not what it was in the days of Walton. Those only who
have handled the newly-invented salmon and trout-rods of Mr. Ed-
mondson of Liverpool, and seen his beautiful and numerous collec-
tion of flies, — who have witnessed the performances of our five or six
first-rate Thames spinners, and watched the skill of a master in the
art on the banks of the Tweed or Shannon, can alone form an idea
of the excitement which such sort of angling produces. We say ex-
citement, because it is now allowed by those who have tried both, to
be greater, as it is certainly less cruel, than that of either hunting or
shooting. We have now done with our apology for those who, like
ourselves, are, or have been, " brethren of the rod and line." With
the following beautiful remarks, we conclude.

* " The stern courage of Nelson, tempered as it was with all the kindly feelings of
humanity, was sufficient to excite in the breast of Davy the most enthusiastic ad-
miration ; but the circumstance of his being a fly-fisher, and continuing the sport
even with his left hand, threw, in his opinion, a still brighter halo around his cha-
racter."— Parish Life of Sir H. Davy.

f " The pleasanst angling is to see the fish cut with her golden oar the silver
stream, and greedily devour the treacherous bait."

MR. PETER'S STORY. 265

" How delightful is the early spring, after the dull and tedious
time of winter, when the frosts disappear, and the sunshine warms
the earth and waters, to wander forth by some clear stream, to see
the leaf bursting from the purple bud, to scent the odours of the
bank perfumed by the violet, and enamelled, as it were, with the
primrose and the daisy ; to wander upon the fresh turf below the
shade of trees, whose bright blossoms are filled with the music of
the bee ; and on the surface of the waters to view the gaudy flies
sparkling like animated gems in the sunbeams, whilst the bright
and beautiful trout is watching them from below ; to hear the twit-
tering of the water-birds, who, alarmed at your approach, rapidly
hide themselves beneath the flowers and leaves of the water-lily ;
and, as the season advances, to find all these objects changed for
others of the same kind, but better and brighter, till the swallow and
the trout contend, as it were, for the gaudy May-fly, and till, in pur-
suing your amusement in the calm and balmy evening, you are se-
renaded by the songs of the cheerful thrush and melodious night-
ingale, performing the offices of paternal love in thickets ornamented
with the rose and woodbine."*

* Sir H. Davy's " Salmonia."

MR. PETERS' S STORY.

BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY.

THE BAGMAN'S DOG.

Stant littore puppies — VIRGIL.

IT was a litter, a litter of five,

Four are drown'd and one left alive,

He was thought worthy alone to survive ;

And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up,

To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup,

He was such a dear little cock-tailld pup.

The Bagman taught him many a trick ;

He would carry and fetch, and run after a stick,

Could well understand

The word of command,

And appear to doze

With a crust on his nose,

Till the Bagman permissively waved his hand ;
Then to throw up and catch it he never would fail,
As he sat up on end, on his little cock-tail.
Never was puppy so bein instruit,
Or possess'd of such natural talent as he ;

And as he grew older,

Every beholder
Agreed he grew handsomer, sleeker, and bolder. —

266 MR. PETER'S STORY.

Time, however his wheels we may clog,

Wends steadily still with onward jog,

And the cock-tail'd puppy 's a curly-tail'd dog !

When just at the time

He was reaching his prime,
And all thought he 'd be turning out something sublime,

One unlucky day,

How, no one could say,

Whether some soft liaison induced him to stray,
Or some kidnapping vagabond coax'd him away,

He was lost to the view

Like the morning dew ;

He had been, and was not — that 's all that they knew ;
And the Bagman storm'd, and the Bagman swore,
As never a Bagman had sworn before ;
But storming or swearing but little avails
To recover lost dogs with great curly tails. —

In a large paved court, close by Billiter Square,
Stands a mansion old, but in thorough repair,
The only strange thing, from the general air
Of its size and appearance, is, how it got there ;
In front is a short semicircular stair

Of stone steps, — some half score, —

Then you reach the ground floor,
With a shell-pattern'd architrave over the door.
It is spacious, and seems to be built on the plan
Of a Gentleman's house in the reign of Queen Anne ;

Which is odd, for although,

As we very well know,

Under Tudors and Stuarts the City could show
Many Noblemen's seats above Bridge and below,
Yet that fashion soon after induced them to go
From St. Michael Cornhill, and St. Mary le Bow,
To St. James, and St. George, and St. Anne in Soho.
Be this as it may, at the date I assign
To my tale, — that 's about Seventeen Sixty Nine, —
This mansion, now rather upon the decline,
Had less dignified owners, belonging in fine,
To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne,
A respectable House in the Manchester line.

There were a score

Of Bagmen and more,

Who had travell'd full oft for the firm before ;
But just at this period they wanted to send
Some person on whom they could safely depend,
A trustworthy body, half agent, half friend,
On some mercantile matter as far as Ostend ;
And the person they pitch'd on, was Anthony Blogg,
A grave steady man not addicted to grog, —
The Bagman, in short, who had lost this great dog.

THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 267

" The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! —
That is the place where we all wish to be,
Rolling about on it merrily ! "

So all sing and say,

By night and by day,

In the boudoir, the street, at the concert, and play,
In a sort of coxcombical roundelay ;
You may roam through the City, transversely or straight,
From Whitechapel turnpike to Cumberland gate,
And every young Lady who thrums a guitar,
Ev'ry mustachio'd Shopman who smokes a cigar,

With affected devotion,

Promulgates his notion,

Of being a " Rover " and " child of the Ocean " —
Whate'er their age, sex, or condition may be,
They all of them long for the « Wide, Wide Sea."

But, however they dote,

Only set them afloat
In any craft bigger at all than a boat,

Take them down to the Nore,

And you '11 see that before

The " Wessel " they " Woyage " in has half made her way
Between Shell- Ness Point and the pier at Herne Bay,
Let the wind meet the tide in the slightest degree,
They '11 be all of them heartily sick of" the Sea."
* * * * *

I 've stood in Margate, on a bridge of size

Inferior far to that described by Byron,
Where " palaces and pris'ns on each hand rise," —

That too 's a stone one, this is made of iron —
And little donkey-boys your steps environ,

Each proffering for your choice his tiny hack,
Vaunting its excellence ; and should you hire one,

For sixpence, will he urge, with frequent thwack,
The much-enduring beast to Buenos Ayres and back.

And there, on many a raw and gusty day,

I 've stood and turn'd my gaze upon the pier,
And seen the crews, that did embark so gay

That self-same morn, now disembark so queer ;
Then to myself I 've sigh'd and said, " Oh dear!

Who would believe yon sickly-looking man 's a
London Jack Tar, — a Cheapside Buccaneer! — "

But hold, my Muse ! for this terrific stanza,
Is all too stiffly grand for our Extravaganza.

*****

" So now we '11 go up, up, up,

And now we '11 go down, down, down,
And now we '11 go backwards and forwards,

And now we '11 go roun', roun', rounV
I hope you've sufficient discernment to see,
Gentle Reader, that here the discarding the d,

VOL. vii. u

268 MR. PETERS'S STORY.

Is a fault which you must not attribute to me ;

Thus my Nurse cut it off when, " with counterfeit glee,"

She sung, as she danced me about on her knee,

In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and three :

All I mean to say is that the Muse is now free

From the self-imposed trammels put on by her betters,

And no longer, like Filch, midst the felons and debtors

At Drury Lane, dances her hornpipe in fetters.

Resuming her track,

At once she goes back,
To our hero, the Bagman — Alas ! and Alack !

Poor Anthony Blogg

Is as sick as a dog,

Spite of sundry unwonted potations of grog,
By the time the Dutch packet is fairly at sea,
With the sands called the Goodwin's a league on her lee.

And now, my good friends, I 've a fine opportunity
To obfuscate you all by sea terms with impunity,

And talking of " caulking "

And " quarter-deck walking,"

" Fore and aft,"

And " abaft "

" Hookers," " barkeys," and " craft,"
(At which Mr. Poole has so wickedly laught,)
Of binnacles, — bilboes, — the boom called the spanker,
The best bower cable, — the jib, — and sheet anchor ;
Of lower-deck guns, — and of broadsides and chases,
Of taffrails and topsails, and splicing main-braces,
And " Shiver my timbers ! " and other odd phrases
Employ'd by old pilots with hard-featured faces ;
Of the expletives sea-faring Gentlemen use,
The allusions they make to the eyes of their crews,

How the Sailors, too, swear,

How they cherish their hair,

And what very long pig-tails a great many wear. —
But, Reader, I scorn it — the fact is, I fear,
To be candid, I can't make these matters so clear
As Marryat, or Cooper, or Captain Chamier,
Or Sir E. Lytton Bulwer, who brought up the rear
Of the " Nauticals," just at the end of last year,
With a well-written preface, to make it appear
That his play, the Sea-Captain, 's by no means Small beer ; —
There! — "brought up the rear" — you see there's a mistake
Which not one of the authors I 've mention'd would make,
I ought to have said, that he " sail'd in their wake." —
So I '11 merely observe, as the water grew rougher
The more my poor hero continued to suffer,
Till the Sailors themselves cried in pity, " Poor Buffer ! "

Still rougher it grew,
And still harder it blew,
And the thunder kick'd up such a halliballoo,

THE BAGMAN'S DOG.

That even the Skipper began to look blue ;

While the crew, who were few,

Look'd very queer, too,
And seem'd not to know what exactly to do,
And they who 'd the charge of them wrote in the logs,
" Wind N. E. — blows a hurricane, — rains cats and dogs."
In short, it soon grew to a tempest as rude as
That Shakspeare describes near the " still vext Bermudas,"

When the winds, in their sport,

Drove aside from its port

The King's ship, with the whole Neapolitan Court,
And swamp'd it to give " the King's Son, Ferdinand," a
Soft moment or two with the Lady Miranda,
While her Pa met the rest, and severely rebuked 'em
For unhandsomely doing him out of his Dukedom.
You don't want me, however, to paint you a Storm,
As so many have done, and in colours so warm ;
Lord Byron, for instance, in manner facetious,
Mr. Ainsworth more gravely, — see also Lucretius,
A writer who gave me no trifling vexation
When a youngster at school on Dean Colet's foundation.

Suffice it to say

That the whole of that day,
And the next, and the next, they were scudding away

Quite out of their course,

Propelled by the force

Of those flatulent folks known in Classical story as
Aquilo, Libs, Notus, Auster, and Boreas ;

Driven quite at their mercy

Twixt Guernsey and Jersey,

Till at length they came bump on the rocks and the shallows,
In West longitude, one, fifty-seven, near St. Maloes ;

There you '11 not be surprized

That the vessel capsized,

Or that Blogg, who had made, from intestine commotions,
His specifical gravity less than the Ocean's,

Should go floating away, .

Midst the surges and spray,

Like a cork in a gutter, which, swoln by a shower,
Runs down Holborn hill about nine knots an hour.

You 've seen, I 've no doubt, at Bartholomew fair,
Gentle Reader, — that is, if you 've ever been there, —
With their hands tied behind them, some two or three pair
Of boys round a bucket set up on a chair,

Skipping, and dipping

Eyes, nose, chin, and lip in,
Their faces and hair with the water all dripping,
In an anxious attempt to catch hold of a pippin,
That bobs up and down in the water whenever
They touch it, as mocking the fruitless endeavour ;
Exactly as Poets say, — how, though they can't tell us, —
Old Nick's Nonpareils play at bob with poor Tantalus.

u 2

270 MR. PETERS'S STORY.

— Stay — I 'm not clear,

But I 'm rather out here ;

'Twas the water itself that slipp'd from him, I fear ;
Faith, I can't recollect — and I haven't Lempriere.
No matter, — poor Blogg went on ducking and bobbing,
Sneezing out the salt water, and gulping and sobbing,
Just as Clarence, in Shakspeare, describes all the qualms he
Experienced while dreaming they 'd drown'd him in Malmsey.

tl O Lord," he thought, " what pain it was to drown ! "
And saw great fishes, with great goggling eyes

Glaring, as he was bobbing up and down,

And looking as they thought him quite a prize,

When, as he sank, and all was growing dark,

A something seized him with its jaws ! — A Shark ?

No such thing, Reader : — most opportunely for Blogg,
'Twas a very large web-footed curly-tail'd Dog !

I 'm not much of a trav'ler, and really can't boast
That I know a great deal of the Brittany coast,

But I 've often heard say

That, e'en to this day,

The people of Granville, St. Maloes, and thereabout
Are a class that Society doesn't much care about,
Men who gain their subsistence by contraband dealing,
And a mode of abstraction strict people call " stealing ; '
Notwithstanding all which, they are civil of speech,
Above all to a Stranger who comes within reach ;

And they were so to Blogg,

When the curly-tail'd Dog
At last dragg'd him out, high and dry on the beach.

But we all have been told

By the proverb of old,
By no means to think " all that glitters is gold ; "

And, in fact, some advance

That most people in France
Join the manners and air of a Maitre de Danse,
To the morals — (as Johnson of Chesterfield said)— -
Of an elderly Lady, in Babylon bred,
Much addicted to flirting and dressing in red. —

Be this as it might,

It embarrass'd Blogg quite
To find those about him so very polite.

A suspicious observer, perhaps, might have traced
The petites soins, tender'd with so much good taste,
To the sight of an old-fashioned pocket-book, placed
In a black leather belt well secured round his waist,
And a ring set with diamonds, his finger that graced,
So brilliant, no one could have guess'd they were paste.

THE

The group on the shore

Consisted of four ;

You will wonder, perhaps, there were not a few more ;
But, the fact is, they 've not, in that part of the nation,
What Malthus would term, a " too dense population,"
Indeed the sole sign there of man's habitation

Was merely a single

Rude hut, in a dingle

That led away inland direct from the shingle,
Its sides cloth'd with underwood, gloomy and dark,
Some two hundred yards above high-water mark ;

And thither the party,

So cordial and hearty,
Viz. an old man, his wife, and two lads, make a start, he,

The Bagman, proceeding,

With equal good breeding,
To express, in indifferent French, all he feels,
The great curly-tail'd Dog keeping close to his heels.
They soon reach'd the hut, which seem'd partly in ruin,
All the way bowing, chattering, shrugging, Mon-Dieu-ing,
Grimacing, and what Sailors call parley-vetoing.

*****
Is it Paris or Kitchener, Reader, exhorts
You, whenever your stomach 's at all out of sorts,
To try, if you find richer viands won't stop in it,
A basin of good mutton broth with a chop in it ?
(Such a basin and chop as I once heard a witty one
Call, at the Garrick " a c — d Committee one,"
An expression, I own, I do not think a pretty one.)

However, it 's clear

That, with sound table beer,
Such a mess as I speak of is very good cheer ;

Especially too

When a person 's wet through,

And is hungry, and tired, and don't know what to do.
Now just such a mess of delicious hot pottage
Was smoking away when they enter'd the cottage,
And casting a truly delicious perfume
Through the whole of an ugly, old, ill-furnish'd room ;

«' Hot, smoking hot,"

On the fire was a pot

Well replenish'd, but really I can't say with what ;
For, famed as the French always are for ragouts,
No creature can tell what they put in their stews,
Whether bull-frogs, old gloves, or old wigs, or old shoes ;
Notwithstanding, when offer'd I rarely refuse,
Any more than poor Blogg did, when, seeing the reeky
Repast placed before him, scarce able to speak, he
In ecstasy mutter'd " By Jove, Cocky-leeky ! "

In an instant, as soon
As they gave him a spoon,
Every feeling and faculty bent on the gruel, he

MR. PETERSS STORY.

No more blamed Fortune for treating him cruelly,
But fell tooth and nail on the soup and the bouilli.

*****

Meanwhile that old man standing by,

Subducted his long coat tails on high,

With his back to the fire, as if to dry

A part of his dress which the watery sky

Had visited rather inclemently.

Blandly he smiled, but still he look'd sly,

And a something sinister lurk'd in his eye.

Indeed, had you seen him, his maritime dress in,

You 'd have own'd his appearance was not prepossessing,

He 'd a " dreadnought " coat, and heavy sabots

With thick wooden soles turn'd up at the toes,

His nether man cased in a striped quelque chose,

And a hump on his back, and a great hook'd nose,

So that nine out of ten would be led to suppose

That the person before them was Punch in plain clothes.

Yet still, as I told you, he smiled on all present,
And did all that lay in his power to look pleasant.

The old woman, too,

Made a mighty ado,

Helping her guest to a deal of the stew ;
She fish'd up the meat, and she help'd him to that,
She help'd him to lean, and she help'd him to fat,
And it look'd like Hare — but it might have been Cat.
The little gardens too strove to express
Their sympathy towards the " Child of distress"
With a great deal of juvenile French politesse ;

But the Bagman bluif

Continued to "stuff"

Of the fat and the lean, and the tender and tough,
Till they thought he would never cry " Hold, enough I "
And the old woman's tones became far less agreeable,
Sounding like peste ! and sacre ! and diable !

I 've seen an old saw which is well worth repeating,
That says,

gootre

You '11 find it so printed by Carton, or
And a very good proverb it is to my thinking.

Blogg thought so too ; —

As he finish'd his stew,

His ear caught the sound of the word " Morbleu /"
Pronounced by the old woman under her breath.
Now, not knowing what she could mean by " Blue Death !
He conceived she referr'd to a delicate brewing
Which is almost synonymous, — namely "Blue Ruin."
So he pursed up his lip to a smile, and with glee,
In his cockneyfy'd accent, responded " Oh, Vee ! "

THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 273

Which made her understand he

Was asking for brandy ;

So she turn'd to the cupboard, and, having some handy,
Produced, rightly deeming he would not object to it,
An orbicular bulb with a very long neck to it ;
In fact, you perceive her mistake was the same as his,
Each of them " reasoning right from wrong premises ;"

And here, by the way,

Allow me to say «

— Kind Reader, you sometimes permit me to stray —
"Pis strange the French prove, when they take to aspersing,
So inferior to us in the science of cursing :

Kick a Frenchman down stairs,

How absurdly he swears !

And how odd 'tis to hear him, when beat to a jelly,
Roar out in a passion, <c Blue Death ! " and " Blue Belly ! "

" To return to our sheep " from this little digression : —

Blogg's features assumed a complacent expression

As he emptied his glass, and she gave him a fresh one ;

Too little he heeded

How fast they succeeded.

Perhaps you or 1 might have done, though, as he did ;
For when once Madame Fortune deals out her hard raps,

It 's amazing to think

How one " cottons " to drink !
At such times, of all things in nature, perhaps,
There 's not one that 's half so seducing as Schnaps.

Mr. Blogg, beside being uncommonly dry,
Was, like most other Bagmen, remarkably shy,

— " Did not like to deny" — .

— " Felt obliged to comply" —

Every time that she ask'd him to " wet t'other eye ;"
For 'twas worthy remark that she spared not the stoup,
Though before she had seem'd so to grudge him the soup.

At length the fumes rose"

To his brain ; and his nose
Gave hints of a strong disposition to doze,
And a yearning to seek " horizontal repose."

His queer-looking host,

Who, firm at his post,
During all the long meal had continued to toast

That garment 'twere rude to

Do more than allude to,

Perceived, from his breathing and nodding, the views
Of his guest were directed to " taking a snooze :"
So he caught up a lamp in his huge dirty paw,
With (as Blogg used to tell it) " Mounseer, swivvy maw ! "

And " marshalled " him so

" The way he should go,"
Upstairs to an attic, large, gloomy, and low,

MR. PETERS'S STORY.

Without table or chair,

Or a moveable there,

Save an old-fashion'd bedstead, much out of repair,
That stood at the end most removed from the stair. —

With a grin and a shrug

The host points to the rug,
Just as much as to say, " There ! — I think you '11 be snug !

Puts the light on the floor,

Walks to the door,

Makes a formal Salaam, and is then seen no more ;
When, just as the ear lost the sound of his tread,
To the Bagman's surprise, and, at first, to his dread,
The great curly-tail'd Dog crept from under the bed !

It 's a very nice thing when a man 's in a fright,
And thinks matters all wrong, to find matters all right ;
As, for instance, when going home late-ish at night
Through a Churchyard, and seeing a thing all in white,
Which, of course, one is led to consider a Sprite,

To find that the Ghost

Is merely a post,

Or a miller, or chalky-faced donkey at most ;
Or, when taking a walk as the evenings begin
To close, or, as some people call it, " draw in,"
And some undefined form, " looming large " through the haze,
Presents itself, right in your path, to your gaze,

Inducing a dread

Of a knock on the head,
Or a sever'd carotid, to find that, instead
Of one of those ruffians who murder and fleece men,
It 's your Uncle, or one of the " Rural Policemen ;"

Then the blood flows again

Through artery and vein ;

You're delighted with what just before gave you pain ;
You laugh at your fears — and your friend in the fog
Meets a welcome as cordial as Anthony Blogg
Now bestow'd on his friend — the great curly-tail'd Dog.

For the Dog leap'd up, and his paws found a place

On each side his neck in a canine embrace,

And he lick'd Blogg's hands, and he lick'd his face,

And he waggled his tail, as much as to say,

" Mr. Blogg, we 've foregather'd before to-day ! "

And the Bagman saw, as he now sprang up,

What beyond all doubt

He might have found out
Before, had he not been so eager to sup,
'Twas Sancho ! — the Dog he had rear'd from a pup I
The Dog who, when sinking, had seized his hair, —
The Dog who had saved, and conducted him there, —
The Dog he had lost out of Billiter Square ! !

•

THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 275

"

It 's passing sweet,

An absolute treat,

When friends, long sever'd by distance, meet, —
With what warmth and affection each other they greet !
Especially, too, as we very well know,
If there seems any chance of a little cadeau,
A " Present from Brighton," or " Token," to show,
In the shape of a work-box, ring, bracelet, or so,
That our friends don't forget us, although they may go
To Ramsgate, or Rome, or Fernando Po.
If some little advantage seems likely to start,
From a fifty-pound note to a two-penny tart,
It 's surprising to see how it softens the heart,
And you '11 find those whose hopes from the other are strongest,
Use, in common, endearments the thickest and longest.

But it was not so here ;

For although it is clear,

When abroad, and we have not a single friend near,
E'en a cur that will love us becomes very dear,
And the balance of interest 'twixt him and the Dog
Of course was inclining to Anthony Blogg,

Yet he, first of all, ceased

To encourage the beast,

Perhaps thinking " Enough is as good as a feast ;"
And besides, as we 've said, being sleepy and mellow,
He grew tired of patting, and crying " Poor fellow ! "
So his smile by degrees harden'd into a frown.
And his " That 's a good dog ! " into " Down, Sancho, down I "

But nothing could stop his mute fav'rite's caressing,
Who, in fact, seem'd resolved to prevent his undressing,

Using paws, tail, and head,

As if he had said,

" Most beloved of masters, pray, don't go to bed ;
You had much better sit up and pat me instead ! "
Nay, at last, when, determined to take some repose,
Blogg threw himself down on the. outside the clothes,

Spite of all he could do,

The Dog jump'd up too,
And kept him awake with his very cold nose ;

Scratching and whining,

And moaning and pining,

Till Blogg really believed he must have some design in
Thus breaking his rest; above all, when at length
The Dog scratch'd him off from the bed by sheer strength.

Extremely annoy'd by the " tarnation whop," as it
's call'd in Kentuck, on his head and its opposite,

Blogg show'd fight ;

When he saw, by the light
Of the flickering candle, that had not yet quite
Burnt down in the socket, though not over bright,

276 MR. PETERS'S STORY.

Certain dark-colour'd stains, as of blood newly spilt,
Reveal'd by the dog's having scratch'd off the quilt,
Which hinted a story of horror and guilt !

'Twas " no mistake," —

He was " wide awake"

In an instant; for, when only decently drunk,
Nothing sobers a man so completely as " funk."

And hark 1 — what 's that ? —

They have got into chat

In the kitchen below — what the deuce are they at ? —
There 's the ugly old Fisherman scolding his wife —
And she ! — by the Pope ! she 's whetting a knife ! —

At each twist

Of her wrist,

And her great mutton fist,
The edge of the weapon sounds shriller and louder I —

The fierce kitchen fire

Had not made Blogg perspire

Half so much, or a dose of the best James's powder. —
It ceases — all 's silent I — and now, I declare
There 's somebody crawls up that rickety stair !

*******

The horrid old ruffian comes, cat-like creeping ;

He opens the door just sufficient to peep in,

And sees, as he fancies, the Bagman sleeping !

For Blogg, when he 'd once ascertain'd that there was some

" Precious mischief" on foot, had resolved to " play 'Possum :" —

Down he went, legs and head,

Flat on the bed,

Apparently sleeping as sound as the dead ;

While, though none who look'd at him would think such a thing,
Every nerve in his frame was braced up for a spring.

Then, just as the villain

Crept, stealthily still, in,

And you 'd not have insured his guest's life for a shilling,
As the knife gleam'd on high, bright and sharp as a razor,
Blogg, starting upright, " tipped " the fellow a " facer :"
Down went man and weapon. — Of all sorts of blows,
From what Mr. Jackson reports, I suppose
There are few that surpass a flush hit on the nose.

Now, had I the pen of old Ossian or Homer,

(Though each of these names some pronounce a misnomer,

And say the first person

Was call'd James M'Pherson,
While, as to the second, they stoutly declare
He was no one knows who, and born no one knows where,)
Or had I the quill of Pierce Egan, a writer
Acknowledged the best theoretical fighter

For the last twenty years,

By the lively young Peers,

THE BAGMAN'S DOG. 277

Who, doffing their coronets, collars, and ermines, treat
Boxers to " Max," at the One Tun in Jermyn Street ; —
— I say, could I borrow these Gentlemen's Muses,
More skill'd than my meek one in " fibbings " and bruises,

I 'd describe now to you

As " prime a Set-to/'

And " regular turn-up," as ever you knew ;
Not inferior in " bottom " to aught you have read of
Since Cribb, years ago, half knock'd Molyneux' head off.
But my dainty Urania says, " Such things are shocking ! "

Lace mittens She loves,

Detesting " The Gloves ;"

And, turning, with air most disdainfully mocking,
From Melpomene's buskin, adopts the silk stocking.

So, as far. as I can see,

I must leave you to " fancy"

The thumps and the bumps, and the ups and the downs,
And the taps, and the slaps, and the raps on the crowns,
That pass'd 'twixt the Husband, Wife, Bagman, and Dog,
As Blogg roll'd over them, and they roll'd over Blogg ;

While what 's called " The Claret"

Flew over the garret :

Merely stating the fact,

As each other they whack'd,
The Dog his old master most gallantly back'd ;
Making both the gar$ons, who came running in, sheer oft,
With " Hippolyte's " thumb, and " Alphonse's " left ear off ;

Next, making a stoop on

The buffeting group on

The floor, rent in tatters the old woman's jupon ;
Then the old man turn'd up, and a fresh bite of Sancho's
Tore out the whole seat of his striped Callimancoes.

Really, which way

This desperate fray

Might have ended at last, I 'm not able to say,
The dog keeping thus the assassins at bay :
But a few fresh arrivals decided the day ;

For bounce went the door,

In came half a score

Of the passengers, sailors, and one or two more
Who had aided the party in gaining the shore !

It 's a great many years ago — mine then were few —
Since I spent a short time in the old Courageux ; —

I think that they say

She had been, in her day,

A First-rate, but was then what they term a Rasee, —
And they took me on board in the Downs, where she lay.
(Captain Wilkinson held the command, by the way.)
In her I pick'd up, on that single occasion,
The little I know that concerns Navigation,
And obtain'd, inter alia., some vague information

278 MR. PETERS'S STORY.

Of a practice which often, in cases of robbing,

Was adopted on shipboard — I think 'twas call'd " Cobbing."

How 'twas managed exactly I really can't say,

But I think that a Boot-jack was brought into play —

That is, if I 'm right : — it exceeds my ability

To tell how 'tis done ;

But the system is one

Of which Sancho's exploit would increase the facility.
And, from all I could learn, I 'd much rather be robb'd
Of the little I have in my purse, than be " cobb'd ;" —

That 's mere matter of taste :

But the Frenchman was placed —

I mean the old scoundrel whose actions we 've traced —
In such a position, that, on his unmasking,
His consent was the last thing the men. thought of asking.

The old woman, too,

Was obliged to go through,

With her boys, the rough discipline used by the crew,
Who, before they let one of the set see the back of them,
" Cobb'd " the whole party, — ay, " every man Jack of them."

Moral.

And now, Gentle Reader, before that I say
Farewell for the present, and wish you good day,
Attend to the moral I draw from my lay ! —

If ever you travel, like Anthony Blogg,
Be wary of strangers ! — don't take too much grog ! —
And don't fall asleep, if you should, like a hog :
Above all, carry with you a curly-tail'd Dog !

Lastly, don't act like Blogg, who, I say it with blushing,
Sold Sancho next month for two guineas at Flushing,
But still on these words of the Bard keep a fixt eye,
INGRATUM si DIXERIS, OMNIA DIXTI ! ! !

L'Envoye.

I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from sheer shame of him,
I never once thought to inquire what became of him ;
If you want to know, Reader, the way, I opine,

To achieve your design, —

Mind, it 's no wish of mine, —
Is, — (a penny will do 't,) — by addressing a line
To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne.

APPENDIX.

Since penning this stanza, a learned Antiquary
Has put my poor Muse in no trifling quandary,
By writing an essay to prove that he knows a

Spot which, in truth, is

The real " Bermoothes,"

GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN. 279

In the Mediterranean, — now call'd Lampedosa ;
For proofs having made, as he farther alleges, stir,
An entry was found in the old Parish Register,
The which at his instance the excellent Vicar ex-
-tracted : viz. " Caliban, base son of Sycorax." —

— He had rather by half

Have found Prospero's « Staff;"

But 'twas useless to dig, for the want of a pick or axe.—
Colonel Paisley, however, 'tis everywhere said,
When he 's blown up the whole Royal George at Spit-head,
Takes his new apparatus, and goes out to look
And see if he can't try and blow up " the Book."—
—Gentle Reader, farewell ! — If I add one more line,
He '11 be, in all likelihood, blowing up mine !

GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN,

WITH A SONG OF TRAFALGAR AND NELSON.
BY J. HAMILTON REYNOLDS, ESQ.

*' Under the shade of melancholy boughs
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of Time."

As You Like it.

HAVE you, my most feeling, and considerate, and imaginative reader,
ever taken an evening lounge, sojourn, saunter, meditation — (call it
what you will) — in Greenwich Park, on a real summer's evening, when
sunlight, and verdure, and decay, harmonize together, and make music
to the human heart ? If you have, you will know the scene I would
bring before you ; and if you have not, you will never waste a coming
summer. I would speak, moreover, more particularly to the initiated,
— to those who have entered the inconvenient doorway, escaping, as it
would seem, through triangular iron bars from the scattered flock of
cocked-hats on broad gravelled roads, and under great globe-crowned
gate-columns, and from silent though frequented cloisters into goodly
meads, with hills rising, tree-crowned (pensioner-looking trees !), and
with rich old brown-red buildings, — yet all the grass, timber, and edi-
fice speaking of other days and other monarchs, — all sublimed and
sweetly saddened by sunshine and time ! In summer, I perhaps could
not thus speak of this affectingly-charming, sacred scene ; but at the
moment when I am writing, the north-east wind has suddenly driven
me to winter in the Italy of the mind, — we all know that the
mind can make its own Italy, • — and I choose mine, for reasons which
will immediately appear, to be in my dear, old, solemn, sun-honoured,
colour-chastened, hero-dotted park of Greenwich. Reader ! come
with me ! Let us pay our mite to the Janitor that opens the open
gate, and enter. The change is wondrous !

Recently — but an instant ago — we were on the very loosest of gra-
velled roads, amidst a throng of the longest blue-flaps, the "shockingest
bad hats," (all, however, three-cornered,) the most irregular apportion-
ment of arms and eyes, the greatest variety of legs obtained from
Crooked-lane (save where the leg had put in to wood, when perchance

280 GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN.

the eye was compelled to mater) that ever traveller here, in Kent, or
in Asia, Africa, or America, saw assembled, or not assembled. To what
reflections do not the passing of these stunted, distorted, crinkley-
faced, battered, shattered, homely wrecks of valour and patriotism, in
cartridge, not Bath-wove — lead ! One man leans, with a face like a
map of the world he has sailed round, beneath a huge granite gateway
— and he is not all before you ! No ;— -one eye parted company at the
Nile, at the night hour, when the Orient exploded in the eyes of the
shore-bordering Egyptians, — a leg had previously been tossed to a shark
that hungered in the troubled and bloody waves which rolled from
the Baltic around the ic leviathans of the deep," close to the walls of
Copenhagen ! — Another hero lounges with the shortest and brownest
of pipes, over the worn rail, that invariably supports a crew, over the
unloading of one collier close to the Ship Tavern, — it appearing that
the same age-and-curiosity-paralysed crew will never withdraw their
varieties of cocked-hats and blue body-flags, that the vessel is always
unloading, and never mill unload ; that the river is running, ever run-
ning ; and that the sun is in a ruby state of eternal sunset. What
serene expression is in his yellow face and deeply-rivetted grey eye I—-
but it is the expression of a placid and protected retirement from a
thousand storms, — and his arm has fed the multitudinous fish off Cape
Trafalgar ! The feeling that I experience in seeing these lay figures of
heroes, these Chantrey -charmed men by the effect of Time's sculpture
power, — these dreamers of the sea, — these Zobeide-people of an un-
eastern city, — not, however, the less silent, the less-motionless, the
less imagination-lustred, — is almost inexplicable. I can hardly bear to
see them walk, — and a crawler is of sea things my preference, my
passion. A quick little man in blue, with a regular cocked-hat, and
all his arms, legs, and eyes, is my aversion ! I would rather see a
wooden-aided and (in battle) a reliable gentleman in yellow ! — the
stay of motion in this scene, the repose of colour, the pause, as it
would seem, of Time, is only realized to me in the exquisite description
of the Grecian urn by Keats ! He would have felt, wild as my feel-
ings seem to have run (from a Greenwich pensioner to a Grecian" vase),
the truth of that sentiment, —

" What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn ?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore

Will silent be ; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate can e'er return."

And here I may take leave to produce a sketch of Greenwich Ter-
race, made some years ago. The same men are leaning over the iron
rail still !

" The terrace that runs along the whole range of the building, be-
tween it and the water, is pleasantly situated ; but, as it does not much
abound with pensioners, is by no means a striking attraction in my
eyes. In the walk below it, at the edge of the water, narrow, in-
convenient, and thronged with watermen, sailors, and other bronzed
men, — we all delighted to walk. There do the maimed and weather-
tried tenants of the place saunter out their indolent and late holiday
of existence. There do they sit for hours, like Crabbe's Peter Ghrimes,
but without his terrors, looking upon the flood. There do they lean,

GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN. 281

— there stand, — there recline, — there sidle about. The passing of a
packet, — the slow drifting of a merchantman, — the heavy slumber of a
Dutch vessel, — the arrowy course of a wherry, — are all beheld and
thought over with an unchangeable profundity and a deathless silence.
It appears to me that words are of no use by the water side. The only
object that calls up an extraordinary expression of surprise or distaste
on the mahogany line of visages along the railing, is the aquatic inno-
vation of a steam-boat ; — that elevates the bristles of twenty or thirty
pair of rugged old eyebrows, and crumples up so many dark brown
cheeks till they look like a row of biffens. But not a word passes.
The long rapid smoking machine goes rattling by, convulsing the river,
and agitating the lesser craft ; but, much as it offends the eyes of the
oldest sailors, it is passed, and passes in a dignified silence. I was
much amused, and nudged my good friends on each side to share in
my amusement, by watching one hale old man, with a peculiar and
shrewd cock of his tri-cornered beaver, probing with his gimlet eye
the hole in the bottom of a worn-out skiff. He stood sideways,
peering into it with all the sagacity of the magpie's marrowbone sur-
vey,— now ogling it on this side, now contemplating it on that, and
appearing to see in it something far deeper than our poor optics could
discern. He looked closer and closer, twined his glossy antiquated
fingers upon the small of his back, pursed his under lip, and gave
his head a more intense twist, till I really thought the hole might not
be a mere hole, and that I ought not, as Mr. Puff says, to be ' too sure
that he was a beef-eater.' Five minutes elapsed, but the inquisition
was not over; — indeed, it deepened and deepened, and just as I was
satisfied the scrutiny was ripening to a purpose, and that the old man
was arriving at a conclusion, he suddenly dispersed all our expecta-
tions by loosening his hands, giving the silver buckle of his right leg
an easy elevation into the sun, and, whistling off the last notes of some
rickety tune, he left us with an empty stare at ourselves, the build-
ing, and the river. And this is, with these old men, an incident — a
sample of life. Thus do they dwell, thus exist in doing nothing, with
more industrious exactness than any other kind of idlers in the
world!"

Old age appears to me to be the great primeval bird ; and whilst such
favourites as Jesse, Buffon, Gould, Yarrell, and other naturalists, are
mere bewildered ornithologists, I may pretty well reckon upon where
Time builds its nests, and has its progeny. Warwick Castle is a
healthy nest, and the eggs are very productive ; Arundel Castle, where
the dear Lord Thurlow laid an egg, is a beautiful nest for my bird ; so
is Belvoir Castle, — so are many others ; but the favourite nest for
Time, the nest on which it sits brooding, is Greenwich Hospital ! — In it
is hatched a perpetually young old age, — in it repose birds that never
have flown, and never will fly, — birds of unvariable plumage and indis-
putable courage, — game birds, in fact, that in their hour are trimmed,
and have " metal hot at heel," and that can never so happily die as
when they die in the cockpit !

The cockpit !— what a spur it is to imaginative truth ! — for truth is
never so beautiful as when it can take its way winged by imagination.
I have a passion for Greenwich Park, Greenwich Pensioners, the sea,
and the river, by which the two were married — and the past ! I love
the old victories — I love the squandering of life which the devoted
wooden-cooped men in the sanction of courage permitted to their

GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN.

country. Nelson's uneducated devotion of heart, soul, mind, and mo-
dicum of body to his country, always makes out to me the beauty of
the spirits of the shades, — the life of the trees, — the whole colour of
Greenwich Park. I find him there. If my own private feelings in-
trude upon the sacredness of the place, behind some aged oak (and I
feel at once the timber sacred to the waves) I catch some triangular
hat that recals me to Nelson. The sea should be called Nelson. What
is the Atlantic but Nelson's parlour ? — what is the Pacific but Nelson's
receiving-room ? — what, in short, is any home for the salt wave but
Nelson's particular home, to which he at first invited his enemies, and
at last enjoyed the power of inviting his friends. Greenwich Hospital
should never be mentioned without a devotional paragraph to Nelson,
and the sea will not permit a reference to him, without the imaginary
trident being placed in his hands. I love him so unaffectedly, that I
would cut my right hand off which writes this, (one ought to write it
with one's left /) if I thought I could forget him.

The writer of this paper well remembers Nelson — he remembers see-
ing him come out of Burgess's shop in the Strand, a short time before
the glorious October 1805 —and the sight of that wondrous hero can
never be forgotten. He was a thread-paper in a cocked hat ! Had he
not been immortalized by confidence and experience, an English mind
might well have said, through an English tongue, that such a trifle of
humanity could never assert English rights either on land or water.
But his form was in its very slightness awful. He was a great man
in little — great in thinness — he was the British line. Grand in him-
self, the touch of his cocked hat, as he passed by all our uncovered
heads, was quick, simple, decisive, like one of his sea acts. It sa-
voured of Copenhagen and the Nile, and was prophetic of Trafalgar !
Dear, dear old thin, thin man ! is it not true that a giant mind may
make its abiding-place in the hollow, of a reed !

But I see a cocked hat with a man under it beckoning to me. How
have I been feeling, how have I been dreaming upon a scene, and the
men connected with it, when, instead of referring to past days, the
dead, and the associations allied to them, I should have turned me
to the dear lingering living ! Who is the man in the cocked hat ?
He is not a slight-shouldered man — he sits right up upon the bench.
Oh ! I know him at once by his manly bearing, and great gracious
sailor mode of " going large " through life in love and friendship, to be

my long-coated, pensioned, happy, quiet, confiding friend, Tom W .

Bless him ! — I '11 have a talk with him.

And so saying, up I walked to one of those well-carved, unadorned,
shady seats, whose destiny it is to bear initials and pensioners eter-
nally. There sat Tom, erect as a mainmast, his eye glistening in its
moist hazel light with pleasure at greeting me ; for Tom and I are old
Park messmates. I seldom idle to Greenwich that I do not, before my
departure for home, seek my old friend at his well-accustomed gate,
and pass a civil word into his ear, and a shilling into his crippled hand.
Having a very remote uneducated turn for sketching, my acquaintance
with this noble Jirst-rate in decay commenced in the Park, on one rich
autumnal evening, when no one molesting a seat and the solitude near
the cellars and deer-spots under One-tree Hill, I fell in love with his
grandeur, capaciousness, serenity, and dress ; and having opened on his
larboard side very steadily with a gun of remark at a time, to ascertain
his distance, I at last captured him by a broadside of five well-directed

GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN. 5283

shillings, to give my sketching powers a fair trial. I ran him out on
the back of a card, quite truly enough for loving memory to look upon
without an eye to faults ; and this interview gave him a notion I was
an artist. The sleepiness of a pensioner's curiosity was the marvel to
me, for he never asked to see what I had made of him ; but, sitting
bolt upright in his grizzled hair, appeared determined to see it out, and
I believe, if I had continued pencilling away until the present moment,
he would have never struck. But, reader, you must allow me to enter
into conversation (it will be not very lengthy) with good old Tom.

" Well, Tom," said I, " and how fares it with you this evening ? "

Tom cleared his mouth, sideways, of a little treacle-coloured spittle,
took out the wadding, turned his eyes cheerfully upon me, and returned
my greeting manfully and quietly.

"I aint, sir, quite the thing this evening; and depend on it, sir,
there 's a change o' weather getting up, — for you see this arm o' mine
gnaws away when a turn 's a-comin' on, as sure^ as the glass gives a
fall. There '11 be wet."

" Wet ! " replied I. " Why, was there ever a clearer evening ? "

" Look in the wind. Do you see them ?" — (looking at a few small
ruffled clouds on the outskirt of the sky) — " them 's wet ! As sure as
you 're a painter, them 's wet."

" Ah, Tom ! you see what it is to have been a sailor. Now, I can
no more guess why rain should be seen in those little clouds than — "

" No — picturs is your natural knowledge, — now, weather 's ourn !
We larns clouds as a charity child larns a Sunday hymn-book. You
see, the wind likes at sea to come upon us like a tiger, and therefore it
an't to be supposed we shouldn't keep a look-out, and get into his ways
o' springing on us. I can smell rain like snuff. Them 's rain"

" Well, Tom, the rain won't come to-night, to — "

"It will ! It '11 come on about mid- watch, as sure/y " (this seemed
a favourite word with him) "as Mother Carey's chickens are sartain to
make a foul pie. Howsomever, it 's fine and sunshiny now ; so there 's
no occasion to clear for action when the enemy 's all but oufc o' sight."

" So you feel your arm tell you this, eh ? " said I ; for I observed
him confirm every dead assertion of foul weather by a faint shrug up of
his injured limb. " When and where were you wounded ? "

ee I wasn't wounded no-when and no-where. I fell out o' the rigging
on a sloppy night, arid neglected myself."

' ' Neglected yourself ! "

" Ay, to be sure ; never said nothing of breakage. Grog 's stopped,
you see, when a body gets splintered ; and I never had no mind to
alter my way o' living. I an't no drinker down to the brink o' 'tosti-
cation, and that ; but men in cold damp sea-nights likes something as
makes the innards glow. And mind you, I sat in my soaked things,
and slept in 'em, cause I couldn't no way get out o' my jacket."

" Madness, indeed ! "

" Not a bit of it, — -'twas neglect, and downright hog-headedness.
All night I never closed my eyes, like winking. I knowed what pain
was, — like my mother's slap, when I was a babby. And, didn't I not
know how to move next day ? "

" You must have been a frightful sufferer ! "

" No — no — hang it ! not frightful, neither. In them days few things
could make me frightful, for I was an owdacious young man ! "

« Well— well, Tom ? "

VOL. VII. X

284- GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN.

"Well. The doctor looked at my arm, as blue as the seam of a
craft in mourning ; but he spliced it, under a lecture, — so I got it,
you see, both ways."

" Then," said I, ct how came it so lame and withered as it now ap-
pears to be ? "

" Why, you see, the wet made a dead set at it, and roomatiz walks
right into me, and that 's it."

" How mortifying for you, who have been in battle and in tempest,
to lose a limb by the mere accident of a slip, and a wet jacket ! "

" Yes ; that's all very fretful: but I don't see no use — as I suffered
in the sarvice enough to get me here, — moping about because I ain't
been shot. Some, in course, has the luck to be wounded, and not dis-
figuredly so ; but, lauk ! some gets shot right out, as if they 'd been
snuffed, and never gets here at all. Bill Eames, now — Bill Eames,
one of our men out o' Kent, — had hardly lamed the name of a rope in
the ship, when he got his gruel ; and he was a taut young man, and
unaccountable eager to fight. You see there 's a deal o' chance a-board
a ship : one man gets made a leeftenant right bang arter he 's passed,
while another goes out, to the tune of hats off and an open Bible, to
make the shark chubby. Luck 's more to do with it than men as don't
think thinks."

tc What a blessing it is that a building like the one near us is open
to receive those who suffer for their country ! " exclaimed I.

"Why, yes, it's very comfortable, only they 're a little too taut
about liquor. A man as has been knocked about, and sits down late in
life, as one may say figure-headedly (I presume Tom meant ^figurative-
ly, but I did not stop him to set his metaphor right,) likes to have his
pipe in his mouth, and his glass to cool it, — and men will be in liquor,
— and the governors and them, shouldn't be too rigid."

" But, Tom, if no check were kept upon the loose habits of men,
you know, as well as I do, that there would be no safety to the ship,
nor discipline in the crew."

" Oh ! very right. I hate, as much as any man, to see a chap drink
himself mad or stupid. But there 's a pleasant line, as one may say,
as one should set oneself again crossing. Howsomever, if a man 's
grown old in the sarvice o' drink, it's a no use exposing, and huffling,
and parsecuting, and marking on him, — that's my religion. You
might just as well preach to my old Tabby as has passed his life with
his fellow-creaturs, that he maunt go no more on the tiles."

" True ; but marking him ? — how marking him, Tom ? "

" Why, — but that 's a little abated, as we says o' the sea when we
have just sniggered out o' the Bay o' Biscay. They don't yclhrv the
men all over, like a line-tarring, as they used to do."

" Yellow the men ? "

"You see, afore my old captain, old Hardy, come to be in command
here, the moment as one of our people couldn't keep his wooden-leg
straight, you see, they 'd a nasty way o' not overlooking it. O lord !
I 've seen aboard a ship, an over-grogged man (got so by accident, or
so,) as helpless as a babby, and the leeftenant as blind as a kitten.
One o' my maxims is this : — when things ar'n't always desirable to be
looked at, it 's a good thing to look another way."

" Well, Tom, but as to 'yellow the men ? ' '

" Well, I was a-coming to that. You see, afore old Sir Thomas's
time here, the minute a man was cotched drunk, they whips him into a

GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN. 285

yellow jacket, and he walks about, you see, disgraced with his misfor-
tunes. Now no old man, not even if he 's been at sea, likes to know,
as every man as overtakes him, knows he 's been overtaken ! Feelings
is feelings, and men is men. I know many a man as is oudacious in
gin, shy and sensible when he comes to his senses. So you see that
yellowing was all agin men's spirits ! "

<f You 've made it quite clear, Tom ; and you 're quite right. But
you spoke of old Hardy, do you mean Sir Thomas Hardy, Nelson's
captain ? "

" Sir Thomas Hardy it was ; my captain, as well as Nelson's. He
was one o' the right sort, and fought his way like a man. But I think
he deserved well of his country most, for two things, — he did away
with the yellow-jackets, — and got us these blue trowsers, which are
more looser and comfortabler than them knee-things, and are more ship-
shape. Now that's what I call being a captain ! "

" Ah ! Tom, he was a great man; a fit captain for his admiral and
crew. But, when and where did you serve with him ? "

"Oh ! in that 'ere last settler. "I was with him when Nelson died,
and I see the old man dead."

" What ! served at Trafalgar — saw Nelson dead ? "

" Did both. It sartainly was a skrimmage. My eyes ! I can hear
it now, whenever I chooses to put my ears on the watch. Lord ! the
old man——"

<c Whom do you mean by the old man ? "

" Why, in course, who should I mean — Admiral Lord Nelson. We
always called him the old man."

" Oh ! I see."

" Lord ! as I was saying, how the old man did come the quiet over
himself when he seed they must fight ! He was a d — d sight more
peaceable, than any on us. Nobody don't know what men is as is going
into battle, but them as has see'd 'em. Some ain't quite up, — some 's
over uppish, — some 's making up their parcels, and thinking of their
mothers and sisters, and them, — some's stripping to their skins, and
drinking cold water, — some 's a-shaking hands with a brother mess-
mate, jist for the sake like of feeling a friend for the last time for a few
hours, or perhaps for the last time. Some sits, or stands quiet as sheep,
— some sings, but, mind you, that ain't no good sign. But, Lord !
fighting ain't a thing sailors is so eager at, jist as they 're a-going at it.
But, mark me, they 've no more idea o' giving over, than a shark ; they
are oudacious voracious at it, sure/y ! "

" Your account of the men going into battle, Tom, sounds truth it-
self to me."

" Why, 'tis truth. I can't have no use in deceiving o' you. If it
ain't true, I ain't Tom. I wish you could have seen the old man come
upon deck as fine as paint, jist as if he was a-going to a dance, all his
best things on, covered with stars, and his one eye shining like any
one on 'em. Well, he sartainly did chirrup us all up, and it would
have been marciful if he could have weathered it all out, and have
come home to see the 'luminations."

" Did you, Tom, make any preparations before you went into the
battle ? "

" Didn't I ? And this I always calls the feeling part of my life.
There was a man a-board our ship, Ben Holmes, who come from the
same town as me, and we was unpartial to one another, 'cause, you see,

x2

286 GREENWICH AND GREENWICH MEN.

we both loved one gal. She was a sweet young woman ; but I have
since heard she waun't over-constant to neither on us. Howsomever,
she had winning ways when one was with her ; and I always thought
nobody but myself was her'n."

" What was her name, Tom ? "

" Sarah Blakemore. I used to call her Sally for short. Well, you
see, Ben and me, when we gets to sea, and is both away from her, gets
mighty nuts with one another 'cause we liked the same gal, and could
take a sort o' pleasure in talking on her, without either on us getting a
pull."

" How natural ! " exclaimed I.

"I b'lieve you. Well, now, and here comes what I call the feeling
part o' my life. We meets arter the decks were cleared, and neither
on us seemed very eager to begin talk. Howsomever, there was no
time to lose."

" Poor fellows ! "

" Well, it was nearly that. We, clean off, agreed to tie up all we
had in one bundle, and let the lucky one take it ; and, in course, mind
you, if both was lucky, the things was to be ontied, and be as they
was."

" Ah ! Tom, that was right."

" Oh ! that ain't the hour when men can do no wrong. Well, we does
the bundle up off-hand, but neither of us said nothing ; and I put my
lock of her hair in, and he put his'n ; and we made up two pound seven-
teen in money, and stowed it all away."

" I trust, my good friend, that you opened the bundle together, and
that the things were as they were ? "

" Not by no means. I went through the sieve for many a good hour ;
but, late in the day, when I was a little less bustled, and arter the dear
old man had been carried down, (ordering, bless his care ! new tiller-
ropes to be rove where they were shot away, though he was a-going
down to die,) I thought I 'd see what had become o' Ben. I didn't find
him at his gun, so I know'd there was something wrong. My mind
misguv me."

" Then he, too, poor Ben ! was wounded ? "

" I went into the cockpit, and I see Ben black with gunpowder, but
quieter than I ever seed him afore. He said he was shot in the arm,
but that it was all right ; but I seed it warn't; he said he was numb-
ed in the groin : he died o'that numbness, for he was shot there. Afore
I parted with him, though, — for I couldn't in course stay, — he axed me
whether the old man was dead. I turned down a few o' the tops o'
the 'sheets, and, Lord! there he was, about the third from Ben. I
wish I may die if I ever see anything so quiet and happy, and it 's clear,
therefore, the French couldn't spoil his natur. — So you see, I got the
bundle."

The old sailor pulled up in silence here, and looked out, as if he was
looking at the past. The solemn manliness of his appearance was too
impressive to allow of iny abruptly tearing him from the subject he
was contemplating. He was literally at sea. With a wish, therefore,
to draw him from the then sadness of his thoughts of that sea, and yet
not to break him from his beloved element, I allowed silence for o
short time to occupy, while it relieved him. I then recurred to the
previous promise I had given of seeing his picture of Trafalgar.
But the day was too far gone, and the treasure of Tom's cabin was

NELSON AND TRAFALGAR. 287

therefore yet to remain my " Yarrow unvisited." Trafalgar, the
cockpit, Ben Holmes, Nelson, and the bundle, haunted me by times all
the way home, and in a sea-spirit I passed that evening. The follow-
ing song was the result, and my chief aim was to make it true and
simple, so that a sailor — even my Tom — might not object to hear,
nor fail to understand it.

Tom and I took a silver parting at the park gate, better friends than
ever, for the sake of Trafalgar.

THE SONG OF TRAFALGAR AND NELSON.

" FOUNDED ON FACTS."

A goodly vessel did I then espy,
Come like a giant from a haven broad ;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.

WORDSWORTH.

THE ship rode well in Portsmouth's sea,

The gallant, good old ship ;
She had her perfect company,

And waited Victory's trip :
She had her many hundred men,

Yet all with but one heart ;
And she swung — impatient now and then

For one man — to depart ! "*
He came — she went — in awful sail,

Right out, with glorious bow ;
And day and night, before the gale,

She heaved to meet the foe.
In Cadiz bay — the deathless bay

Henceforth for evermore, —
She pull'd up in her pathless way,

By many a Seventy-four.

At daylight, on a precious day,

The watchful fleet's good eyesf
Saw, creeping out upon their way,

The foe, prize after prize.
The Victory and her gallants yet|

Kept coyly out of sight,
From dread lest backing-sails be set,

And fear should spoil the fight.

No ! fight they must — they cannot fly, —

Harbour no more is theirs !
The hero gives the long full sigh,

Contentment's sigh, and prayers.

* " The ships appointed to reinforce the Mediterranean fleet, were despatched
singly, each as soon as it was ready." — Southey^s Life of Nelson, p. 323.

•f- " At this time he was not without some cause of anxiety ; he was in want of
frigates— */i<? eyes of the fleet, as he always called them."

£ " They were observed so well that all their motions were made known to him
and, as they wore twice, he inferred that they were aiming to keep the port of Ca-
diz open, and would retreat there as soon as they saw the British fleet ; for this
reason he was very careful not to approach near enough to be seen by them during
the night."— Ibid. p. 328.

" Fearing that if the enemy knew his force they might be deterred from ven-
turing to sea, he kept out of sight of land, and desired Collingwood to fire no sa-
lute, and hoist no colours." — Ibid. p. 322.

288 NELSON AND TRAFALGAR.

Down in his cabin sits he then,*

As in his parlour's chair;
And absent loves,fand all his men,J

Are folded in his care.

The guns are good, the crew is good,

And deadly the intent ;
The vessel offers all its blood —

Will carnage be content ?
The very waves are stunn'd to hear

Such long dun thunder keep
Its roar and horror, far and near,

Over the mid-sea deep !

The God of Battles from his throne

Looks down through lurid light,
And claims the victor for his own

To hallow the great fight.
As triumph shouted oft and oft,§

The dying hero's eyes
Flash'd light, Death could not render soft,

Nor anguish agonize.

Home came the news that on the sea

England was all alone ! ||
Home came the mighty victory

To wring a nation's groan !
Though joy from every window glared

'Twas joy that still must yearn ;
Mourning and joy together pair'd —

The lamp-light and the urn !

He sleeps beneath the lofty dome, —

His sailors saw him home ;
They rent his flag^[ above his tomb, —

Each got a charm to roam !

* " Having seen that all was as it should be, Nelson retired to his cabin, and
wrote the following prayer : —

u ' May the great God whom I worship grant to my country, and for the bene-
fit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory, and may no misconduct in
any one tarnish it ; and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature of
the British fleet ! For myself, individually, I commit my life to Him that made
me, and may his blessing alight on my endeavours for serving my country faith-
fully ! To Him I resign myself, and the just cause which is intrusted to me to
defend. Amen. Amen. Amen.'" — Southey's Life of Nelson, p. 329.

t See the memorandum respecting Lady Hamilton and his daughter, Horatia
Nelson. Ibid. p. 329.

$ " One of the last orders of this admirable man was, that the name and family
of every officer, seaman, and marine, who might be killed or wounded in action,
should be, as soon as possible, returned to him, in order to be transmitted to the
chairman of the Patriotic Fund, that the case might be taken into consideration
for the benefit of the sufferer, or his family." — Ibid. p. 327.

§ " As often as a ship struck the crew of the Victory hurraed ; and at every
hurra a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes, and marked the countenance
of the dying hero." — Ibid. p. 341.

|| " Officers and men were in the highest spirits at the prospect of giving them a
decisive blow ; such, indeed, as would put an end to all further contest on the seas."
—Ibid. p. 324.

" So perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime war, after
the battle of Trafalgar, was considered at an end. The fleets of the enemy were
not only defeated, but destroyed." — Ibid. p. 350.

51 "At his interment, his flag was about to be lowered into his grave, — the sail-

COLIN CLINK, 289

The mainmast * makes his latest berth —

Oh ! were not ship-wood press'd
Around his gracious form on earth,

He could not take his rest !

COLIN CLINK.

BY CHARLES HOOTON.

BOOK THE SECOND
CHAPTER XIV.

The " Yorkshire House." — Its company. — And an adventure.

IN the course of some subsequent conversation, Colin's friend the
coachman ascertained that his " green " passenger came from some
place in the county of York, and instantaneously concluded, by a pe-
culiar process of reasoning, that our hero ought of necessity to put up
at a <e Yorkshire House." He forthwith recommended him to a tavern
of some notoriety in the city, backing his recommendation with the
assurance that, as he was but raw in London, it would be better for him
to be amongst his own countrymen.

In the " Yorkshire House/' then, we will suppose him His first
business, after having refreshed himself, was to call for ink and paper,
and indite an epistle to Squire Lupton, giving him not only an explicit
statement of the cause of his precipitate retreat from Bramleigh, and
his consequent inability to attend at the Hall on the appointed day,
but also detailing the horrible scene of the lawyer's confession respect-
ing the situation of James Woodruff, which had led to his recent
attempt, and compelled that retreat. This being done, and duly de-
spatched, he hastily prepared himself, fevered and confused in brain
as he was by the long night-journey, to take a turn in the streets. He
longed, as every stranger does who first enters this mighty city, to
wander among its endless maze of houses, and witness the vastness of
its resources. He passed down one of the by-streets into Cheapside ;
wondered at the numbers of caravans and carts, the coaches and cabs,
which blocked themselves to a temporary stand-still in the streets
branching from either side j marvelled what all the vehicles that shot
along could be employed for ; where the contrary and cross currents
of human beings could all possibly be setting in ; or how the enormous
evidences of almost inconceivable wealth, displayed on all sides, could
ever have been thus accumulated. As he ruminated, the crowd every
now and then half spun him round, now one way, now another, in the

ors, who assisted at the ceremony, with one accord rent it in pieces, that each
might preserve a fragment while he lived." — Southey^s Life of Nelson, p. 350.

* " Part of L'Orient's mainmast was picked up by the Swiftsure. Captain
Hallowell ordered his carpenter to make a coffin of it ; the iron as well as wood
was taken from the wreck of the same ship. It was finished as well and as hand-
somely as the workman's skill and materials would permit, Hallowell then sent it to
the admiral, with the following letter : —

" ' SIR, — I have taken the liberty of presenting you with a coffin made from the
mainmast of L'Orient, that when you have finished your career in this world, you
may be buried in one of your trophies. But that that period may be far distant
is the earnest wish of your sincere friend,

" < BENJAMIN HALLOWELL.' "—Ibid. p. 158.

290 COLIN CLINK.

endeavour to pass or to outstrip him. Some belated clerk, hurrying
to his duty, put a forcible but inoffensive hand upon his shoulder, and
pushed him aside ; the butcher's boy (and butchers' boys are always
in a hurry) perhaps poked the projecting corner of his wooden tray or
the shank of a leg of mutton into his ear ; the baker drove a loaf into
his ribs ; the porter knocked his hat off with the box on his knot ;
the merchant pushed it into the gutter, in order to avoid treading
upon it, and the policeman, standing front outwards by the lamp-
post, smiled as sedately as a wooden doll, whose lower jaw is pulled
down with a string, and, when advice was useless, kindly told him to
" take care of his hat."

By the time he had passed through Fleet Street, and round along Ox-
ford Street, and Holborn, his head was in a whirl. In the course of a
few short hours his senses had received more numerous and striking
impressions than had been made upon them probably during the whole
course of his previous life. London seemed a Babel, and himself one
of those who were lost utterly in the confusion of tongues, — tongues
not of men merely, but of iron and adamant, rattling together their
horrible jargon, until his ears sounded and reverberated like two shells
beside his head, and his brain became bewildered as if with (that
which he had happily never yet experienced) a night's excess.

About seven o'clock in the evening he returned to his inn. Having
placed himself quietly in a retired corner of the parlour of the
" Yorkshire House," and immediately beneath a sloping skylight ex-
tending the whole breadth of the room, — a position which very
strongly suggested the idea that he was sitting under a cucumber-
frame, Colin amused himself by making silent remarks upon the scene
before him. Sundry very miscellaneous-looking personages formed the
principal figures of the picture, and were relieved by numerous acces-
saries of mutton-chops, biscuits, broiled kidneys, pints of stout, and
glasses of gin-punch ; the whole being enveloped in an atmosphere of
such dense smoke, as gave a very shadowy and mysterious character to
every object seen through it.

" There 's a fly on your nose, Mr. Prince," remarked a lean hungry-
looking fellow ; " a blue-bottle, sir, just on the end there."

The individual thus addressed was a sinister-looking man, who, it
afterwards appeared was a native of Leeds, in which he had formerly
carried on business, and contrived to scrape together a large fortune.
In mercantile phraseology, he was a " thirty thousand pound man ;"
and, though as ignorant and surly a brute as ever went on two legs, on
account of his property he was looked up to and respected by everybody
as ignorant as himself. On hearing his friend Hobson's remark, Mr.
Prince suddenly seized the end of his own nose, and grasped it in his
hand, as he was in the regular habit of doing whenever the fly was men-
tioned, while with a very shallow assumption of facetiousness he replied,
" Then I 've got him to-night, by go ! "

Every individual in the company who knew his business properly
now forced a laugh at the great man's witty method of doing things,
while Hobson replied,

" I think not, Mr. Prince. He 's too ' fly ' for you again."

" Look in your hand, Mr. Prince," suggested a thick-headed fellow,
from the East- Riding, not unlike a bullock in top-boots. Mr. Prince
thanked him for the hint; but declined adopting it, on the score that if
he opened his hand he should lose him.

COLIN CLINK. 291

" Put him in Hobson's glass," said another.

" Well/' replied Hobson, " as we all know Mr. Prince is very poor,
I '11 give him sixpence if he will."

This hint at Mr. Prince's poverty was exceedingly relished both by
the Prince himself and all the toadeaters about him. Its ingenuity
seemed to delight them, as did also the reply made by the great man
himself.

" I doubt whether you ever had a sixpence to spare in your life."

Another mechanical laugh was here put in at Hobson's expense,
which that gentleman not relishing quite so well as he would have
done had the insinuation been made at the expense of any other person,
he repelled it by challenging Mr. Prince to produce, there and then, as
many sovereigns upon the table as any other man in the company. This
touched Mr. Prince in a delicate place, and he growled out, with a hor-
rible oath, that he could buy Hobson and all his family up with only the
simple interest of his capital. At the same time he put his hand in his
breeches-pocket, and drew forth a broad-bellied greasy black pocket-
book, which he slapped heavily on the table, as he swore there was
more money in it than Hobson had ever even so much as seen together
before. Hobson flatly denied it, and offered to bet glasses round that
it did not contain twenty pounds more than his own.

" Done ! " roared Mr. Prince, as his clenched fist fell on the table,
with a weight which made all the pipes and glasses upon it dance a
momentary hornpipe. A comparison of pocket-books was immedi-
ately instituted. Mr. Prince's was declared to contain one hundred and
seventy bank-notes more than Hobson's, and Hobson was called upon
for the grog. This being more than he expected, he endeavoured to
evade the bet altogether, by insinuating that he should not believe Mr.
Prince's notes were good, unless he looked at them himself. Several
voices cried together " No, no ! " and the rest vented their opinions in
loud exclamations of " Shame, shame ! — Too bad ! " and the like.

Mr. Prince felt the indignity offered to his pocket-book most keenly.
He looked unutterable things at Hobson, and bellowed loud enough to
have been heard as far as Lad Lane, that " he would see him in " — (a
very uncomfortable place, I can assure the reader, according to all ac-
counts)— " before he would trust a single farthing of his money in the
hands of such a needy, starving, penniless bankrupt as he was." Many
of those present felt that this language was not exactly warrantable ;
but there were no cries of shame in favour of Mr. Hobson.

At this interesting period of the discussion, Colin's eyes chanced to
be fixed very earnestly on the countenance of Mr. Prince, which that
gentleman remarking, he forthwith turned suddenly on the young man
with this abrupt demand : —

" What are you staring at, eh? Did you never see a man's face
before."

" Yes," very quietly replied Colin ; " I have seen many men's faces
before."

" What do you mean by that, eh ? " cried Prince. " What does he
mean ? " addressing the company. " Come — come, young man, I '11 soon
teach you how to know your betters." And he strode towards Colin,
with the apparent intention of practically illustrating the system he
maintained. The latter instantly rose on his feet to meet the foe. All
eyes were now turned towards these two, while the squabble with
Hobson appeared for the time to be wholly forgotten.

292 COLIN CLINK.

" Beg my pardon, sir ! " bellowed Prince.

" I shall beg no man's pardon whom I have neither injured nor
insulted," coolly answered Colin.

" I say, beg my pardon ! " repeated Prince. " Do you mean to take
the law of me if I strike you ? Say no, and I '11 knock you down."

" No ! " replied Colin, " I shall appeal to no law except that of my
own force. If you strike me, I shall probably strike again, old as you
are."

Smash went Mr. Prince's fist at Colin's face ; but the latter par-
ried the blow adroitly, and by a cool " counter " succeeded in pressing
Mr. Prince's nose very much closer to his face than nature herself had
intended it to be. Cries of " Shame ! " again arose against Colin,
and some attempts were made to seize and turn him out. These,
however, were prevented by other portions of the company, who ex-
claimed loudly in favour of fair play, and against any interference.
In the mean time Mr. Prince grew furious, and raised his stick to strike
Colin with the determination of a butcher about to knock a bull on
the head. The youth again parried the intended blow, and turned
the weapon aside by receiving it in a slanting direction on his right
arm. In order to close with him on the opposite side, Prince now
jumped on the table ; but this manoeuvre the young man avoided, and
at the same instant a shower of broken glass fell upon him. Colin's en-
raged assailant's stick had gone through the lid of the " city cucumber-
frame," and some half-dozen fractured squares attested his powers of
mischief. A loud laugh echoed from every part of the room, which put
Mr. Prince in a perfect whirlwind of passion. He plunged at his young
opponent as though he meditated crushing him by the mere weight of
his body ; but as the coolness of the latter enabled him to take advan-
tage of the slightest circumstance in his favour, he slipped aside at the
critical moment, and his antagonist's head went with the power of a
paviour's rammer against the wall. This terminated the fight. Mr.
Prince lay on the floor, and groaned with pain and vexation, until he
was picked up, and placed, almost as inanimate as a sack of potatoes, in
his chair.

In an instant afterwards a gentleman, dressed in a dark-blue great-
coat, and who, as Colin thought, was so very rich in that particular ar-
ticle of clothing as to lay himself under the necessity of having them
numbered on the collar, made his appearance in the room ; and at the
instance of the landlord stepped forwards, and collared our hero, with
the intention of conveying him to the station-house. Against this pro-
ceeding several friendly individuals protested, and joined vehemently
in the opinions expressed by a stout young Welshman, who sat with a
pipe in his mouth, that "Py cot! it was too bad to meddle with him
instead of the old one." This timely interference saved Colin for the
present, and the policeman was obliged to retire.

Deeply fatigued as our hero was from previous want of rest, he
early retired to his apartment, and soon fell into a slumber of many
hours' duration. On rising in the morning, what was his astonishment
to find a roll of paper like bank-notes lying near him, for the presence
of which he knew not how to account ?

After some hesitation he dressed, and rang for the servant.

" That roll of paper," said he, when she appeared, " lay on my chair
when 1 woke. It was not there last night, and it does not belong to
me. How it came there I know not. The papers appear to be bank-

COLIN CLINK. 293

notes. You had better take them to your master, and inquire whether
any person in the house has lost them."

The girl looked surprised ; but took them up, and followed his ad-
vice.

Very soon after Colin heard a hue and cry raised below-stairs. A
few minutes elapsed, and then a rush of people towards his room an-
nounced that the mystery of the roll of papers was about to be cleared.

"Is this him ? "demanded a man, with a belt round his body, and
a glazed rim on the edge of his hat-crown.

" That 's him ! " replied the servant-girl. te He gave them to me."

" Come, young man, I want you," said the policeman, seizing Colin
roughly. " Come along with me." And, in spite of all his entreaties
and protestations he was hurried away. It appeared that Mr. Prince,
who occupied a room on the same floor as his young antagonist,
had identified the notes as his own, and declared that Colin must have
robbed him.

After the lapse of a very short period, Colin stood before the grave
magisterial authorities sitting at Guildhall, with Mr. Prince as his ac-
cuser. The charge having been heard, Colin replied to it with all the
fearlessness, determination, and indignation, which the consciousness
of innocence is sure to inspire. He related the occurrences of the pre-
vious evening, and concluded by expressing his firm belief that the
money had been placed upon his chair in order to bring him into trou-
ble. When searched, ten sovereigns and some silver had been found
upon him. He was asked to account for the possession of so much
money ? To this question he flatly refused to answer, as well as those
bearing upon his own character and employment ; who he was ; where
he came from ; and what place he had left when he arrived at the
Yorkshire House.

In this dilemma an idea struck the subtle brain of Mr. Prince. He
felt now perfectly secure of his victim. He owned them also, and de-
clared they were part of the money which had been abstracted during
the night from his pocket-book. Here, however, he overstepped the
mark. Colin instantly requested that the landlord of the inn might be
called to witness that the money was in his possession at the time he
arrived there, and many hours before it could even be pretended that
he saw the individual who now stood forwards as his accuser. To this
fact the landlord honestly bore testimony, — a piece of evidence which
caused the face of Colin' s accuser to assume the tint of a thundercloud
with the sunshine on it — he looked black and white at the same time.
Boots also declared that on going upstairs to leave the gentlemen's
boots at their doors, he saw some person come out of the young man's
room, who certainly bore very little resemblance to the occupant of that
room himself. After some further investigation Mr. Prince was ac-
commodated with a reprimand from the bench, and the case was dis-
missed.

CHAPTER XV.

Colin makes an acquaintance, and is put in a way of being introduced to
his sister, a "public singer."

THE temptations of the Yorkshire House were not sufliciently great
to induce Master Clink to remain in it after the conclusion of the fore-
going adventure. Having returned to discharge his shot, he bade good
b'ye to the place altogether, and again betook himself to the streets,

294 COLIN CLINK.

both with the idea of looking about him, and of seeking out another
home. In the course of the afternoon he contrived to pick up an ac-
quaintance at a small public house where he called, in the person of a
tall, thin, laddish-looking young man, not unlike a pea-rod split half-
way up : clad in a blue coat, partially out at elbows, and so short in
the arms that his wrists, and great red hands hung out full a quarter
of a yard, like fly-flappers; while his trowsers, — an old-fashioned,
striped, summer pair, value about one and threepence, if ticketed, —
allowed his ancles to descend below them in no contemptible imitation
of a pair of stilts. His countenance — which was nearly of the same
hue as a sago pudding, strongly resembled in shape a boy's humming-
top. From certain conversations which Colin had with him, it appeared
that this miserable creature, whose name was Wintlebury, was but about
two-and-twenty years of age, and had been brought up as assistant to
a poor painter of window-blinds, scenes for licensed concert-taverns,
and such like, then resident in some obscure back street near the
Commercial-Road. As his master was himself half-starved upon the
productions of his genius, the lad — who came in but second, very
naturally starved outright ; and one night, in the mere desperation of
hunger, he fell .upon two chops, which had been prepared for the
family's supper, and devoured them. On the discovery of this atro-
cious act, he was turned out of the house at ten o'clock, and left to
wander about the streets. His only friend was his sister, who sang and
performed some minor parts at the threepenny tavern concerts, so nu-
merous at the eastern end of the town ; and whose finances, unfor-
tunately, were not in a much better condition than his own. Sick-
ness had ruined her : and she paid much more to keep herself alive,
than her living ordinarily cost her. He therefore could not find in his
heart to apply to her. That night he walked the streets till, tired
and worn out, he sat down about two o'clock on the steps of Guildhall,
and fell asleep. Here he was apprehended and lodged in the watch-
house; taken to the police-office the next day, and committed to
prison for sleeping in the open air ; — a sentence the term of which had
expired but a short time before. Such was the brief story of the poor
creature who now had made an acquaintance with Colin.

As our hero had yet a round sum left, and, as the day advanced, be-
gan to feel something like the want of a dinner, he adopted the ad-
vice of Wintlebury, and walked with him into one of those bow-win-
dowed shops in which a display of greasy-looking hams, varnished
pork-pies, and dry boiled-beef, is usually made ; while a savoury
steam ascends through the bars of the area-gate, as a sort of hint to the
nose of the passer-by that in the region above he may make his din-
ner. Having regaled himself and his companion with an ample re-
past, Colin discharged the bill, and they wandered into the town. As
neither of them knew where to put up at night, Wintlebury advised
Colin, for economy's sake, to look out for a private lodging : and re-
commended him to apply at the identical house where his own sister
lodged ; as he thought the mistress most probably would have one
sort of room or another unoccupied.

To this proposal our hero consented. They walked in the direction
of Shoreditch, and did not halt until they arrived at the door of a
house in the Mile End-Road.

" All right ! " said Colin's companion, — " there 's a paper in the
window."

COLIN CLINK. 295

Just as Wintlebury had ceased to agitate the knocker, Colin —
whose eyes were downwards — saw a dirty face popped close to the
panes of the low kitchen window, with a pair of white eyes turned up
to catch a glimpse of the applicants.

Mrs. Popple soon made her appearance ; and having ascertained the
object of the visit, proceeded to conduct them into the house. As the
party ascended the stairs, Mrs. Popple informed Colin that he would
find her upper room a most delightful retreat. He might there read
his book in peace ; or, if he were so disposed, might play his flute,
violin, trombone, tambourine, or even drum, without fear of complaint
from any of the other lodgers, who really agreed so well together, that
it was almost like paradise itself to live in such a social community.
The window of it also overlooked all the backs of the surrounding
houses, while a skylight in front opened directly upon the heavens
themselves. Colin replied, that he neither played on any musical
instrument, nor did he particularly admire such heavens as he had
hitherto seen over London. He did not think the attic was likely to
suit him. As he threw a careless eye around, he observed a black
stump-bedstead, one decent chair, and three rush-bottomed ditto;
while in one corner stood an old oak chest, made, probably, in the
early days of George the First, and large enough almost to be convert-
ed, if occasion required, into a family burying-place. On the white-
washed walls were scratched with the artistical finger-nails of pre-
vious occupants various ill-proportioned figures.

Colin at length decided to become " the monarch of all he surveyed"
for the space of one week. In the mean time Wintlebury had taken the
opportunity of seeing his sister, and had received two free orders from
her for a concert at the Condor Tavern that evening.

CHAPTER XVI.

A Peep at a Tavern Concert. — Colin falls in love, parts with his money, and gets
into difficulties.

THE entrance to the " saloon " of the Tavern where the Concert
was to be held lay through a dram-shop. As Colin and his companion
passed the bar, the latter familiarly recognised several shabby-genteel
and dissipated-looking young men, who stood there drinking gin-
and-water, and talking exquisite nonsense to a pretty-faced toy-like
bar-maid, whose principal recommendation with her master consisted
in the skill with which she contrived to lure and detain at the bar
all such simpletons as usually spent the greater portion of their spare
time amidst such scenes. By the side of the passage, and near the
door of the saloon, was pasted up a small paper, on which was the fol-
lowing announcement,

On Sundays,
SIXPENCE.

Value given.

The " value given " consisted of about a dozen spoonsful of either gin
or rum, with very hot water, to make it appear strong, — or of a pot of
ale or stout, at the discretion of the customer.

296 COLIN CLINK.

Very much to Colin's astonishment, — as well it might be, consi-
dering that he had never before seen aught of the kind more extensive
than a country inn, — he was suddenly ushered by his companion into
a " saloon," containing about from three to five hundred persons, ar-
ranged on forms placed across the room, each form having before it a
narrow raised ledge, not unlike those sometimes seen in the pews of
churches, on which to lodge the respective pots, bottles, and glasses of
the company. Down the avenues, which ran longitudinally, for the
convenience of passage, certain individuals were calling shrimps,
screwed up in conical white packages of one penny each ; while the
perfume, if such it could be called, from some scores of pipes and
cigars, ascended in multitudinous little clouds above the heads of the
company, and covered as with a filmy atmosphere the frescoed land-
scapes with which the walls above were bountifully decorated. At the
remote end of the room appeared a stage and proscenium on a small
scale, after the fashion of a Minor Theatre.

Shortly after Colin and his friend had taken their seats, a gentleman
commenced playing an overture upon an instrument which had been
highly admired there ever since its introduction, as it formed within
itself a magnificent combination of organ, piano, clarionet, and bag-
pipe, and possessed besides the additional advantage of occasionally
producing tones at its own will and pleasure, to which those of no other
instrument in the world might be compared, and of which no adequate
conception can be formed, unless the reader has enjoyed the exquisite
delight of hearing a " fantasia extempore " played on the hinges of some
unoiled door, as it gradually, and in varying time, declined from a
wide open position to the door-cheek.

As I have not the most distant intention of wearying either the
reader or myself with a detailed description of the night's entertain-
ment, I shall merely observe, that after the curtain drew up, a succes-
sion of songs, comic, patriotic, pathetic, and snivelitic, was introduced,
and sung by various members of the professional company. Amongst
these appeared one, on seeing whom Wintlebury exclaimed to his com-
panion, " That 's my sister ! "

Colin looked. A beautiful-complexioned girl was on the stage,—
bright-eyed, lively, and attractively attired in the showy costume of a
theatrical Neapolitan maid. After a brief prelude on the famous
Orchestraeolophonagpipe, she sung, apparently not without effort, but
with the most bewitching assumption of modesty telling its troubles to
the moon, a song, the burden of which ran " Too many lovers will puzzle
a maid!"

" Encore ! — encore ! " enthusiastically cried a gentleman, who was
sitting a few seats in advance, as he clapped his hands madly together,
and tossed his legs at random under the seat before him, " admirable,
bi'gar ! — me quite consent vith dat. Too many is too much • "

" Hangcoor ! " repeated a young sailor, considerably more than half-
seas over, as he unconsciously re-charged his pipe, as though he were
ramming down the wadding of a gun, " hangcoor ! — Go it agen, Bess,
or whatever your name is. Hangcoor ! "

This word, under a dozen different pronunciations, ran round the
room, while Miss Harriet Wintlebury made a profound courtesy, and
proceeded to repeat her song.

As Colin gazed, and gazed again, turned away his eyes, and as in-
stantly fixed them upon the same beautiful object again, his bosom

COLIN CLINK. 297

burned, and his cheeks grew flushed, — lie felt as though in the pre-
sence of a being whom he could think scarcely inferior to the angels —
at least, he had never in his life seen woman as she is before. For
what were the simple beings under that name whom he had met in the
out-of-the-way country nook he had so recently left ? What was his
late mistress, Miss Sowersoft ? — what the maids on the farm ? — what
even Fanny herself? — mere plain, dull, plodding, lifeless creatures of
the feminine gender, and nothing more. But this enchanter ! — his
heart leaped up, and in that one moment he felt more of the deep
yearning of love than ever in the course of his whole life he had felt
before.

" Let us go nearer," he whispered to his companion ; and in the
next minute they were forcing their way down one of the passages
between the forms towards the other end of the room. Before they
had succeeded in obtaining a seat on the last form, close under the
stage-lamps, Miss Harriet had concluded her melody, and retired
amidst considerable applause. Until the period of her reappearance
the time occupied by other performers seemed to Colin endless. Un-
der other circumstances, the novelty and freshness of such an enter-
tainment would have beguiled his attention deeply, and resolved hours
into the seeming space of but a few minutes ; but now the sense of plea-
sure derived from this source was rendered dull and pointless by com-
parison with that far keener delight, that tumultuous throng of hopeful
passions, which had so suddenly and strangely, taken possession of
his bosom. At length she came again, — he started astonished. Could
it be the same ? The clear bright complexion — (or what had seemed
at the further end of the room to be so) — now looked opaque and
earthy ; the white was dead white, and the red as abruptly red as
though St. Anthony had been busy with his pencil, patching those
cheeks with fire ; while the substratum of bone and flesh looked worn
into a shape of anxious pain, that gave the lie direct and palpable to
the colourable pretensions of the surface. And then the handsome bust,
which at a distance seemed so beautiful, now appeared a most miserable
artistical mockery of nature ; and the fixed meaningless gaze, — the
mouth formally extended in order to display the teeth, — the dead
lack-lustre stare at the remote end of the room, calculated to produce
an impression on the more distant portion of the audience, — all com-
bined deeply and strongly to impress the horrible conviction on the
mind, that this poor creature, in spite of all assumptions and deco-
rations to the contrary, was a very poor, worn-out, deplorable crea-
ture indeed ! It forced upon the spectator something like the idea
of a death's head endeavouring to be merry, — a skull fitted with glass
eyes, and covered with a thin painted mask of parchment, striving to
laugh and look happy, in order to be consistent with the laughter and
the happiness around it. Add to this the hollow faint voice, — (the
mere echo of the sound it once had been,) — pumped up from lungs
that seemed to have lost all power, — to have decayed until scarcely
any portion remained, — and we shall feel impressed, as did Colin,
with a fearful, almost a terrible, sense of the poor uses to which hu-
manity is sometimes put, and of the deep wretchedness often existing
among those whose occupation in life it is to look gay, whatever they
may feel.

In truth, consumption was feeding on her, seemingly deep and irre-
mediable. Yet she struggled on: what else could she? She still

298 COLIN CLINK.

strove, still fulfilled her occupation every night, still sung, still tried to
look merry, although her heart was all out of heart, and her bosom was
filled with fear and anxiety from the dread sense of approaching death
— too surely at hand — and she unprepared ! Perhaps to come to her
on that very stage, — perhaps then ! And all this to gain a morsel of
daily bread !

Although reflections of this nature crowded on Colin's mind in a
heavy throng, as he gazed on the poor made-up form before him, still
he could not entirely free himself from the impression which her ap-
pearance had previously produced upon him. That which was artifi-
cial, and affected to others, was not so to his perceptions, for his inex-
perience would not allow him to see it. The appearance of modesty was
to him modesty; of grace, was grace; of light-heartedness and joy, as
real as though a single care had never entered that bosom since the day
it first stemmed the rude tide of the world. And as for the rest, — just
as with every other imperfection which may exist in the object of any
lover's hopes — so was it with hers. Through familiarity they were
soon overlooked ; and, like the shadows on the moon, though they
chequered, they did not extinguish the general light.

At the conclusion of the performance Mr. Wintlebury borrowed ten
shillings of Colin, — promising to pay him again as soon as he could get
into work, — and they parted for the evening. Our hero returning to
his humble bed in Mrs. Popple's garret, to pass a restless night amidst
strangely-mingled visions of tavern concerts, and beautiful singing
ladies.

As, in his present state of feeling, there was nothing which in his
heart Colin so much desired as an opportunity of obliging his second-
floor neighbour, Miss Wintlebury, it luckily happened that in the
course of a very short time she failed not to afford him various oppor-
tunities of so doing, having in all probability been taught her cue by
the brother. At one time she would send up a message to Mr. Clink,
regretting that she was under the necessity of troubling her brother's
friend, but if he could lend her a little tea and sugar, just to avoid the
unpleasantness of sending out while it rained so very fast, she should
feel exceedingly obliged to him indeed. At another she borrowed his
loaf, because it was stale, and none but new was to be had at the
baker's ; or his cheese, because a friend had come in, and she had none
of her own in the house ; or a few shillings, until she could go out, and
draw upon her employer ; and at last she ventured, though very re-
luctantly indeed, to ask the loan, just for three days, of four pounds
fifteen, if he could possibly do her that great obligation, in order to
satisfy the impudent demands of the apothecary, the tea-dealer, the
baker, and the butcher, who severally and respectively had perempto-
rily cut off the supplies of medicine, tea, bread, and mutton-chops,
until certain arrears had been paid.

All these friendly applications Colin responded to with unparalleled

Eromptitude, although the last one so very materially enlarged the hol-
>w of his purse, that he began to marvel how he himself should con-
trive to clear his way as far as to the end of the next fortnight.

This position of affairs somewhat aroused him from the idle day-
dream in which he had been indulging. It was time, high time, that he
set about doing something to earn a subsistence ; for, besides the amount
he had thus expended in supplying the wants of others, he had also les-
sened his stock very rapidly by attending nightly at the concert-room

COLIN CLINK. 299

to which he had first been introduced, in order to gratify himself with
those repeated glimpses of his mistress, without which he never felt at
peace ; as well as to hear her voice, which he thought the finest in the
world, and to rejoice over the popular applause with which she there
seldom failed to be greeted. For, singular as it may appear, he had
never yet met with her in their own house, nor exchanged a single
word with her in private upon any occasion whatever. His personal
introduction yet remained to be made.

Several subsequent days he spent in various futile endeavours to ob-
tain employment. Some, who otherwise would have engaged him,
wanted a character from his last place. He had none to give ; and,
therefore was denied the opportunity of earning one. Others required a
person partially acquainted with their business ; and so his services could
not be rendered available. Meantime he had not neglected to call once
or twice at the Yorkshire House, and inquire whether any letter had
arrived there directed for him. No. The squire had not written in
reply to the letter he had despatched from that place, and all hope of de-
riving assistance from that quarter seemed, of course, entirely banished.
"Doubtless," thought he, "Mr. Lupton has heard some bad accounts
of me, and has wholly given me up." In this conjecture our hero was,
however, totally mistaken. Mr. Lupton had not yet returned from
the excursion of a few week's duration, of which he spoke when Colin
was at the hall ; and, consequently, had not seen the letter in question.
Neither, had he done so, would his return have been of any avail in
this particular instance; since it most unfortunately happened for
Colin that on the day but one following the arrival of his epistle, it so
fell out that Doctor Rowel was called to attend the squire's housekeeper
upon the attack of a sudden illness. On this occasion, while left in the
drawing-room alone, the doctor's eye chanced to alight upon a number
of unopened letters lying on the table, in readiness for the owner of
the mansion on his arrival ; and amongst them he espied one, on the
corner of which was written the name of " Colin Clink." He hastily
took it up ; stole a glance at its contents by shining it against the sun ;
and, finding it to contain certain very serious statements touching him-
self, he took a bold step at once, and, regardless of consequences, put
it into the fire. Before the servant returned to conduct him up stairs,
every vestige of the letter had totally disappeared. Thus had Doctor
Rowel not only for the time being saved himself, but also obtained
that knowledge of which he stood in much need, — the knowledge of
Colin's place of retreat and particular address. Of these he instantly
resolved to make the earliest possible use.

Disappointed in all his expectations, and defeated in every endea-
vour to obtain the means of making a livelihood, Colin returned to his
little domicile, and on the spur of the moment wrote a very dolorous
letter to his mother and Fanny, in which he set forth all his recent
disasters, and the trouble he was now in, adding, that unless some-
thing or other to his advantage turned up very shortly he should scarcely
know what way to turn himself for a living.

And yet, when he thought the matter more calmly over again, after
the letter was despatched, and could not be recalled, he plucked up
heart, and for another evening at least drove away care by retiring
to the Condor Tavern, and taking his accustomed place within easy
sight of the adorable Harriet Wintlebury.

VOL. VII. Y

300

THE HAIR AND BEARD,

AS FASHIONED BY POLITICS AND RELIGION AT VARIOUS
PERIODS.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

THE famous declaration of St. Paul, " that long hair was a shame
unto a man," has been made the pretext for many singular enactments,
both of civil and ecclesiastical governments. The fashion of the hair
and the cut of the beard were state questions in France and England
from the establishment of Christianity until the fifteenth century.

We find, too, that in much earlier times men were not permitted to
do as they liked with their own hair. Alexander the Great thought
that the beards of his soldiery afforded convenient handles for the
enemy to lay hold of, preparatory to cutting off their heads ; and, with
the view of depriving them of this advantage, he ordered the whole of
his army to be closely shaven. His notions of courtesy towards an
enemy were quite different from those entertained by the North Ame-
rican Indians, amongst whom it is held a point of honour to allow one
" chivalrous lock " to grow, that the foe, in taking the scalp, may have
something to catch hold of.

At one time, long hair was the symbol of sovereignty in Europe.
We learn from Gregory of Tours that, among the successors of Clovis,
it was the exclusive privilege of the royal family to have their hair
long, and curled. The nobles, equal to kings in power, would not
show any inferiority in this respect, and wore not only their hair, but
their beards, of an enormous length. This fashion lasted, with but
slight changes, till the time of Louis le Debonnaire ; but his suc-
cessors, up to Hugh Capet, wore their hair short, by way of distinction.
Even the serfs had set all regulation at defiance, and allowed their
locks and beards to grow.

At the time of the invasion of England by William the Conqueror,
the Normans wore their hair very short. Harold, in his progress to-
wards Hastings, sent forward spies to view the strength and number
of the enemy. They reported, amongst other things, on their return,
that " the host did almost seem to be priests, because they had all
their face and both their lips shaven." The fashion among the Eng-
lish at the time was to wear the hair long upon the head and the upper
lip, but to shave the chin. When the haughty victors had divided the
broad lands of the Saxon thanes and franklins among them, when ty-
ranny of every kind was employed to make the English feel that they
were indeed a subdued and broken nation, the latter encouraged the
growth of their hair, that they might resemble as little as possible their
cropped and shaven masters.

This fashion was exceedingly displeasing to the clergy, and pre-
vailed to a considerable extent in France and Germany. Towards the
end of the eleventh century, it was decreed by the Pope, and zealously
supported by the ecclesiastical authorities all over Europe, that such
persons as wore long hair should be excommunicated while living, and
not be prayed for when dead. William of Malmesbury relates, that
the famous St. Wulstan, Bishop of Worcester, was peculiarly indignant
whenever he saw a man with long hair. He declaimed against the
practice as one highly immoral, criminal, and beastly. He continually
carried a small knife in his pocket, and whenever anybody offending in
this respect knelt before him to receive his blessing, he would whip it

THE HAIR AND BEARD. 301

out slily, and cut off a handful, and then, throwing it in his face, tell
him to cut off all the rest, or he would go to hell.

But fashion, which at times it is possible to move with a wisp, stands
firmly against a lever ; and men preferred to run the risk of damnation
to parting with the superfluity of their hair. In the time of Henry I,
Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, found it necessary to republish the
famous decree of excommunication and outlawry against the offenders ;
but, as the court itself had begun to patronise curls, the fulminations
of the church were unavailing. Henry I. and his nobles wore their
hair in long ringlets down their backs and shoulders, and became a
scandalum magnatum in the eyes of the Godly. One Serlo, the King's
chaplain, was so grieved in spirit at the impiety of his master, that he
preached a sermon from the well-known text of St. Paul before the
assembled Court, in which he drew so dreadful a picture of the tor-
ments that awaited them in the other world, that several of them burst
into tears, and wrung their hair as if they would have pulled it out by
the roots. Henry himself was observed to weep. The priest, seeing
the impression he had made, determined to strike while the iron was
hot, and, pulling a pair of scissors from his pocket, cut the King's hair
in presence of them all. Several of the principal courtiers consented
to do the like, and for a short time long hair appeared to be going out
of fashion. But the courtiers thought, after the first glow of their
penitence had been cooled by reflection, that the clerical Dalilah had
shorn them of their strength, and in less than six months they were as
great sinners as ever.

Anselm, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who had been a monk of
Bee, in Normandy, and who had signalized himself at Rouen by his
fierce opposition to long hair, was still anxious to work a reformation
in this matter. But his pertinacity was far from pleasing to the King,
who had finally made up his mind to wear ringlets. There were other
disputes of a more serious nature between them ; so that when the
Archbishop died, the King was so glad to be rid of him, that he
allowed the see to remain vacant for five years. Still the cause had
other advocates, and every pulpit in the land resounded with ana-
themas against that disobedient and long-haired generation. But all
was of no avail. Stowe, in writing of this period, asserts, on the
authority of some more ancient chronicler, " that men, forgetting their
birth, transformed themselves, by the -length of their haires, into the
semblance of woman kind ;" and that when their hair decayed from
age, or other causes, " they knit about their heads certain rolls and
braidings of false hair." At last accident turned the tide of fashion.
A knight of the court, who was exceedingly proud of his beauteous
locks, dreamed one night that, as he lay in bed, the devil sprang upon
him, and endeavoured to choke him with his own hair. He started in
affright, and actually found that he had a great quantity of hair in his
mouth. Sorely stricken in conscience, and looking upon the dream as
a warning from Heaven, he set about the work of reformation, and cut
off his luxuriant tresses the same night. The story was soon bruited
abroad ; of course it was made the most of by the clergy ; and the
knight, being a man of influence and consideration, and the acknow-
ledged leader of the fashion, his example, aided by priestly exhorta-
tions, was very generally imitated. Men appeared almost as decent as
St. Wulstan himself could have wished, the dream of a dandy having
proved more efficacious than the entreaties of a saint. But, as Stowe

Y2

302 THE HAIR AND BEARD.

informs us, " scarcely was one year past when all that thought them-
selves courtiers fell into the former vice, and contended with women in
their long haires." Henry, the King, appears to have been quite un-
influenced by the dreams of others, for even his own would not induce
him a second time to undergo a cropping from priestly shears. It is
said that he was much troubled at this time by disagreeable visions.
Having offended the Church in this and other respects, he could get
no sound refreshing sleep, and used to imagine that he saw all the
bishops, abbots, and monks of every degree, standing around his bed-
side, and threatening to belabour him with their pastoral staves ; which
sight, we are told, so frightened him, that he often started naked out
of his bed, and attacked the phantoms sword in hand. Grimbalde, his
physician, who, like most of his fraternity at that day, was an eccle-
siastic, never hinted that his dreams were the result of a bad digestion,
but told him to shave his head, be reconciled to the Church, and reform
himself with alms and prayer. But he would not take this good advice,
and it was not until he had been nearly drowned a year afterwards, in
a violent storm at sea, that he repented of his evil ways, cut his hair
short, and paid proper deference to the wishes of the clergy.

In France the thunders of the Vatican with regard to long curly
hair were hardly more respected than in England. Louis VII, how-
ever, was more obedient than his brother-king, and cropped himself as
closely as a monk, to the great sorrow of all the gallants of his court.
His Queen, the gay, haughty, and pleasure-seeking Eleanor of Gui-
enne, never admired him in this trim, and continually reproached him
with imitating not only the head-dress, but the asceticism of the
monks. From this cause a coldness arose between them. The lady
proving at last unfaithful to her shaven and indifferent lord, they were
divorced, and the Kings of France lost the rich provinces of Guienne
and Poitou, which were her dowry. She soon after bestowed her hand
and her possessions upon Henry Duke of Normandy, afterwards Henry
II. of England, and thus gave the English sovereigns that strong foot-
ing in France which was for so many centuries the cause of such long
and bloody wars between the nations.

When the Crusades had drawn all the smart young fellows into Pa-
lestine, the clergy did not find it so difficult to convince the staid
burghers who remained in Europe of the enormity of long hair. During
the absence of Richard Cceur de Lion, his English subjects not only
ctit their hair close, but shaved their faces. William Fitzosbert, or
Long-beard, the great demagogue of that day, reintroduced among the
people who claimed to be of Saxon origin the fashion of long hair. He
did this with the view of making them as unlike as possible to the
citizens and the Normans. He wore his own beard hanging down to
his waist, from whence the name by which he is best known to poste-
rity.

The Church never showed itself so great an enemy to the beard as
to long hair on the head. It generally allowed fashion to take its own
course, both with regard to the chin and the upper lip. This fashion
varied continually ; for we find that, in little more than a century after
the time of Richard I, when beards were short, that they had again be-
come so long as to be mentioned in the famous epigram made by the
Scots who visited London in 1327, when David, son of Robert Bruce,
was married to Joan, the sister of King Edward. This epigram, which
was stuck on the church-door of St. Peter Stangate, ran as follows —

THE HAIR AND BEARD. 30,1

" Long beards heartlesse,
Painted hoods witlesse,
Gray coats gracelesse,
Make England thriftlesse."

When the Emperor Charles V. ascended the throne of Spain, he
had no beard. It was not to be expected that the obsequious parasites
who always surround a monarch could presume to look more virile
than their master. Immediately all the courtiers appeared beardless,
with the exception of such few grave old men as had outgrown the in-
fluence of fashion, and who had determined to die bearded as they
had lived. Sober people in general saw this revolution with sorrow and
alarm, and thought that every manly virtue would be banished with
the beard. It became at the time a common saying, —
"Desde que no hay barba, no hay mas alma."
We have no longer souls since we have lost our beards.

In France, also, the beard fell into disrepute after the death of
Henry IV", from the mere reason that his successor was too young to
have one. Some of the more immediate friends of the great Bearnais,
and his minister Sully among the rest, refused to part with their
beards, notwithstanding the jeers of the new generation.

Who does not remember the division of England into the two great
parties of Roundheads and Cavaliers? In those days every species of
vice and iniquity was thought by the Puritans to lurk in the long curly
tresses of the Monarchists, while the latter imagined that their oppo-
nents were as destitute of wit, of wisdom, and of virtue, as they were
of hair. A man's locks were the symbol of his creed, both in politics
and religion. The more abundant the hair, the more scant the faith ;
and the balder the head, the more sincere the piety.

But among all the instances of the interference of governments with
men's hair, the most extraordinary, not only for its daring, but for its
success, is that of Peter the Great, in 1705. By this time fashion had
condemned the beard in every other country in Europe, and with a
voice more potent than popes or emperors, had banished it from ci-
vilized society. But this only made the Russians cling more fondly
to their ancient ornament, as a mark to distinguish them from foreign-
ers, whom they hated. Peter, however, resolved that they should be
shaven. If he had been a man deeply read in history he might have
hesitated before he attempted so despotic an attack upon the time-hal-
lowed customs and prejudices of his countrymen ; but he was not. He
did not know or consider the danger of the innovation ; he only listen-
ed to the promptings of his own indomitable will, and his fiat went
forth, that not only the army, but all ranks of citizens, from the nobles
to the serfs, should shave their beards. A certain time was given that
people might get over the first throes of their repugnance, alter which
every man who chose to retain his beard was to pay a tax of one hun-
dred roubles. The priests and the serfs were put on a lower footing,
and allowed to retain theirs upon payment of a copeck every time they
passed the gate of a city. Great discontent existed in consequence ;
but the dreadful fate of the Strelitzes was too recent to be forgotten,
and thousands who had the will had not the courage to revolt. As is
well remarked by a writer in the " Encyclopedia Britannica," they
thought it wiser to cut off their beards than to run the risk of incensing
a man who would make no scruple in cutting off their heads. Wiser;
too, than the popes aud bishops of a former age, he did not threaten
them with eternal damnation, but made them pay in hard cash the

304 THE HAIR AND BEARD.

penalty of their disobedience. For many years a very considerable re-
venue was collected from this source. The collectors gave in receipt
for its payment a small copper coin, struck expressly for the purpose,
and called the " borodovdia," or " the bearded." On one side it bore
the figure of a nose, mouth, and mustachios, with a long bushy beard,
surmounted by the words, " Deuyee Vyeatee" " money received ; " the
whole encircled by a wreath, and stamped with the black eagle of
Russia. On the reverse it bore the date of the year. Every man
who chose to wear a beard was obliged to produce this receipt on his
entry into a town. Those who were refractory, and refused to pay the
tax, were thrown into prison.

Since that day the rulers of modern Europe have endeavoured to
persuade, rather than to force, in all matters pertaining to fashion.
The Vatican troubles itself no more about beards or ringlets, and men
may become hairy as bears, if such is their fancy, without fear of ex-
communication, or deprivation of their political rights. Folly has taken
a new start, and cultivates the mustachio.

Even upon this point governments will not let men alone. Religion
as yet has not meddled with it ; but perhaps it will ; and politics
already influence it considerably. Before the revolution of 1830 neither
the French nor Belgian citizens were remarkable for their musta-
chios ; but after that event there was hardly a shopkeeper either in
Paris or Brussels whose upper lip did not suddenly become hairy with
real or mock mustachios. During a temporary triumph gained by
the Dutch soldiers over the citizens of Louvain, in October 1830, it be-
came a standing joke against the patriots that they shaved their faces
clean immediately ; and the wits of the Dutch army asserted that they
had gathered mustachios enough from the denuded lips of the Bel-
gians to stuff mattresses for all the sick and wounded in their hos-
pital.

The last folly of this kind is still more recent. In the German
newspapers, of August 1838, appeared an ordonnance, signed by the
King of Bavaria, forbidding civilians, on any pretence whatever, to
wear mustachios, and commanding the police and other authorities to
arrest, and cause to be shaved, the offending parties. Strange to say,
mustachios disappeared immediately, like leaves from the trees in
autumn ; everybody made haste to obey the royal order, and not one
person was arrested.

The King of Bavaria, a rhymester of some celebrity, has taken a
good many poetical licences in his time. His licence in this matter
appears neither poetical nor reasonable. It is to be hoped that he will
not take it into his royal head to make his subjects shave theirs ; no-
thing but that is wanting to complete their degradation.

We in this country are more fortunate than the Bavarians. We
have our absurdities in the matter of hair as well as they, but who
shall meddle with us ? Not Queen Victoria, in all the plenitude of
her cheerfully recognised authority, dares to touch the hair or the
beard of the meanest of her subjects. We should laugh her manifestoes,
if she issued any, to scorn. Let her ministers try it, that's all, as
those of the King of Bavaria did, and an insurrection would break out
for the defence of our crowns, which might shake the very foundation
of society. No. Our young men may wear coats hairy as the bear's
hide, and strut about with their sleek locks falling adown their necks
a la Raphael, living caricatures of the portraits of that almost divine
painter, but no legislative enactment will interfere with them.

305

I should de-ci-ded-ly say, try it.'

MR. TRICKETT DONKS.

THRICE happy is the mortal who can boast of having passed through
life in blissful ignorance of those cabalistic words, " trover," " trespass/'
" non pros." " quo warranto," " latitat," " scire facias," " venire facias "
and the thousand other legal nonsensicalities, couched in illegitimate
French and Latin, that " came over with William of Normandy."

The litigious disposition of the Normans, by the way, is proverbial.
It is said that the " statute-book " is their " primer ;" and they are
such adepts at quibbling, that a suit often descends to the great-grand-
child,—which must prove in some cases remarkably convenient, as it
frequently happens that the said great-grandchild has no credit with
his tailor.

By way of illustration (we do not mean a satirical cut), we will re-
late a veracious anecdote.

In a certain town in Normandy, the authorities (" for divers good
reasons them thereunto moving ") thought proper to issue a proclama-
tion to the effect that none of the worthy inhabitants, under a severe
penalty, should stir abroad after sunset without a lantern. Well, it
chanced that on the very same evening a man was seized and taken
incontinently before the dispenser of justice, to be summarily dealt
with according to the new law.

" I am exceedingly sorry," said the chief officer, recognising the in-

306 MR. TRICKETT DONKS.

dividual, " that a citizen of your respectability and station should be
the first to infringe the new regulations."

" I would not willingly do so/' said the man, coolly.

" Have you not read it ? "

" Certainly," replied the captured party; " but I may have unfortu-
nately misunderstood it. Will Monsieur oblige me by reading it, that
I may learn of what I am guilty ? "

The officer graciously complied, and, after glibly running over the
verbose preamble, came* to the point, "that no inhabitant should stir
abroad after sunset without a lantern," which he certainly delivered
with peculiar emphasis, to the admiration of the fellow who had taken
the man in custody, and was twiddling his fingers, impatient to receive
his moiety of the fine.

" I have a lantern, Monsieur," firmly contended the man, holding it
up to view.

" Yes ; but there is no candle in it," replied the officer, with a
smile.

" The proclamation does not mention a candle, I believe, Monsieur,"
replied the cunning fellow, most respectfully.

" A candle ! — but of course — " began the informer, trembling lest he
should lose the fish he had hooked.

" It does not mention a candle ; and I contend, Monsieur, I have not
infringed the law," persisted the quibbler. " The words are ' without
a lantern/ — and here it is."

" Hem ! " cried the officer, endeavouring to conceal the confusion
occasioned by his defeat by poring over the copy of the proclamation.
" I must — yes, I must confess there is an omission, and — I am too
happy to give you the benefit arising thereout. The case is dismissed."

The informer was not only completely defeated, but rather alarmed,
when the prisoner called to his mind a certain act which rendered him
the aforesaid informer liable to heavy damages for false imprisonment,
&c. and the poor devil was fain to avert the infliction of an action at
law by disbursing a certain sum in hard cash to the accused.

But lo ! on the next evening he again encountered his " dear " ac-
quaintance, and, to his infinite delight, he beheld the same unillumined
lantern in his hand ; for an amended proclamation had been issued that
morning, with the words " that no inhabitant should stir abroad with-
out a lantern and a candle therein ! "

The informer chuckled at the ignorance of the man who had so
coolly victimized him on the preceding night, and with a heart beating
with the desire of revenge, and the certain prospect of the restitution
of the mulct which he had suffered, he with a sneering politeness
requested the honour of his company to the justice-room.

" Really it is impossible to resist the amiable importunities of a
gentleman who pays such delicate compliments and — such good coin ! "
replied the man ; and away he walked, chatting good-humouredly and
joking with his delighted captor.
" What, again ? " cried the officer.

" I hope Monsieur will do me the honour to remember that my
former appearance here was not only against my inclination, but against
the law," said the prisoner. " Really these proceedings are very vex-
atious arid — "

" Have you read the proclamation ? " interrupted the officer.
" Monsieur did me the favour to read it only last night, and — "

MR. TRICKETT, DONKS. 307

" I will read it again for your edification," replied the officer ; and
he looked furtively at the informer, who could scarcely contain himself
for very joy.

The amended proclamation was read. The accused stood placidly
smiling at the rigmarole verbiage ; but when the officer deliberately
dealt out the concluding words, " that no inhabitant should stir abroad
without a lantern and candle," he started.

" Ha ! " cried the informer, unable longer to restrain his feelings.

" How very — very fortunate! " cried the delinquent, and, quickly
opening his lantern, continued, "Lo! here is a candle ! How fortu-
nate ! "

" But it is not lighted ! " exclaimed the informer with uncontrollable
agitation. " It is not lighted, nor has it been, as the wick itself
proves ! "

" Lantern and candle ! — a lantern and a candle ! " repeated the
man. " I appeal to the proclamation — I appeal to the justice of Mon-
sieur, there are no such words as lighted candle in any part of that re-
spected document ! "

This was a clencher! The parties were completely outwitted;
while, to abate the fever of the informer's extraordinary excitement,
the man charitably repeated the " bleeding " which he had so effectu-
ally performed on the former occasion. Of course the lawyers lost no
time in "amending" the "amended" proclamation, and inserted
"lighted" before the word "candle."

We beseech the courteous reader to excuse this garrulous digression
(the peculiar privilege of old men and women,) for the sake of the apt,
although ridiculous exposition of the dangers and difficulties which
surround all legal proceeding. Most men, indeed, who have " been to
law " have only found to their sorrow

" That law was expensive ana justice was blind! "

and that the ordinary " effects " of the majority of " causes " are a
feverish anxiety (jpendente lite), and a bill of costs (adjtnem) !

*****

Mr. Trickett Donks xvas what is termed a "sharp practitioner,"
and well known to the gentlemen of the profession as a " shabby
fellow."

No one was quicker at discerning and taking advantage of a " flaw "
in an indictment ; he was remarkably successful, too, in proving an
alibi : he, consequently, got a number of those cases in which the de-
fendants had not " the shadow of a chance."

He was a short, punchy, fidgetty little mortal, with a white stubble-
crop, arid ragged whiskers, and a voluminous unstarched muslin cravat
tied in a bow beneath his chin, which was usually sprinkled with
snuff, — for Donks was one of those " lights of the age " who require
continual " snuffing " to keep them bright.

A pair of vulgar ferret eyes peered through a respectable pair of
bright silver spectacles, while a suit of black, (glossy as the plumage of
the carrion-crow,) completed his " real and personal estate."

" Well, Grimes," said he, as his chief clerk entered his sanctum,
" have you finished that bill of costs ? "

" I have, sir," emphatically replied Grimes, with something of the
tone of the murderer in Macbeth when he announces the "premature
death " of Banquo ; and, laying the precious document on his desk, he

308 MR. TRICKETT DONKS.

continued, " and I do think, sir, I have screwed it up as tight as it will
bear. Two hundred and twenty pounds."

" Well ; come, that is pretty well," said Donks approvingly.

A cloud of disappointment, mingled with indignation, darkened the
brow of the assiduous Grimes ; but he " knew his man," or rather his
master, and therefore calmly continued, " If you remember, sir, you
doubted my ability to ' turn the corner ' of one hundred and eighty? "

" True," replied Donks ; " but that was merely to put you on your
mettle, Grimes," and he " grinned horribly a ghastly smile," intended
for an irradiation of facetiousness. The lean bilious-looking Grimes
attempted something of the same sort in order to conceal his vexation,
for he felt a sad presentiment that his superior intended, by throwing
cold water upon his exertions, to " sneak out " of his special agreement
(verbal, without witnesses,) of a per centage upon the" gross" amount
of that bill which he had so painfully strained his conscience (?) to ex-
tend to its present awful longitude ; for from melancholy experience he
well knew that Donks was one of those who would even cheat the
" devil of his due," nor " blush to find it fame."

In fact, the threadbare dependent, in the bitterness of his feelings,
confessed to a brother-quill, over a third tumbler of diluted Geneva,
that " to the best of his knowledge and belief" his old governor had
actually given a post-obit bond to the aforesaid " gentleman " in lieu of
" all claims and demands whatsoever."

" Then there are some hopes he '11 have the old fellow at last ! "
cried his pot-companion, with sympathetic exultation.

" Not at all," replied Grimes, mournfully, " for, before Death serves
him with a subpoena, he will very probably purchase a ' perpetual
living,' and so, by a quibble, diddle the infernal obligee in the ' courts
below ! ' '

On two or three occasions Mr. Trickett Donks narrowly escaped
being struck off the rolls for his malpractices. Twice he brought ac-
tions for defamation against two honest clients, who were not aware
that " truth is a libel," and an enlightened British jury were com-
pelled from the evidence to award the miscreant damages ! OH !
LAW!

When any rogue — an enemy to justice, but a friend to law, — appli-
ed to him, — and his clients were mostly of that stamp, — he dexterous-
ly put out his " feelers," (while pretending to discuss the merits of the
case,) and if he found that the litigant could raise wherewithal to defray
the charges, he advised him to proceed forthwith, although he had not
" a leg to stand on," nevertheless, notwithstanding, for there was a rea-
sonable chance (by which he meant legal) that he might obtain a ver-
dict, and he sincerely wished he might get it !

In fine, to the application of all, whether zoologically classed " fox "
or " goose," the pompous dictum of Mr. Trickett Donks was invariably,

" I should de-ci-ded-ly say, try it ! "

ALFRED CHOWQUJLL.

309
STANLEY THORN.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " VALENTINE VOX."

CHAPTER VII.

Bob takes his pedestrian tour incog.

WHEN James, the devoted servant by whom Amelia had been
attended to the inn, followed Bob, he did not entertain the smallest
doubt about his being his young mistress ; for while he knew the
cloak and bonnet so remarkably well, that he could have sworn con-
scientiously to either, Bob walked with indisputable elegance and
ease, — a fact which will by no means be deemed extraordinary on
its being announced that Stanley had trained him throughout the
whole of the previous night, by making him pace the widow's draw-
ing-room clad in her habiliments, until he became satisfied with the
graceful character of his carriage, which could not in the nature of
things happen, albeit the practice was extremely severe, until just
as the day began to dawn.

In consequence of this training, Bob very naturally felt some-
what fatigued ; but it must not be presumed that this circum-
stance tended, even in the slightest degree, to subdue his spirit.
On the contrary, he gloried in the performance of the task ; he
held it to be a thing in which his honour was involved, and felt
proud of having been chosen to play a part so peculiarly important.
But the particular consideration from which he derived the greatest
pleasure, was that of how he should work the respectable victim be-
hind him. He was able to dive to some considerable depth into the
thoughts, the secret thoughts of that individual ; and as he had a
peculiarly aristocratic contempt for him, — holding him as he did,
notwithstanding his cockade, to be in the social scale one chalk be-
low him, — he resolved to make him feel before he had 'done with
him, that in life there are positions more congenial to the feelings
of a respectable person than that which he then occupied.

In limine, however, Bob had one great difficulty to surmount: he
knew nothing of the vicinity of Richmond. He had a perfect know-
ledge only of the direct road to town, and, as he wished to avoid
going that way, he had turned round by Petersham Rise on specula-
tion ; but as to the point to which it led, or to which it was likely to
lead, he was in a state of the most absolute ignorance. He neverthe-
less went to the bottom boldly, and made a little turn to the right ;
but as he found that the very narrow path he was pursuing had a
tendency to lead him back to Richmond, he branched off at once to
the left, and thus approached the noble porch of a magnificent edi-
fice, the appearance of which struck him as being so extraordinary
that he stopped, partly in order to lose a little time, and partly
with the view of lavishing upon that edifice looks of admiration.
The particular architectural order of this noble fane — and nothing
can be more correct than to state, without any unnecessary delay,
that it was Petersham church before which he stopped — is pecu-
liarly its own. It is neither Tuscan, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, nor
Composite ; nor does it belong to any of those three which mo-
dern architects in their wantonness have designated Gothic, French,

310 STANLEY THORN.

and Persian. It forms an order of itself, one which, moreover,
never has been, and probably never will be, copied in any civilised
part of the globe. Bob viewed its extraordinary steeple, which,
" pointing to the skies," stand boldly in the full developement of
its height, which being nearly three feet and three quarters from
its base to its ball, forcibly strikes, even in the present day, the eyes
of all beholders. He then directed his attention to the wonderful
tower upon which it stands in all its glory ; and having with critical
minuteness examined the twelve triumphal turrets, composed of
antique bricks and mortar, by which the tower itself is surmounted,
he was about to take a view of the glorious ecclesiastical chimney,
of which the pot pretty nearly reaches the summit of the noble
cupola, when Sir Samuel Ray, whom he had often seen at the cap-
tain's house, and whom he knew to be on terms of extreme intimacy
with the family, turned into the passage in which he was standing.

Bob was startled. What was to be done in this extremity ? If
he met him, Sir Samuel was certain to speak ; and if he walked
back, Sir Samuel was certain to follow. He had not much time
then to turn over many ideas in his mind, and therefore resolved at
once to cut Sir Samuel dead.

He accordingly gathered up his veil in treble flutes, with the view
of making his face as invisible as possible, and walked on ; and as
Sir Samuel raised his hat in the similitude of a preliminary to some
highly-complimentary greeting, Bob tossed his head proudly, and
averting his face, passed on with an air of disdain the most superb.

Sir Samuel looked — of course he looked ! — and so did James,
who, nevertheless, felt perfectly justified in touching his hat to Sir
Samuel ; conceiving, as he did very wisely, that he had nothing to do
with any misunderstanding that might have arisen between them.
Still he could not but look ; for he thought it very remarkable, espe-
cially as the existence of any such misunderstanding was a circum-
stance of which he was altogether unconscious.

Having arrived at the end of the church-passage, to his entire
satisfaction, Bob turned to the right, and went on until he saw some
white gates, which he entered, in the perfect conviction that the
avenue before him led somewhere. Up this avenue, accordingly, he
walked, and, on reaching the top, found another to the left, which
had no gravelled path ; and, as it had rained almost incessantly
during the three preceding weeks, the narrow track which pedes-
trians had established by wearing away the grass was particularly
filthy. Instead, however, of being induced by this circumstance to
retrace his steps, Bob proceeded, and soon found it a source of great
comfort to him, seeing that James's shoes were long-quartered and
very thin, and his hose were of the purest virgin whiteness. On,
therefore, he went, slipping about in all directions, for the path
was very boggy, and the mud was very greasy, and James followed
him, although it really turned the whole of his notions of clean-
liness completely inside out. He tried at first to pick his way with
great presence of mind, and did for a time hop about with much
energy; but when, having got into the thick of it, the mud had
sucked his right shoe off, and nearly filled it, he gave the affair up
as hopeless, and took the bogs as they came with the most exem-
plary resignation, although he did undeniably perspire at every
pore ; for whenever a part presented itself of a character more filthy
than the parts adjacent, that part Bob invariably took.

STANLEY THORN. 311

By dint of extraordinary perseverance they eventually arrived at
the end of this avenue, and having passed the gates there established,
found themselves upon Ham Common, where a posse of little rag-
gamuffins made some remarks upon the disguised state of James's
white stockings, which James, however, treated with appropriate
contempt, being unable to leave his post, although it is not by any
means clear that he would have borne it so tranquilly had he been
alone.

On reaching the common, Bob, instead of going round by the
pond on the right, like a decent respectable Christian, went straight
over the grass, making each footstep visible six inches deep, while
every hole thus made was immediately filled up with water.

To affirm that James approved of this proceeding were to affirm
that which is not particularly true. He did not ; but then how could
he act? How could he help himself ? Having reached, however,
as nearly as possible the middle of the common, he saw a hope near
the horizon in the semblance of a cloud, which bore a remarkably
black threatening aspect. This he hailed as a blessing, and stepping
a little closer to Bob, said, with all due humility, " I beg pardon,
miss, — but if you please, I think we're going to have a shower."

Of this Bob took no other notice than by tossing his head superci-
liously.

"Well," observed James to himself, somewhat piqued, " I only
mentioned it. Let her catch her death if she likes — what do I care?
Let her be laid up for a month with the rheumatiz — what's it to
me ? I only wish she wasn't a-going for to take such a tower."

This last observation was excessively natural, and much to the
purpose ; for he really began to think that they had already walked
quite far enough, taking all things into consideration, including the
mud. Bob, however, was decidedly not of this opinion, and hence he
kept straight on until he reached the other side of the common, when
he turned very deliberately to the right, and having passed through
a gate, which an old woman had opened with a very low curtsey, he
got at once into a sort of lane, which promised, to his entire satis-
faction, to be a long one.

" Well," said James, who already felt tired, for beyond all dis-
pute, the process of walking any great distance slowly is fatiguing
"I should like to know how much -furder she's a-going. I hope
she '11 have enough on it afore she gets home."

This acute observation did not reach Bob, — and if it had, it would
not have made even the smallest difference ; for he felt at that mo-
ment more highly pleased than ever, having just turned a little to
the left, and found himself in another long lane, which appeared to
have no end at all.

After walking down this lane for about a mile and a half, James
began to look at the thing very seriously indeed. Had he known
how far he had to go, or even where, without any immediate refer-
ence to the distance, or anything, however slight, about it, he would
not have cared so much; but, called upon as he was to walk oh and
on, at the rate of about half a mile an hour, in a state of utter dark-
ness as to where he was going, and without any other earthly object
in view than that of continuing to follow, it was really so dread-
fully tiresome, that he himself began to wonder how flesh and blood
could stand it.

Where was she off to ? What could she have got into her head ?

312 STANLEY THORN.

When did she mean to turn ? What time could she expect to get
back ? These were questions which he found it impossible to solve.
It was a profound mystery to him. He could not fathom it at all !
for Bob still kept on, the grace and dignity of his deportment being
interfered with only by an occasional convulsive, but half-suppressed
chuckle.

At length the ancient town of Kingston met their view, and the
spirits of the victim did somewhat revive. " At all events," said he,
" this is the end of the tower, and may her legs ache well afore she
gets back." The probability of such an occurrence in some degree
restored him to good humour, and he drew off his gloves to put up
his collar, and to raise his cravat, with the view of making himself
appear as respectable under the circumstances as possible; but no
sooner had they entered the town than Bob deliberately turned into
the King's Arms public-house, and called for a glass of hot brandy
and water.

James, who stood at the door, looked amazed. He was perfectly
bewildered. He peeped in again, and saw Bob at the bar, with the
glass to his lips. What ! a delicate and highly-accomplished young
lady bounce boldly into a common public- house, call for a glass of
hot brandy and water, and drink it at the bar ! He could have
relished a little himself, for he felt very faint.

" I say," said he to a coach-porter standing near the door, — " I
say, get us a pint of ale ; I 'm fit to drop. Good luck to you, make
haste ! "

The porter darted into the house with all possible speed ; when
Bob, who knew as well what they were after as they did themselves,
unexpectedly finished his glass and walked out. The porter followed
with the ale very promptly. " Give us hold," cried James, in an
energetic whisper. " Only let 's have one pull." Accordingly he
seized the pot on the instant; but in his eagerness he not only
poured a small portion of the beverage over his collar and cravat,
and down the bosom of his shirt, thus spoiling the respectability of
his appearance altogether, but the first mouthful went "the wrong
way ! " — a slight accident, which made him spurt and cough with
unequivocal violence. " Catch hold !" said he, as soon as he had
recovered the power to speak. " Here, give us the change — quick ! "
James, straining to keep down his cough as the hot water streamed
from his eyes, followed Bob.

When he had sufficiently recovered himself to see his way with
distinctness, a feeling of horror crept over him on perceiving that
Bob was still goings/row Richmond.

t( Why, what — why — why — where is she off to now ! " he exclaim-
ed, as they passed over the bridge. "If this isn't a comfort I don't
know what is. Who would be a servant ? But, never mind, she 'If
soon give in, for all she has had a glass of brandy and water. I
wonder she ain't beastly ; but they '11 smell my lady ; they 're safe to
find her out when she gets home : that 's one consolation, anyhow.
But let's just see how far she will go. I warrant I'll keep it up as
long as she can. Let her walk on. Who cares ? "

" Where can she be going ? " he exclaimed, in despair. " It is all
very fine, but — Well," he continued, clutching a newly-created
hope with surpassing promptitude and tightness, " she must ride
back ; that 's quite clear."

STANLEY THORN. 313

This hope was, however, strangled in its earliest infancy, for Bob
at that moment turned into Bushy Park. This, in the judgment of
James, was more monstrous than all, for he happened to know the
extent of that park, and Bob walked about as leisurely as if he had
not been then more than a hundred yards from home. He kept to
no particular path, but wandered here and there, as his fickle fancy
happened to change. He at one time got very near the Hampton-
Court gate, but he turned back, and walked round and round the
park again,until James became in such a state of mental excitement
that he absolutely made up his mind to do something.

" I will speak ! I '11 speak, if I lose my place ! " he cried firmly.
" They can't be off giving me a character." And he cleared his
throat desperately, and shook his head recklessly, and said to Bob
boldly, " If you please, Miss, it 's getting very late."

" Fellor ! " cried Bob, in a tone of virtuous indignation. " How
dare you address a lady, fellor ? What do you mean, sir, by fol-
lerin' 'of me ? "

James stood aghast ! It was not, then, his young mistress ! His
state of mind now became dreadful, as the conviction flashed vividly
across his active brain that he had been following a strange lady :
in fact he felt perfectly paralysed.

" I — I — I beg pardon, ma'am," he eventually muttered ; "but it 's
quite a mistake."

" A mistake," cried Bob, " you imperent fellow, you ! For two
pins I 'd give you in charge for a nuisance."

Bob said no more. He felt that he had said quite enough, and
therefore tossing his head with the most superb hauteur, left James
in a state of bewilderment, so absolute that the whole of his intel-
lectual functions appeared to be deranged.

" Well," said he, when his faculties were a little restored, " here 's
a go ! Here have I been the whole of this here blessed morning,
a-following and following that creature there miles after miles, like a
fool ; and, when all comes to all, it ain't her ! Why, when I tell 'em
they won't believe me. I wouldn't believe my self if I wasn't myself.
Sha'n't I catch it ? I ought to have known it wasn't her. Is it
likely that she would have waded through the muck all these miles ?
Is it anything like, anything likely? Not a bit of it ! Jim, you 're
an ass ! "

Having arrived at this highly-satisfactory conclusion, he started
off; but before he had reached the gates he suddenly conceived an
idea.

" It was her cloak," said he, stopping remarkably short. " I '11
take my solemn oath to the cloak."

At this moment the whole affair struck him as being most extra-
ordinary, and, as the force with which it struck him turned his head
completely round, he beheld Bob in the distance assuming a variety
of inelegant and unladylike attitudes, holding his back and sides as if
in laughing convulsions, and twisting, and stooping, and slapping
his knees in a state of unadulterated rapture.

*' She stole it ! I '11 lay my life she stole it ! " cried James, and
he instantly took upon himself the entire responsibility of running
back.

Bob saw him coming, and inferred therefrom that his suspicions
had been awakened ; and, as he had not the slightest desire to be

314 STANLEY THORN.

identified, he instantly started off; but, being totally unaccustomed to
run in a lady's cloak, although he had in his time jumped in a sack
very cleverly, he found that it materially impeded his progress. For
the first hundred yards he held it up with great success ; but as it
dropped while he endeavoured to adjust the veil, which annoyed
him, he stepped upon it, and down he went heavily. He cared not,
however, two straws about that. It was not in his nature to give in.
He scrambled up again in an instant, but in doing so tore the front,
breadths all to ribbons. He could do nothing at all with the little
hooks and eyes ; they could not be prevailed upon to separate ; and
hence, as James was gaining fast upon him, he at once tore the cloak
completely off, and left that, with the little muff, behind him.

James now saw the figure of a man in top-boots, and became more
than ever convinced that an audacious larceny had been committed.
He therefore passed the abandoned muff and cloak which were lying
upon the grass, with the laudable view of securing the delinquent;
but as Bob now threw off his bonnet — seeing that, in the first place
he could run before the wind much more swiftly without it, and be-
ing, in the second, convinced that it would be well taken care of by
James, who would thereby save him a great deal of trouble, — he
darted off at a speed which outstripped that of the victim, to whose
view he was very soon lost among the trees.

For some considerable time James hunted about with due severity
of aspect. He felt perfectly certain that he in the tops was not far
off: nor was he. Bob was up one of the chestnut trees, perched
upon a branch, from which he was able to look on securely. But
then James was not aware of this at all. The possibility of such a
thing never entered his vivid imagination. He looked round and
round the trunks with all his characteristic cunning, and flew from
tree to tree like a wild individual ; but the idea of looking an inch
above his head never entered that head for an instant.

Under these peculiar circumstances, therefore, it will not be deem-
ed marvellous that he failed to find Bob. That he did not approve
of being baffled is a fact which at the time was abundantly obvious,
for he clenched his fists desperately, and looked very severe ; but as
Reason eventually came to his aid, he felt inspired with the con-
viction of its being, as a general rule, useless to look for that which he
had no chance of finding, and therefore left the vicinity of the chest-
nut-tree, and gathered together the bonnet, muff, and cloak, with the
view of taking them back as trophies to Richmond.

Bob, from his elevated position watched him fairly out of the
park, and then descended. He was, of course, inexpressibly de-
lighted ; but as he felt very hungry, he made for the nearest
public-house, where he ordered a rump-steak smothered in onions.
He then had another glass of brandy and water, and afterwards got the
ostlers around him, and treated them with innumerable pots of half-
and half, and screws beyond all human calculation ; called for songs ;
sang himself; proposed the health of his master and new mistress,
which was drunk enthusiastically again and again ; and thus, being
about as happy as a prince, he laughed, smoked, drank, and sang,
until his head very suddenly dropped upon the table, when the
kind-hearted host, in consideration of his having paid like a gentle-
man for what he had ordered, had him carefully carried up to bed,
in a state of the most absolute oblivion.

STANLEY THORN. 315

CHAPTER VIII.
Stanley's trip to Gretna Green.

WITH all possible speed Stanley drove up to town, and on his
arrival in Regent Street clashed into a yard, where he found in per-
fect readiness a travelling carriage, into which he at once handed
Amelia from the cab.

"Pray, pray, my dear Stanley, I beseech you — pray, let me go
home ! " said the trembling girl, in accents the most touching, as she
entered the carriage.

" My dearest ! — why, surely you would not return now ? "

"Oh, yes! Indeed, indeed my courage fails me. My dear mamma
will be so dreadfully alarmed. Do let me return. You cannot tell,
Stanley, how dearly I will love you — you cannot, indeed ! "

" My Amelia, I believe that you love me now. You must not
endeavour to make me feel that you do not repose in me that confi-
dence which is the very essence of love."

Amelia sank back in the carriage, and sobbed like a child.

The horses were put to, and the female servant whom the post-
master had provided had taken her seat on the box ; all, therefore,
being ready, the postilions mounted, Stanley joined Amelia, and the
carriage dashed out of the yard.

For the first three stages Amelia was in tears. Stanley employed
all his eloquence, which was not inconsiderable, with the view of
enforcing his sophistries, which were at all times most specious, still
in vain. He tried with all the power of which he was capable to wean
her thoughts from home, but without any sensible effect, until vex-
ation caused him to be gloomy and silent — then Amelia turned to
cheer him.

" My Stanley," she cried, " why are you so dull? If you repent
of this step, my love, believe me I shall be overjoyed. Let us return
even now."

" Amelia, if I am hateful in your sight, if you feel that you can-
not confide in my honour, I will ; but if we do return, never must
we see each other more. I have not repented — I feel that I never
can repent ; but when I see you so cold, so exclusively occupied
with the consideration of the sacrifice you have made, that you can-
not devote a single smile, look, word, or thought to me, I should
be stone, my Amelia, if I did not feel the slight most acutely."

" Forgive me ! I do not think that I have made any sacrifice — I
do not indeed ! But I cannot help thinking of poor dear mamma ! "
And fresh tears gushed forth, which she hastened to conceal. " But,
she added, " you will not be dull? I know that I am weak ; but
you will not be angry ? "

" I cannot, my love. Although you do try to vex me by being a
little coward, you know that I cannot be angry with you/'

" Well, well, I will summon more courage," and she again sobbed
while striving to assume an air of gaiety. "I will not \ ex you thus,
and then you will talk to me, Stanley, will you not ? Yes — and then
we shall be happy. I have but you now — I have no soul on earth to
confide in but you ! There ! — now you look yourself again ! You
are not like my Stanley when you are dull." And she adjusted the
curls which partly concealed his fine forehead, as his face brightened
into a smile.

VOL. vn. Z

316 STANLEY THORN.

Thus by assuming an air of coldness, and making her feel that he
was jealous of her thoughts, he restored her to apparent contentment,
albeit even then her heart was ready to break.

As the evening drew near, Stanley desired the servant to get in-
side the carriage, ostensibly in order that she might not catch cold,
but in reality in consideration of Amelia, with whose delicacy he
was perfectly well acquainted. During the night, however, Amelia
slept but little. Her mind was on the rack, and even when she
did sleep her dreams were of a nature to induce her to keep as
much awake as possible. Stanley did all in his power to diminish the
fatigue of the journey. He procured a pack of cards and a small
table, upon which they played for hours, while the servant held the
lamp ; and when tired of playing, he read an amusing book aloud,
told a variety of interesting anecdotes, — in short, all that a man
could do he did to raise her spirits, and to prove that he had her
happiness at heart.

They stopped but little on the road. Stanley placed great reliance
upon the tact and dexterity of Bob, and felt certain that, even in the
event of the disguise being discovered, he would not suffer his
attendant to return before the evening ; he was however far too good
a general not to follow up the advantage he had gained, and hence he
calculated not upon the probability alone, but upon the bare possi-
bility of an accident.

At length they reached Carlisle, and Stanley felt that they were
then quite safe; but he would not even then stop for any refresh-
ment, although it was 3 P. M. and they had had but a biscuit and
a glass of wine since six o'clock that morning. As they had, how-
ever, but nine miles farther to go — it was of little importance ; and,
as Stanley was most anxious to have the ceremony over, in order
that his mind might be perfectly at ease, he ordered a change as
quickly as possible, — and the facility with which those worthies at
Carlisle can change horses if they like is truly astonishing,— and off
they started again.

They had scarcely, however, got three miles from Carlisle when
Stanley, who was continually on the look-out, saw in the distance a
carriage and four dashing towards them at a speed which seemed to
outstrip the wind altogether.

" What — what 's that ? " cried Amelia, who saw in an instant by
the altered countenance of Stanley that he perceived something
coming.

" Nothing — nothing but a carriage, my love. Don't be alarmed.
It is probably — " At this moment he saw an elderly person thrust
his grey head out of the window, with the view of urging the
postilions on. " Now, my lads," continued Stanley, " Look alive ! —
send them forward ! "

One of the post-boys looked round, and muttered something,
which was meant to intimate that the pursuers would not be per-
mitted to catch them.

" It is my father ! " cried Amelia, " it is my father ! "

" No, no, my love — no ! Don't be alarmed. It is, in all probabi-
lity, some other happy pair who are anxious to be married before us.
But we must not allow them to beat us, you know. We are ahead
now, the race must be ours."

STANLEY THORN. 317

Amelia saw at a glance that he apprehended something more than
that, but was silent.

Stanley now let down one of the front windows, and having
mounted the seat, put his hands upon the box, in which position,
being half out of the carriage, he could see both before and behind
him. " Fly ! fly ! " he cried to the post-boys. " Away ! — Where
are your spurs ? — we are pursued ! "

The fellow who had the command of the wheelers looked round,
and by a wink seemed anxious to make him understand that the old
people on that road never were suffered to overtake the young ones.
Of this Stanley at the time was perfectly unconscious, although he
subsequently found it to be a fact. The pursuers have indeed but
little chance between Carlisle and Springfield. The post-boys —
their own — know better than to allow them to overtake the fugitives ;
for, independently of the spirit of knight-errantry which actuates
the chivalrous dogs, the principle of self-interest — seeing that they
all share the profits with his Reverence— prompts them to keep at a
most respectful distance in the rear. They will lash, and spur, and
swear at their horses, if urged, with unexampled desperation, —
flourishing their whips, and apparently digging away with their
heels, and performing a variety of extraordinary equestrian antics,
curbing, fretting, and fidgetting the animals, until their knees tremble
again, and their nerves are so unsettled, that on a clear cold day
there is no such thing as seeing through the steam which proceeds
from their foaming bodies; but the lads hold it tightly to be a
sharp point of honour not to suffer the pursuers to reach Spring-
field until the pursued have had time to get welded.

Had Stanley known this at the time, it is highly correct to sup-
pose that he would not have been quite so much astonished. He
saw them cutting, and slashing, and spurring, and manoeuvring,
and yet they lost ground ! — which was very remarkable. Feeling,
however, that they should not even then be in time to get the cere-
mony comfortably over, Stanley cried,

" Twenty pounds for another mile an hour ! — thirty for two ! "
The post-boys no sooner heard this than to work they went, whip
and heel. They were in earnest, and therefore dashed along in a
style the most superb.

Just, however, as they had got within two miles of Springfield, the
near wheeler struck his unhappy foot against a stone and fell, send-
ing his rider about twenty yards a-head. The man, however, know-
ing how to fall, was comparatively unhurt, and was on his legs again
in an instant.

" All right ! " cried Stanley. " Be quick, but cool. Up with the
horse, and away ! "

The horse, however, could not get up,— not that he was severely
injured, but because he had got one of the traces beneath him, and
two of his legs above the pole.

Stanley leaped from the carriage, with the view of assisting them
to unhook the trace ; and while they were thus engaged, the post-
boys of the pursuers were exerting all their energies in order to keep
back. They checked and curbed their horses, while they appeared
to lash and spur them with great severity, as they pulled them all
over the road ; still, being compelled to go forward at some pace,

z 2

318 STANLKY THORN.

every moment of course brought them nearer. They tried hard,
very hard to upset the carriage, by pulling it over the hillocks which
stood on the roadside ; but no — the carriage would not upset. No-
thing could persuade it to do so — it would, in very spite of them,
keep upon its wheels ! They were therefore compelled, though
with manifest reluctance, to overtake the fugitives before they could
make a fresh start.

Stanley now rushed to the door of the carriage, bade Amelia not
to be alarmed whatever might occur ; and in an instant an elderly
person, backed by another much younger, approached him.

" Villain ! " cried the former, " have I caught you at last ? " And
he ground his teeth furiously, and, shaking his fist in the face of
Stanley, tried to force him from the door.

Stanley at the moment looked pale ; but he was cool, and stood
firm as a rock.

" By whose authority," said he, " do you pursue this most out-
rageous course ? "

" Authority, scoundrel !" cried the hot old gentleman, foaming
with rage to an extent which interfered with the distinctness of his
articulation. t( Stand aside ! " And, seizing Stanley by the collar,
he struck him several times with his cane, and his friend felt in a
manner bound to follow his example, when Stanley, who could not
approve of this proceeding, shook them both off at once.

<( Stand back ! " he cried firmly. " Use no violence, and I will
use none. But who are you ?"

" Insolent villain ! " cried the elder assailant.
" Knock him down ! " exclaimed the younger.
" Touch me," cried Stanley, " at your peril ! "
In an instant they both rushed upon him, and the next moment
both were on the ground. The younger started up again, and Stan-
ley again sent him down, where he remained a while to turn the
matter over in his mind.

" Help ! help ! " shouted the elder. " My good fellows, help us !
Secure him ! "

" Stand off ! " cried Stanley, as the post-boys approached. " If
you value your beauty, stand off! "

At this moment Stanley's men, who had just got the horse up, and
made things all right for a start, rushed with much affected fury to
the spot, and, without uttering a syllable, sprang at the other post-
boys, who, however, seemed to understand them perfectly well, and
the four fellows wrestled with great desperation, while Stanley was
keeping the principals at bay.

" Get in ! " cried the man who had been thrown, as he passed close
to Stanley, while struggling with his opponent. " Get in, and we 're
off!"

The next moment Stanley sprang into the carriage, and keeping
the two principals well from the door, his men at once threw their
antagonists cleverly, and left them both lying in the road, — in a
dreadful state of exhaustion, of course, — while they mounted their
horses, and flew from the spot with a loud shout of triumph.

" Bravo ! bravo ! " cried Stanley. " Well done .'—nobly done ! —
Keep them up, and stop for nothing."
As they dashed away in style, Stanley turned to look after his as-

STANLEY THORN. 31!)

sailants. The post-boys were still on the ground, apparently writh-
ing with the most intense species of agony. The torture they expe-
rienced appeared to be so singularly dreadful, in fact, that they had
not risen when Stanley's carriage whirled out of sight.

Nor did they rise for some time after that. They had both been
so dreadfully shaken ! — Oh ! the power to stand was out of the ques-
tion altogether. Threats and bribes were alternately resorted to in
vain. They roared with anguish, and rolled about the road in a
state of torture ; in short, it was not until their employers were about
to vault into their saddles, with the view of pursuing the fugitives
alone, that they felt themselves sufficiently recovered to mount, so
horribly had they been shattered ; and when they did mount, they
rolled over the horses so ingeniously, and performed such a variety
of astonishing evolutions, that their ability to keep on at all seemed
an absolute miracle. Albeit while they did, with undoubted inge-
nuity, their five miles an hour, they continued to shout, as a matter
of course, " We '11 catch 'em now ! — oh, we '11 catch 'em ! "

By the time they had thus fairly started, Stanley was within
five hundred yards of Springfield. Poor Amelia was half dead with
fright. Had either of the pursuers been her father, the probability
is that she would have rushed into his arms ; but, as it was, she
shrank into a corner of the carriage. The voice of one of them she
was unable to recognise distinctly, but that of the other she felt quite
sure was the voice of one of her father's most intimate friends.

The carriage now stopped at the inn, when Stanley and Amelia
instantly alighted, and went into the first room they reached. For-
tunately his Reverence was at the time in the house, in a state which
stands midway between pure sobriety and absolute intoxication, and
being invariably on the qui vive, he on this occasion rushed into the
room, without waiting for a summons.

" I am raddy," said he, as he drew forth a book.

" That 's fortunate," cried Stanley. " No time must be lost."

" What fay ? What do you gi' ? " enquired his Reverence.
" These matters are always sattled beforehan'.

" Do it quickly, and I '11 give you twenty pounds."

" Wheugh ! " cried his Reverence between a whistle and a hiss.
" In a case o' thees descraption I canna do 't for less than forty."

" Well forty, fellow, and begin.".

" Fallow ! " echoed his Reverence, who held the term to be dis-
courteous. " Maybe I '11 no do 't at a' ! "

" Proceed with the ceremony," cried Stanley, " or we '11 go at
once over to your rival."

" Weel ! weel ! but fallow ! " cried his Reverence, who did not by
any means like it ; but he, notwithstanding, opened the book, and
muttered very indistinctly and very hastily certain very small por-
tions of the regular service, and having called upon Stanley and
Amelia to join hands, and then to sign the marriage record, the
ceremony was at an end.

His Reverence then sat down to write out the " marriage lines," of
which the following is a copy : —

" These are to certify to all whom it may concern, that Stanley
Thorn and Amelia Henrietta Joliffe. came before me, and declared
themselves to be both single persons, and were lawfully married accord-
ing to the way of the Church of England) and agreeably to the laws of

STANLEY THORN.

the Kirk of Scotland. Given under my hand at Springfield, near
Gretna Green, this day, before these witnesses."

Here followed the signatures of his Reverence, a waiter, a cham-
bermaid, and the servant whom Stanley had brought from town.

On handing over the " lines," the priest received the fee for which
he had stipulated, and then took his leave ; Stanley gave the still
trembling Amelia in charge of the females, and waited the arrival
of his pursuers alone.

The postboys had timed the thing admirably. Nothing could
have been more correct. The very moment Amelia left the room
with her attendants the carriage drove up to the door.

Stanley at once darted to the window, and as he saw the post-
boys wink at each other with peculiar significance, he for the first
time distinctly understood the real character of the whole arrange-
ment.

Of course the pursuers were not long before they alighted, nor
when they had alighted were they^long before they entered Stanley's
room.

" Oh ! you shall pay dearly for this ! " cried the elder of the two,
shaking his cane, and looking daggers at the fugitive. " I '11 make
you smart for it, scoundrel ! "

" Who are you ! " cried Stanley. " I am not to be bullied ! Are
you ashamed of your name ? I know nothing of you ! "
" Villain ! thief ! where is my daughter ? "

"Your daughter?" cried Stanley. " Your daughter? Oh! I
see j a mistake. My wife is no daughter of yours."

" Liar ! " exclaimed the fierce old gentleman, shaking his stick
with additional violence. "I am not to be trifled with. It is my
child whom you have stolen — my child — my only child, villain 1 and
I '11 have her ! "

" If for a moment you will be calm, I will convince you that she
is not. I am not in the habit of allowing persons to address me in
this way with impunity ; but I am disposed, under the circumstances,
to make every allowance. Look at this — the certificate of our mar-
riage. Stanley Thorn is my name, Amelia Joliffe was the name of
my wife. Are you satisfied? "

ic No : nor shall 1 be until I see her."

" I will consent even to that," said Stanley, and he sent for Amelia
at once.

" And why, if what you state be correct," said the old gentleman,
" why did you not explain on the road? "

" Because/' replied Stanley, " you conducted yourself with so
much violence."

" But, of course you knew that I was not the father of the lady ? "
" I did ; but I did not know that you were not her father's friend."
Amelia now timidly entered the room, expecting, of course, to see
some one who knew her.

" Have courage, my girl," said Stanley, taking her hand. <{ These
gentlemen are perfect strangers. I sent for you simply to convince
them that they have made a mistake."

" I have to apologise, madam," said the old gentleman with due

politeness, " for having caused so much alarm. I am satisfied," he

continued, addressing Stanley, "and I have also to apologise to you."

The apology was accepted, and the strangers left the room, with

STANLEY THORN. 321

the view of making inquiries having reference to the arrival of the
parties of whom they were really in pursuit.

"Pray — pray leave this place/' said Amelia. " Papa may yet
arrive."

"And if he should," replied Stanley, "it will be useless. He
cannot sever us, my girl. You are mine now! — mine from this
happy hour. We will, however, return to Carlisle after dinner, if
you do not feel too much fatigued? "

" Oh, do. It is not far. I should not, indeed, like to remain
here."

It was thus settled. Dinner was ordered, and in a short time pro-
duced in rather an unexpected style ; but they had scarcely been
seated at the table ten minutes when a dirty post-chaise and pair
stopped at the door.

Stanley rushed to the window in an instant, and Amelia, notwith-
standing the turn-out was wretched, quickly followed, in the full
expectation of seeing her father.

Before the postboy had time to dismount, the old gentleman by
whom they had been pursued, opened the door of the dirty chaise,
and without the slightest unnecessary ceremony, dragged an ex-
quisitely-dressed individual out by the heels in the most inelegant
manner possible.

" Hollo ! — hollo ! — why, what— I say — my God ! — well, may I — ! "
hastily exclaimed the individual in question, as he bumped from
step to step, for he didn't understand it. The thing was quite
new to him. He hadn't an idea of anything of the sort. Hence he
became very much confused j and before he had time to collect his
faculties, a fair-haired girl — in appearance quite a child — sprang
from the chaise, and rushed into the arms of the old gentleman,
apparently but too happy in having escaped.

Stanley threw up the window with a view to the perfect enjoy-
ment of the scene. He saw at a glance that the " gallant gay Lo-
thario " was anything but a gentleman, and highly relished the su-
premely ridiculous style in which he rose from the mud to assert
his dignity as a man.

" I claim her as my wife ! " he cried fiercely. " You may be her
father, or you may be anybody else for what I care ; I claim her
unmitigatedly and decidedly as my wife, and I am strongly justifi-
able, accordin' to the laws of Scotland. I reckonize her before all
these gentlemen," he continued, pointing with remarkable energy to
the postboys, whose countenances were at the moment particularly
droll, "and accordin' to the laws of Scotland a reckonition is suffi-
cient."

" Take charge of her," said the old gentleman to his friend.
" Leave this poor weak puppy to me."

The friend was about to lead her in, when the gallant Lothario,
with due dramatic action, threw his arms round her neck with the
view of recovering possession ; but his lady-love cried,

"Leave me alone. Get away, you mean creature! Don't touch
me. I hate you ! " When, as if this were not quite sufficient for
flesh and blood to bear, her father clutched his richly-figured satin
stock, and inflicted upon him a most exemplary chastisement before
he relinquished his hold.

" Oh ! " roared the gay Lothario, whose blood began to boil.

322 STANLEY THORN.

" I command satisfaction — satisfaction ! " and he threw his arms about
in a state of mind apparently tottering on the very verge of madness.

<c Satisfaction ! " exclaimed the old gentleman, with an expression
of contempt. " You miserable, narrow-minded, poor, wretched fool !
You — you run away with my daughter ! "

" And, what 's more, I still claim her as my wife. You 're mis-
taken in your man. You 've got the wrong pig by the year. I 'm
not to be flummaxed. I '11 not give her up. She 's my wife — my
lawful wife ; and I '11 have her accordin' to the law of Scotland."

" The law of Scotland, you pitiful scoundrel ! Attempt to follow
me into the house, and I '11 give you a caning so severe that you shall
dream to-night of having dropped into a nest of hungry scorpions.
Put the horses in," he continued, addressing the postboys, who en-
joyed the scene much ; " but before you do that I '11 give you five
pounds to cool that fellow's head in a bucket of water."

This offer had no sooner been made than the postboys rushed at the
victim, and having turned him upside down with consummate dex-
terity, bore him triumphantly into the yard.

" I have seen that person before," said Amelia. ' ' If I am not
much mistaken, he sold me the dress I have on."

And this proved to be the fact. He was a silkmercer's shopman,
who, having a sister officiating as housemaid at a school in the vi-
cinity of Kensington, had, through her instrumentality obtained in-
terviews with the object of his unalterable love, who was, of course,
understood to be an immensely rich heiress, and who, having be-
come enamoured of his slavish deportment, as well as of his chains,
rings, and brooches, which were of the finest conceivable mosaic
gold, had consented without much solicitation to elope. They had
scarcely, however, got clear off, when the affair became known to
the mistress of the establishment, and through her to the silly girl's
father, who at once posted off to the north, and was enabled to reach
Gretna first, by going through Pontefract, while they went through
Manchester, and, by having during the whole distance four horses,
while they had but two, as the mercer found that travelling was
very expensive, and that the money he had borrowed for the occa-
sion was getting rather low.

Nothing could exceed the indignation with which the gallant Lo-
thario, when the cooling operation had been performed, ran dripping
from the yard, with the postboys laughing and yelling behind him.
He raved, and stamped, and looked so fiercely, and shook his fists,
and threw himself into a variety of the most picturesque attitudes,
vowing the most heavy and inexhaustible vengeance, bawling
through the window to " command an explanation," and asserting
his rights according to the law of Scotland ; in short, he was so
dreadfully energetic, and worked himself up into such a frightful
fever, that in a short time his hair became perfectly dry.

The postboys now brought round the carriage, and the persecutor-
in-chief made his appearance again, with his child in one hand, and
his stick in the other. Lothario placed himself before the carriage-
door. He wished to argue the point calmly. He wished to show
that the thing was " an out-and-out do." The old gentleman, how-
ever, pushed him aside with great violence, and having stepped into
the carriage after his daughter and friend, left the cruelly ill-used
individual to reflect upon his fate.

STANLEY THORN. 323

This incident somewhat raised the spirits of Amelia, who, for the
first time since their departure from Richmond, allowed a smile to
play upon her lips, which were promptly rewarded. Of course Stan-
ley was too good a tactician to dwell then upon any other subject
than that of the disappointed mercer. Upon this he accordingly
dwelt, and in the most amusing strain, until the cloth was removed,
when he ordered the carriage and four horses to be brought to the
door as soon as possible.

"My love," said Amelia, when this order had been given, "let us
have but a pair. We may meet papa ; and if we should, he will riot
then suppose it to be us."

" Oh ! we are sure, my dear, not to meet him ; and, if we
should "

" I would not see him for worlds ! If I were to see him to-day I
should die."

" Well — well ; as you please. The fellow shall drive, if you like ;
in which case the carriage will be supposed to be empty."

" Yes, let him, there 's a dear ! — let him drive."

Very well. Orders were given to this effect ; and when the pecu-
niary matters had been arranged to the entire satisfaction of all con*-
cerned, they started for Carlisle.

The spirits of Amelia were now far more buoyant ; and although
they returned much more slowly than they went, they appeared to
travel infinitely quicker, and were hence within view of Carlisle be-
fore they thought of being more than half way.

Just as they were about, however, to enter the town, a carriage and
four came dashing towards them at the rate of nearly twenty miles
an hour.

" That 's papa ! " cried Amelia. " It 's our carriage. Stanley —
Stanley ! what is to be done ? "

11 Be calm, my love ! " said Stanley, — " be calm ! " and he coolly,
but with promptitude, drew up the blinds before the carriages met ;
and as they passed he saw through the little window at the back not
only the Captain's carriage, but the Captain himself, urging on the
postilions.

" Now, my Amelia," said Stanley, " we are safe."

" But he will follow us."

" No : they will take care of that. I have bribed them too well ;
besides, their interest will prompt them, if possible, to detain him."

" But that poor silly person ? " suggested Amelia.

" He is not at all likely to come in contact with him."

They now reached Carlisle ; and at the inn to which the horses
belonged they put up for the night.

CHAPTER IX.

Amelia receives her first impressions of married life.

ON the following morning they left Carlisle, and having stopped a
day at Doncaster, a day at Grantham, and a day at Stamford, they
arrived by easy stages in town within the week, and proceeded at
once to the house of the widow, where Stanley had decided on re-
maining until other arrangements could be made.

The widow, who had received a short letter from Stanley contain-
ing a vague intimation that on his return he might bring home his

324? STANLEY THORN.

bride, could not, and would not pretend to understand it. He had
not consulted her on the subject, and she most acutely felt that she
was the first whom he ought to have consulted. She would not be-
lieve it; for Stanley himself, on leaving, had told her that he was
going out of town for a few days with a friend, which, when she
came to reflect upon it calmly, was held to be perfectly conclusive.
The very moment, however, Stanley returned and presented Amelia,
her ideas on the subject expanded ; and she wept, she knew not why,
— yet she wept, and kissed Amelia, and congratulated her warmly, and
hoped that she would be happy, and gave Stanley a good character,
and declared that she highly admired his choice ; — still she could not
but feel very deeply that, as a mother, she had privileges, natural
privileges, which ought not to have been violated, and that deep
feeling caused her to weep and weep again. She nevertheless bustled
about, and displayed the most earnest anxiety to make matters per-
fectly pleasant ; and although at first Amelia would have been per-
haps somewhat more at ease had the widow been somewhat less
fussy, she soon understood her, and felt quite at home.

Amelia's first task, on becoming composed, was to write a deeply
penitential letter to her father. In the performance of this task she
wished Stanley to assist her ; but as they could not agree as to terms,
— their views on that subject being diametrically opposed, — he gave
the matter up altogether to her. She began it several times, and
nearly finished it several times: it was, however, eventually com-
pleted and sent, and the captain immediately returned it unopened.

At this Stanley neither felt nor expressed any surprise, — it was,
in short, precisely what he expected; but to Amelia it was indeed
a most bitter disappointment. The roughest answer that could have
been penned would have been endured with more fortitude. Having
somewhat recovered from the depression it induced, Amelia wrote a
long letter to her mother, couched in terms of the strongest affection,
urging every conceivable excuse for the step she had taken, without,
however, exciting the belief that she felt that it ought to be excused,
and got the widow to direct it. She, of course, felt quite certain of
having an answer to this, and therefore waited with the utmost im-
patience till the following morning, when indeed a somewhat heavy
letter bearing the Richmond post-mark arrived. The superscrip-
tion had been written by the captain. She kissed it, and then broke
the seal with avidity. Its contents were the letter she had written
to her mother, — which had been opened, the hand-writing of the
widow not being known, — and the following note : —

" MADAM, — Your husband is a villain ; and, as yon have proved
yourself unworthy our affection, we disown you for ever."

This was signed by both her father and her mother ; but the paper
near the almost illegible signature of the latter, was blistered with
tears. Amelia well knew from whose eyes they had fallen, and wept
bitterly as she placed the cruel note in her bosom.

" Amelia," said Stanley, whose attention had been firmly fixed
upon her, " I do not insist upon seeing any note you may receive ;
but in a matter of this description I think that you ought to conceal
nothing from me."

Amelia again burst into tears as she drew the note slowly from her
bosom and said, " You had better not see it, my love."

STANLEY THORN. 325

"Well, well, I will not. I understand ; — they speak harshly of
me." And he returned the note unopened, but extorted a promise,
which almost amounted to an oath, that she would never, without his
special consent, write again.

Of course Stanley's former associates no sooner heard of his return,
and the purpose for which he had been absent, than they crowded
in to lavish upon him their warmest congratulations. For the first
three weeks he gave a dinner almost every alternate day ; and as his
guests were nearly all unmarried men, they subsequently, at various
hotels, gave him dinners in return. This necessarily took him much
from home ; for, although he loved Amelia, there was a charm in
their society which he could not resist, — a joyous spirit which she
could not inspire. She zealously strove on all occasions to convince
him that she was indeed quite happy ; she strove to talk as gaily,
and to smile as sweetly, as before ; but there was at her heart a silent
sorrow which overshadowed all.

Having lived at the widow's about two months, he, at the sug-
gestion of his friends, who were perpetually rallying him on the
subject of a married man residing with his " ma," engaged a house,
which the widow magnificently furnished. When, however, this
change was effected, he deserted Amelia more and more. He might
even then have seen the force of that sound objection which her
father had urged to their immediate union ; for, as every scene of
folly was new to him then, he was strongly, irresistibly seduced by
its attractions ; whereas had he been previously acquainted with
those scenes, they would at least have lost the charm of novelty, if
indeed they did not actually engender disgust. He seemed only
then to have commenced life. Three, four, and five o'clock in the
morning were the hours at which he commonly returned ; and when
he did return, the effects of the wine he had drunk were almost
invariably visible. Amelia, however, never reproached him by a
word, nor even by a look of displeasure. Let him return at what
hour he might, she would dry up her tears, and fly to meet him ;
and, having welcomed and affectionately kissed him, would endea-
vour to make him think that she still felt happy.

" I am late," he would sometimes say, " very late, Amelia."

" Oh, do not say a single word about it. I care not how late it is,
now you are at home."

" You imagine, I fear, that I neglect you."

' ' Oh, no ! indeed, my Stanley, I do not. But," she would add,
as the tears trickled down her cheeks, " I cannot but feel overjoyed
when you return."

It was not, .however, always that he was able to speak thus ra-
tionally on his return ; still he avoided coming home in a state of
absolute intoxication, until one dreadful morning about four, when
the rain had for hours been falling in torrents, while the thunder
and lightning had been really terrific. On that occasion two of his
most valued associates accompanied him home, and left him the very
moment they had seen him safely in ; but the door had no sooner
been closed than he with infinite dexterity slipped down upon the
floor, where he sat firmly resolved to suffer no one to approach him
but Bob, whom, by virtue of closing one eye with great muscular
energy, he was enabled to see indistinctly with the other.

STANLEY THORN.

Amelia rushed down in a state bordering on distraction, the awful
conviction having flashed across her mind that he had been struck
by the lightning.

" My Stanley ! " she exclaimed, " you are injured — much injured
— tell me — oh, speak ! — are you not ? "

" Go to bed — Meley — go — go to bed. I want something — some-
thing— to eat — something — some — eat."

As Amelia's worst fears were subdued, she thanked God. She
now saw the real state of the case, and, with the assistance of his
favourite servant, — (for he would still suffer no one but Amelia and
Bob to touch him,) — succeeded in getting him up stairs, when the
cloth was immediately laid, and he was placed near the table.

" Bob ! — you old rascal — do you hear, sir ? — down upon your
knees, and — pull— off — my — boots."

Amelia at this moment was standing over him weeping, and as
Bob was pulling off one boot, Stanley, lifting his disengaged leg
upon the table, stuck the heel of the other into a richly-ornamented
raised pie, when leaning back in his chair, he rested his head upon
the bosom of Amelia, and thus sank at once into a sleep so profound,
that the process of undressing and lifting him into bed proved quite
insufficient to rouse him.

In the morning, however, Amelia felt amply repaid by the fact of
his asking her simply to forgive him.

" I cannot forgive myself," said he ; "I am too much ashamed of
my conduct ; but if you will forgive me, I will give you — I don't
know how many kisses.'

" I will not forgive you for any number of kisses ; but I will, if
you will promise that you will remain at home this evening, and that
you will never be so naughty again."

" But why this evening, my love ? You know Crofton gives his
dinner to-day at the Tavistock. Of course I must be there ; but I
will leave very early."
" You really will ? "
" I will indeed."

" Then on those terms, although you were a very naughty crea-
ture, I suppose I must forgive you."

At the appointed hour Stanley joined his friends at the Tavistock,
and according to his promise he did leave early — unusually early—-
but instead of returning to Amelia, he turned into Drury Lane
Theatre, with the view of seeing a popular low comedian in "a new
and entirely original " farce, translated from the French, and founded
upon a real English comedy, originally adapted from the German.
The house on the occasion was thin — a circumstance which at that
particular period was by no means unusual, and he sat in a box in the
dress circle, near the proscenium, alone. The farce, however, had
scarcely commenced when a fine, handsome, gentlemanlike fellow
entered the box, and sat beside him. He took no apparent notice of
Stanley, nor did Stanley take more than a passing notice of him. He
was elegantly dressed ; and, although the brilliant jewellery he dis-
played might of itself have tended to generate the idea of foppery,
there was an intelligence in his eye, and a thoughtful expression
about his lips which not only at once banished that idea, but inspired
the conviction of his being altogether a superior man. For some
time he appeared to be exceedingly attentive to the performance,

7

STANLEY THORN. 3 '27

and occasionally patted one hand with the other slightly, and cried,
with a patronising air, sotto voce, " Bravo ! bravo ! "

At length, addressing Stanley, he said, apparently on the impulse
of the moment, " He is an excellent actor — is he not ? "

" Very clever," said Stanley, — " very clever, indeed."

" In my judgment we have at present no actor on the stage at all
comparable with him in his line."

" There is not one," said Stanley, " whom / so much admire ;" and
he proceeded to enlarge upon his peculiar excellences without the
least reserve.

From this fair point the stranger started other interesting topics,
and with great ingenuity drew Stanley fully out by gently fanning
his smouldering self-esteem, for as he prided himself, and with rea-
son, upon the facility with which he could read the real character of
a man, it was not long before he discovered the weak points of his
new friend, and when he had made the discovery he assailed them
with a species of flattery so ingenious that Stanley became quite
charmed with his conversation, which developed, indeed, much in-
telligence, with an apparently profound knowledge of the world.

" Who can he be ? " thought Stanley. " He is evidently some one
of importance. How can I ascertain who he is ? "

The stranger, as if conscious of what had been passing in Stanley's
mind now for some time kept silent; but said as the curtain was
about to fall, " Well, we may in our travels meet again."

" Nothing," said Stanley, " would give me greater pleasure."

" Which way do you walk ? "

" Westward," replied Stanley.

" I shall be happy to accompany you as far as I go."

Stanley bowed, and having taken the proffered arm, they left the
theatre together.

" I generally drop in here," said the stranger, on reaching the en-
trance of an hotel under the piazza of Covent Garden. " They give
you a magnificent glass of champagne, and there is nothing I more
enjoy after sitting in a hot theatre. I shall pass, however, this even-
ing— unless, indeed, you are disposed to join me? "

" Oh ! I have no objection," returned Stanley, "not the slightest."

The stranger at once led the way ; and, having reached the coffee-
room above, ordered a bottle of iced champagne, and then began to
relate a variety of anecdotes, which could not in any case have failed
to impart pleasure. Another bottle was ordered. Stanley was
charmed. He had never met so splendid a fellow before ; in a word,
he was so entertaining, so full of wit and spirit, that it was past three
before Stanley thought it was one.

"Well," said the stranger, when they had finished the second bot-
tle, " I am sorry to make a move ; but I promised to look in at my
club ; where, by the by, I shall be happy to introduce you, if you
are not in haste."

" I should like it much/' said Stanley ; " but not to-night. It is
getting very late."

"Well — well! another time. Let me see. To-morrow I dine
with Chesterfield; but the next day. Have you any engagement
for Friday ? "

" I am not at this moment aware that I have : I think not "

" Well, come and dine with me here, then, on Friday ? '

328 STANLEY THORN.

" I will. At what time ? "

" Why, say seven."

This was agreed to, and the stranger wrote with a pencil. " To
meet at seven," upon a card, on which was engraved, " Colonel Pal-
mer," and presented it to Stanley.

He then drew out his purse, and Stanley produced his.

"No — no," said the Colonel ; "this is mine. You shall pay for
the next ;" and, having settled the amount, they rose to quit the
hotel."

"By the way," said the Colonel, as they descended the stairs,
" were you ever in one of the salons about here ? "

" No," said Stanley. " Are there many of them ? "

" There used to be several ; but I have not been in one of them for
years. They were the places for those who wished to see life !
What say you ? Shall we step into one for five minutes ? "

" It is so very late," urged Stanley.

" So it must always be to see them to advantage. But, come ;
now we are here, five minutes can be of no importance. They are
places which every man of the world ought to see. I pledge you my
honour I '11 not stop long."

Stanley could not resist. He thought, indeed, of his promise to
Amelia ; but held the fact of his having broken that promise already
to be a sufficient excuse for going at once with the Colonel.

They had scarcely walked three hundred yards, when they stopped
at a gaily-painted door, and, having knocked, were admitted by a
peculiarly ill-looking fellow, who had previously withdrawn a slide,
and examined them through a hole about six inches square, with a
singularly scrutinizing aspect. They then ascended a flight of
gaudy gingerbread stairs, and entered a room, in which about forty
persons were assembled, the majority of whom were females, dressed
in a style the most attractive and superb. Several of these creatures
ran up to the Colonel, with the apparent view of addressing him
with the utmost familiarity, but a peculiar look from him at once
repulsed them, which Stanley thought strange, although, instead of
inducing the slightest suspicion, it tended to convince him still more
of the superiority of the man.

" Well," said the Colonel, " we must have a glass of negus, and
then we '11 be off."

The negus was ordered and produced, and they seated themselves
to contemplate the gay scene before them ; but the moment they
had done so, a finely-formed girl, who appeared to be very young,
really very handsome, came and sat beside Stanley.

" How can you be so selfish ? " she playfully observed. " The idea
of you two gentlemen drinking alone, when I am dying to wet my
lips."

" Drink, my girl — drink ! " said Stanley, passing the glass. " It is
not very good."

The girl nearly finished the glass before she ventured to pro-
nounce her unbiassed opinion. She then declared that it tasted like
mahogany and water, and suggested, in addition, that if she chose
the chances were that she could get a glass nearer the mark.

" Well, do so," said Stanley, as he placed half-a-crown in her
hand ; " let us see the extent of your influence."

THE ILLUMINATION. 329

" No, no," said the Colonel ; " we had better be off. Come, let us
have no more. I feel stupid already."

" You need have no more, you know, Colonel," said the girl, who
received a withering scowl for her pains.

" Oh ! oh ! " exclaimed Stanley, " you are recognised ! Well,
come, one more, and then."

The Colonel now suddenly and very unaccountably exhibited
striking symptoms of intoxication. Stanley could not at all under-
stand it. "My good fellow," said he, "why, how is this? You
were very well just now."

"I have a very poor head," replied the Colonel, — " a most unfor-
tunate head. I can scarcely stand anything at all."

The girl now returned with the " negus ;" and having carefully
put her lips to it, and said that it was different stuff altogether,—
which was in reality a fact, — she gave it to Stanley, who drank of it
with more than usual freedom, although it appeared to him to have
a most remarkable flavour. Without, however, mentioning this, (for
he did not pretend to understand much about it, he handed the glass
to the Colonel, who would not touch a drop, for his symptoms of
inebriety continued to increase, and he pronounced himself to be
" too far gone already."

Stanley was now entertained by the female. She had a brief tale
to tell of every person in the room, and succeeded in occupying his
attention until his articulation became somewhat indistinct, which
the Colonel no sooner perceived than he cried, " Come, finish your
glass and let us be gone. I never felt so queer in my life."

Stanley himself now began to feel somewhat confused ; and, as he
had an unnatural thirst at the moment, he at once emptied the glass ;
but he had no sooner done so than the room seemed to whirl round
and round with great velocity. He attempted to rise. The effort
made him worse. He sank down again on the instant.

" Hollo ! " cried the Colonel. " What, have you caught it too ?
Well, never mind, old boy ! we can't laugh at each other."

From that moment Stanley became insensible.

THE ILLUMINATION.

A TALE OF ALMA MATER.

Palsatus rogat, et pugnis concisus adorat,
Ut liceat paucis cum dentibus inde reverti.

JUVENAL, iii. sat. 300 v.

The subject of the following tale is matter now of History,

But shrouded, to avoid offence, in due poetic mystery ;

And I assure my readers all, in cottage, hall or palace, Sirs,

That, though I "nought extenuate," I " nought set down in malice,'' Sirs.

AIR — Guy Faux.

A tragi-comedy I sing ; three "grave and Reverend signers"
Who sallied forth one luckless night, with dignified demeanours,
To send home all their College men, on pain of rustication,
Whom they found joining in the row at last Illumination !

3,30 THE ILLUMINATION.

For sundry graceless Undergrads, with wine somewhat " promiscuous,"

From flooring bumpers to " The Queen' (such power good port and whisky has !)

A Gown-and-town row had got up to testify their loyalty,

By "milling" well all Rods and Cads and other foes to Royalty !

At length the streets, " at noon of night," had grown a little quieter,
For one by one had dropped off home each capless, gownless rioter,
On which our heroes, satisfied with this consoling knowledge, Sirs,
And thinking ,all their labours o'er, were hastening back to College, Sirs !

When, just as they had turned into the Lane of classic* " Simmary,"
They fell among a mob of cads, assembled there in grim array,
Who set upon them, blacked their eyes, and mauled them so confoundedly,
That one of them, " intirely kilt" and bleeding on the ground did lie !

As he lay groaning o'er his wounds, in sad and doleful barytones,
There chanced to be among the crowd some modern " good Samaritans"
Who pitying sore his hapless plight, with love quite Demiurgicalrf
Conveyed him home, where he was forced to send for aid chirurgical !

The " Sawbones" came, with visage long, and shook his head mysteriously,
Says he, " The patient has, I fear, been damaged very seriously,
But trust my skill — (on frailer hopes doth oft the life of man turn, Sirs,) —
They haven't quite put out the light, though they 've sorely smashed the lantern,
Sirs!"

Some drugs were sent instanter by this son of TEsculapius ;

" Hanc lotionem applices, et huncce haustum capias ! "

But, through his stupid scout's mistake, being addled most infernally,

He swallowed up the lotion and applied the draught externally ! !

By gnawing pains, ere long, was rack'd his stomach magisterial,

Which made him dread his latter end and inquest Coronerial ;

" Quick, fetch a stomach-pump!" he groan'd, " with strong emetics cram me

well!
I 've ' been and done it ' — 'tis a case of — 'pison yourself, Samiwel ! ' '

A stomach-pump was quickly brought, and " all hands " set to work at it,
And speedily they clean'd him out ! — let no one smile or smirk at it !
His life was saved ; but, to this day, (of that night's row the last trophy)
That stomach-pump " sticks in his throat / " Thus ended this catastrophe !

MORAL.

Be warned, ye Dons, for Gown-town rows, like matrimonial quarrels, Sirs,
Produce for those who interfere more broken heads than laurels, Sirs !
But if you will thus waste the breath, which was to " cool your porridge" meant,
You '11 meet with many a " heavy blow, and very sad discouragement ! "

Sage counsel would I likewise give to each bold Under-graduate —
" Experto crede " — brothers all, when in a row a cad you hit,
The chances are, that, though you win, you '11 find it bad economy
To carry home a tattered gown and battered physiognomy !

A. R. W.
Oxford, 19 th February, 1840.

* St. Mary Hall.

•\ For the enlightenment of my unlearned readers, I have the honour to inform
them that the Demiurgus was the deity of the Platonlsts, and by them regarded as
a Being of pure love and benevolence.

1PLEY? Jf* H

381
LITERARY PORTRAITS. No VI.

WILLIAM HAMILTON MAXWELL.
(WITH A PORTRAIT.)

OPPOSITE this page, good reader, you will behold the comely
countenance of the author of the Stories of Waterloo, and many
other polemical works of the same school. If not exactly painted
con amore, it is nevertheless drawn by Lover, which is a tolerable gua-
rantee for its excellence in every respect ; and yet we do not, how-
ever, think due justice done to the facial appearance of William
Hamilton Maxwell.

But Lover will say or swear, C( How the devil is it to be expected
that my brush or Greatbatch's burin should impress upon paper or
canvas that face ? " Tom Moore has somewhere said that Sheridan's
genius resembled a peacock's tail, which compliment we imagine
would have tickled the risible faculties of that red-beaked senator
and dramatist. But we suppose that Tom, of whom we speak in
the highest honour, especially as he is a contributor of ours, in-
tended to say that in variety of brilliant colouring, and ever-chang-
ing diversity of beautiful tint, Sheridan's talent was deserving of
being compared to one of the finest, ; gayest, grandest, and most
graceful things in nature. Now, if Sheridan's mind was like a pea-
cock's tail, and therefore hard to be depicted in a stationary draw-
ing, how can it be expected that Maxwell's face, which is in no par-
ticular like a peacock's tail, but something far more splendid, is to
be caught simpered and simmered down into one standing position ?
" Sir," continues Lover, for it is he who 'has been speaking all this
time, though we have made a sort of jumble of ourselves with his
oration, — " Sir, I tell you that Maxwell has fifty faces, all of them
indicative of genius, frolic, wit, fun, knowledge of the world, good-
nature, and good-humour ; and as for his nose, why to quote Tom
Moore once again,

* Rich and rare are the gems it wears ;' —

gems, no doubt, purchased at a price- which would have bought up
any brilliant in the world short of the Pitt diamond."

He is of soldier-romance-mongers the first. Mind, we are not going
to disparage Gleig of the Subaltern, Hamilton of Cyril Thornton, or
any of the other gentlemen who have turned the sword not into a
ploughshare, but into as hard-working an instrument — a pen ; but
among rollicking describers of fights, campaigns, sieges, carousings,
riotings, lovemakings, and all other matters connected with the pride,
pomp, and circumstance of glorious war, he decidedly bears off the
bell. He does not venture at long set stories, decked out and arrayed
into all the full three-volumed dignity of a novel ; — no, he flings off
his tales as if they were so many tumblers of punch, hot and strong,
pleasant and heart-cheering, hastily mixed, and as hastily disposed
of. It needs no particular power of critical discernment to discover
that Maxwell's acquaintance with the scenes which he describes is
anything but theoretical. In fact, though now a man of peace, he
was .once a man of war, — a jolly grenadier in the Eighty-eighth,
standing some six feet two, and coming in for a slice at the close of the

VOL. vii. 2 A

WILLIAM HAILMTON MAXWELL.

Peninsular campaigns., and taking his share at the battle of Waterloo.
But when the melancholy days of disbanding came, and fun had
departed out of the world,

When the army was gone, and the navy adrift,
And the sailor paid off, and the soldier bereft ;
When half-pay to the captain poor cheer did afford,
And the duke was no more than a government lord,

as a brother Connaught Ranger sings, then adopting Sir Walter
Raleigh's motto, Tarn Marti, quam Mercurio, finding that Mars was
gone, he applied himself to the god of eloquence and persua-
sion, turned his military cloak into a surplice, gave up the charges
of the Duke of Wellington for those of the Archbishop of Tuam,
abandoned the Articles of War for the Articles of the Church, and,
unwilling to leave the service altogether, took to the service of the
Liturgy. He is now Prebendary of Balha, — still a see among the
canons — in Tuam. That he now wages war upon the devil and all
his angels, most theologically, we doubt not ; but here we are
recording him only as an author upon more mundane subjects.
The war (we need not say what war, for this generation, and many
more, will pass over before another war will turn up to put down
that which ended at Waterloo, from its post of being the war pat-
excellence) and Ireland are his own. Maxwell, in his sketches of the
gentleman class of Ireland in their hours of relaxation, and in their
own wild, untameable, and somewhat ferocious jollity, or violence,
being of them, in blood and bone, he and his people before him for
many a long day, — is quite at home, — not only with his own Wild
Sportsman of the West, but with all that horsewhip-handling, trig-
ger-pulling, lady-killing, claret-drinking, steeple- chasing, hot-headed,
puzzle-pated, tumultuous race of gentlemen, who, issuing from " Ould
Thrinity," led a noisy reckless life, fearing nobody but a dun or a
sheriff's officer, eternally in debt or drink, or duelling, or all three to-
gether ; usually highly bred and well travelled, almost always gene-
rous, though seldom just, unquestionably brave, (at least it would not
have been particularly safe to question it,) taking no wrong, and giv-
ing very little right ; governed by the most curious, and the most
curiously extended, code of honour ever devised, and covering a mul-
titude of sins by everlasting good-humour and — a pistol. These noble
specimens of mankind are, alas ! fast passing away before the baleful
effects of civilisation, rail-roads, steam-boats, and the schoolmaster
abroad, — as much, we suppose, to the distaste of Maxwell, as of the
late Sir Jonah Harrington. As it is fit, then, that some record of
them should remain, none can supply it better than the soldier-
scholar, gentleman of blood, and Irishman of birth. But it would
be unjust if we were to confine his praises to mere jocular or roman-
tic writing. In his " Victories of the British Armies," he discovers a
mind replete with stores of ample information on almost all subjects,
long trains of well considered reflections, high and honourable feel-
ings, generosity to conquered enemies, and proud patriotism in
recounting the gallant deeds of conquering friends. And his Life
of the Duke of Wellington is a book worthy of its hero.

Remains it only to mention, that Maxwell is a fine, dashing-look-
ing, long, well-knit fellow, whose age is about that of his national
game, i. e. five-and-forty.

333

GUY FAWKES.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

BY W. HARRISON AINS^ORTH, ESQ.

ILLUSTRATED ^Y G.EQRGE. CRUIK6HAN K.

BOOK THE FIRST.

CHAPTER VII.
DOCTOR DEE.

" How now, ye impious violators of the tomb ! ye worse than
famine-stricken wolves, that rake up the dead in churchyards ? "
cried Guy Fawkes, in a voice of thunder, to Doctor Dee and his
companion; who, startled by his sudden appearance, dropped
the body, and retreated to a short distance. "What devilish
rites are ye about to enact, that ye thus profane the sanctity
of the grave ? "

<c And, who art thou that darest thus to interrupt us?" de-
manded Doctor Dee, sternly.

"It matters not," rejoined Fawkes, .striding towards them.
" Suffice it you are both known to me. You, John Dee, warden
of Manchester, who deserve to be burnt at the stake' for your
damnable practices, rather than hold the sacred office you fill ;
and you, Edward Kelley, his associate, who boast of familiar in-
tercourse with demons, and, unless fame belies you, have pur-
chased the intimacy at the price of your soul's salvation. I know
you both. I .know, also, whose body you have disinterred, — it
is that of the ill-fated prophetess, Elizabeth Orton. And, if
you do not instantly restore it to the grave whence you 'have
snatched it, I will denounce you to the authorities of the town."

"Knowing thus much, you should know still inore," re-
torted Doctor Dee, " namely, that I am not to be lightly pro-
voked. You have no power to quit the churchyard 7— nay, not
so much as to move a limb without my permission."

As he spoke, he drew from beneath his cloak a small phial,
the contents of which he sprinkled over the intruder. Its effect
was wonderful and instantaneous. The limbs of Guy Fawkes
stiffened where he stood. His hand remained immoveably fixed
upon the pommel of his sword, and he seemed transformed into
a marble statue.

" You will henceforth acknowledge and respect my power,"
he continued. "Were it my pleasure, I could bury you
twenty fathoms deep in the earth beneath our feet ; or, by in-
voking certain spirits, convey you to the summit of yon lofty
tower," pointing to the church, " and hurl you from it head-
long. But I content myself with depriving you of motion, and
leave you in possession of sight and speech, that you may en-
dure the torture of witnessing what you cannot prevent."

VOL. VII. 2 B

334- GUY FAWKES.

So saying, he was about to return to the corpse with Kelley,
when Guy Fawkes exclaimed in a hollow voice,

" Set me free, and I will instantly depart."

" Will you swear never to divulge what you have seen? " de-
manded Dee, pausing.

" Solemnly," he replied.

" I will trust you, then," rejoined the Doctor; — "the rather
that your presence interferes with my purpose."

Taking a handful of loose earth from an adjoining grave, and
muttering a few words, that sounded like a charm, he scattered
it over Fawkes. The spell was instantly broken. A leaden
weight seemed to be removed from his limbs. His joints re-
gained their suppleness, and with a convulsive start, like that
by which a dreamer casts off a nightmare, he was liberated from
his preternatural thraldom.

" And now, begone ! " cried Doctor Dee, authoritatively.

" Suffer me to tarry with you a few moments," said Guy
Fawkes, in a deferential tone. " Heretofore, I will freely admit,
I regarded you as an imposter, but now I am convinced you are
deeply skilled in the occult sciences, and would fain consult you
on the future."

" I have already said that your presence troubles me," re-
plied Doctor Dee. " But if you will to call upon me at the
College to-morrow, it may be, I will give you further proofs of
my skill."

" Why not now, reverend sir ? " urged Fawkes. " The
question I would ask is better suited to this dismal spot, and
witching hour, than to daylight, and the walls of your study."

" Indeed ! " exclaimed Dee. " Your name ? "

" Guy Fawkes," replied the other.

" Guy Fawkes ! " echoed the Doctor, starting. " Nay, then,
I guess the nature of the question you would ask."

" Am I then known to you, reverend sir ? " inquired Fawkes
uneasily.

" As well as to yourself — nay, better," answered the Doctor.
" Bring the lantern hither, Kelley," he continued, addressing
his companion. " Look ! " he added, elevating the light so as
to throw it upon the countenance of Fawkes. " It is the very
face, — the bronzed and strongly -marked features, — the fierce
black eye, — the iron frame, and foreign garb of the figure we
beheld in the show-stone."

" It is," replied Kelley. " I could have singled him out
amid a thousand. He looked thus as we tracked his perilous
course, with his three companions, the priest, Chetham, and
Viviana Radcliffe, across Chat Moss."

" How have you learnt this ? " cried Guy Fawkes, in amaze-
ment.

"By the art which reveals all things," answered Kelley.

" In proof that your thoughts are known to me," observed

GUY FAWKES. 335

Dee, " I will tell you the inquiry you would make before it
is uttered. You would learn whether the enterprize on which
you are engaged will succeed."

" I would," replied Fawkes.

" Yet more," continued the Doctor. " I am aware of the
nature of the plot, and could name to you all connected with it."

" Your power is, indeed, wonderful," rejoined Fawkes, in an
altered tone. " But will you give me the information I re-
quire ? "

" Hum ! " muttered the Doctor.

" I am too poor to purchase it," proceeded Fawkes, u unless a
relic which I have brought from Spain has any value in your
eyes."

" Tush ! " exclaimed Dee, angrily. " Do you suppose I am
a common juggler, and practice my art for gain ? "

" By no means, reverend sir," said Fawkes. " But I would
not willingly put you to trouble without evincing my gratitude."

" Well then," replied the Doctor, ** I will not refuse your re-
quest. And yet I would caution you to beware how you pry
into the future. You may repent your rashness when it is too
late."

" I have no fear," rejoined Fawkes. " Let me know the worst."

" Enough," said Dee. " And now listen to me. That carcase
having been placed in the ground without the holy rites of
burial being duly performed, I have power over it. And, as the
witch of Endor, called up Samuel, as is recorded in Holy Writ, —
as Erichtho raised up a corpse to reveal to Sextus Pompeius
the event of the Pharsalian war, — as Elisha breathed life into
the nostrils of the Shunamite's son, — as Alcestis was invoked by
Hercules, — and as the dead maid was brought back to life by
Apollonius Thyaneus, — so I, by certain powerful incantations,
will allure the soul of the prophetess for a short space to its for-
mer tenement, and compel it to answer my questions. Dare you
be present at this ceremony ? "

" I dare," replied Fawkes.

" Follow me, then," said Dee. '* You will need all your
courage."

Muttering a hasty prayer, and secretly crossing himself, Guy
Fawkes strode after him towards the grave. By the Doctor's
directions, he, with some reluctance, assisted Kelley to raise the
corpse, and convey it to the charnel. Dee followed, bearing the
lantern ; and, on entering the building, closed, and fastened the
door.

The chamber in which Guy Fawkes found himself was in
perfect keeping with the horrible ceremonial about to be per-
formed. In one corner lay a mouldering heap of skulls, bones,
and other fragments of mortality ; in the other a pile of broken
coffins, emptied of their tenants, and reared on end. But what
chiefly attracted his attention, was a ghastly collection of human

336 GUY FAWKES.

limbs, blackened with pitch, girded round with iron hoops, and
hung, like meat in a shambles, against the wall. There were two
heads, and, though the features were scarcely distinguishable
owing to the liquid with which they were saturated, they still
retained a terrific expression of agony. Seeing his attention
directed to these revolting objects, Kelley informed him that
they were the quarters of the two priests who had recently been
put to death, which had been left there previously to being
placed on the church-gates. The implements, and some part
of the attire used by the executioner in his butcherly office,
were scattered about, and mixed with the tools of the sexton;
while in the centre of the room stood a large wooden frame
supported by trestles. On this frame, stained with blood, and
smeared with pitch, showing the purpose to which it had been
recently put, the body was placed. This done, Doctor Dee set
down the lantern beside it. And, as the light fell upon its
livid features, sullied with earth, and exhibiting traces of decay,
Guy Fawkes was so appalled by the sight that he half re-
pented of what he had undertaken.

Noticing his irresolution, Doctor Dee said, " You may yet
retire if you think proper ? "

" No," replied Fawkes, firmly. "I will go through with it."

" It is well," replied the Doctor. And he extinguished the
light.

An awful silence now ensued, broken only by a low murmur
from Doctor Dee, who appeared to be reciting an incantation.
As he proceeded, his tones became louder, and his accents those
of command. Suddenly, he paused, and seemed to await a re-
sponse. But, as none was made, greatly to the disappointment
of Guy Fawkes, whose curiosity, notwithstanding his fears, was
raised to the highest pitch, he cried, " Blood is wanting to
complete the charm."

" If that is all, I will speedily supply the deficiency," replied
Guy Fawkes. And, drawing his rapier, he bared his left arm,
and pricked it deeply with the point of the weapon.

" I bleed now," he cried.

" Sprinkle the corpse with the ruddy current," said Doctor
Dee.

" Your commands are obeyed," replied Fawkes. " I have
placed my hand on its breast, and the blood is flowing upon it."

Upon this, the Doctor began to mutter an incantation in a
louder and more authoritative tone than before. Presently,
Kelley added his voice, and they both joined in a sort of chorus,
but in a jargon wholly unintelligible to Guy Fawkes.

All at once a blue flame appeared above their heads, and,
slowly descending, settled upon the brow of the corpse, light-
ing up the sunken cavities of the eyes, and the discoloured and
distorted features.

" The charm works," shouted Doctor Dee.

GUY FAWKES. 337

" She moves ! she moves ! " exclaimed Guy Fawkes. " She
is alive."

" Take off your hand," cried the Doctor, " or mischief may
befall you." And he again continued his incantation.

" Down on your knees ! " he exclaimed, at length, in a terri-
ble voice. " The spirit is at hand."

There was a rushing sound, and a stream of dazzling light-
ning shot down upon the corpse, which emitted a hollow groan.
In obedience to the Doctor's commands, Guy Fawkes had pros-
trated himself on the ground, but he kept his gaze steadily fixed
on the body, which to his infinite astonishment, slowly arose,
until it stood erect upon the frame. There it remained per-
fectly motionless, with the arms close to the sides, and the ha-
biliments torn and dishevelled. The blue light still retained its
position upon the brow, and communicated a horrible glimmer
to the features. The spectacle was so dreadful that Guy Fawkes
would fain have averted his eyes, but he was unable to do so.
Doctor Dee and his companion, meanwhile, continued their in-
vocations, until, as it seemed to Fawkes, the lips of the corpse
moved, and an awful voice exclaimed, " Why have you called
me ? "

" Daughter ! " replied Doctor Dee, rising, " in life thou wert
endowed with the gift of prophecy. In the grave, that which is
to come must be revealed to thee. We would question thee."

" Speak, and I will answer," replied the corpse.

" Interrogate her, my son," said Dee, addressing Fawkes,
" and be brief, for the time is short. So long only as that flame
burns have I power over her."

" Spirit of Elizabeth Orton," cried Guy Fawkes, " if indeed
thou standest before me, and some demon hath not entered thy
frame to delude me, — by all that is holy, and by every blessed
saint, I adjure thee to tell me whether the scheme on which I
am now engaged for the advantage of the Roman Catholic
Church will prosper? "

" Thou art mistaken, Guy Fawkes," returned the corpse.
" That scheme is not for the advantage of thy Church."

" I will not pause to inquire wherefore," continued Fawkes.
" But, grant that the means are violent and wrongful, will the
end be successful ? "

" The end will be death," replied the corpse.

u To the tyrant — to the oppressors ? " demanded Fawkes.

" To the conspirators," was the answer.

" Ha ! " ejaculated Fawkes.

" Proceed, if you have aught more to ask," cried Doctor Dee.
" The flame is expiring."

" Shall we restore the fallen religion ? " demanded Fawkes.

But before the words could be pronounced the light vanished,
and a heavy sound was heard, as of the body falling on the
frame.

338 GUY FAWKES.

"

It is over," said Doctor Dee.

Can you not summon her again ? " asked Fawkes, in a tone
of deep disappointment. " I had other questions to ask."

" Impossible," replied the Doctor. " The spirit is fled, and
\vill not be recalled. We must now commit the body to the
earth. And this time it shall be more decently interred."

" My curiosity is excited, — not satisfied," said Guy Fawkes.
" Would it were to occur again ! "

" It is ever thus," replied Doctor Dee. " We seek to know
that which is interdicted, — and quench our thirst at a foun-
tain which only inflames our curiosity the more. Be warned, my
son. You are embarked on a perilous enterprise, and, if you
pursue it, it will lead you to certain destruction."

" I cannot retreat," rejoined Fawkes, " and would not, if I
could. I am bound by an oath too terrible to be broken."

" I will absolve you of your oath, my son," said Doctor
Dee, eagerly.

" You cannot, reverend sir," replied Fawkes. " By no so-

?histry could I clear my conscience of the ties imposed upon it.
have sworn never to desist from the execution of this scheme,
unless those engaged in it shall give me leave. Nay, so resolved
am I, that if I stood alone I would go on."

As he spoke, a deep groan issued from the corpse.

" You are again warned, my son," said Dee.

" Come forth," said Guy Fawkes, rushing towards the door,
and throwing it open. "This place stifles me."

The night has already been described as bright and beautiful.
Before him stood the Collegiate bathed in moonlight. He gazed
abstractedly at this venerable structure for a few moments, and
then returned to the charnel, where he found Doctor Dee and
Kelley employed in placing the body of the prophetess in a
coffin, which they had taken from the pile in the corner. He
immediately proffered his assistance, and in a short space the
task was completed. The coffin was then borne towards the
grave, at the edge of which it was laid while the burial-service
was recited by Doctor Dee. This ended, it was lowered into
its shallow resting-place, and speedily covered with earth.

When all was ready for their departure, the Doctor turned
to Fawkes, and, bidding him farewell, observed,

" If you are wise, my son, you will profit by the awful warn-
ing you have this night received."

u Before we part, reverend sir," replied Fawkes, " I would
ask if you know of other means whereby an insight may be ob-
tained into the future ? "

" Many, my son," replied Dee. " I have a magic glass, in
which, with due preparation, you may behold exact represent-
ations of coming events. I am now returning to the college,
and if you will accompany me, I will show it you."

The offer was eagerly accepted, and the party quitted the
churchvard.

GUY FAWKES. 339

CHAPTER VJII.
THE MAGIC GLASS.

THE old College of Manchester occupied, as is well known
the site of the existing structure, called after the benevolent
individual by whom that admirable charity was founded, and
whom we have ventured to introduce in this history, — the
Chetham Hospital. Much, indeed, of the ancient building re-
mains ; for though it was considerably repaired and enlarged,
being " very ruinous and in great decay," at the time of its pur-
chase in 1654, by the feoffees under Humphrey Chetham's will
from the sequestrators of the Earl of Derby's estates, still the
general character of the fabric has been preserved, and several
of its chambers retained. Originally built on the foundation
of a manor-house denominated The Baron's Hall, — the abode of
the Grelleys and the De la Warrs, lords of Manchester, — the
College continued to be used as the residence of the warden and
fellows of the Collegiate Church until the reign of Edward the
First, when that body was dissolved. On the accession, how-
ever, of Mary, the College was re-established ; but the residence
of the ecclesiastical body being removed to a house in Deans-
gate, the building was allowed to become extremely dilapidated,
and was used partly as a prison for recusants and other of-
fenders, and partly as a magazine for powder. In this state
Doctor Dee found it when he succeeded to the wardenship in
1595, and preferring it, notwithstanding its ruinous condition,
to the house appointed for him elsewhere, took up his abode
in it.

Situated on a high rock, overhanging the river Irk — at that
time a clear stream, remarkable for the excellence of its fish, —
and constructed entirely of stone, the old College had then,
and still has to a certain extent, a venerable and monastic ap-
pearance. During Dee's occupation of it, it became a sort of
weird abode in the eyes of the vulgar, and many a timorous
look was cast at it by those who walked at eventide on the op-
posite bank of the Irk. Sometimes, the curiosity of the watchers
was rewarded by beholding a few sparks issue from the chimney,
and now and then, the red reflection of a fire might be dis-
cerned through the window. But generally nothing could be
perceived, and the building seemed as dark and mysterious as its
occupant.

One night, however, a loud explosion took place, — so loud,
indeed, that it shook the whole pile to its foundation, dislodged
one or two of the chimneys, and overthrew an old wall, the
stones of which rolled into the river beneath. Alarmed by the
concussion, the inhabitants of Hunt's bank rushed forth, and
saw, to their great alarm, that the wing of the College occu-
pied by Doctor Dee was in flames. Though many of them at-
tributed the circumstance to supernatural agency, and were

340 GUY FAWKES.

fully persuaded that the enemy of mankind was at that instant
bearing off his prey in the persons of the conjuror and his
assistant, and refused to interfere to stop the conflagration ;
others more humane, and less superstitious, hastened to lend
their aid to extinguish the flames. On reaching the College,
they could scarcely credit their senses on finding that there
was no appearance of fire ; and they were met by the Doctor
and his companion at the gates, who informed them that their
presence was unnecessary, as all danger was over. From that
night Doctor Dee's reputation as a wizard was firmly esta-

i i • i t A *^

blished.

At the period of this history, Doctor Dee was fast verging on
eighty, having passed a long life in severe and abstruse study.
He had travelled much, had visited most of the foreign courts,
where he was generally well received, and was profoundly versed
in mathematics, astronomy, the then popular science of judicial
astrology, and other occult learning. So accurate were his
calculations esteemed, that he was universally consulted as an
oracle. For some time he resided in Germany, where he was
invited by the Emperor Charles the Fifth, and retained by his
brother and successor, Ferdinando. He next went to Lou vain,
where his reputation had preceded him ; and from thence to
Paris, where he lectured at the schools on geometry, and was
offered a professorship of the university, but declined it. On
his return to England in 1551, he was appointed one of the in-
structors of the youthful monarch Edward the Sixth, who pre-
sented him with an annual pension of a hundred marks. This
he was permitted to commute for the rectory of Upton- upon-Se-
vern, which he retained until the accession of Mary, when being
charged with devising her Majesty's destruction by enchant-
ments,— certain waxen images of the Queen having been found
within his abode,— he was thrown into prison, rigorously treat-
ed, and kept in durance for a long period. At length, from
want of sufficient proof against him, he was liberated.

Dee shared the common fate of all astrologers : he was al-
ternately honoured and disgraced. His next patron was Lord
Robert Dudley (afterwards Earl of Leicester), who, it is
well known, was a firm believer in the superstitious arts to
which Dee was addicted, and by whom he was employed,
on the accession of Elizabeth, to erect a scheme to ascertain
the best day for her coronation. His prediction was so for-
tunate that it procured him the favour of the Queen, from
whom he received many marks of regard. As it is not need-
ful to follow him through his various wanderings, it may be suf-
ficient to mention, that in 1564 he proceeded to Germany on a
visit to the Emperor Maximilian, to whom he dedicated his
" Monas Hieroglyphica ;" that in 1571 he fell grievously sick in
Lorrain, whither two physicians were despatched to his aid by
Elizabeth ; and that on his recovery he returned to his own

GUY FAWKES. 341

country, and retired to Mortlake, where he gathered together a
vast library, comprising the rarest and most curious works on all
sciences, together with a large collection of manuscripts.

While thus living in retirement, he was sought out by Edward
Kelley, a native of Worcestershire, who represented himself as in
possession of an old book of magic, containing forms of invoca-
tion, by which spirits might be summoned and controlled, as well
as a ball of ivory, found in the tomb of a bishop who had made
great progress in hermetic philosophy, which was filled with the
powder of projection. These treasures Kelley offered to place in
the hands of the Doctor on certain conditions, which were imme-
diately acquiesced in, and thenceforth, Kelley became a constant
inmate in his house, and an assistant in all his practices. Shortly
afterwards, they were joined by a Polish nobleman, Albert de
Laski, Palatine of Suabia, whom they accompanied to Prague,
at the instance of the Emperor Rodolph the Second, who desired
to be initiated into their mysteries. Their reception at this court
was not such as to induce a long sojourn at it; and Dee having
been warned by his familiar spirits to sell his effects and depart,
complied with the intimation, and removed to Poland. The
same fate attended him here. The nuncio of the Pope denounced
him as a sorcerer, and demanded that he should be delivered up
to the Inquisition. This was refused by the monarch ; but
Dee and his companion were banished from his dominions, and
compelled to fly to Bohemia, where they took refuge in the
castle of Trebona, belonging to Count Rosenberg. Shortly after
this, Dee and Kelley separated, the magical instruments being
delivered to the former, who bent his course homewards,
and on his arrival in London was warmly welcomed by the
Queen. During his absence, his house at Mortlake had been
broken open by the populace, under the pretence of its being the
abode of a wizard, and rifled of its valuable library and manu-
scripts,— a loss severely felt by the Doctor. Some years were
no\v passed by Dee in great destitution, during which he pro-
secuted his studies with the same ardour as before, until at
length in 1595, when he was turned seventy, fortune again
smiled upon him, and he was appointed to the wardenship of the
College at Manchester, whither he repaired, and was installed in
great pomp.

But his residence in this place was not destined to be a
tranquil one. His reputation as a dealer in the black art had
preceded him, and rendered him obnoxious to the clergy, with
whom he had constant disputes, and a feud subsisted between
him and the fellows of his church. It has already been men-
tioned that he refused to occupy the house allotted him, but
preferred taking up his quarters in the old dilapidated college.
Various reasons were assigned by his enemies for this singular
choice of abode. They affirmed — and with some reason, that
he selected it because he desired to elude observation, — and

342 GUY FAVVKES.

that his mode of life, sufficiently improper in a layman, was
altogether indecorous in an ecclesiastic. By the common people
he was universally regarded as a conjuror — and many at first
came to consult him ; but he peremptorily dismissed all such
applicants ; and, when seven females, supposed to be possessed,
were brought to him that he might exercise his power over the
evil spirits, he refused to interfere. He also publicly examined
and rebuked a juggler, named Hartley, who pretended to ma-
gical knowledge. But these things did not blind his enemies,
who continued to harass him to such a degree, that he addressed
a petition to James the First, entreating to be brought to trial,
when the accusations preferred against him might be fully in-
vestigated, and his character cleared. This application, and
another to the like effect addressed to parliament, were disre-
garded. Dee had not been long established in Manchester
when he was secretly joined by Kelley, and they recommenced
their search after the grand secret, — passing the nights in
making various alchemycal experiments, or in fancied confer-
ences with invisible beings.

Among other magical articles possessed by Doctor Dee was
a large globe of crystal, which he termed the Holy Stone, be-
cause he believed it had been brought him by " angelical mi-
nistry ;" and " in which,1" according to Meric Casaubon, " and
out of which, by persons qualified for it, and admitted to the
sight of it, all shapes and figures mentioned in every action
were seen, and voices heard." The same writer informs us it
was " round-shaped, of a pretty bigness, and most like unto
crystal." Dee himself declared to the Emperor Rodolph, " that
the spirits had brought him a stone of that value that no earthly
kingdom was of such worthiness as to be compared to the vir-
tue and dignity thereof." He was in the habit of daily con-
sulting this marvellous stone, and recording the visions he saw
therein, and the conferences he held through it with the in-
visible world.

Followed by Guy Fawkes and Kelley, the Doctor took his
way down Long Mill Gate. Stopping at an arched gateway on
the left, near which, on the site of the modern structure, stood
the public school, founded at the beginning of the sixteenth
century by Hugh Oldham, Bishop of Exeter, — he unlocked a
small wicket, and entered a spacious court, surrounded on one
side by high stone walls, and on the other by a wing of the
college.

Conducting his guest to the principal entrance of the building,
which lay at the farther end of the court, Doctor Dee ushered
him into a large chamber, panelled with oak, and having a
curiously-moulded ceiling, ornamented with grotesque sculp-
ture. This room, still in existence, and now occupied by the
master of the school, formed Doctor Dee's library. Offering
Fawkes a chair, the Doctor informed him that when all was

GUY FAWKES. 343

ready, Kelley should summon him, and, accompanied by his
assistant, he withdrew. Half an hour elapsed before Kelley
returned. Motioning Guy Fawkes to follow him, he led the
way through several intricate passages to a chamber, which was
evidently the magician's sacred retreat. In a recess on one side
stood a table, covered with cabalistic characters and figures,
referring to the celestial influences. On this table was placed
the holy stone, which diffused such a glistening radiance as is
emitted by the pebble called cat's-eye. On the floor a wide
circle was described, in the rings of which magical characters,
resembling those on the table, 'were traced. In front of this
stood a brasier, filled with flaming coals. Before it hung a
heavy black curtain, appearing to shroud some mystery from view.
Desiring Fawkes to place himself in the centre of a circle,
Doctor Dee cast several ingredients, which he took from a
basket handed him by Kelley, into the brasier. As each herb
or gum was ignited, the flame changed its colour; now be-
coming crimson, now green, now blue, while fragrant or
noxious odours loaded the atmosphere. These suffumigations
ended, Dee took a wand, and seating himself on a chair near the
table, whither he was followed by Kelley, and commanding
Fawkes not to move a footstep, as he valued his safety, he be-
gan in a solemn tone to utter an invocation. As he continued,
a hollow noise was heard overhead, which gradually increased
in loudness, until it appeared as if the walls were tumbling
about their ears.

" The spirits are at hand ! " cried Dee. " Do not look be-
hind you, or they will tear you in pieces."

As he spoke, a horrible din was heard, as of mingled howl-
ing, shrieking, and laughter. This was succeeded by a low
faint strain of music, which gradually died away, and then all
was silent.

" All is prepared," cried Dee. " Now, what would you be-
hold ? *'

" The progress of the great enterprise," replied Fawkes.
Doctor Dee waved his wand. The curtains slowly unfolded,
and Guy Fawkes perceived as in a glass a group of dark figures;
amongst which he noticed one in all respects resembling himself.
A priest was apparently proposing an oath, which the others
were uttering.

" Do you recognise them ? " said Doctor Dee.
" Perfectly," replied Fawkes.
" Look again," said Dee.

As he spoke the figures melted away, and a new scene was
presented on the glass. It was a gloomy vault, filled with
barrels, partly covered with fagots and billets of wood.
" Have you seen enough ? " demanded Dee.
" No," replied Fawkes, firmly. " I have seen what is past.
I would behold that which is to come."

GUY FAWKES.

" Look again,then," rejoined the Doctor, waving his wand.

For an instant the glass was darkened, and nothing could be
discerned except the lurid flame and thick smoke arising from the
brasier. The next moment, an icy chill shot through the frame
of Guy Fawkes as he beheld a throng of skeletons arranged
before him. The bony fingers of the foremost of the grisly
assemblage were pointed towards an indistinct object at its feet.
As this object gradually became more defined, Guy Fawkes
perceived that it was a figure resembling himself, stretched
upon the wheel, and writhing in the agonies of torture.

He uttered an exclamation of terror, and the curtains were
instantly closed.

Half an hour afterwards, Guy Fawkes quitted the college,
and returned to the Seven Stars.

CHAPTER IX.
THE PRISON ON SALFORD BRIDGE.

ON the following morning, Guy Fawkes had a long and pri-
vate conference with Father Oldcorne. The priest appeared
greatly troubled by the communication made to him, but he
said nothing, and was for some time lost in reflection, and evi-
dently weighing within himself what course it would be best to
pursue. His uneasiness was not without effect on Viviana Rad-
cliffe, and she ventured at last to inquire whether he appre-
hended any new danger.

" I scarcely know what I apprehend, dear daughter," he an-
swered. " But circumstances have occurred which render it im-
possible we can remain longer in our present asylum with safe-
ty. We must quit it at nightfall."

" Is our retreat then discovered ? " inquired Viviana, in
alarm.

" Not as yet, I trust," replied Oldcorne; "but I have just
ascertained from a messenger that the pursuivant whom we
thought had departed for Chester, is still lingering within the
town. He has offered a large reward for my apprehension, and
having traced us to Manchester, declares he will leave no house
unsearched till he finds us. He has got together a fresh band
of soldiers, and is now visiting every place which he thinks likely
to afford us shelter."

" If this is the case ? " said Viviana, *4 why remain here a
single moment ? Let us fly at once."

" That would avail nothing, — or rather, it would expose us to
fresh risk, dear daughter," replied Oldcorne. " Every approach
to the town is guarded, and soldiers are posted at the corners of
the streets, who stop, and examine each suspected person."
" Heaven protect us ! " exclaimed Viviana.
" But this is not all," continued the priest. " By some inex-
plicable and mysterious means, the designs of certain of the most

GUY FAWKES. 345

assured friends of the Catholic cause have come to the knowledge
of our enemies, and the lives and safeties of many worthy men
will be endangered : amongst others, that of your father."

" You terrify me ! " cried Viviana.

" The rack shall force nothing from me, father," said Fawkes,
sternly.

" Nor from me, my son," rejoined Oldcorne. " I have that
within me which will enable me to sustain the bitterest agonies
that the persecutors of our Church can inflict."

" Nor shall it force aught from me," added Viviana. " For,
though you have trusted me with nothing that can impli-
cate others, I plainly perceive some plot is in agitation for the
restoration of our religion, and I more than suspect Mr. Catesby
is its chief contriver."

" Daughter ! " exclaimed Oldcorne, uneasily.

" Fear nothing, father," she rejoined. " As I have said, the
rack shall not force me to betray you. Neither should it keep
me silent when I feel that my counsel — such as it is, — may avail
you. The course you are pursuing is a dangerous and fatal
one, — dangerous to yourselves, and fatal to the cause you would
serve. Do not deceive yourselves. You are struggling hope-
lessly and unrighteously, and Heaven will never prosper an un-
dertaking which has its aim in the terrible waste of life you me-
ditate."

Father Oldcorne made no reply, but walked apart with Guy
Fawkes ; and Viviana abandoned herself to sorrowful reflection.

Shortly after this, the door was suddenly thrown open, and
Humphrey Chetham rushed into the room. His looks were so
full of apprehension, that Viviana was at no loss to perceive that
some calamity was at hand.

" What is the matter ?" she cried, rising.

" The pursuivant and his men are below," he replied. " They
are interrogating the hostess, and are about to search the house.
I managed to pass them unperceived."

" We will resist them to the last," said Guy Fawkes, drawing
a petronel.

" Resistance will be in vain," rejoined Humphrey Chetham.
" They more than treble our number."

" Is there no means of escape ? " asked Viviana.

" None whatever," replied Chetham. " I hear them on the
stairs. The terrified hostess has not dared to deny you, and is
conducting them hither."

" Stand back ! "cried Guy Fawkes, striding towards the door,
" and let me alone confront them. That accursed pursuivant
has escaped me once. But he shall not do so a second time."

" My son," said Oldcorne, advancing towards him, " preserve
yourself, if possible. Your life is of consequence to the great
cause. Think not of us — think not of revenging yourself upon
this caitiff. But think of the high destiny for which you are

346 GUY FAWKES.

reserved. That window offers a means of retreat. Avail your-
self of it. Fly !— fly ! "

" Ay, fly ! " repeated Viviana. " And you, Master Chetham,
— your presence here can do no good. Quick ! — they come ! "

" Nothing should induce me to quit you at such a moment,
Miss Radcliffe," replied Chetham, " but the conviction that I
may be able to liberate you, should these miscreants convey you
to prison."

" Fly ' — fly, my son,'* cried Oldcorne. " They are at the
door."

Thus urged, Guy Fawkes reluctantly yielded to Oldcorne's
entreaties, and sprang through the window. He was followed,
by Chetham. Viviana rushed to the casement, and saw that
they had alighted in safety on the ground, and were flying
swiftly up Shude Hill. Meanwhile, the pursuivant had reached
the door, which Chetham had taken the precaution to fasten,
and was trying to burst it open. The bolts offered but a feeble
resistance to his fury, and the next moment he burst into the
room, at the head of a band of soldiers.

" Seize them ! " he cried. " Ha ! " he added, glancing round
the room with a look of disappointment, " where are the others?
Where is the soldier in the Spanish garb ? Where is Master
Chetham. Confess at once, dog ! " he continued, seizing the
priest by the throat, or I will pluck the secret from your breast."

" Do not harm him," interposed Viviana. " I will answer
the question. They are fled."

" Fled ! " echoed the pursuivant in consternation. " In what
way ? "

4< Through that window," replied Viviana.

" After them ! " cried the pursuivant to some of his attend-
ants. " Take the soldier dead or alive. And now," he conti-
nued, as his orders were obeyed, " you Father Oldcorne, Jesuit
and traitor, and you Viviana Radcliffe, his shelterer and abettor,
I shall convey you both to the prison on Salford Bridge. Seize
them, and bring them along."

" Touch me not," said Viviana, pushing the men aside, who
rudely advanced to obey their leader's command. " You have
no warrant for this brutality. I am ready to attend you. Take
my arm, father."

Abashed at this reproof, the pursuivant stalked out of the
room. Surrounded by the soldiers, Viviana and the priest fol-
lowed. The sad procession was attended by crowds to the very
door of the prison, where, by the pursuivant's commands, they
were locked in separate cells.

The cell in which Viviana was confined was a small chamber
situated at the back of the prison, and on the upper story. It
had a small grated window overlooking the river. It has already
been mentioned that this prison was originally a chapel built in
the reign of Edward the Third, and had only recently been con-

GUY FAWKES. 347

verted into a place of security for recusants. The chamber
allotted to Viviana was contrived in the roof, and was so low-
that she could scarcely stand upright in it. It was furnished
with a chair, a small table, and a straw pallet.

The hours passed wearily with Viviana as they were marked
by the deep-toned clock of the Collegiate Church, the tall
tower of which fronted her window. Oppressed by the most
melancholy reflections, she was for some time a prey almost to
despair. On whatever side she looked, the prospect was equally
cheerless, and her sole desire was that she might find a refuge
from her cares in the seclusion of a convent. For this she
prayed, — and she prayed also that Heaven would soften the
hearts of her oppressors, and enable those who suffered to en-
dure their yoke with patience. In the evening, provisions were
brought her, and placed upon the table, together with a lamp,
by a surly-looking gaoler. But Viviana had no inclination to
eat, and left them untouched. Neither could she prevail upon
herself to lie down on the wretched pallet, and she therefore de-
termined to pass the night in the chair.

After some hours of watchfulness, her eyelids closed, and she
continued to slumber until she was aroused by a slight noise
at the window. Starting at the sound, she flew towards it, and
perceived in the gloom the face of a man. She would have
uttered a loud cry, when the circumstances of her situation
rushed to mind, and the possibility that it might be a friend
occurred to her, and checked her. The next moment, she was
satisfied of the truth of her conjecture. A voice, which she
recognised as that of Humphrey Chetham, called to her by
name in a low tone, bidding her fear nothing, as he was come
to set her free.

" How have you contrived to reach this window ? " asked Vi-
viana.

" By a rope-ladder," he answered. " I have contrived in the
darkness to clamber upon the roof of the prison from the para-
pets of the bridge, and, after securing the ladder to a projec-
tion, have dropped the other end into a boat, rowed by Guy
Fawkes, and concealed beneath the arches of the bridge. If
I can remove this bar so as to allow you to pass through the
window, dare you descend the ladder ? "

" No," replied Viviana, shuddering. " My brain reels at the
mere idea."

" Think of the fate you will escape," urged Chetham.

" And what will become of Father Oldcorne ? " said Viviana.
"Where is he?"

" In the cell immediately beneath you," replied Chetham.

" Can you not liberate him ? " she asked.

" If he will risk the descent," answered Chetham.

" Free him first," said Viviana, " and at all hazards I will
accompany you."

348 GUY FAWKES.

The young merchant made no reply, but disappeared from
the window. Viviana strained her gaze downwards ; but the
night was too dark to allow her to see anything. She, however,
heard a noise like that produced by a file, and shortly afterwards
a few muttered words informed her that the priest was passing
through the window. The cords of the ladder shook against the
bars of her window, — and she held her breath for fear. From
this state of suspense she was relieved in a few minutes by
Humphrey Chetham, who informed her that Oldcorne had de-
scended in safety, and was in the boat with Guy Fawkes.

" I will fulfil my promise," replied Viviana, trembling; " but
I fear my strength will fail me.""

" You had better risk death from the river than tarry here,"
replied Humphrey Chetham, who as he spoke was rapidly filing
through the iron bar. " In a few minutes this impediment will
be removed."

The young merchant worked hard, and in a short time the
stout bar yielded to his efforts.

" Now, then," he cried, springing into the room, " you are
free."

" I dare not make the attempt," said Viviana ; " my strength
utterly fails me."

" Nay, then," he replied, " I will take the risk upon myself.
You must not remain here."

So saying, he caught her in his arms, and bore her through
the window.

With some difficulty, and no little risk, he succeeded in gain-
ing a footing on the ladder. This accomplished, he began
slowly to descend. When half way down, he found he had over-
rated his strength, and he feared he should be compelled to quit
his hold ; but, nerved by his passion, he held on, and making a
desperate effort, completed the descent in safety.

" Heaven be praised ! you are safe," he cried, pressing Vivi-
ana to his bosom.

" I owe my life — more than life to you/' she answered, ar-
dently returning his embrace.

As soon as Chetham had dropped into the boat, Guy Fawkes
suffered it to drift down the stream ; and when it got to a
sufficient distance from the bridge to allow him to use the oars
with safety, he plunged them into the stream, and began to row
off with great swiftness.

319
THE PICTURE BEDROOM.

BY DALTON.

" TALK not so flippantly on matters you don't understand, Master
Fred," said Mr. Gregory Singleton.

" God bless me ! " exclaimed the young ensign thus addressed,
" how you barrister people snap one up ! A man cannot be expected
to understand all he talks about."

" That would certainly prove a clog upon the conversation of some
people," returned Mr. Singleton ; " and on that account I would
have them less positive and less contemptuous in their manner than
we sometimes find them."

" Why, devil take it ! " — the young gentleman, it should be borne
in mind, was on the eve of joining his regiment for the first time,
and expressed himself in language of proportionate strength — " Why,
devil take it ! you don't mean to say — confound it ! — you don't be-
lieve in ghosts, do you ? "

" That is hardly the point," rejoined the first speaker. " Many
men, however, of wit and learning have done so ; and even I could
tell a tale — "

" A ghost story ! a ghost story ! " burst from a dozen pairs of lips,
and ran like wild fire through the party. It was a large party — a
Christmas party — need we add, a merry party ? A word, a look,
might sometimes perchance recall to the elder portion the image of
some lost or absent one ; but the light and noisy spirits around in
an instant dispelled the gloom. A sigh might escape the mother's
bosom ; but it passed unheeded, save by him alone who knew too
well its meaning. Such was the party, — and as the large hand of
the unrelenting clock was rapidly approaching an hour held in es-
pecial abhorrence by all good little boys and girls, the said juveniles
eagerly snatched at the straw which might preserve them for a time
from immersion beneath the bed-clothes.

" Pray be quiet ! — Uncle Gregory is going to tell us a nice ghost
story," exclaimed a demure-looking little girl, balancing herself upon
that gentleman's knee ; and immediately, maugre the combined ef-
forts of papa and mamma, " Uncle Gregory " was hidden from sight
by a cluster of young expectants.

" For Heaven's sake, my dear, make those children get down ! "
cried Mr. Singleton, senior, alarmed at the disappearance of his guest.
" Box their ears, Gregory, or they '11 smother you."

" Oh, papa, we must hear the ghost story," remonstrated the clam-
berers, contending vigorously for a good seat.

" Oh, the devil — yes, let's have it," added the son of Mars ; " 'pon
my soul, we must. What say you, Doctor ? "

The doctor was sipping a glass of port : he was a grave man, and
a learned, as he needs must, being a doctor and a professor of moral
philosophy to boot. The eyes of the young company sought with
supplicatory expression his fiat.

" By all means," said Dr. Doddle, graciously, " by all means, let us
hear it ; though as to the theory of supernatural apparitions — "

" There, there, uncle ! " cried the little ones, nestling closer ; " Dr.
Doddle says you are to begin."

" Well," replied Mr. Gregory, " I hardly bargained for this ; but
VOL. vii. 2 c

350 THE PICTURE BEDROOM

take your knuckles out of my neckloth, and I surrender at discre-
tion.

" All was dark and melancholy at Heatherstone Hall. It was,
indeed, a place which seldom exhibited a very lively appearance
under the most favourable circumstances ; but now a December
storm without, and a scene of sickness within, plunged the old man-
sion in deeper gloom than usual. The lord of the hall, and of hun-
dreds of acres of fair Kentish land thereunto attached, lay within its
principal chamber. Stretched on a bed of antique form, his head
propped up by pillows, he gazed earnestly on the mild and dignified
countenance of a gentleman who sat by his side; his fixed look,
clenched hands, and compressed mouth betrayed the deep anxiety
with which he heard the tale, apparently wrung unwillingly from
the lips of the latter.

" ' On, on, on ! ' gasped the sick man passionately, his eyes be-
coming every instant more horribly prominent and ghastly. ' Alfred
is a spendthrift, a gamester, a profligate. I might have known it.
Fool, madman that I was, to hope otherwise ! His wretched father
was so before him.'

" ' He has paid the penalty of his fault,' gently observed the
other.

" ' He has/ continued the invalid, increasing in vehemence, ' and
so shall his son. He shall live a beggar, starve, or die by his own
desperate hand, as — as — died — '

ec ' His father, your unhappy son,' interposed Dr. Danville, the
gentleman by the bedside. He rested his chin musingly on a stout
gold-headed cane, and turned his pale expressive countenance upon
a shovel hat, which seemed pertly to return the look from a chair
directly opposite.

" ' Go on,' said Sir John ; ' let me know the worst. Where is he
now ? '

" ' I believe — that is, I have reason to fear,' continued the Doctor,
' that he is at the present moment lodged in a debtor's prison.'

" ' There let him lie and rot ! ' exclaimed the old man fiercely,
' pine away body and spirit — not one farthing of mine shall go to
save him. Doctor,' he went on, turning sharply round, and speaking
in a changed and hurried tone, ' they tell me I have not many days
to reckon upon here, — and I hope and believe in none hereafter ; —
no matter for that, — don't interrupt me, but listen. You are a pru-
dent man, — have made money — saved money — more, perhaps, than
you care the world should know. Don't answer me — I know it, and
respect you for it. You see that will : by virtue of it, at my death
you were to receive five thousand pounds, — the remainder of my
dead daughter's fortune, — the bulk of my property was to go to her
spendthrift nephew — burn it now — before my face.'

The Doctor exhibited symptoms of reluctance.

" ' Consider, sir,' he began, ' the manifold afflictions of the young
man. Could we but reform this lost, and perhaps repentant — '

" ' No cant to me,' interrupted the baronet sharply. ' I had re-
solved to cast him off before. His long neglect was sufficient cause ;
and your present tale but explains that, and confirms my determina-
tion. Burn it, or I '11 find some less scrupulous agent. In that
drawer lies another, by which you are left my sole heir, on the con-

THE PICTURE BEDROOM. 351

dition — mark me — on the condition of your swearing never by act
or influence, directly or indirectly, to assist with money or otherwise,
my abandoned grandson. Do you accept the conditions ? '

" ' Why, really/ stammered the Doctor, not quite prepared for
such a sweeping proposition, ' if you would reflect for one instant — '

" ' Good — you refuse ! ' exclaimed the sick man hastily.

" ' No, no — you misunderstand me/ continued Dr. Danville, seeing
clearly that the occasion did not admit of coquetting. ' If you in-
sist, I have no alternative ; but believe me my heart bleeds for the
young man.'

" ' Enough. Burn the instrument.' And Dr. Danville, rising
deliberately, put the parchment upon the fire, forcing it between the
bars with the end of his cane, as it curled and shrivelled in the flames.
The sick man continued. ' The other shall be signed and witnessed
in the morning. And now leave me. I feel composed, and inclined
for rest. Be here to-morrow at eleven, and let Jobson, my attor-
ney, accompany you.'

" On the following morning, at one minute and a half to the ap-
pointed hour, Dr. Danville knocked gently at the portal of Heather-
stone Hall — Mr. Jobson stood respectfully behind him — his (the doc-
tor's) shovel hat looked more glossy than ever ; his plain cut coat
was without a wrinkle, his black gaiters without a speck ; a smile of
placid and benignant satisfaction gathered on his countenance.

" ' How is your master, Anne, this morning ? " he inquired, in a
sweetly-modulated tone. The old woman grinned. ' Better ? '

" ' Dead/ was the reply.

" ' Dead ! ' gasped the Doctor, letting drop in his confusion a
pair of superfine kid gloves upon the step : ' Dead ! — and the will
not signed ! '

" ' Dead,' repeated Mistress Annie, and closed the door with a
bang."

" But, uncle," interposed one of the most attentive of the little
auditors, " if the old gentleman died without a will, what became of
Dr. Danville ? "

" Dr. Danville, my dear, was diddled," replied Mr. Singleton.

11 I wish the ghost would come," observed Miss Emily ; and her
uncle resumed.

" The Hall and adjoining woodlands of Heather stone had been
bestowed by King Charles the Second upon one of the most licen-
tious of his courtiers, a certain Sir Walter Thornton, surnamed ' The
Handsome :' in the possession of this gentleman's descendants they
had ever since continued. The late proprietor, Sir John Thornton,
had experienced many mortifications in early life, which by no
means contributed to mollify a temper naturally morose and revenge-
ful. He smiled indeed in public rather more perhaps than had
been his custom, but amply rewarded himself by fourfold severity
at home. His daughter, the wife of Dr. Danville, died young and
childless ; and his son, a young man of rather extravagant habits,
alone remained to sustain the baronet's increasing ill humour. He
married — married directly against his father's positive commands.
Sir John vowed he would never see him more. His friends laughed,
said he would come round in time ; but he never did. The old gen-
tleman was as good as his word.

" The suicide of that son, weighed down by his father's continued

2 r 2

352 THE PICTURE BEDROOM.

displeasure, and the premature death of her for whom he had in-
curred it, has been already hinted at. She died, leaving an only son,
who was readily received by a maternal aunt, an elderly unmarried
lady, was placed by her at a public school, and in due course of
time graduated at Oxford. He was still pursuing his studies there,
when an epistle from the before-mentioned Mr. Jobson, directed to
Sir Alfred Thornton, informed him of his grandfather's having died
intestate, and of his consequent promotion from a fellowship of three
hundred pounds per annum to a baronetage, with an income of twice
as many thousands.

" Dr. Danville's account, therefore, of his nephew was not altogether
correct. Perhaps the good gentleman had been himself imposed
upon ; perhaps — but guesses are impertinent. It was certain, how-
ever, that by his advice Alfred had never intruded upon the notice
of Sir John, and had thereby incurred the imputation of marked
neglect.

" The young heir, of course, bade farewell to Alma Mater, and
hastened forthwith to London, whither the deceased had left direc-
tions that his body should be conveyed; thence, the funeral having
been duly ' performed/ Sir Alfred, after the lapse of a few weeks,
set out to take possession of his inheritance. He was accompanied
in his journey by a young friend, Mr. Vane, of Brazen-nose. On
his arrival at the Hall, he was received with the usual demonstra-
tions of delight. His appearance, indeed, and manners, so different
from the hauteur of the stern Sir John, quickly won the affections
of the warm-hearted peasantry. Even Dr. Danville met his nephew
with open arms, nor once alluded to those little indiscretions, by the
recital of which the late baronet had been so strongly moved.

" Two days had been spent in business ere the two friends visited
the chamber in which Sir John had breathed his last. Certain mys-
terious hints, however, at length reached their ears, and they deter-
mined to examine it forthwith. It appeared that some absurd tradi-
tion was connected with the room, which the death that had so re-
cently occurred in it was supposed in some way to confirm.

" It was extracted from old Annie, the housekeeper, (excellent
authority on all such matters,) that the Picture Bedroom, as it was
called, had, with no inconsiderable portion of the house, been built
by ' the handsome Sir Walter/ and was supposed to have been the
scene of many of the dark crimes laid to his charge. One thing was
past doubt : he himself had in that very apartment met with a bloody
death. The circumstances attending it had, however, either never
been exactly known, or had been forgotten during the lapse of so
many years. It was said that the brother-in-law of Sir Walter,
being a guest in the house, had heard in the night shrieks and cries
for assistance, proceeding from the room occupied by the lord and
lady of the mansion ; that he burst open the door and rushed in, but
what then and there met his eyes no one ever knew; for in the
struggle which followed Sir Walter was shot through the head, and
his opponent immediately took horse, and made his escape to France.
As to the lady, who might perhaps have unravelled the mystery, she
survived but a few years, which were spent in alternate fits of raving
madness and childish imbecility.

" This account had been handed down of the fate of the founder
of the family ; but in later times certain lovers of the marvellous, Mis-

THE PICTURE BEDROOM. 353

tress Annie among the number, had discovered that this chamber
was particularly fatal to the race of Thornton, and that most of the
possessors of the estates had died within its precincts ; on which
account Mistress Annie superinduced, suo periculo, that' never a one
died a natural death ; they had,' she maintained, ' drooped and pined
away, without any apparent disease.'

" The chamber thus vilified was unquestionably the most com-
fortable one in the mansion. It was in form an oblong, lighted from
the farther end by a large oriel window, opposite to which, and to
the right hand of the door on entering, stood a heavy and hand-
somely carved bedstead. From the wainscoted walls on either side
smiled or frowned, as the case might be, the portraits of the Thorn-
ton family; the founder himself, a young man of singularly beau-
tiful and almost effeminate features, held a conspicuous situation
over the mantel-piece, which, like the bedstead, was adorned with
costly carving. A curious cabinet on the other side of the room,
with several high-backed chairs, formed the ancient portion of the
furniture. There were, besides, importations of a later date, and more
fashionable structure. Such was the apartment, which Alfred no
sooner viewed than he determined to appropriate ft to his own use,
despite the entreaties of Mistress Annie, the shrugs of old Burton
the gamekeeper, and the undisguised horror of the rest of the esta-
blishment.

" 'Twas a tempestuous night ; the wind was heard to moan through
the aged oaks, and the rain was dashed violently by fitful gusts
against the casements, when Alfred retired to rest. He was in a state
hovering between sleep and wakefulness, when his all but departed
senses were recalled by the opening of his window ; he started from
his bed ; the increasing storm afforded a ready solution of the mys-
tery ; and, having secured the fastenings, he again sought his pil-
low, half ashamed at certain vague apprehensions which so simple
an occurrence had excited.

" He was aroused in the morning by Vane, who, equipped for a
shooting excursion, entered his room.

" ' Come, get up ! ' he exclaimed, ' and let us proceed to astonish the
pheasants ; breakfast has been ready this hour or more : but, what 's
the matter with you ? — you don't look well ; — you are as white as a
sheet. You haven't seen the ghost of your grandfather, eh ?— or
dreamt of the devil, have you ? *

"'Neither, on my word, Harry; but I certainly do not feel in
spirits; I have over-fatigued myself;' and Sir Alfred rose from his
bed weak and unrefreshed.

" ' Nonsense,' said Vane ; ' this room is haunted, depend upon it,
by some disembodied ague, or immaterial jaundice ; but, haunted or
not, you have had a visiter last night. Don't blush, man, but look
in the glass.'

" There on his neck Alfred beheld a small spot, apparently the
bite of one of those interesting little animals whose education, long
neglected, has of late years occupied the attention of sundry propa-
gators of useful knowledge.

" ' But, come, don't look so confoundedly dull/ continued Harry ;
' everything around is bright and gay — nay, even your old great-
great-great-grandfather there, over the mantelpiece, looks quite
blooming this morning.'

354 THE PICTURE BEDROOM.

" Alfred regarded the portrait of Sir Walter with some attention.

" ' Either my eyes deceive me/ he said, after a pause, f or there is
some change in the tints of that picture since yesterday ; the eyes,
the lips, and cheeks, have a hue of life and freshness, — in short, the
whole countenance appears to me brighter and more ruddy than
when we before examined it together.'

" Vane stared at his friend, and uttered something very like the
monosyllable ' fudge.'

'" And, do you know/ added Alfred with a little hesitation; fl
have a strong impression of having seen the original of that picture,
and that very lately, or — or else I must have dreamt it.'

" ' Possibly,' replied Vane drily, and the conversation dropped.

" It was not till towards evening, and after he had indulged in a
more liberal allowance than usual of old port, that the young baronet
recovered his cheerfulness ; then, at an early hour, and no ways
daunted by his want of rest on the preceding night, he a second
time retired to the Picture Bedroom. He was quickly unrobed and
in slumber, when, at about the middle of the night, he was awaken-
ed by a sharp pricking sensation in his throat ; on opening his eyes
he saw, or fancied he saw, through the gloom, a human face within
a foot of his own ; it was instantly withdrawn. The circumstance,
however, strangely enough, did not prove sufficient to arouse Al-
fred's energies, and he almost instantaneously sank again into a deep
lethargy. His appearance on the ensuing morning startled and
alarmed the kind-hearted Vane. Sir Alfred, however, would not sa-
tisfy the anxious enquiries of his friend ; all that could be drawn
from him was, that some mystery did actually exist in connection
with his apartment, which, at all risks, he was determined to fa-
thom. Meanwhile, such was his weakness and lassitude that Vane,
without consulting his inclination, despatched a servant to Canter-
bury for medical assistance.

" Mr. Shuffle (his name had once been a polysyllable) found Al-
fred stretched upon a sofa in a state of extreme debility ; he was
pronounced to be in a low fever, and Mr. Shuffle having promised to
" put him up a little something," was about to take his leave, when
his patient, apologising for mentioning such a trifle, called his atten-
tion to the mark in his neck. 'It was beginning/ he said, 'to give
him considerable inconvenience.' The spot being examined, two small
incisions were observed. Fifty different conjectures as to their origin
were advanced, all equally unsatisfactory ; while Mistress Annie,
'making that darker which was dark enough without/ positively de-
clared, that a similar wound in the same place had been visible on
the person of her former master. The opinion of Mr. Shuffle was
the one least liable to objection : he said, ' that as near as he could
guess, he could not tell what it was/ and there the matter rested.

" Unmoved by the remonstrances of his friend, and the supplica-
tions of the old housekeeper, Alfred persisted in his resolve of spend-
ing that night also alone, in the same apartment.

'•''It will be your death — it will, indeed/ blubbered Mistress
Annie, as the young man, with a brace of pistols tucked under his
arm, again ascended to the chamber above. Having carefully char-
ged his weapons, he secured both door and window, and next pro^
ceeded to examine if there was any concealed means of ingress. He
could discover, however, no trace of secret passage or sliding panel,

THE PICTURE BEDROOM. 355

and, at length satisfied with his search, placed his pistols on a
chair at the right-hand side of his bed, while he once more sought
his pillow. Weak and wearied as he was, he determined to spend
that night in watching, and test, as far as possible, the validity of
certain strange suspicions that weighed upon his mind.

" Eleven — twelve — one o'clock passed by in tedious quietness,
and Alfred was on the point of abandoning his design, when a slight
rattling of the casement caught his ear. One of the compartments
of the window opened slowly, and a muffled figure passed into the
apartment. Alfred's heart beat high ; the perspiration stood in cold
drops upon his brow ; he watched the figure in silence ; it glided
noiselessly along the left-hand wall; arrived at the fire-place — it
paused for an instant, and turned half round. At this moment the
full moon, bursting from behind a cloud, threw a flood of pale light
into the apartment, which illuminated the stranger, and the spot
upon which he was standing, immediately under the portrait of
4 The handsome Sir Walter :' a single glance at his features told Al-
fred that the picture and its original were at once before him. The
eyes of both intently fixed upon his own.

" The report of a pistol, and the noise of a heavy fall, soon brought
Harry Vane, armed with a poker, into the chamber. The ser-
vants also, each seizing the readiest weapon, hurried in the same
direction. The door was quickly forced, and there, on the ground,
with eyes starting from their sockets, and directed towards the
open window, lay Sir Alfred Thornton, his right hand still grasping
the discharged pistol. Some time elapsed ere a word could be
elicited from him. At length, having ordered the servants to retire,
he told the above tale to his bewildered guest. In continuation, he
informed him fthat the man, ghost, devil, or whatever he might
be, had proceeded to advance to his bedside, till, unable to restrain
himself farther, he started up, and grasped his pistol, the figure
fled precipitately towards the window, but, ere it reached it, he
had tired. ' My hand and eye are, as you know, pretty steady/ he
said.

" ' Both have, however, failed you for once,' interrupted Vane.
e Look yonder at the picture ; you have played the devil with a
splendid Vandyke, but I doubt your having damaged any other re-
presentative of your illustrous ancestor/ And there, assuredly,
through the very centre of the forehead of the portrait had the bullet
passed. This fact, which appeared to explain the whole affair to
Vane, who ascribed it to the effect of a feverish dream, involved
Alfred in fresh perplexity. ' He had,' he said, ' from the smoke, and
from falling entangled by the clothes as he endeavoured to spring
from his bed, been unable to mark the exit of the intruder ; but of
his entrance into the room he was sure, and the open window seem-
ed to corroborate the statement.

" To retire to rest again was, of course, not to be thought of; in-
deed Vane, sceptic as he was, began to be shaken in his incredulity.
Discussion, however, was at the moment interrupted by the distant
report of fire-arms. Some ten or a dozen shots were heard in rapid
succession, and, shortly after, a knocking at the garden-gates. Ad-
mittance was craved on the part of Lieutenant Smith of the Coast-
Guard, and of course readily granted.

" The officer, a short, stout, little gentleman, in a naval cap and

356 THE PICTURE BEDROOM.

pilot coat, together with several of his men, was ushered into the
extensive hall. A cheerful fire was soon blazing, and abun-
dance of solid refreshment produced. Lieutenant Smith, having
taken off the edge of his appetite by devouring a pound and a half
of cold meat, and some three pints of ale, pulled off his cap, stretched
his legs (they needed it), and proceeded to inform his host that he
had ventured so far inland in search of certain contrabandists, of
whose rendezvous at the neighbouring churchyard of Charlton he
had received information ; that the rascals had given him the slip,
and escaped, a few shots being interchanged rather as a matter of
compliment than anything else. e However/ added the stout Smith,
' at sunrise we will search the spot, and see if our precipitate friends
have in their hurry left anything behind them/

" In the course of the examination to which the pretty little
churchyard was subjected in the morning, one of the seamen observ-
ed a door at the bottom of two or three steps, directly under the
chancel- window, to be ajar ; it was apparently the entrance to a
vault, and clearly no bad -hiding-place for the sort of goods of which
they were in search. An exclamation from the man drew to the
spot Vane and Sir Alfred, who were present at the inquisition.

" * They have been disturbing our family vault/ exclaimed the lat-
ter, as he hastily descended the steps. On the ground surrounded by
mouldering coffins, each containing some forgotten member of the
house of Thornton, lay the body of a man, wrapped in a horseman's
cloak ; he was lying upon his face, and stretched across the marble
slab that marked the earthly resting-place of the Sir Walter so often
mentioned. On turning him round, a frightful wound in the fore-
head, which disfigured the whole countenance, was visible.

" ' Stiff — decidedly stiff/ remarked the Lieutenant oracularly; ' a
chance shot must have taken him as he was creeping out of his hole.
Here, wipe the blood from the scoundrel's face some of ye. Umph !
not a bad- looking fellow, by Jove ! But, bless me, Sir Alfred, what 's
the matter ? ' Alfred, after gazing earnestly on the distorted coun-
tenance of the corpse, had fallen senseless into the arms of his com-
panion.

" Two months after the occurrence just related, an invalid, who
had been evidently suffering under severe illness, might have been
seen pacing the terrace of the Donjon walk at Canterbury. He was
accompanied and supported by a young man of stronger frame, and
the two were engaged in earnest conversation.

" ' Your arguments are useless, Harry/ said Sir Alfred Thornton,
— for it was he. ' No — no ; I would that I could be persuaded ;
but those features are too indelibly fixed upon my memory to allow
of the possibility of doubt.'

" Well, I plead guilty myself to tracing, or fancying that I traced,
some kind of resemblance to the portrait/ replied Vane ; * but your
notion is the wildest I ever met with. You know, my dear fellow, it
is impossible — it can't be. As Smith observed, the man must have
received the shot while ascending the steps to follow his compa-
nions. Nay, even admitting the existence of that most horrible of
all supernatural visitants, a '

" ' Hold — hold, for Heaven's sake ! ' exclaimed his friend ; ' specu-
lations are idle. It is a subject which I shrink from contemplating,
and, if you love me, Vane, it will be henceforth dropped for ever.' "

A REVERIE. 357

Mr. Singleton paused. A dead silence endured for upwards of a
minute. The little boys and girls looked first at their uncle, then at
one another. At length Emily, in a most subdued tone, ventured
to enquire, " Is that all ? "

" Yes, that 's all," replied Mr. Singleton ; '< so get down, and pour
me out a glass of wine, that 's a darling ! "

" Odd," said Mr. Singleton, senior.

" Very strange ! " said his wife. " Pray, Gregory, how was the
affair explained ? "

' ' It never was explained," replied Gregory ; " but both Vane and
Sir Alfred Thornton — at least the gentlemen to whom I have given
those names — are still alive. That portion, however, of Heatherstone
Hall, which contained the Picture Bedroom, has since been burnt
down, and, as no claim was ever made upon any insurance office, it
has been inferred that the fire was not altogether accidental."

fc Very unaccountable," muttered Mrs. Singleton.

" It is odd — very odd," repeated her spouse.

"Devil take me if I can understand it!" ejaculated the son of
Mars. " What do you think, uncle ? "

ec Why, Fred," replied Uncle Gregory gravely, " I would rather
not express an opinion upon the point."

" Pshaw ! " returned Fred. " What do you say, Doctor ? What 's
your opinion ? "

" Ah ! what is your opinion ? " asked the Paterfamilias ; in which
he was backed by an inquiring glance from his lady.

" What does Dr. Doddle say ?" echoed all the little olive-branches,
— every eye was upon the Professor.

" Why," said the Doctor with deliberation, " the matter has, I
confess, its difficulties, which it would be tedious to go into; but my
own way of accounting for this strange occurrence is, — that it is a
confounded lie from beginning to end."

A REVERIE.

BY J. A.. WADE.

RAPT in a solitude of scene and thought,
Where not a sound but Nature's calmest voice,
Or pulse of life, was heard ; upon a bank
That shelv'd adown a forest, then begun
To stretch its giant limbs in further growth,
Nursed by the genial spring, I laid me down,
And had sweet converse with the dreamy sprites
That visit men in sleep. Before mine eyes,
Shut to this world, most sylvan visions danced,
While on mine ear a low, sweet descant breathed
One moment gentle as the wind-lute's sigh,
Anon, in madness, sweeping hurried strains,
Like a prophetic bard's in frenzy lost !
Again, soft tinkling rivulets were heard,
And now, deep rumbling far, a cataract
Held on its sullen bass, and fill'd with dread
The intervals of softer sounds.

358

Come, let 's look at your face, my dear.'

AN IMPUDENT MONKEY.

RINGTAIL CHATTAR, Esquire, of — any Lodge, in any county where
he can get board, is one of the finest specimens of the impudent
monkey extant. His mental perception is as insensible to a hint
that he is de trap, as his body is to a kick ; the first having been
fruitlessly tried in ordinary cases, and the latter when those who have
got " bored " by him have been compelled to proceed to extremities,
and propel him in to-to !

He wonders what the deuce people " would have," but never
imagines what they " would not have ;" for that they want to be rid
of him, neither his inordinate vanity nor his personal convenience
will for a moment allow. Then he is so very agreeable ! and the
organ of imitation is so largely developed in his simious sconce, that
he confidently believes he can do anything and — anybody !

With the fair sex he considers himself irresistible, and imperti-
nently peers under every passing bonnet ; nay, should any unbon-
netted soubrette be skipping along before him, on some " domestic
errand bound," he familiarly taps her on the shoulder with, " Come,
let 's look at your face, my dear ! " and neither ugliness nor the
frown of displeasure, which he so frequently encounters in return,
have the power to deter him from a repetition of the same imperti-

AN IMPUDENT MONKEY. 359

nence ; for even if the challenged face be " ordinary/' he is confident
that it will turn to a handsome one — turning to his !

No one employs a tailor with less money or more "brass," or gets
into his books with a better grace.

Come what will, he knows that he has nothing to lose ; and this
" knowledge is power "indeed to him, and gives a tone of independ-
ence to his air and manner that, if not dignified, is, to say the least
of it, very — imposing !

He never skulks out of the way of a confiding or a dunning cre-
ditor ; nay, if he thinks he is observed by one of these innocents,
(which he generally does, believing himself to be the " observed of
all observers,") he boldly crosses over, and meets him nez a nez, —
changes with him a quantity of small talk in the most flattering and
agreeable manner, and generally finishes by saying, " By the by,
Sniggins, I shall beat home this evening — just drop in about ten. I
must sport a new pair of mud-pipes ; and if you have anything stand-
ing against me, bring an account, and I'll settle it at the same
time ! "

This, of course, is all gratuitous mendacity, for he neither wants
new boots nor wishes to disburse ; and if the too- confiding l( sutor "
should repair to his ready-furnished lodgings, (which he changes
about twice a-month, for want of change /) he learns that Ringtail
Chattar, Esquire, has gone to the opera, or to the Honourable Mrs.
Such-a-one's rout ; and the only satisfaction the poor fellow reaps
is the thought engendered by this second " enormous lying," that
his customer must really be " somebody," and may probably recom-
mend him to some " nobs " of his acquaintance for his scientific
" cut," — little dreaming, poor fool ! that he is bamboozled by
one who is himself a distinguished professor of the sublime art of
—cutting !

He is a great judge of horses, (his father having been an under
ostler at a livery stables, where little Master Ringtail Chattar was
permitted in bad weather to exercise the stud in the " ride,") and
being complete master of the " slang," (which is of greater ser-
vice in an introduction to the sporting part of the aristocracy
than a knowledge of the classics,) the low-born stable-boy finds
himself quite " hand and glove " with many of the* — equestrian
order !

Both in Hyde Park and Regent's Park he may frequently be seen
perched on the driving-seat of a buggy or stanhope, or lolling in a
cabriolet, " tooling " the " tits " with all the dexterity and air of the
proprietor of the <f crack turn-out ;" whereas he is only " handling
the ribands " for some novice, who is but too proud to have the ho-
nour of his company, and above all his valuable opinion of the
" concern," in the praise of which he is technically lavish, especially
if (as frequently happens) he has been the instigator of the purchase,
there being a mutual " understanding " existing between him and
the honourable " dealer." This trade, indeed, seldom fails him ; for
there is always a crop of young gentlemen so ardent in the pursuit
of that knowledge, of which Ringtail Chattar, Esq. is an acknow-
ledged professor, that their credulity is a " mine " of wealth, in the
working of which the aforesaid young gentlemen incontestably prove
themselves — minors ! In fact, in the expressive phraseology of the
" ride," every " green " is infallibly " done brown."

360 AN IMPUDENT MONKEY.

There is a curious and sometimes very becoming effect produced
on the physiognomies of some people, called " putting them to the
blush," — an effect to which the amiable countenance of Ringtail
Chattar, Esq. is as perfectly insensible as a — brass warming-pan !
In fine, his effrontery is equal to his egotism, and his manoeuvring
(" tipping 'em the double/' as he terms it) equal to both.

He was one rainy day watching the drops coursing each other
down the panes of his sitting-room window, and mentally betting
with himself upon the issue of the pluvial race, when two men
stopped directly opposite, and staring up at the house, transfixed
him as effectually as if their eyes possessed the charm of the rattle-
snake.

A single glance was more than enough for his quick perception ;
for, in the smaller one he instantly recognized the diminutive figure
of an unfortunate ' ' mirth " whom he had " let in," and kept out of
his money to the extent of some forty pounds sterling money of
Great Britain ; and who had worn out his shoe-leather and his pa-
tience in vainly seeking an interview and a settlement : while, in the
larger form, his practised eye at once distinguished the horrible fea-
tures of one of those pests of society known as bailiffs !

Evasion or escape was vain. He could not be "not at home;"
that was impossible (although he certainly felt himself " quite
abroad " ) ; so he put a good face upon the matter, and, nodding at
the man of measures, he beckoned him Avith apparent impatience,
and, as the man and his grim companion mounted the stairs, met him
at the door of the room.

" I 'm werry sorry, Mr. Chattar," began the tailor, with some
hesitation.

" Make no apologies," interrupted Chattar. " Pray be seated,
sir" (to the bailiff). " Numps, take a chair. Why the devil
didn't you come in the cab, tho' ? "

" The cab, sir ? "

" Yes ; I sent that booby of mine above half an hour ago for
you."

The tailor stared.

" Come ; won't you and your friend wet your whistles ? " and he
poured out a bumper of port for each ; " and now, let 's to busi-
ness."

" Yes, sir," and I 'm werry sorry," again commenced Numps.
1 " So am I," interrupted Chattar ; " but there 's a ' salve for every
sore,' you know, Numps ; and, though he certainly was a tolerably
kind uncle in some things, he stinted me terribly. The fact is,
I've been confoundedly straitened for want of the ' ready;' but
everything is for the best ; and I shall feel the benefit of it all now,
for, I understand, the old boy has left me a tolerable round sum ; so
I have no reason to complain."

Numps hemmed and coughed, and puzzled his brains in vain to
make out what his customer was driving at.

"Now, although," continued Chattar, "I shall be obliged to live
nearly the whole year upon the estate, I shall not cut London en-
tirely ; and, as you are the very best fit that ever handled a pair of
shears, I shall stick by you. You shall make the liveries, too ; but
we '11 talk about that by and by. We must first put nunkey under
the turf, and, therefore, the mourning is the first thing. I suppose

AN IMPUDENT MONKEY. 361

you can send one of your youths down to the Lodge ; or, stay, my
fellow and he can go down in the buggy together to-morrow ; for it
may be considered more respectful by the old fogies, if I travel
post."

The poor tailor looked amazed and confounded. He was com-
pletely " taken aback " by the new prospect which so suddenly
opened upon his dazzled vision. He already wished his " friend
(the bailiff) at the bottom of the sea,"

Chattar read his thoughts in a twinkling. He saw the favourable
turn, and determined to push forward at all hazards.

" If you are not particularly engaged with this gentleman," con-
tinued he, " perhaps you will spare me a quarter of an hour of your
valuable time, and we can arrange the business at once j for I have
really so much to do, that the sooner this is ' off my hands ' the
better. By the by, I am already a trifle in your debt ? "

" Don't mention it, sir, I beg," said the unfortunate dupe.
" Trigg," continued he, winking hard at the bailiff, " p'raps, you '11
call upon that 'ere gent, (a very expressive wink) in Regent
Street, and tell him about the business, you know, and meet me at
home, and I '11 make it all right with you." And, opening the door,
he let out the bailiff with all- possible despatch, trembling at the
supposed risk he had run of offending a valuable customer.

" How 's cash with you, Numps ? " asked the tantalising Chattar.

<f Why, sir, if so be the truth must be told, we are rayther shortish
at this present time o' the year," replied Numps.

fs Well, then, as I am flush, and this will be rather a heavy job,
I '11 rub off the old score at once ; and, when we have made the cal-
culations of what the new ' togs ' for the ' flunkies ' will come to, I '11
advance you the money, if it will be any accommodation ! "

" O ! sir, really," cried the grateful " sufferer," quite overpower-
ed by this graciousness, " I shall never be able to make you no
amends for this here."

" Nonsense ! " appropriately interrupted Chattar. " You 've known
me in my difficulties, and you have always had the delicacy never to
bore me. I hate a dun ! Numps, I consider you have now a right
to my patronage. Come, take another glass, and let 's to business."

Alas, poor Numps ! he went home hot with villainous port at one
and elevenpence halfpenny per bottle, and happy in the delusion
that he had got <f sich a werry nice gentleman-like, for a customer ;
so free — so everythink as a tradesman could wish for," as he told
his rib.

The next morning, according to appointment, he went gaily for
the expected draft upon Mr. Chattar's bankers. But the bird had
flown ! Yes, to the tailor's inexpressible horror, the enemy had
made a retreat instead of an advance !

ALFRED CROWQUILL.

362
THE TWO COUSINS.

BY G. E. INMAN.

THE sun was just dawning on a summer morning, early in the
sixteenth century, when two young nobles, Luigi and Ugo Arrighetti,
staggered out of a tavern in Florence.

" What cursed ill luck ! " said the former to his cousin, after a
pause. " Not a dollar left ! "

" And what the foul fiend can'st thou expect ? Playing 'gainst
professed gamblers, cool, wary, and calculating ; and thou, hot-head-
ed at all times, now more than ever so with wine ! "

" By Mary Mother ! " returned Luigi, with drunken solemnity,
" I am as sober at this moment as — as — whoso dares deny it is a fool
and a liar ! — and there 's my gage ! " And so saying, he hurled down
his glove.

Ugo had taken him by the arm, and they were about to pass on,
when a hungry cur prowling about snatched up the glove, and was
making off with it. Luigi whipped out his sword, crying,

" What ho ! thou whoreson hound ! — thou to take up a gentle-
man's challenge ! There 's that will teach thee manners ! " And
running the blade through the beast's body, he turned with a loud
laugh to his companion, and walked on.

Luigi and Ugo Arrighetti were cousins ; but the friendship they
bore each other surpassed even that of brothers. They were inse-
parable. Though differing in tempers, they sympathized in tastes ;
and, although unequal in fortune, Luigi, the younger, being im-
mensely rich, and Ugo comparatively poor, still this made no dis-
tinction. The expenses of the course of dissipation which they to-
gether carried on were defrayed peremptorily by the wealthier.
The circumstance that Ugo, if he outlived his cousin, would become
his heir, probably rendered this arrangement palatable.

As they now walked on together, Luigi muttered to himself, et A
dog ! the blood of a dog ! — a gentleman's sword defiled by the blood
of a mangy cur ! Marry, it shall no longer disgrace my side, or that
of any one else ! "

So saying, he snapped the bloody weapon across his knee, and
hurled the fragments on a dunghill hard by.

" Mary Mother ! " cried his companion, " if you go on in this way,
you ought to be made of money. Three thousand ducats yonder,
and a Spanish blade worth a hundred ! 'Tis too extravagant ! "

" Too extravagant ! — tush, man ! " rejoined his half-drunken com-
panion. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Why, I have gold enough in yon old
tower of mine to buy all Florence, — men, women, and children, —
souls, bodies and all ! "

" Thou ? — thou 'rt dreaming, man ! How couldst thou get the gold
thou speak'st of? Thy father was rich, I know well, but not to that
extent."

" He never displayed it," said Luigi ; and after a pause, he conti-
nued, in the warmth of his heart, " Ugo, I think I may trust thee. I
was bidden never to mention its existence to any one ; but to thee I
will — yes, I will even show my treasures. Follow me."

They had arrived at the little gate of one of those towers which

THE TWO COUSINS. 363

the turbulence of the dark ages had rendered necessary to every
palazzo for its protection. The two Arrighettis entered, and, mount-
ing a small winding staircase, which went entirely round inside, ar-
rived at last at the door of the highest chamber ; Luigi opened it,
and they entered.

It was a small square vaulted room, lighted by barred apertures
on three sides ; on the fourth, instead of a window, was a kind of
mausoleum of white marble ; from two slabs or panels of the same
material, but black, in front of it, a handle of alabaster projected.
In front of this cabinet was a platform of coloured marble, about
four feet square, and raised half a foot from the floor. On its edge
were engraven words in Latin to this effect, " This monument was
erected by the cunning workman Andreas," and in the same line,
but evidently added afterwards, the words, " for himself! "

Luigi stepped upon the platform, and putting his hand on a small
knob in one of the ornaments cut in the monument, the doors flew
open with a spring, and displayed to Ugo a small chamber, literally
piled up with gold. Luigi smiled at his amazement, and closing the
doors, exclaimed, " Said I not true, my bold heart ? Said I not
true, Messer Ugo ? " Then taking him by the arm, he prepared to
go down.

Ugo stood still, as though stupified with wonderment. At last
he said,

" Good God ! Luigi, this is astonishing ! But how came it here ?
Who first gathered together all this wealth ? "

" That I know not ; but it has descended to us through several
generations. On my father's death, the secret was found among his
papers, under a sealed cover, addressed to me. You would also have
found it among mine, on my decease."

*' 'Tis strange ! " said Ugo. " But how easy, too, for it to be
stolen ! "

" Not so, my friend," said Luigi, " unless you know the secret.
Now, Ugo, give me your left hand, and as you stand here with your
sword, just touch that alabaster handle, which appears to open the
doors. But first, do not be nervous."

As Ugo touched the handle the doors flew open, and at the same
moment the marble platform fell down like a flap, and displayed to
the cousins an immense pit, wherein- were revolving in every direc-
tion, by some dreadful machinery, an innumerable quantity of sword-
blades fixed on pivots — an oubliette.

Ugo shuddered, and clung to his cousin in an agony of dread. The
horrible abyss remained open for a few seconds, and then closed
again.

"And who devised this fearful place? " asked Ugo.

" I know not ; but the legend runs that it was executed at the
command of one of our ancestry by a machinist named Andreas, as
the inscription here tells us ; that the lord, when it was finished,
fearing lest the workman might divulge the secret, took the oppor-
tunity of touching the knob while he stood upon the slab ; and thus
Andreas died by his own invention — a second Phalaris."

Ugo stood looking on in mute terror. " Heavens ! " he said, " that
a man could, have the heart to execute such a design ! "

He still did not move. He stood absorbed in thought. The
sword hanging listlessly in his hand.

364 THE TWO COUSINS.

" "Pis as wonderful a piece of mechanism as it is dreadful ! " con-
tinued Luigi. " You see it is as firm now as when I stood on it the
first time 1 opened the hoard ! " and again he stepped on the plat-
form.

A thought passed like lightning through the brain of Ugo.

" How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes ill deeds done ! "

Ugo rushed out of the tower like a madman.

He was ALONE !

In the course of the day the dead body of Luigi, dreadfully man-
gled, was discovered in the Arno, — into which river the oubliette de-
scended. His broken sword and single glove had been before found
in the street, near the tavern at which he had spent the evening.
Blood had been found on the pavement. It was conjectured that he
had been engaged in some drunken quarrel, and, overpowered by
numbers, been murdered ; and a murder was too common in those
days to excite much attention. The zeal with which Ugo apparently
sought the discovery of his dear friend's murderer, removed all sus-
picion of his own guilt. The affair dropped, and he entered upon
his kinsman's titles and estates with undisputed honour.

But he was no longer the same man. It was not so much remorse
as horror which ate into his heart : for the commission of the crime
was as much repented of as it was unpremeditated. There are mo-
ments when men have been irresistibly impelled to do wrong,
despite their better feeling. Ugo's crime was one of those moments.
It was as though the DEVIL had BODILY bade him do it.

His life had now become a life of misery !

He was rich, and consequently courted. He was a bachelor, con-
sequently feted. Still he hjmself was miserable, and fondly deemed
any change must prove an alleviation. He married.

His wife was of a family both rich and proud ; of a temper natu-
rally imperious, rendered yet more so by the recollection of Ugo's
former poverty, and the inattention with which he now treated her.
She played the part of an incarnate demon.

He was more miserable than ever !

At the commencement of the second year of their marriage the
Lady Arrighetti died after a short illness, leaving her husband one
daughter, named Costanza.

The little girl grew up under the care of her father — a darling, of
course. She did what she liked : she went where she liked : she
enjoyed herself as she liked : she was the one only solace to the mur-
derer's scathed heart.

When about seven years of age she had watched her father con-
tinually going to and fro to the Dark Tower. One afternoon she fol-
lowed him up the staircase ; and creeping softly up, saw him filling
bags with gold from the dreadful treasury. Ugo was busy removing
the coin into the vaults of the Palazzo. He worked at it strenuous-
ly for many weeks, until every piece of metal was stowed in the
cellars. He then closed the old tower for ever. Ugo died, raving
mad, at a time when his daughter was just on the point of being
married to a distant relation of the Arrighetti family. The wedding
was, of course, postponed for a time.

The discovery of the immense wealth concealed in the cellars of

TONIS AD RESTO MARE. 365

her late father naturally caused considerable surprise at the time.
Costanza was the more overjoyed at it as it gave her lover, or rather
affianced husband, a surprise ! She had another in store for him !

Months had elapsed, and Costanza and her beloved were man and
wife. " Dearest," said she to him one afternoon, " I have a secret to
tell you. You know what wealth was found in my father's cellars.
What would you give me for showing thee ten times as much ? "

" I would give it all to thee back," said the young bridegroom,
" for one of thy sweet kisses."

" What nonsense, Guglielmo," answered the bride, laughing. " I
tell you I am in earnest. At the top of that old closed-up tower of
ours there is an immensity of wealth. I peeped through the key-
hole one day, when I was a little girl, and I saw my father counting
it over."

" Nonsense — nonsense, Costanza ! " said her husband. " Woman's
curiosity. The tower has been shut up so many years, and you have
never seen it, and want to see what it is like. Is not that it, love ? "

" I have never seen it ! " said Costanza, rather angrily. — " Never
been up that tower ! Dear Guglielmo, 'twas but a week or two af-
ter I went up, and saw him busy with the gold, as I told you, that he
had it closed. The servants said that ghosts, and such like nonsense,
haunted it ; but I think he caught me peeping, and did not choose
that I should know anything more of his hoards there than of those
in the vaults."

" Costanza, woman's curiosity ! " said her husband, holding his
finger up to her reproachfully and laughingly.

" Put it down to woman's curiosity, if you will," said his young
wife, laughing ; " but give me my will for once, sweet, and then, if
you do not reward me handsomely, foul befal thy generosity."

Guglielmo kissed his wife, and bade lights be brought, with the
keys of the Old Tower.

Arm in arm they ascended the circular staircase ! They entered
the topmost room ! They stepped on the marble platform ! They
touched the spring ! The treasury doors sprung open ! It was
empty !

And the bodies of Guglielmo and Costanza were next day

found in the Arno !

TONIS AD RESTO MARE.

O MARE aeva si forme, Ah me ve ara scilicet,

Forme ure tonitru ; Vi laudu vimen thus ?

lambicum as amandum, Hiatu as arandum sex, —

Olet Hymen promptu : Illuc lonicus.
Mihi is vetas an ne se,

As humano erebi ; Heu sed heu vix en imago,

Olet mecum marito te, Mi missis mare sta :

Or eta beta pi. O cantu redit in mihi

Hibernas arida ?

Alas piano more meretrix, A veri vafer heri si,

Mi ardor vel uno ; Mihi resolves indu ;

Inferiam ure artis base, Totius olet Hymen cum, —

Tolerat me urebo : Accepta tonitru.

S. W.

VOL. VII. 2 D

366
THE SOUL-AGENT.

A GERMAN ROMANCE.

CHAPTER I.
" Hijre viel— glaube wenig ! "

IN WHICH THE HEROINE AND HER PARENT ARE INTRODUCED AND

DESCRIBED.

ON the summit of a savage-looking rock, raggedly arborified with
larch and pine, which gave it the appearance of a rude gigantic head,
with dishevelled hair and untrimmed whiskers, stood the castle of
the hard-headed, ill-favoured, and deep-drinking Baron von Fels-
kopf.

Felskopf had been a soldier of fortune, and accumulated a hand-
some property during the wars, by the unflinching exercise of might
over right. He had, moreover, won the hand of a fair Saxon lady,
and lost an eye. Some of his neighbours were charitable enough to
attribute his excessive libations to this cause, — we mean the loss of
his eye, — averring that he thereby compensated his misfortune by
continually being in a state to see double with his solitary optic.

He was a harsh master, and a strict disciplinarian, — one of those
who would ruthlessly hang an old dog when he had lost his teeth in
his service. Then he had been so hammered during his campaigns,
that he was as hard as a piece of flint. He used to boast of his being
a philosopher ; but the fact is, his stoicism was the result of insensi-
bility. If any attempt were made to excite his sympathy for an-
other's woe, he would laugh outright, quaintly closing his monocular
window, and exclaiming,

" Fire away ! — volley after volley ! — all in vain ! Baron von Fels-
kopf is flint — FLINT ! What ! are men's miseries strong mustard or
onions, forsooth ! that they should draw tears from me ? Bah ! "

Such was this redoubtable baron, who had a daughter, — an only
daughter of course ! — whose angel mother yielded up her gentle
spirit in giving birth to this pledge — of a most unhappy union — of
course ! "

Adeline was — Reader ! have you ever been in the palace of the
Graf Leopold Kreutzler of Nuremburg ? — in the forecourt of that
delightful abode of wit, learning, and urbanity, — in the very centre
of that forecourt stands a chef-d'ceuvre from the chisel of Mentz, re-
presenting a hideous marine monster supporting a sea-born Venus,
the whole skilfully wrought from a single block ! — Adeline was that
Venus, Felskopf was that monster ! — and yet fantastic nature had
hewn them from the same block !

CHAPTER II.

"Was willst du heute fiir ein Fest bereiten, dass du so friihe dein Korbchen voll
Blumen sammelst ? "

ADELINE EARLY ABROAD, AND THE BARON QUITE ABROAD.

THE jolly sun had scarcely peeped forth from the cloudy curtains
of his bed when the light-footed Adeline was brushing the dew from

THE SOUL-AGENT. 867

the grass in the garden of her father's castle, skipping among the gay
parterres of variegated flowers, and plucking here a flower and there
a flower to make up a nosegay, in all the innocent simplicity of a
young fawn seeking its matutinal meal.

The trilling lark was soaring above her head, and singing his ma-
tins at Heaven's gate, and — but what did Adeline abroad so early ?
Gentle reader ! if you had seen the beauteous maiden throw back
her flaxen tresses, and cast her fair blue eyes towards that aerial
songster as he rose and rose higher and higher into the etherial
expanse, you would have at once concluded that she went thither —
for a lark !

Scarcely had Adeline completed her posy, when a youth of most
respectable appearance suddenly advanced from an adjoining shrub-
bery, and extending his hand, simply said,

" Adeline ! "

" Albrecht ! " as simply replied the maiden, while the blush that
mantled on her cheek was instantaneously reflected in his.

They both, no doubt, possessed great skill in palmistry ; for the
mutual touch manual seemed as satisfactory as a dialogue, and they
walked in silence for some minutes, or if they did talk, it was cer-
tainly with their fingers.

Now it was the custom when the lord of the castle arose, to go
forth to sound the great bell, that all his vassals might be gathered
at their prescribed posts to do his bidding ; for when his authoritative
voice thundered through his halls, he expected his menials to fly
about as bright and .quick as so many flashes of lightning.

Whether Adeline's companion was startled or offended by the
abruptness of the clang it is impossible to say ; but certain it is that
their parting was as sudden as it was unceremonious ; and, strange
to say, (youths do take odd freaks into their heads !) instead of
walking through the castle-gate, as beseemed a gentleman of his
figure, he scudded hurry-scurry over the garden wall with all the
celerity of a naughty male puss, when some back-door or window is
suddenly thrown open by some incensed inmate, unseasonably dis-
turbed by the cacophonous caterwauling !

" What ! you are afield betimes, girl," cried the Baron, who had
come forth to cool his feverish brow in the morning breeze. " Flowers,
too ! Why, what festival 's a-foot ? "

Adeline blushed as he glanced with his sinister eye full upon her
intelligent countenance, the index of her mind, and skipping beside
him, she playfully took his right arm, (his blind side !) and inno-
cently replied,

" No festival, dear papa. I 've gathered a nosegay for your but-
ton-hole."

" For my pocket-hole, I should think," answered the Baron, as he
took the huge bouquet, and grimly smiled with delight at the un-
premeditated stroke of wit. " But you must not rise so early, girl ;
it 'a damp, damp ! Don 't touch a flint like me."

" The morning is so fresh, and the flowers are so fragrant, that
their breath woos me forth," said the gentle Adeline.

" Pooh ! you 've got all that nonsense out of some book. I never
read — never could — only fit for monks. Fighting, hunting, and
drinking are the only occupations for a nobleman. There 's Albrecht,
— an excellent shot, rifle or pistol, and sits a horse like a man, — he 's

2 D 2

368 THE SOUL-AGENT.

a liking for books, more 's the pity. Had he followed my example,
he 'd have had more plunder."

(Now plunder was Felskopf 's expressive word for wealth, derived
from his own practical experience upon the subject, and indubitably
most applicable to his own worldly possessions.)

Adeline said nothing, but she sighed inaudibly ; a feeling of sor-
row, no doubt, arising in her gentle bosom that she differed from her
parent in her estimation of literature, for she was a pattern of filial
affection.

" Ludwig von Krassenheim feeds with me to-day. A fine youth
that, and one of the richest barons in the neighbourhood, Adeline.
Our estates join, too. I should like — Well, we'll see. I 'm an old
soldier, and think I can carry on the war as well as any that ever
took the field. I should like to meet the man who could outflank
me, that 's all. I '11 turn that baron to account, or — "

He stopped, and fell into a reverie, and so did Adeline ; for the
said Baron Ludwig von Krassenheim was a perfect dolt, with neither
wit nor accomplishments ; and well might the maid wonder at her
sire's expectations of turning the Baron to account — one so really
barren in every sense.

CHAPTER III.

" Voile Taschen, voile Flaschen !
Doppelklang so hell und rein !
Lichtes Silber, goldner Wein ! "

THE PROPOSAL.

THE young Baron von Krassenheim possessed the palate of Helio-
gabalus, and the capacity of a dinner-devouring burgermeister, while
in the matter of absorption he was a veritable human sponge of the
first magnitude, and could have seen old Silenus under the table —
had he been there !

Felskopf had long reconnoitred the weak points in the object of
Tiis intended attack, and so arranged his forces, that he felt confident
of success. With his one eye he superintended the operations in the
castle kitchen, and threatened to spit the cook if he failed in pro-
ducing such a dinner as must inevitably win the favour and applause
of his fastidious guest.

The hour at length arrived, and with it the most punctual Lud-
wig, eager for the feast. Odoriferously inviting were the savoury
steams that tickled his broad and leonine nostrils even at the portal.
The anticipatory and involuntary smack of his broad lips rang ap-
provingly through the halls of Felskopf.

The delighted host rushed forward, and pressed his visiter to his
flinty bosom. Ludwig was really flattered by his reception, and
when the dishes were uncovered, felt a conviction that Felskopf was
really a chum after his own heart.

They dined perfectly tete-a-tete ; a circumstance most agreeable to
the young Baron, who abhorred the idea of wasting the precious
moments in bandying compliments with any lord or lady at the
board. A whole hour was spent in the unremitting exercise of their
molares ; and what pen can describe their gastronomical perform-
ances ? — unless, courteous reader, thou shouldest have perchance

THE SOUL-AGENT. 369

beheld a couple of elephants lunching off a bushel of cabbages — for
such was truly the avidity of the demolition.

When a boa-constrictor is gorged with his prey, the hunter may
safely handle him. Upon this principle the wily Felskopf worked
his artillery. When they had emptied the sixth flask of wine, the
Baron began to talk of his estate, the improvements he proposed,
and then abruptly exclaimed, with an affectation of sentiment, " But,
alas ! I have no son to inherit my property."

" True/' replied Ludwig ; and he put down his unfinished glass,
an indubitable sign that he was becoming interested in the topic
under discussion.

Felskopf then slily insinuated the many advantages both real and
personal which Adeline possessed, and expressed a wish that some
worthy individual would seek her hand.

Ludwig filled a silver beaker to the brim, and standing up, drained
it off to the health of the fair Adeline.

" My noble young friend," cried Felskopf, rising upon his legs,
and grasping the hand of Ludwig, " you do her honour, and her
father too."

" Felskopf ! " exclaimed Ludwig, in his turn bolting on end, ' ' there
is none whom I esteem more highly than yourself;" and having
pressed the horny palm of the Baron, resumed his seat.

" Krassenheim ! " emphatically cried Felskopf. But why repeat
the alternate rise and fall of the two Barons? Suffice it to say, that
after playing at this " see-saw " for a full half hour, until Ludwig
was sufficiently prepared to receive the intimation, Felskopf offered
him his daughter in marriage ; and the delighted spark was so over-
come with gratitude and hock, that his speech and his legs both
failed him at once, and he rolled under the table.

Felskopf could scarcely believe his one eye, — this disappearance of
his intended son-in-law was so sudden. With an unsteady hand he
seized a candle from the table to look after him.

" My dear friend ! Ludwig — my — "

His imperfect speech could no further go, his head spun round
like a whirligig, and Felskopf fell flop ! — sprawling on the floor,
crushing the candle beneath him.

CHAPTER IV.

" Es ist der Fehler des Junglings, sich immer fur gliicklicher und ungliicklicher
zu halten als er ist."

A LOVER BESIDE HIMSELF.

" WHAT is the matter, my dear master ? " demanded Wilhelm, the
faithful and confidential valet of Baron Albrecht, who was pacing up
and down his chamber, thumping his handsome brow, and playing a
thousand other fantastic tricks, which young people are sometimes
wont to do when their sanguine wishes are unexpectedly thwarted.

" O Adeline ! Adeline ! " exclaimed Albrecht.

" The wind 's in that quarter, is it ? " muttered Wilhelm. " Has
she proved false ? "

" False ! " roared Albrecht, seizing his follower by the collar.
" Who dare accuse her of falsehood ? — she who is a paragon of
truth, fidelity, and purity of soul ! "

Wilhelm gazed coolly and compassionately upon his troubled

370 THE SOUL-AGENT.

master ; he offered no remonstrance, and the thunderbolt of rage
which threatened to annihilate him was averted.

" Wilhelm, she is betrothed to that dolt Krassenheim, — sacrificed
by her own father 1 "

" What ! couple the dove with the owl ? It cannot be, — it shall
not be ! " exclaimed Wilhelm firmly. " Be cool, my dear master.
You hold the winning card in your own hand, and it will be your
own fault if you lose the game."

" You encourage me, Wilhelm," said the distracted lover.

" And I will assist you, too," replied Wilhelm. " My wit against
his stupidity, — and that 's a long odds, — if the fox don't overreach
the calf, Tiang me in my own garters, that 's all. I '11 play the devil
with him ; I '11 — - ha ! a bright thought just strikes me ! Give me
till to-morrow morning, and if I miss my mark, call me weasel, rat,
and poison me ! I 've not passed ten years in a university for no-
thing; and if I don't work up this hank of raw flax into a ladder of
ropes for you, I '11 be hanged ! "

The boldness of Wilhelm revived the drooping lover > and he pro-
mised to remain as tranquil as he could under the circumstances,
until the morrow.

CHAPTER V.

" Nur der verachtliches Mensch f iirchtet Verachtung."
AN UNINVITED GUEST.

ADELINE had received her father's commands, and — the young
Baron ? He had long beheld her with admiration ; but he was truly
such an ungainly cub, that he felt awkward in her presence. She
was not therefore much troubled by the ardour or the eloquence of
his amatory professions. <f Der hat am meisten wer am wenigsten
begehrt " — "He hath most who desires least," says the philosopher.
Now this was perfectly true as regarded Ludwig's ugliness ; for he
had certainly a consciousness of his personal defects ; and the idea
that continually recurred (at least as often as he shaved) was, that
he would willingly give a portion of his worldly wealth, could he
obtain a better frontispiece than that which nature had bestowed
upon him. He was sitting over his wine, and ruminating upon the
frigidity of Adeline, when he was startled from his reverie by a sa-
lutation.

Ludwig arose, surprised and annoyed at the intrusion, and beheld
a tall, slim figure, richly attired, capped, and feathered, with a sharp
physiognomy, full of fun and roguery.

" Pray be seated," coolly said the intruder. " Ceremony among
friends is like a tin-kettle to a dog's-tail, more ornamental than
agreeable. Pray be seated. My business is soon despatched — busi-
ness ? I should say pleasure — for it is in your service that I
come."

Poor Ludwig was confounded by his volubility ; and, finding he
could not thrust a word in edgewise, resumed his chair.

Filling a bumper, his visiter continued :

" Baron, I give you the lady of your thoughts — the fair Adeline."

" Wounds, you're a conjuror ! " exclaimed Ludwig.

" A small taste of that," replied the other, " as the soldier said
when the drummer flourished his cat-o'-nine-tails ! "

s

j-' .

THE SOUL-AGENT. 371

" What a queer devil you are ! " cried Ludwig, laughing.

" Exactly," replied the stranger, with a peculiar grin. " Baron,
you 're a man of peculiar penetration — a man to be envied ! Sur-
rounded by luxury, — as the frog said when he plunged into a fat
marsh ; and plenty of good liquor — as the slice of lemon confessed
when popped into a bowl of hot punch ; but still there is one thing
in which you are wanting ; and, although a delicate subject, a friend
like myself, who takes such surpassing interest in your welfare, may
hint at it without offence."

Ludwig placed his red paws upon the table, and dilated his oculars
to an orbicular expression of intense curiosity.

"Baron," continued the other emphatically, "you are not blessed
with a peculiar share of personal beauty, — in fact, not to mince the
matter, you are ordinary — UGLY ! "

Von Krassenheim fell back in his chair, pale with the conviction
of the veracity of the observation.

"I've probed you! I see that I have. Yes, I have given your
vanity a most effective kick, and sent it sprawling in the dirty quag-
mire of personal uncomfortableness ! But, listen : tighten the drum
of your respectable ears while my prophetic words beat a tune upon
them that will make you so vivaciously saltatory that you may leap
through the horns of the new moon, — like a grasshopper through
the prongs of a hay-fork ! Know then, sapient Baron, that I have
the power of transforming you to. a very model for a sculptor, ren-
dering you so tempting a morsel of masculine mortality, that maids,
wives, and widows shall fall, like full ripe mulberries, in your
path ! "

" Can you, in sooth, do this ? " said the innocent and almost
breathless Ludwig.

" I can," answered the mysterious stranger ; and drawing a' parch-
ment scroll from his embroidered vest, pointed his gem-glittering
finger to a huge red seal. " Sign this ; consent to become mine
after death, and your wish is accomplished."

Ludwig, without hesitation, seized the proffered eagle-plume and
recklessly set his name to the awful document.

" Seal it ! " cried the demon, placing an ivory stamp in his trem-
bling grasp.

" There ! " said the desperate Baron> and pressing the seal, bang !
it exploded, with so loud a report that he leaped up affrighted, up-
setting the table and all its contents in his dismay.

" The contract is ratified," said the demon. " Henceforth, noble
Baron, you 're a beauty."

Recovered from his alarm by the coolness of his friend, Von Kras-
senheim's first move was towards the mirror.

" I don't observe the change," cried he, with evident disappoint-
ment.

" My dear Baron," said the demon, taking him affectionately by
the hand, " do you imagine for the smallest slice of a little moment
that I would be so indiscreet as to permit you to behold the trans-
formation with your own eyes ? No ! for did you but catch a glimpse
of that enchanting countenance which now you wear, you would
inevitably and suicidically kick the bucket, and die the death of
Narcissus. Wait till to-morrow's dawn, and you will speedily have
occasion to acknowledge that I have performed my part of the con-

THE SOUL-AGENT*.

tract. Remember yours." And with these words the demon glided
from the apartment.

CHAPTER V.

" Ich hab' dich geliebt, du ahntest es nicht,
Ich wollte sprechen, ich durft' es nicht
Ich harrte besserer Stunden."

THE CONFIRMATION OF THE TRANSFORMATION.

ON the following morning three young and pretty maidens were
playing with a group of rosy romping children at the gates of Von
Krassenheim's castle when the doubtful Ludwig sallied forth, eager
to test his newly- acquired charms.

" A fine morning ! " said he, graciously, staring at the young
women, who curtsied low, and blushed. He passed on.

" Well ! " cried one of them, loud enough to reach his delighted
ears, " if that ain't one of the most beautifullest men I ever clapped
eyes on ! "

Ludwig' s heart beat tumultuously, and, turning round, he threw
a handful of kreuzers to the children. Proceeding on to the village,
which reposed in a humble valley between Felskopf 's domains and
his own, he looked in at the Smithy, where three or four bare-
armed men were hammering away ; but, no sooner did he appear
than they ceased from their labours, and gazed upon him. with a
stare of wonder.

" By gog ! " exclaimed one of the Cyclops, resting his heavy ham-
mer on the anvil, " if he ain't a proper man that ! Did you ever
see such a handsome phiz in your born days ? "

" It works ! the charm works ! " mentally ejaculated the happy
and elated Ludwig, who seemed to tread on a path of crumpling
roses.

He was on the point of entering the embowered road leading to
Felskopf 's when two or three young sparks in sporting attire, all
known to Ludwig, met him in full career.

"Von Krassenheim, or my vision plays me false?" exclaimed
Leopold von Ritter, and all the party surrounded and shook hands
with him, in a manner unusually cordial, at the same time, however,
scrutinizing him from top to toe with an expression that would
have been quite embarrassing to a man of finer feelings than the
metamorphosed Baron.

" Why, what the deuce has come over Krassenheim ? " said Ul-
rich Griibelin, drawing back a pace or two, and leisurely viewing
him. tc Why, you appear to me to have cast your old slough, and
clean come forth in a new guise."

' ' All the power of love, depend on %" said Leopold ; " but, let us
not, in charity, detain the gallant, for he is, doubtless, making for
my lady's bower to pay his morning devotions at the shrine of
beauty. Success to your wooing."

And so the jocose madcaps took their leave ; their words thrilling
like heavenly music through the enchanted soul of Ludwig.

He entered the castle.

Adeline was already up, and singing gaily at her spinning-wheel.

" Good morning to the fair Adeline ! " said he, in a tone of confi-
dence with which the consciousness of his present attractions sup-
plied him.

THE SOUL-AGENT. 373

Adeline rose, cast down her eyes, blushed, and, for the first time
permitted him to take her unreluctant hand. He felt it tremble in
his grasp, and acquired new courage from her confusion.

" Adeline," said he, " look in my face, and tell me truly that you
dislike me ; that I have found no favour in your eyes."

" My pa 's commands shall be obeyed," said Adeline, sighing.

" But, am I hateful to you ? "

" No ! no ! no ! not hateful to me ; do not use that horrid word ! "
said she, gazing confidingly upon him. " Ludwig, my betrothed
husband, appears so different — so very different in my eyes to Von
Krassenheim, the almost stranger — that — that — permit me to re-
tire," and with a hurried step she tottered from the room.

No sooner had the heel of her shoe disappeared at the door-way
than Ludwig attempted to " cut six," snapped his fingers a la castag-
nette, and cried aloud in his ecstasy, — "She is mine! — mine! the
poor thing cannot help it ! What a mercy it is that I 'm about to
be married, or, by jingo ! I should have all the pretty women in
the neighbourhood pulling caps and making love to me."

Felskopf entered while the Baron was capering about.

" Hey-day ! " exclaimed Old Flint. " Why, Ludwig, you 're as
frisky as an antelope."

" Daddy-in-law," cried the excited youth, " I know you wish me
well?"

" Never saw you look better in my life," said Felskopf.

" I dare say not ! " replied Ludwig, chuckling. " But I shall pine
away to the size of a spindle if this matrimony is not concluded
directly."

Now, as nothing could be more agreeable to Felskopf, he at once
proposed a week, which the eager Ludwig strenuously opposed, and
at last, after a little discussion, it was determined that the union
should take place on the following day, with the consent of Adeline,
who, strange to say, scorning the disobedient example of all refrac-
tory daughters, acquiesced immediately.

CHAPTER VI.

" Alles, alles ist ja dein,
All mein Leben
Mocht' ich dir geben."

ADELINE'S MARRIAGE.

THE auspicious hour of Adeline's nuptials at length drew nigh,
and Ludwig, arrayed in a splendid suit becoming his rank and
newly-acquired beauty, was only waiting for his horse to bear him
to his bride. The bells of the village-church were ringing, filling
the air with heart-inspiring melody, when, lo ! the door of his cham-
ber was suddenly thrown wide, and his dear friend, the demon,
stood before the Baron.

" Kindest — best of friends ! " exclaimed the grateful Ludwig, "and
are you, too, come to wish me joy ? "

" Peace, madman ! " cried the fiend, with a thrilling sneer, that
chilled the very marrow of the expectant bridegroom. " I come to
save you ! Know that if you dare enter a church, or let but the
finger of a holy priest touch your hand, you will be shivered into

374 THE SOUL-AGENT.

a thousand atoms ! REMEMBER THE CONTRACT ! BEWARE ! OBEY,
or PERISH ! "

Ludwig rolled like a half-filled sack, over his couch, and remain-
ed insensible (not that he ever was very sensible !) for several mi-
nutes, and when he awoke to consciousness the demon had fled.
*****

Felskopf became impatient.

"Friend Albrecht," said he, addressing that youth, who was one
of the gayest of the assembled company, " is 't not strange he tar-
ries ? "

" Strange indeed," said Albrecht, and Wilhelm at that moment
approaching, he added, " Pray let my valet ride over to Krassen-
heim, and make some inquiry."

The Baron acceded.

Upon Wilhelm's return, that most discreet of valets went up to his
master, and whispered to him with an air of mystery.

Albrecht appeared deeply concerned, and, withdrawing the anxi-
ous Felskopf from the room, communicated to him the startling in-
telligence that Ludwig had suddenly departed, with a single attend-
ant, from his castle, merely leaving a message for Felskopf that he
had gone abroad for an indefinite period, and distinctly declined the
honour of his alliance.

Flint, as Felskopf boasted that he was, he nevertheless found him-
self in a most unenviable dilemma.

After venting the cream of his exceeding wrath in several volleys
of round oaths, and vowing that he should never again hold up his
head after such a shameful defeat, he turned to Albrecht for ad-
vice.

"Avenge your honour upon the caitiff — when you catch him,"
replied Albrecht ; " and in the mean while seek another bridegroom
for the bride, or the laugh of the whole country will be raised."

" That 's what I fear," cried Felskopf bitterly. " And, sooner
than that, I would leap from the castle wall, and find a grave for
my battered carcase in the moat below ! "

At this juncture Adeline accidentally entered.

" Speak to her, Albrecht," said the half- distracted Baron.

" Adeline," said the youth, taking her hand, " Krassenheim has
basely fled. Will you sacrifice yourself for your father's peace and
honour, and marry another? Say but the word, and I will love
you for my friend's sake, and marry you — myself!"

"Will you? " said Felskopf.

" I will ! " boldly replied Albrecht ; and that pattern of obedience,
the gentle Adeline, making no scruples to this sudden arrangement,
the couple were forthwith married in due form.

It is almost needless to inform the discerning reader that the adroit
Wilhelm " played the devil " in this little domestic drama ; and that
all the admirers of Baron von Krassenheim were the confederates of
himself and Albrecht, and that he, Ludwig, was never anything
more nor less than a man of the most ordinary stamp both in mind
and body.

HAL. WILLIS, STUDENT-AT-LAW.

375

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN
(DECEASED).

No. II.

HARLEY, Wilkinson, and J. Russell all started off from various
callings to become comedians at one time. After certain vicissitudes,
they all three found themselves established at the theatre at Graves-
end. Here then they were performing perfectly to their hearts'
content ; but it was a matter of doubt whether the manager could
congratulate himself on a successful speculation with their united
talents.

The following incident will give some idea of the then state of the
Theatre Rural, Gravesend.

The play was " The Castle Spectre ;" after which, songs by Mr.
Harley, with all the et ceteras of a country play-bill ; the whole to
conclude with the romantic drama of " Blue Beard/' — Abomelique,
Mr. Wilkinson, his first appearance in that character. This combin-
ation of unrivalled novelty was expected to draw a tolerable house.
The curtain went up — boxes, nobody, — pit, nobody, — gallery, two old
women, and a little boy in a white hat, with a bit of black crape
round it. When Harley as Motley, and Wilkinson as Father Phi-
lip, entered on the stage, and seeing the state of the house, Harley,
raising his staff, deliberately placed it to his shoulder, and pointing
it up to the gallery, exclaimed, " Booh ! "

One of the old women indignantly got up and said,

" Come away, my dears ; let 's go down stairs. Them fools are
making game of us."

Thus ended the performances of the evening.

MAKING THE BEST OF IT.

" Well, Norah, is your husband at home ? "

" No, sir ; he has gone to court."

" Gone to court ! "

" Yes, sir ; he is summoned to the Court of Requests."

H***, a young dramatic author (who had sent pieces to most of
the theatres, but could not get them produced), one day met my
friend Barnaby, who perceiving H***'s face tied up, inquired the
reason. H*** replied, that he had just had a tooth extracted.
" Fortunate fellow ! " said Barnaby ; " you have got something out at
last."

My friend Barnaby was journeying to Hastings outside the coach,
which stopped to change horses at Riverhead. A heavy shower fell,
wetting the passengers thoroughly. " What is the use of proceed-
ing to Hastings ? " said Barnaby to his dripping companions ; " this
is the watering-place."

John Reeve always insisted that his father was a government con-
tractor. If pressed to state in what department, he said, " My father
was a hosier in Milk Street, Cheapside, and supplied all the white
night-caps for the Old Bailey.

370 THE PORTFOLIO OF

John Reeve saw in the Strand one of the Bavarian broom- women,
whose formation of spine was remarkably crooked, — he said, " Pray,
madam, did you come straight from Germany ? "

Tom C was eating oysters ; he took one into his mouth that

was not quite fresh, but not liking to eject it, he resolved to swallow
it. On taking another in its shell, a by-stander remarked, " Tom,

that is a fine native." C said, " I 'm mighty glad of it ; for the

last was a settler."

Charles Lamb was very fond of a rubber of whist. He sat down
one night at the house of a friend, to which Elliston had also been
invited. Elliston arrived late, had evidently taken too much wine,
and was, as usual on such an occasion, extremely grand. It chanced,
in cutting, that Lamb and Elliston became partners. Elliston's
play was, under the circumstances, of course very bad, which, joined
to his affected hauteur, raised the ire of Lamb, who at the end of a
game suddenly exclaimed, in his stuttering manner, " If dirt was
trumps, what fine hands you would have, Mr. Elliston."

OPENING OF A MELO-DRAMA.

GASPER. The morn is breaking.

NICHOLAS. Let it break and be d — d ! It owes me nothing.

On the English translation of the card of a French inn, between
Boulogne and Abbeville, these words are printed, " The wines are of
that quality, they will leave you nothing to hope for"

Miss B (the Danseuse and Columbine) was married to a Mr.

S . My friend Barnaby inquired the profession of Mr. S ,

and was informed that he was an eminent butcher. " That accounts
for it," said Barnaby ', " he fell in love with her calf."

An Irish captain, on hearing that the lady of a brother officer had
been giving herself some airs, said with naivete, " Och, Brownlow
wants only a little resolution. I never will allow my wife to wear
the petticoats."

It has been remarked, that there is no man of talent without a cer-
tain portion of eccentricity ; and it frequently occurs, that the higher
the grade of talent, the more outre is the species of eccentricity.
Where was there a stranger being than Richard Brinsley Sheridan ?
Dr. Johnson had his whims, Dean Swift his peculiar oddities ; but
the present anecdote relates to a renowned person in the histrionic
art, John Philip Kemble.

Mr. Kemble had been dining with a noble duke of high convivial
habits, and on this particular occasion the libations to Bacchus were
so frequent, and of so long a continuance, that the party did not
wend homewards until four o'clock in the morning.

At a quarter past four Mr. Kemble (who insisted on walking)
found himself alone in the Strand, opposite Exeter 'Change, in the
upper apartments of which was exhibited the menagerie of the cele-
brated Polito. The " matins " roar of a lion called forth Mr. Kemble's
attention; he paused — and, with the fumes of the wine floating on

MR. PETER POPKIN. 377

his brain, he was seized at the moment with a most peculiar whim,
and uttered to himself,

" To be, or not to be, that is the question."

" It shall be ! — no man ever attempted it. In any book of natural
history — nay, in all the voyages and travels I ever perused, no man
ever did it. I — / will do it ! — the world shall say, alone I did it. I
WILL HAVE A RIDE ON A RHINOCEROS ! " He here took a pinch of
snuff, and exclaimed, " What ho ! Exeter 'Change ! Nobody stir-
ring ? " He then made a staggering effort to pull the bell. After he
had rung the bell several times with tipsy vehemence, one of the
keepers of the wild beasts, who slept in their apartment as a sort of
groom of the chamber, made his appearance in an ancient beef -eater's
dress, and a Welsh wig.

KEMBLE. Sir, are you Mr. Polito?
KEEPER. No, sir. Master 's a-bed, and asleep.
KEMBLE. You must wake him, good fellow.
KEEPER. I daren't sir, unless it 's werry pertikler.
KEMBLE. Next time say " very particular." Hark you, it is very
particular. You have up stairs, if I remember rightly, an animal
denominated a rhinoceros.

KEEPER. We've got a rhinoceros, and a finejeller she is.
KEMBLE. Introduce me to him. You object. Go call Mr. Polito,
your very noble and approved good master.

On the arrival of Mr. Polito, Kemble addressed him. " Mr. Polito,
I presume ? " Polito bowed.

KEMBLE. You know me, I suppose ?

POLITO. Very well, sir. You are Mr. Kemble, of Drury Lane
Theatre.

KEMBLE. Right, good Polito ! Sir, I am seized with an unac-
countable, an uncontrollable fancy. You have a rhinoceros ?
POLITO. Yes, sir.

KEMBLE. My desire is to have a ride upon his back.
POLITO. Mr. Kemble, you astonish me !

KEMBLE (elated). I mean to astonish the whole world. I intend
to ride your rhinoceros up Southampton Street to Covent Garden
Market.

POLITO. It is next to an impossibility, Mr. Kemble.
KEMBLE. Talk not to me of impossibility. Were it an impossi-
bility, I would do it.

POLITO. Suppose any accident should happen — the beast is valu-
able. I would not permit him to be led down into the street under
the sum often guineas.

KEMBLE. Here are ten guineas, Mr. Polito — a bargain. Lead forth
my charger — Speed ! speed ! "

Polito finding that he could not get rid of the extraordinary ap-
plication, pocketed the ten guineas, and told the keeper, (who was
on intimate terms with the rhinoceros,) to bring the animal out,
with the proviso that it was to go no further than Covent Garden.
When in the street, ridiculous as it may appear, the grave John
Kemble actually mounted on the back of the beast, who hardly knew
what to make of it, but, led in a strap by its feeder, went quietly
enough, until Mr. Kemble, highly elated by the achievement of his
whim, thought it necessary to spur with his heels.

378 THE PORTFOLIO OF

KEEPER. Gently, sir. Let vel alone. This is rayther a crusty
buffer ; if you makes him unruly he '11 pitch you off, and rip you
up.

KEMBLE. Rip me up ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! What would they do at
Drury ?

It was daylight ; and, of course, a mob was collected from Covent
Garden market. At this moment Emery, who was also returning
from a late party, saw the extraordinary cavalcade. Emery, some-
what startled at the situation of Mr. Kemble, went up to him.

KEMBLE. Ah ! Emery, how are you ?

EMERY. Pretty well, thank ye, sur. Why, bless my heart, sur,
let me give you a hand off that what-d'ye-call-'em-brute.

KEMBLE. It is a rhinoceros, Emery.

EMERY. Lauk, sur ! pray come down.

KEMBLE. Not until I have reached my goal.

" By goles ! " exclaimed Emery, as he walked by his side to the
top of Southampton Street, when Kemble deliberately dismounted,
gave a crown to the keeper, patted the rhinoceros, saying, " Fare-
well, poor beast ! " and, holding Emery's arm, uttered, " Mr. Emery,
I have, doubtless, committed a very silly action ; but, after imbib-
ing a certain quantity of wine, no man's deeds are under control ;
but, nevertheless, I have done that which no living being can say he
ever accomplished.

' What man dare, I dare.
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros '

" Bless my soul, I am getting on the rhinoceros again. Mr.
Emery, will you have the goodness to see me as far as Great Russell
Street, Bloomsbury."

A friend had in his service a cook that could neither read nor
write. One day, coming to his door, he perceived the cook taking
in from an itinerant bookvender, some monthly numbers of a work.
Curiosity was excited to know what could possibly be the subject of
the cook's erudition, so her master carelessly asked her to let him
look at the publication. Mary, blushing, said that she wished to
improve in her kitchen business, and she had been taking in for
nearly three months, in parts, " Cook's Voyages ! "

An amateur medical adviser at Boulogne has lately discovered an
ingenious method of causing physic to remain on the stomach of a
patient. His direction is, that when pills are making up, the che-
mist is to put a small fish-hook into each pill !

At a pleasant dinner-party, Mrs. Mountain, the vocalist, (who was
a very lively person,) asked Mr. David Grove, who had been in-
vited, " Whether he was any relation to the GROVES of Blarney ? "
Grove gravely replied that he had but one relation, and that was his
brother John.

MR. PETER POPKIN. 379

SMASHING.

A beefsteak club was established in Drury-Lane theatre, and its
meetings were held in a temporary apartment, fitted up in the paint-
ing room. Mr. John H was appointed secretary. Amongst the

by-laws of this convivial society, a small fine was inflicted on every
member who did not pass the bottle in a certain period, and there

were other fines for petty offences against the regulations. H

had the collection of these profits, which were to be applied to a
fund for an annual white-bait dinner at Greenwich.

H , on one particular meeting, was somewhat surprised at the

number of fines incurred (particularly from several of the members
who were never in the habit of stopping the bottle) ; in fact, he had
that evening collected about three pounds five shillings in silver.

But this was the effect of a waggish conspiracy against the poor
little secretary. The manager laid the plan. There were several
confederates ; and the quiet treasurer supplied the parties with bad
half-crowns, shillings, and sixpences (which in a number of seasons
had been taken at the doors of the theatre, and laid aside). With
this base money the fines were, with small exception, paid to the se-
cretary. About ten o'clock Mr. H was enquired for at the

stage-door. He left the pleasant table ; and, on going down, was
accosted by Leadbitter, a Bow Street officer, who requested to speak
to him privately.

H , rather astonished at this, conducted the officer into a room,

when Leadbitter told him, " He was very sorry to say, that he had a
warrant against Mr. H ."

" A warrant ! " exclaimed H ; and the officer produced a

printed paper, and said, " that he had authority to take Mr. H .

in custody for passing a bad half-crown in Covent Garden market, that
afternoon."

H was surprised, and said he had certainly " purchased some

fruit and vegetables there, as, indeed, he did daily ;" but utterly dis-
claimed paying with a halfcrown.

Leadbitter (who had received his infernal instruction from the

hoaxers above,) respectfully told poor H that it was his painful

duty — with a man of his standing in the world — to search his per-
son. H very indignantly said, " Search me directly." Lead-
bitter proceeded in his task, and found all the quantity of base coin

in the pockets of H The affair now assumed a serious aspect,

when Leadbitter told H that " he must accompany him." The

party upstairs was sent to ; but not one of the conspirators would
come down. Some, who were not in the secret, and foremost amongst

them, was Mr. William L , were descending, quitting the club

for the evening. H appealed to them, and the charge was re-
ceived by the benevolent L with utter astonishment. Another

gentleman, thinking that a practical joke might be carried too far,
interfered, and at last induced the Bow Street officer to confess that
he had been employed with a fictitious warrant, to consummate this
hoaxing attack on the harmless and good-natured little secretary.

Fat and facetious Major Downs, W , D , and others, went

on an angling party to Hampton. Downs had conceived a joke
.against D , and procured a red herring, which he concealed in

380 'TIS HE !

his basket. The party were in punts, and were successful. They,
however, ceased from their sport to partake of some luncheon on the

water, and Downs requested D to draw the cork of a bottle of

sherry. D left his line in the water; and, while his back was

turned, the Major rapidly drew up the float, hooked the red-her-
ring, and threw it quietly into the river. He then accepted of some

sandwiches; and whilst D was pouring out a glass of wine, he

said, " See — see, you have got a bite there ! "

D as quickly as he could pulled up the line, and was utterly

astounded at thejish he had caught !

Mr. D is now a first-rate disciple of Izaak Walton.

In writing about Poland, if an author is at a loss for surnames, all
he has to do is, to sneeze, and add the syllable SKI afterwards.
For instance, in the various strange sounds of a sneeze, — Athishah-
SKI; araposh-SKi ; sbldsph-SKi ; stchar-SKi ; tishoo-SKi ; — all ex-
cellent Polish names !

Robert William Elliston was at Croydon fair, and, having rather
exceeded his customary potation after dinner, he staggered and fell
down. Two respectable persons immediately lifted him up on his
legs. He gazed for an instant at them alternately, and drawled out
gravely, " You will rob me, of course ; but for God's sake do not
otherwise ill-treat me ! "

Mr. A was at a pleasant convivial party, and, having done

something contrary to the rules of the society, he was called to order
by the chairman, who jocosely reprimanded him at some length, and
concluded by observing, that he feared the exhortation had pro-
duced very little effect on the person addressed ; in fact, it was
"casting pearls before swine." A rose with an humble de-
meanour, modestly apologized for his misbehaviour, and, perfectly
agreeing with the chairman in his last line, begged leave most re-
spectfully "to cast HIMSELF before THE SOCIETY."

'TIS HE!

BY CAPTAIN MEDWIN.

As I was walking one day last May in the Tuileries Gardens, arm-
in-arm with a French gentleman, a stranger en passant, remarked,
pointing to another, " 'Tis he ! " My friend, who overheard the
words as well as myself, suddenly turned pale, and became so seri-
ously indisposed that he alarmed me.

I led him to a bench, fortunately at hand, and asked him the cause
of his emotion. When he had sufficiently recovered he said, with a
deep sigh,

" Those horrible words ! I have the greatest possible antipathy to
them ; and, when you have heard my story, you will think with
reason, — almost as great an objection to them as Lara had.

" No one can read that tale, and entertain a doubt that it is a sequel
to the Corsair,— that, in fact, Conrad and Lara are the same person.

'TIS HE ! 381

The scene in the ball-room, where Ezzelin, pointing to Lara, says,
''Tis he!' has never recurred to my mind without exciting the
most powerful emotions. ' 'Tis he ! — the pirate ! — the man of
blood ! — the seducer of my Medora ! — the murderer of my happi-
ness ! — the blight of my existence!' Those two monosyllables
evoke, like a spell, all the scenes of the past, enable me to fill up the
blanks in the sketch — to complete the picture. That Ezzelin was
acquainted with some damning secret of Lara's is clear, by his being
afraid to face him in single combat, and resorting to an act which
seems otherwise foreign to his character — dark as it was — assas-
sination. It is the mystery in which your great poet enwraps all his
personages which gives them such a breathless interest. It is the
anatomy or dissection of his own mind that lays theirs bare to the
reader, and makes us, in some measure, associate the author with the
personages he draws. Thus these two words, ' 'Tis he ! ' would fur-
nish materials for volumes.

But, to my tale : — " During the time that the head-quarters of our
army were at Milan, I obtained leave of absence to go to Rome. I
was in the habit of visiting the ruins at night ; and, after having
passed several hours in the Forum, the way back to my apartment
lying in the direction of the Piazza. Navona, I entered the square,
and posted myself in the shadow of the church of St. Agnese. The
moonbeams were playing on the magnificent fountain immediately
below its portico ; and I stood there for some time admiring the co-
lossal statue that is raising its arms as though the massive entabla-
ture of the building was about to fall, and crush it,* when a woman
suddenly approached me, and said to herself, ' 'Tis he ! ' Her voice
was so musical in its tone that I had not the heart to deny the re-
cognition, and, perceiving that she beckoned to me, I followed her.

" Though I had been in the Eternal City some weeks, I was only
familiar with the principal thoroughfares, and soon found myself
lost in a labyrinth of streets. After traversing several, with which I
was unacquainted, she stopped at a palace, along the entire front of
which ran a colonnade of pillars that by the appearance seemed to
have belonged to some ancient temple. They were of the Corinthian
order ; and the moonlight that played on the foliaged capitals only
seemed to throw into deeper shade the roof which they supported.

" My mute conductress now entered a spacious hall, lighted by a
single lamp in the centre, which showed that it was paved with
black and white marble, and ornamented by antique statues of ex-
quisite workmanship. I here hesitated whether I should pursue the
adventure, but, as one under the influence of a spell, an irresistible
impulse led me on. We now ascended a spacious staircase ; and my
guide having opened a door, ushered me into a saloon blazing with
light, which for a moment blinded me. But, if I was struck with the
splendour of the apartment, my eyes were still more riveted by a
female figure lying on a couch at the further extremity. She was
in a deep sleep, and had not heard my steps. I too fancied myself
in a dream, and that I was realizing some of the magic wonders
of Oriental fable.

" Finding that she was motionless, I advanced, and, bending over
her, beheld a girl of perhaps eighteen or twenty. Her form, perfectly

* It is the satire of a rival architect. — ED.
VOL. VII. 2 E

382 'TIS HE !

revealed through the folds of the white gauze dress in which she was
enveloped, had all the grace and symmetry of a Grecian nymph. She
was a brunette ; had one of those clear brown complexions for which
the Roman women are remarkable ; and her dark hair fell over her
perfect shoulders, one long ringlet having strayed across her cheek.
I hardly dared breathe lest I should wake her.

" At length she sighed, and stared at me vacantly, like one in a
trance. But, on a sudden, as if she all at once had recalled her
wandering senses, she leapt up, and screamed loudly,

" e 'Tis not he ! Who are you ? How came you here? I entreat
you to depart, signore ! If he should find you here I am lost ! '

ff'Signora bella incognita/ I replied, 'an accident — the most
fortunate of accidents, has brought me here. I was on the Piazza
Navona, and '

" ( That was the appointed rendezvous. Teresa is mad. Oh
what a mistake — what a mistake ! ' said she, wringing her hands.

" ' One of the happiest of mistakes ! ' I replied.

"' Signore,' said the incognita entreatingly, 'I conjure you to
leave me. If he should find you here he will murder me.'

"At this moment, as I was about to return, a young Italian burst
into the room. The lady sunk back on the couch, and hid her face
with her hands. For a moment he stood between us, and eyed first
one and then the other with concentrated fury. His rage almost
suffocated him. He could only syllable,

" ' Perfidious one ! die ! '

Thus saying, he plunged a stiletto, which he had concealed be-
neath his mantle, in her bosom.

" ' Ambrosio ! I — am — in-no-cent ! ' was all she uttered, and died
without a groan.

" The assassin instantly disappeared.

" So sudden was the shock this scene of horror excited, that, un-
certain how to act, — whether to call for assistance or to fly, I stood
staring with stony eyes on the lifeless corse before me. So stupified
was I indeed that I had not perceived a third person enter the apart-
ment, till he was close by my side. It \vas the husband of the mur-
dered lady, the Comte . Had I been really the criminal, I could

not have looked more guilty than I did at this moment. All the
danger of my situation rushed into my mind. Every circumstance
conspired to rise up in judgment against me. The dagger was still
in the side of the bleeding victim, and there was I alone. Who
would believe my strange story, or acquit me of the crime ?

" The despair of the Count at first swallowed up his vengeance ;
but he at length called his servants. He would not listen to a word
I had to say in my defence, but had me conveyed to the Castle of
St. Angelo.

" There I was loaded with chains, and thrown into a cell, or rather
vault, in the lowest part of the prison, even below the bed of the
Tiber. The only light it admitted was through a grated aperture in
the wall, where it was impossible to read at mid-day. I wished
to write to our ambassador, but was denied the means.

" The next day I was visited by an agent of the police, who took
down my deposition ; and I was afterwards confronted with Teresa,
thefcmme de chambre of the deceased Countess ; but she denied all
the circumstances I had detailed. Had she even admitted them, it

'TIS HE! 383

would scarcely have assisted my defence. I was tried, and con-
demned, and death — an infamous death — seemed inevitable.

" Before the execution of a culprit in the Pontifical States, if he be
an infidel, every effort is made to convert him. The priest or chaplain
of the prison was my constant visiter. He was an excellent old
man. I had previously never thought much on the subject of reli-
gion. Few officers in our service had. I was anxious before I left
the world to satisfy my mind whether that mode of worship which
I adopted, as my fathers had done before me, without inquiry, was
in consonance with the true faith. My long imprisonment gave me
ample leisure for reflection. One by one I canvassed with the Do-
minican the tenets of his belief, the great truths of Christianity, and
ended in becoming a real believer in what you Protestants call Papacy.

"Do not suppose that I was influenced by any expectation of
pardon in taking this all-important step. The murder, after the first
clay of our interviews, never formed the topic of discussion. But
as I was now about to renounce my errors, I was exhorted by my
holy friend to make an ample confession. What was I to confess
but my innocence ? I detailed to him all the events as they had oc-
curred. Strange and incredible as my story was, it is not surprising
that it should be long before he could believe my narrative. But
there is a language in truth, when sanctioned by the holy tie of a
sacrament, that the heart cannot mistake. It spoke irresistibly to
his heart, and he wept over me as though I had been his own son.

" I cannot describe to you the consolation I derived from my first
communion. I now looked on death as a new life. All my gloom
vanished, and I prepared for my last hour with resignation arid
hope.

"After that most imposing rite, he left me, and immediately pro-
ceeded to the house of the Prime Minister of Pius the VII. Cardinal
Gonsalvi, to whom he revealed what had passed in confession. Hav-
ing satisfied that worthy and excellent man of my innocence, he in-
terceded with the holy father for my liberation. A week had scarce-
ly elapsed, when, at an unusual hour my prison-doors were opened,
as I thought to lead me to execution, but, instead, I heard the voice
of my benevolent old friend, who exclaimed,

"'Signore,' said he, 'you are free/

" ' And the murderer ? ' I asked. •

" ' The murderer/ replied the officer, ' was never discovered. Un-
less he had left his name engraven on the hilt of his stiletto, how
should he ? '

After a pause my friend continued his story. " Genoa was the
next scene where these words that I hardly dare name without shud-
dering brought with them consequences, though not quite so serious,
yet by no means agreeable.

"Genoa, were it not for its arbitrary masters, would perhaps be
the most desirable residence in Europe. Splendid palaces are to be
let at the most reasonable rate. The climate, excepting during the
few months that the Maestrael prevails, is mild — always salubrious.
There are three public libraries, a good opera, and there was the
best company of tragedians in Italy, till the funds to assist in their
maintenance were handed over to the Jesuits. The Brignola and
other palaces are open to strangers ; and all the luxuries of life are
cheap and excellent. There is, however, as I said, one drawback,

2 E 2

384 'TIS HE!

one countervailing objection, that neutralizes all these advantages, —
the Piernontezi ; and it is for this reason that foreigners at Genoa are
few in number, particularly French and English, on whom those new
lords look with suspicion, dreading lest they should inoculate their
subjects with those liberal principles which our constitutional go-
vernment enjoys. The word, ' Constitution ' is to them what ' 'Tis
he ' is to me, — an abhorrence.

" I can only say that you English were not a little instrumental in
bringing about the present state of things, — in annihilating that an-
cient republic, which, admirably situate as it is, might have been a
bulwark against arbitrary power, and a rally ing-point for free princi-
ples in Italy. The Marchese John Carlo di Negro, a poet and im-
provisatore, and, more than that, an excellent and hospitable man,
pointing to a terrible fortress then erecting to overawe the city, said
to me, ' Behold, a present from the English ! ' When you go to
Genoa, you will one day visit his villa and gardens, formed out
of an old ruined bastion, and standing islanded in the centre of
the city, on which it looks down, — the finest panorama in the world.
What a paradise that villa is ! and what a paradise I thought Genoa
when I first came to settle in it ! But, what an odious little disjunc-
tion it is ! You shall hear how it turned out to be an inferno to me.

" I frequently passed my mornings in the Bino Library, and there
became acquainted with a Marseillois, who, if alive, doubtless still
follows his old trade — a trade which the Greeks called sycophancy
— that had then a different signification to what we now give it —
espionage. He was a little man, somewhat of a petit-maitre, with a
countenance rather sly than intelligent, though he did not want for
talents. There was in his eye a great power of inquiry, and a ner-
vous trepidation in his form and gestures that betrayed either guilt
or the dread of detection — perhaps both.

" He wore a petite moustache troussee, of which he was not a little
vain ; for, I must tell you, that during the time of my story an order
was issued for all mustaches, excepting those of officers on service,
to be mercilessly put under the hands of the barber, — served as the
Grand Turk has lately done the beards of the Moslems. This excep-
tion in favour of my friend was not without its merits ; for, as it is,
or is supposed to be, the distinguishing mark ofCarbonareism — itgave
him the character of belonging to that society. Perhaps you do not
know what the word ' Carbonareism ' comes from, though you can-
not be ignorant that it implies Freemasonry. The sect, then, owes
its origin to the charcoal-burners — mountaineers, who, in all coun-
tries are noted for their love of freedom. These illuminati, in spite
of persecution and proscription, are continually increasing, and
amount, at the lowest calculation, to fifty thousand. With us, Free-
masonry has died a natural death, grown into disuse from its inuti-
lity ; but not so with the Transalpines. Let the tyrants tremble, as
they well may, at the name !

" But my countryman was no Carbonaro, or if he ever was one,
had turned Calderaio — a renegade, or informer. It is a dangerous
apostacy. His was an office that might well whiten his cheek and
make his nerves quiver ; for, in case of detection, not all the bayonets
of the Jard could save him from the vengeance of the brotherhood.
I was once acquainted with a Calderaio, a German, or a soi-disant
German baron, who has now been voluntarily confined at Spilsberg

385

for fifteen years, from a love of life ; and perhaps this Genoese spy
now keeps him company, if he has not fallen by the dagger of one
of the fraternity in pursuance of his oath.

" My Bino acquaintance soon became my Mephistophilcs, and
every morning paid me a visit at Michel's, the Pension Suisse where
I lodged. There is no hotel in Genoa where not only the masters,
but the servants, are not paid spies in the service of the police, not
a table d'hote where there is not seated an informer. During our
interviews, in order to elicit my opinions, he indulged not mere-
ly in vituperation of the government, but professed the most vio-
lently liberal opinions, in order to obtain my acquiescence in them,
or to convict me of liberalism, having previously posted one of the
giovannottes of the house in an adjoining room to take down my
words. It so happened that I had been writing a tragedy on the
subject of the Fieschis and Dorias. It has been treated by Schiller.
Having introduced the conspirators en scene, I of course put into
their mouths sentiments corresponding with their characters.

" I one day read to him a speech of that fierce republican, Verrina,
when my guest observed,

" ' Do you never write Italian poetry. I should much like you to
try.'

"Not suspecting his object, I translated half a dozen lines into
wretched blank-verse, which he immediately put into his pocket,
with the view no doubt of showing his zeal to his employers by
denouncing me as the advocate of what the lines embodied.

" Among other persons, I had become intimate with a young ad-
vocate, since well-known in Europe, and into whose house the spy also
occasionally intruded himself. Perhaps in that land of talent, Italy,

(for distinguished talent there is,) no one can compare with M i.

He is a great orator, a beautiful poet, and his prose writings have
in them a nerve, a pith, a vigour of thought and imagination, clothed
in a style which almost rivals that of Machiavelli. He reminded me
(for there is a characteristic likeness in all genius) of Shelley, of
whom he was an enthusiastic admirer, and like him possessed, with
great delicacy of constitution, a firmness and manliness of character,
that fitted him for the noblest undertakings. If I really felt a friend-
ship for any man, it was for M L His conversation was an en-
chantment. Every sentiment of his heart was noble, virtuous, and
heroic. He was then scarcely of age, yet he had gained golden
opinions from all but those in power, whom Casti well knew when
he said,

" ' The cruel and despotic of all times

Have held great talents as the worst of crimes.'

" Genoa, though crushed, is not fallen. There beat within her
walls hearts that pant for liberty, indignant at their bonds, and
ready to burst their manacles. But the time is not yet ripe, and
every successless effort of the slave only tends to rivet more his
fetters. Tyrants are always cowards ; and as one of Prometheus'
executioners remarks of Jove,

" ' All new in power are harsh.'
" It was the object of the police, in order to wreak its vengeance on

386 'TIS HE!

M i, to hatch a conspiracy. That so mad and premature an at-
tempt was really in contemplation is at least improbable ; but cer-
tain it is that no evidence of such a plot ever came to light. Poor

M i, was, however, to be sacrificed ; torn from his country,

his parents, his friends, and doomed to perpetual exile. First, how-
ever, a still severer punishment (if severer there can be) was to
be inflicted on him — a dungeon ! The prime mover and instrument
in this nefarious scheme was my countryman — but I disown him.
One evening during my walk he accosted me with a smile of savage
delight, and said,

" ' Have you not heard — '

" ' Heard what ? ' I replied.

« < Why, that M i and seven of his friends have been sent to the

Castello in the mountain. They say/ he continued, in a mysterious
whisper, ' that he was a Carbonaro and a conspirator^ What do you
think ? ' added he, significantly.

" ' I am only thinking/ I replied, ' of the misfortune of my friend
and the villany of the land.'

" My words were no doubt repeated. Yes, the information was

too correct : M i had been dragged to the Castello, and loaded

with fetters !

" I will now give you some idea of what an Italian girl is capable.
A Genoese, rich, beautiful, and of one of the oldest families, had

long admired M- i for the nobleness of his character and virtues.

They were not even mutually acquainted, scarcely by sight ; but she
nourished her passion in secret. As soon, however, as she heard of
his misfortune, she set off for the prison, and in an interview with
him offered to give up her freedom, her home, her name, for him —
to share his dungeon. Noble woman ! the glory of your sex ! No !

M i, young as he was, had strength of mind to resist all the

temptations of youth, wealth, and beauty, and refused to involve in
his blighted fortunes and certain exile one worthy of the most heroic
times.

" But to return to myself. At midnight I was awakened by a
loud rayjping at my door, and called out,

" ' Who is there ? "

" ' Carabiniers/ was the reply. ' Open the door ! '

" ' Wait/ I said, ' till I can dress myself.'

" On being admitted, they said, * We are come to search your
papers.'

" I opened my secretaire, and after they had hunted it all over, and
found nothing, they returned me the key, and went away.

" Furious at this indignity, I demanded the next morning an au-
dience with the governor. He received me with marked cordiality,
shaking me heartily by the hand, and requesting to know to what
cause he owed the favour of my visit. I related to him what had
passed the night before.

" ' It must be some mistake/ said he. ' I will speak to the Colo-
nel Commandant of Police, and the men shall be punished.'

" Nothing could be more satisfactory to my wounded feelings. I
thanked him, on taking leave, for his urbanity. What do you sup-
pose the punishment inflicted on the gendarmes was ? — to be de-
prived of their uniforms ; but a new office was assigned to them as a
reward,— -to watch my steps. I had marked them well, and, on

387

turning round in the street, observed them following me. I was
determined to lead them a dance, to use a vulgar expression, and
took a walk of some miles through every highway and byway of
the city. On reaching my own door, I addressed them, ami said,

" ' I think it a high honour to be allowed as a body-guard two
valets out of livery/

" I afterwards heard, though I had not observed the circumstance,
that I had been for some months similarly attended, and that I had
been frequently watched into M i's house.

" This espionage not being at all to my taste, I went to the Co-
lonel Commandant of the Police, a true Fouque in appearance and
character, and in no very measured terms upbraided him with the
conduct pursued towards me. I found him very different from the
governor, and came away with a vague suspicion that something was
brooding in his mind hostile to my security, though nothing that
passed might have led me to divine it. I, however, never saw more
of my laquais de place.

" On the third day after my visit, as I was lounging in the Piazza
delle Fontane Amorose, and looking at the facade of the Spinola
Palace, which had belonged to the Inviolata, the princely residence
of the Fieschis, and musing whether old Doria's statue was not
rightly demolished by the French during the Revolution, — whether
he was not a tyrant instead of a benefactor to his country ; (for, to
judge rightly of historical character, we must always take into con-
sideration the times and writers of the annals,) — I heard a well-
known voice say to a carabinier, ' Tis he ! ' It was my Marsellois
friend who spoke, and who immediately afterwards turned on his
heel, and passed down the Novissima. They immediately arrested
and led me to the guard-room, where I passed the night on a table
in my carrick.

" It had been the intention to send me to keep company with
M iin the Castello; but the next morning, after a long consulta-
tion between the Governor and the Colonel Commandant, it was
settled that I was to be marched out of the city between two cara-
biniers, and thus escorted to the frontiers, whichsoever I might
choose. How very kind and considerate !

" Imagine the disgrace of being dragged as a wild beast or con-
vict, exposed to public scorn, through Alexandria, Turin, Chanoncy,
and you may form some idea of what I had to endure. Rage and
indignation bore up my spirits under this galling tyranny ; but an-
other feeling also mingled with them, — the mortification of being
exiled from Genoa, for which I had begun to entertain an affection,
and from those dear friends who had welcomed me with a kindness
almost fraternal. " Had it not been for those dreaded words, ''Tis
he ! ' and him who uttered them, haply I might now be walking
under the marble porticos of the Durazzo, or inhaling the sea-
breeze from my favourite seat on the parapet of the Mola.

" But if these words had proved fatal to my personal liberty, al-
most my life, they were destined in its very outset to mar my for-
tunes. A great writer says, that originally everything was created
en double ; hence, not only in twins, but even perfect strangers in
blood, these extraordinary freaks of nature sometimes occur. Much
is that person to be pitied who possesses one of those commonplace
faces, that as it were gives him no identity or character of his own,

388

— a sort of painted mask, so that he is constantly doomed to have
it said by strangers, ' Well, how very like you are to Mister this,
that, and the other ;' but to be a cast — an exact copy of another —
such is, unhappily, my case. That second nature, education, perhaps
contributed somewhat to perfect the resemblance ; for there is no
doubt that she acts powerfully on those whose minds are constantly
engaged in the same pursuits — priests, for instance ; and so far La-
vater and the Physiognomists were right. But, without going into
any reasoning on causes, I will at once introduce you to a young
man, whom I will call Anatoli, a native of Amiens, the town where
I was also born. We were of the same age, and entered college on
the same day, and soon became what they call there faisans (phea-
sants) intimates. Whether we were attracted by some sympathy of
tastes, inclinations, and talents, or by the striking and marvellous
resemblance we bore each other, in height, figure, even to the colour
of the hair and eyes, I cannot say ; but the fact is that we became
inseparable, and went by the name of the Two Dromios. In order
to make ourselves, if possible, still more alike, we wore precisely the
same dress, and, in looking into a glass at once, we might almost
have said, ' I am not myself! ' It was a Comedy of Errors, and our
great amusement was to mystify our fellow- collegians. But if they
were puzzled, the professors, when our class was called up for lec-
ture, were still more so ; and one of them used to tie a piece of red
tape round my arm in order to distinguish me. I could fill a volume
in recounting to you the odd mistakes and droll contretemps that
daily took place. Some of them were, however, more serious than
comic ; for I happened to be studious instead of idle, quiet instead
of mischievous, and easy in my temper ; whilst my double was in-
volved in never-ceasing scrapes, disputes, and quarrels, set all the
laws and regulations of the place at defiance, and was for ever ' au
cachot,' — where it was not long before I contrived to join him. Such
was our friendship, that I received many a beating in lieu of him,
confessed many a peccadillo of which he had been guilty, and
submitted to not a few solitary confinements on bread and water, for
offences of which I was innocent.

" It is fit that you should know something of my history. I was
left an orphan when a child so young, that I do not remember either
of my parents. I was brought up by a maternal uncle, an old
bachelor, who had made a considerable fortune in trading with the
Isle of Bourbon. Though he had several nephews and nieces, he
looked upon me as his son and heir ; he loved me with all the affec-
tion of a father. To say I returned it is superfluous. Having been
the maker of his own fortune, and still being in the prime and vigour
of life, he meant that I should have an ' etat,' and selected that of
medicine.

" As soon, therefore, as I had taken my degree, being now
eighteen, he resolved to send me to Paris to walk the hospitals, with
an allowance of four thousand francs a-year, an income which few of
the students possess, and more than ample for all my wants. Our
parting, bitter as it was, would have been more bitter, had it not
been my uncle's intention to visit Paris frequently during my no-
vitiate. But what reconciled me in some measure to the plan of
quitting Amiens was, that Anatoli, having chosen the same profes-
sion, accompanied me to the metropolis.

'TIS HE! 389

" We took apartments in that part of Paris called the Marais, — a
terra incognita to you, though in early times this quarter was consi-
dered the most fashionable, as some fine old hotels still bear witness.
Most of the medical students reside there. Anatoli's taste and mine
so far coincided now, that we could neither of us endure the profes-
sion for which we were designed. For my part, I never attended
an hospital after witnessing the first dissection, and my friend's pur-
suits were directed more to living subjects than dead ones; still,
however, I dedicated my time to study, and mathematics and mili-
tary tactics engaged my time and thoughts. I longed to be a soldier.
In my letters to my uncle I could not help hinting at my aversion to
surgery; but his replies gave me little hope of obtaining his consent
to my abandoning it.

" Anatoli's occupations and my own were so widely different, that
we sometimes did not meet for days. He almost lived in the Chausee
d'Antin, and plunged deeply into all its dissipation. Occasionally he
would make me his confessor, but laughed heartily at my advice or
admonition.

" My uncle and myself corresponded regularly ; but all at once
there came a change over the tone of his letters. He told me, in one
I could show you, that since my departure he had learnt from one
of the professors at the University my great insubordination, — com-
plained of the manner in which I passed my time in Paris, — my
never attending the dissecting-rooms, — nay, added that a friend of
his, who knew my person well, had warned him that I frequented
gambling-houses. He ended with assuring me of his severe displea-
sure if I continued these courses, and announced his early visit to
Paris.

" In my answer, I told him candidly the way in which I was living,
the books I read, &c. and denied the charges altogether. I now had
reason, and not for the first time, to lament the unfortunate likeness
between me and Anatoli, and doubted not that his person had been
mistaken for mine. So it unhappily proved.

" One day at breakfast he was in a merrier mood than usual. I
asked him the cause. ' I know/ answered Anatoli, ( you consider
me somewhat of a mauvais sujet, Mr. Mentor. Last night, or rather
this morning, I was at Frascati's. You must go there, Henri ! —
play, women, and wine, that glorious trio ! — there 's the place to find
them. Eh bien, just as I was leaning over the shoulder of one of the
syrens, and whispering some nonsense in her ear, I observed an old
quiz, a provincial, — at least such I took him for by the cut of his
coat, — looking very fixedly, sternly I might say. I returned his
stare, putting into it as much contempt as I could. Had he been
younger, I should perhaps have asked him what he meant by his in-
solence ; for you may make a look as insulting as any words, and
such was that of the old boy. However, at last he came round to our
side of the table, and I heard him say to himself,

" ' 'Tis he ! 'tis indeed he ! '

" ' He ! who ? ' said I, repeating his words.

" ( Perhaps you don't know me ? ' said the old one, foaming with
passion.

" ' Know you ? No,' replied I, with a sneer ; ' how should I ? I
never saw you before in my life.' — f He never saw me before in his
life ! ' said he, grinding his teeth. ' Insolent scoundrel ! '

,'390 'TIS HE !

" c Insolent scoundrel ! ' I exclaimed, jumping up from my seat at
the green board, now in as great a rage as he was himself, not only
at the expression, but because all the eyes in the room were fixed
upon me. ' What do you mean, sir ? Explain yourself, or — '

" ' Mean, sir ! * said old Square-toes, foaming with passion, « that
you are an ungrateful villain ! '

" ' I had heard enough, and now seized him by the collar, and a
scuffle ensued. All was confusion and uproar. The croupiers, who
were collecting the cards after the deal, got up ; the ladies screamed ;
the waiters came running from all parts of the room ; the players
pocketed their money, and made a ring ; an Englishman said, ' They
want to box. The Superintendent de Jeu, who had hurried up,
replied, addressing us, 'Messieurs, you must not box here/ — ' Turn
him out!' cried the ladies. — * Give him in charge of the police ! ' ex-
claimed the croupiers, anxious to continue the coup.

" ' My fair acquaintance was an excellent second in the affray ; for
she seized a glass of ponche a la Romaine, and with an admirable aim
discharged its contents into the old quiz's yellow face. Still he vo-
ciferated, with a voice almost stifled with sobs of rage,

" ' 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! Is it come to this ? That I should live to
see this day ! '

" ' You ask me what I was laughing at; had you been there to
See his face, with the punch streaming down it like a river-god's,
and mixing with his tears, you would have laughed too ! Even there
it quite overcame me.

" ( He is an idiot ! the old man is an idiot !' said I, grinning.

" ' I '11 disinherit you, you ungrateful rascal ! ' said he, almost
choking with fury.

" ' What a threat ! ' said I, laughing in his face. ' He says he '11
disinherit me. Take him to the Maison desfous '

" ' The laquais had now seized and pinioned him, and put an end
to all farther colloquy by dragging him out of the house. Some
time afterwards, I asked one of them what they had done with him.

" ' Done with him ? ' answered the man. ' Why, I took him to the
station-house, where I suppose he still is.'

" ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! was it not a curious adventure, eh, Henri ? — very
droll ! '

" ' The station-house ! ' said I, almost in tears. ' What station-
house ? Oh, my poor dear uncle ! '

" ' Your uncle ! ' said Anatoli, now in alarm. ' What an unfor-
tunate affair ! '

" ' Unfortunate, indeed, you may well say ; but that is not the
word — it was cruel. My poor dear guardian ! — my only friend ! —
to be thus barbarously treated ! ' was all I could utter.

" I rushed out of the house in a state little short of frenzy, and
went in search of my uncle, but could hear nothing of him at the
police. I concluded he had been released, and had returned to
Amiens immediately. So it was; for he wrote the day after, dis-
claiming all further communication with me, and telling me that, in
the strict letter of the Roman law, he would cut me off with a sous.
It was in vain that I attempted to justify myself; my letters were
returned unopened. Anatoli, who was afraid lest his friends should
hear of his dissipation, took no steps to clear me. From that day I
broke off all acquaintance with him, and I know not whether he is
alive or dead.

WATTY FLAHERTY. 391

" For myself, I was now an orphan indeed — all my prospects
were blighted for ever. Six months had scarcely elapsed when my
uncle died of vexation and grief, and left all his wealth to my cousin.
To me he left, as he had promised, one sous.

" Being quite destitute, I entered the army as a private. I served
in Spain, and in the Russian campaign, and obtained, like most of
the officers who survived the retreat, rapid promotion. I am now
on half pay, and have lately made a pilgrimage to my native city.
Time, and misfortune, and ill health have wrought such a change in
my appearance, that there is no fear of any of its inhabitants, my
relatives, or college acquaintances saying, as else they well might,
pointing to me, — ' 'Tis he ! "

T. M EDWIN.

WATTY FLAHERTY.

BY P. MCTEAGUE, ESQ.

CHAPTER I.

Potato Gardens puzzling to the learned Their cultivators if possible more so.

Comparison between the Peasantry of England and Ireland — Reflections there-
upon.— Birth of Watty Flaherty. — His genius soon discernible. — Mr. O'Dowd,
the Prince of Irish Gentlemen. — His Lady. — Their establishment. — New theory

as regards the barking of dogs Definition of a cork-screw, a small instrument

sometimes used in Ireland. — A faithful messenger. — Effects of rats and mice,
leading to the introduction of cats.

POOR PADDY, with his bit of potato ground, seems to he puzzling
everybody. Philosophers, travellers, statesmen, — all lost in specula-
tion. They cannot conceive the reason why he should be so different
from other people ; and yet that he is so nobody can deny- For my
own part, though it does not seem modest to be praising one's own
countrymen, I may perhaps be allowed to remark that if it were at any
time desirable to prove an astounding contrast between races very near
each other, nothing more need be done than to bring a fair average

ii/*i t* f > L _/* T^ 1 j i i A i -i

itelligence,

and activity ; and though even half-fed and in rags, yet behaving, com-
paratively speaking, like gentlemen. The Johnny Raws or Yokels,
a \vkward in gait, and perfect clowns, \vith intellects as thick as mud-
dy ale !

But what has all this to do with Watty Flaherty ?

I '11 tell you. Watty was a mischievous rogue; but he was an
amusing scoundrel. He was one of those fellows that we must hope
are getting scarcer in Ireland ; yet still that he did exist there is no
doubt.

Watty Flaherty was born on the " brink " of a bog, in Limerick.
His parents were miserably poor, for they had married without consi-

392 WATTY FLAHERTY.

dering how they would live ; but were in ecstasies when they were
permitted to " perch down " upon the corner of " a lovely bog." In
process of time, besides Watty, they found themselves surrounded by
a <s small sharge " of nine other children, — there was a round dozen of
them altogether, living in a hovel which might have been ten or twelve
feet square.

Watty was the sharpest urchin among them ; and, when he came
home laden with a " thryslawn " of eels, or a stray duck " that wouldn't
keep out of his way," his poor mother would say " that boy's wits will
keep him from starving, but not out of mischief. In time, however,
he became a tolerably good workman ; he was active, and somehow
contrived to pick up a scanty portion of reading and writing, — and for
blarney, coaxing, and humbugging, had " no fellow." He was about
twenty when he wormed himself into a gentleman's service; whose
horse, however, having run away with him, Watty was so fortunate as
to stop the animal on the brink of a precipice, and from that moment
became a great favourite.

This gentleman, Cornelius O'Dowd, Esquire, of Mulgawley, was
one of the most eccentric men in Ireland. He was a gentleman farmer,
having taken long leases at low rates ; or made purchases of upwards
of fifteen hundred acres of fertile ground, which he well knew how,
when, and to whom to subdivide, keeping in his own hands several
hundred acres of the finest. In his undertakings Mr. O'Dowd was sin-
gularly fortunate ; which was made more apparent after his decease ;
it being well known that there are few of his descendants who are not
independent.

The house which Mr. O'Dowd lived in was a large, old-fashioned
fabric, surrounded by noble trees. At a convenient distance were his
gardens, farm-yards, and out-houses, all properly arranged. On the
trees were rooks innumerable. The farm-yards were crowded with
geese, turkeys, cocks, hens, and pigs. A score of men and boys might
be generally counted, putting on the greatest appearance of industry
when the master or mistress appeared ; but when their backs were
turned, rubbing their own shoulders against the gate-posts, or watch-
ing the puppies, and the pigs.

And yet, rolling as it were in wealth, Mr. O'Dowd was in several
respects one of the simplest men that ever lived. Acute in many
points, his character was in others completely the reverse. His strong
points consisted in making money by wholesale ; his weak ones, in
losing it by retail. He kept a most hospitable house ; his doors were
not only always open to his numerous friends, but the bare mention
of the name of a friend, would gain a welcome to any one ; and he
who would judge at a glance the value of a flock, or tell within a
pound what a fat beast would weigh, who kept the most accurate ac-
counts of his crops, rents, and the produce of his lands, surrendered
himself a victim to those who were constantly preying upon him.

It was whispered that he and Mrs. O'Dowd were not always on the
best terms ; that, knowing her good man's failings, she went some-
times " a little too far " to restrain him. Be this as it may, they, were
in the main a happy couple, had a fine family, the management of
which he wisely left to her ; and both of them looked so jolly, that few
believed Mr. O'Dowd's nights' were much disturbed by curtain lec-
tures. Such was Watty Flaherty's master.

As the screw winds its course into a bottle for the purpose of caus-

WATTY FLAHERTY. 393

ing emptiness within, so Watty Flaherty's great aim, after saving his
master's life, was to worm himself gradually into his confidence ; to
which end he appeared the most devoted of creatures. Was a mes-
senger wanted to run to the post-town ? Watty was the surest and
quickest man. " Here, Watty, take this guinea, and run for the let-
ters," or " a loaf of sugar," or anything else " in a hurry." Watty
was back in no time ; but he soon became slow in returning the " trifle
of change," which his master equally forgot to ask for ; and, though
by a mere chance he might now and then think of it, " sure I gave
it your honour " set all to rights.

In time Watty's flights were bolder. His master was pleased with
his jokes, and listened to his tales. He gradually became well ac-
quainted with all Mr. O'Dowd's weak points, found himself month
after month possessed of more influence, and increased his consequence
by marrying (with Mrs. O'Dowd's consent) the head dairy-woman.
Soon after he and his wife, Molly, were settled in a snug cabin within
three quarters of a mile of the house, and with an acre or two of
ground, which gave them feed for a cow. Molly, however, had a
number of poor relations, and so had Watty. They were therefore
often squeezed hard themselves, which made them squeeze the mas-
ter a little harder.

Watty was too knowing a fellow to quarrel either with steward or
herdsman, but contented himself with sliding into the duties of each
occasionally, and persuading Mr. O'Dowd that " if his honour would
allow him to do so and so," he was " sure and certin " he would bring
his honour luck, — which, in truth, he sometimes did, watching, how-
ever, the moments of abstraction to convey cash into his own pocket.

All this time he had such a ready stock of fun and cunning, that
even while executing a plot to humbug " the master," he did it in such
a way, as not only to blindfold Mr. O'Dowd, but to amuse him. And,
in truth, Watty loved no human being so much as his master. Yet
Watty was a rogue to the very heart's core.

One day he attended " the master " round the yards, while the lat-
ter, surveying sundry large rat-holes, and seeing quantities of chaff
in the lofts, exclaimed, " Watty, we 're lost for want of the cats, —
what has become of them ? "

" Faix, your honour, I think I can tell you the way it is. You see,
sir, you had a bad breed of cats, and not one of them fit to face a rat.
They wor small tortuses, and them 's a delicate breed, — the crathurs !
Sure, and didn't I see a couple of big ould thieves of rats ating up one
of them myself? " — " The rats eating the cats ? " said the squire. " I
never heard such a thing ! "

" Oh, as for the matter of that, your honour, a rat '11 ate anything;
the pitchforks are hardly safe for them."

" What think you of sending for a rat-catcher, then ? "

" In troth, sir, I don't know ; but I 'm tould them 's the biggest
rogues; and, if ^ they catch the rats in one place, they '11 turn them
loose in another." — " I believe you may be right. But traps, Watty,
what do you think of traps ? "

" In troth, your honour, it 's a very bad opinion of them same thraps
I have. For, you see, it 's only a young fool of a rat that '11 venter his
nose inside of a thrap ; and all the while he 's considering whether
he '11 go in or not, the ould thieves of rats are on the watch lying
down with the snouts betune the two forepaws of 'em ; and, as soon as

394t WATTY FLAHERTY.

they see the young slcelp fast, and he bawling and squaling at the top
of his voice to be out, the whole gang of them makes off wid them-
selves, and spreads the news. From that minuet after divil a rat
comes nigh the thraps, but the young ducks, or maybe a good ould hen
or two ; and them laving the toes and legs of themselves squeezed aff,
and that minuet out comes a whole pack of them blackguard rats,
and whips 'em into their holes." — " True, Watty, but what are we to
do ? "

" Oh, lave that to me, your honour, and I '11 settle it with some new
cats that I '11 get ; great big, tine fierce ones entirely, with their bo-
dies, and long tails, and whiskers, as hungry as hawks."

" But we 've tried the cats, Watty, and they did not answer."

" Oh, was it wid them cats, your honour ! Sure them was the tor-
tuses, and I tould your honour about them." — (( Very true, Watty.
How many of the new sort could you get in, do you think ? "

" Troth, your honour, how can the likes of me tell that, and no
money in my pocket to pay for them ? Sure they 're sould by a man
that dales in them, and collects them for the quality." — " Oh, well,
Watty, get six or seven of them. Take this guinea, and let me see
what you can do."

This was what Watty had been driving at, so to work he went, bor-
rowing a cat here, and a cat there, and promising each his cat back in
four or five days. At the expiration of which time, Mr. O'Dowd's
joy was great at beholding Watty, covered with dirt, as if after a jour-
ney, but with several bags hanging from his shoulders, all containing
animal life.

" Well, Watty, what news ? " — " Oh, the very best your honour.
I Ve got you a fine parcel of tin cats."

" Tin cats, Watty ? I never heard of tin cats, though you told me
of tortoise-shell ones : why, we shall have to make them all into can-
dlesticks." — " Ah, your honour 's welcome to yer jokes ; but it 's tin
cats, anyhow, all alive and hungry as the pikes in the river. Will your
honour be plased to look at thim ? arid I '11 turn 'em out one by one
in the big loft."

The squire acceded to this proposal, and mounted up into the loft.

"Now, sir, are you riddy ? " — " I am," said Mr. O'Dowd.

" But, begging your honour's pardon, I don't think you are ; for
them cats is very fierce, and the hunger pinching them ; so, if your
honour plases we '11 get behind the shkreen here, and your honour can
look through the bars, and I turning them out of the bags and baskets.

" Well thought of, Watty, draw the screen into the corner."

Watty drew the screen. Mr. O'Dowd got behind it, and the per-
formance began by Watty's untying a bag, out of which darted a huge
tom-cat, who, the moment he was liberated, made a dash at the screen,
and might, but for Watty's precaution, have deprived Mr. O'Dowd's
good-humoured face of a very respectable nose. Finding a bar to his
further progress, Mr. Tom cast a look of dignified contempt at his
new friends, ran to the other end of the loft, ascended the beams, and
" made aff with himself."

" Had your honour time to look at that cat ? " — " Yes, Watty.
How much did he cost ? "

" Well then, sir, the man and I had great bargaining, for he 's a
tom-cat, your honour, worth any money, and comes all the way from
Cork ; but I nailed him for eight and eightpence, and he well worth a

WATTY FL4HERTY. 395

guinea." — " A great price, Watty, but I don't begrudge it." — " Now,
your honour, the next is a famous black cat, that belonged to an old
lady in Kilkenny."

"A Kilkenny cat! " exclaimed Mr. O'Dowd. "Why they eat one
another up ! " — " Ah, not at all, your honour. There 's a bargain for
six and sixpence. (Bad luck to you, you thief of the world ! but you 've
clawed me)."

This cat, after so very moderate a piece of revenge, was perfectly se-
date in her movements, and marched away with dignity.

" Now for a fine tearing brown cat, your honour, the best and
chapest of thim all, and only cost eight and three halfpence ! "

" Why, Watty, you '11 ruin me with cat money/'

"Ah, your honour mill be joking ! Sure if your honour had not the
money, where else is it in the whole counthry ? Besides, I 'in to meet
the man, and pay him ; and, any of the cats your honour don't like,
won't it be asy for me to take him back."

" Well go on, Watty, they're fine creatures, and I don't think lean
object to them." Upon which Watty bundled them out as quick as
possible, and the squire, perfectly satisfied, descended from the loft.
Watty made it out to his master's satisfaction, that the cats were a
great bargain for two guineas, so Mr. O'Dowd handed him one, say-
ing, " There, Watty ; didn't I give you a guinea in hand ? " — " Half
a guinea, your honour, and the journey took a deal of it away from
me." — " That 's true," replied Mr. O'Dowd. " Here, settle with the
man now."

" Long life to your honour."

And so ended the farce. As to the cats, the majority being nearer
home than Mr. O'Dowd suspected, were at their respective fire-sides
the same evening. It was an optional affair with them.

CHAPTER II.

Honesty and skill rewarded. — Expedition to Limerick Three butchers fall suc-
cessively in love with Watty's calf. — Effects of disappointed love. — As in Troy,
so in Limerick. — Mr. Gallagher.— Advantage of legal acumen. — The Mayor and
Aldermen of Limerick crown the brows of justice with an additional chaplet. —
Leave it so.

A few months after this Watty concocted another scheme. Among
several things under his charge, he had to attend to a score of Mr.
O'Dowd's springing heifers ; of one of which he exceedingly desired
to possess himself. His master used to come almost daily to inspect
this stock, and was in the habit of boasting that they were the finest
lot he had ever seen upon his farm. One evening he found Watty
busy driving them out of one field into another, and taking great no-
tice of each.

" Well, Watty ; how do you get on ? " — <c Bravely, sir."

" What do you think of the springers, Wutty ? " — " They 're thriv-
ing illegant, your honour."

" What are they worth now ? "

" Oh, then, by dad ! they ought to be well worth ten pounds or gui-
neas ; and indeed, now, your honour, as the family is growing up with
me, and I obliged to sell my cow, I was jist thinking that I might be
expecting one of them on trust, and to pay you in time — only for one
thing.

396 WATTY FLAHERTY.

" What thing, Watty ? "

" Oh, it 's no use for me to be expecting one. Your honour may be
wouldn't have any objections ; but I thought most likely the mistress
would, as I know she is fond of the cattle." — " Oh, don't say that !
Don't you know that the springers are my property, and that if I
pleased you would have as many as I liked of them ? "

" Long may your honour live ! Not a better warrant in all Ireland.
I am sure I could have one in a minute, only for the mistress, and
maybe the steward wouldn't like I should take one."

" Oh, you fool ! " replied Mr. O'Dowd, who was exactly " hit " in
the right place. " Never mind what they may say. Take one, and let
me see the man or WOMAN either that dare say a word about it ! "

In time this fine springer produced a calf, which he ought to have
reared, but " light come, light go," was ever the proverb most appli-
cable to Watty. Nor had this calf revelled more than two months in
the enjoyment of existence ere Watty heard that there were great
<c goings on " in Limerick, and that balls, and other entertainments,
had occasioned such a demand that a good " veal calf" was reported
to be worth any money. Away he went ; and having brought his calf
into Limerick, drove it to that quarter of the city called Irish Town,
where the butchers then had their slaughter-houses. Watty, clever
as he was, did not know the value of his calf; probably he would
have made a better guess had he paid for the milk it was fattened on.
He entered a crowded street, looking about him like a country booby,
and trusting to the chapter of accidents. By the by, this sort of cha-
racter is more generally assumed by my honest countrymen than any
other ; Paddy knows, generally speaking, nothing, till he is about to
be cheated ; and then back again come his wits, accompanied by an
army of auxiliaries. Fancy Watty driving his calf before him," his
mouth open, and his whole appearance betokening simple ignorance.
Also imagine a stout butcher throwing his knife down upon his block
as he beheld this fine calf. Running up to Watty, he addressed him,
"What do you want for the calf?" — "Ea-ah?" exclaimed Watty.
" What '11 ye give ? " The butcher, handling it, told him " thirty
shillings."

" Say thirty-five," replied Watty. — " Well," says the butcher ; " as
you 're not much out of the way, why, win or lose, I '11 give you the
money. Keep her there till I bring it out."

" Very well," cried Watty ; and the moment the butcher disappear-
ed he drove the calf on having perceived another butcher on the watch
further up the street.

" Is that one sould, my man ? " — " Ea-ah ? " said Watty.

"Did you sell the calf? " cried the butcher.

' t Not a halfpenny I got for her yit," replied Watty.

" What '11 you have for her then ? " — " Why, thin, by dad ! I can
hardly say," says Watty ; " but under the two guineas there '11 be no
use our talking." — " Say thirty-five hogs, and it 's a bargain," replied
the butcher. — ' ' Oiy eh ! " said Watty, " a purty figure I 'd be cutting
with your thirty-five hogs. It ud be best for you to say the two gui-
neas at wanst, and the fat calf '11 be yours.'

"Do you know what it is ? " says the butcher. " I never had any
difference with a man that I 'd see going about the thing fair ; and so,
if you'll wait I'll go to a man that owes me money, and come back
and pay you."

WATTY FLAHERTY. 397

"With all my heart/' answered Watty, who perceived another
butcher eyeing him ; so, pushing forward as quick as possible, the
third inquired the price of the calf?

Watty resolved to ask a fine price this time, and " at any rate, sure
what can he do but refuse ? Haven't I the calf sould ? and what
harm to knock some devarsion out of it ?"

" What 's the price ? " says the butcher. — " Three pounds," replied
Watty. — " That 's a sight of money for that one," said the butcher.

"Did I ask you to give it ? " answered Watty.

" I '11 tell you what ; I '11 give you two guineas and a half," says
the butcher.

" Begor, have her ! " exclaimed Watty, pretty sure that he had got
fair value for his calf, — a high price indeed, though the butcher knew
what he was about also. Watty delivered up the animal, and was on
the point of receiving the money, when up came the first butcher
cash in hand, followed by the second, equally prepared, and hereupon
commenced a regular row. The country-people, among some of whom
Watty was known, prepared to support his cause. The tranquillity
of this ancient city was now on the point of being disturbed, and
Watty to Limerick might have proved as fatal as Helen to Troy.
A few paving-stones had already performed their gyrations in the air.
Brickbats had begun to mingle with the storm ; and Watty's fears
increased in proportion as his arms were nearly pulled off by the two
brawny specimens of (t injured innocence." His cries of " murder "
were piercing, when a company of soldiers marched suddenly up, sur-
rounded Watty and his accusers, suppressed the incipient war, and
hurried the four principals into the castle guardhouse. Watty was
now in a ticklish predicament ; he had left his calf with the third
butcher, and his money was in jeopardy. His wits, however, had not
yet forsaken him ; and he so earnestly implored the officer for time
to go to his master's attorney, telling him in whose service he was,
that the permission was finally granted, and two soldiers appointed to
escort him to that man of law, whilst he sent the three butchers to the
court-house.

The attorney practised frequently for Mr. O'Dowd, and knew Watty
well. His stature and rotundity were equally remarkable ; his humour
was inexhaustible, and his dear love for "a handsome fee" never dimi-
nished so long as he was able to shut -his hand. Such was Mr. Gal-
lagher y whose surprise was great when Watty was conducted into his
presence between two grenadiers. Recognising Watty, he took off his
spectacles, and, assuring the soldiers that he would be answerable for
their prisoner, requested they would withdraw while he heard his case.

" Well, Watty," said Mr. Gallagher, " what brought you to Lime-
rick. What 's the matter ? "

" Troth, your honour, 'twas an honest errand I came upon, and
that was to sell a calf of my own."

" All fair so far," said the lawyer ; " but something else must have
occurred ? "

" Faix, and so there did, your honour ; for myself not knowing the
good prices that was going, 1 sould the calf, your honour, to a black-
guard of a butcher, that did not give me to near a pound of its value;
and then I sould it to another butcher, that was a'most as big a villyan
as the other ; and then I sotdd it to another, that was the only honest
man of the three."

VOL. vn. 2 F

398 WATTY FLAHERTY.

" Sold your calf three times over ! " said Mr. Gallagher, amused with
the scrape Watty had got into. " I never heard of such a thing ! " Then
looking very grave, " I fear this will be a very bad business for you, my
man. I think we had better send off an express for Mr. O'Dowd."

" Oh, your honour, don't ! I 'd as soon lose my life as throuble the
master."

" Well, as you please," said Mr. Gallagher ; " but I tremble for you."

" Ah, don't say that, your honour ! Sure they can't do much to me."

" Why, the ancient laws of the city are very strict. Market riots are
punished by a fine and imprisonment."

" Oh murder ! " cried Watty. " But sure your honour can save me ?"

" Save you ? I don't know that ; a long imprisonment, I fear — "

" Oh, your honour dear, don't talk of the jail ! "

" Or a public whipping, or one hour in the pillory, would be sooner
over, to be sure ; but the risk of life," continued Mr. Gallagher.

" Oh what '11 become of me, your honour ! Oh, your honour, thry
again, and do something for me ! Sure your honour would not wish to
see a poor man humbugged by them blackguards of butchers ? Oh,
murder, murder ! don't let me go to jail ! "

" Nor will I, if I can help it," replied the lawyer, relaxing to a smile ;
" but you well know I never work without a fee. I must go to court
with you, for which you ought to pay me one guinea ; but as you are
serving my particular friend and client, my charge shall be only half a
guinea if I get you off, arid not one farthing if I lose. Is that fair,
Watty ? "

"• Mighty fair intirely/' answered Watty.

" Well, then," said Mr. Gallagher, " while slipping on my coat, and
changing my wig, I '11 tell you what to do. Now mind every word I
say." — " Never fear, your honour."

" Well, then, Watty, when we go into court, you must open your
mouth, and stare about you like a fool."

" Throth, then, I think I '11 plase your honour that way."

" Well, then, it 's little more I have to say. Whatever question is
asked you, make no other answer than, ' Oh, please your worship, leave
it so' Now, do you perfectly understand ? "

" I do, your honour. I '11 go bail I '11 look like a fool in court ; and
if the tongue o' me says anything but ' Oh, plase your worship, lave it
so/ I '11 cut it off for pickling."

" Very well, Watty, you have the words ; now mind how well you
will say them after any question asked you by the Mayor ; and recol-
lect our bargain, — half a guinea, Watty."

" Oh, never fear, your honour."

And off they went, escorted by the soldiers.

The officer stated the circumstances of the row, and was thanked by
the mayor for his interference.

The butcher triumvirate were now called upon to state their cases in
turn ; whereupon the first spoke as follows :—

" Plase your worship, that scoundrel at the bar sould me a fine fat
calf, and we had a regular bargain, your worship, and it was agreed I
should give him thirty-five shillings for the calf, your worship ; and
while I wint to fetch the money, and come out with it in my fist, the
eternal vagabone was clane out of sight. Here 's the very money itself,
your worship, and I expect your worship will order me the calf."

MAYOR (milh empharis). Prisoner, what say you to this ?

WATTY FLAHERTY. .399

WATTY. Oh, plase your worship, lave it so.

MAYOR. Fellow, that is an admission.

WATTY. Oh, plase your worship, lave it so.

MAYOR. He is evidently guilty. — Then addressing the second,
he desired him to state what he had to say.

2ND BUTCHER. Plase your worship, that everlasting thief of the
world sould me that same fat calf, and, after bargining awhile, I
agreed to buy it for two guineas, and by the same token here's the very
two guineas themselves ; and when I stept a short distance for the
money, your worship, the black-gz/##re? was gone, and he selling it to
another ; and so it 's only honest justice and the calf I am asking for,
your worship.

MAYOR. Why, prisoner, you seem to be a finished swindler. What
answer do you make to this ?

WATTY. Oh, plase your worship, lave it so.

MAYOR. Guilty again ! I tell you, you have twice admitted your
guilt now.

WATTY. Oh, plase your worship, lave it so.

MAYOR (turning to the aldermen). The case appears distinct enough.
But I should like to hear what the third has to say. Butcher, relate the
facts.

SRD BUTCHER. Plase your worship, this man came to me fair, and
open, and asy with his calf; and having a great call for vale, and be-
sides, not knowing where to lay my hands on a fillet ordered for your
worship, and the calf being a very fine one, I gave the poor man what
he asked, which was two guineas and a half; and here 's the money,
your worship, and I don't think it too much.

MAYOR. Upon my word, gentlemen, (turning to the two aldermen,)
this seems a very rascally piece of business. Prisoner, do you admit
this man's statement ?

WATTY. Oh, plase your worship, lave it so.

MAYOR. If your case is singular, your answers are more so. Can
you bring forward any person to speak to your character ?

WATTY. Oh, plase your worship, lave it so.

This was Mr. Attorney Gallagher's critical moment ; and rising, he
he addressed the bench. — •" Mr. Mayor, and worshipful magistrates of
Limerick, compassion for the unfortunate man now before you has alone
prompted me to attend to the case, he having sought me out, being
often employed by a most excellent gentleman, whom you all know,
Mr. O'Dowd of Malgawley, to bring messages to my office. I have
known him for years. Of his honesty I have no doubt ; but the man
is a mere simpleton. The calf was, 1 am sure, his own ; for no person
would have employed him to sell it. He came among the butchers as
unsuspicious as the beast he drove ; and when, instead of receiving the
money, he saw the two men turn their backs upon him and go away,
the poor creature of course believed the bargains were off, and so
strolled on.

" I may also take the liberty of stating, that full advantage seems
to have been taken of the extreme ignorance of the servant of my
client ; and that among the three butchers there appears to be only one
conscientious man ; and I appeal to your worships whether such a
difference as seventeen shillings and sixpence in the value of a small
animal actually sold for two pounds twelve and sixpence, is not a plain
proof of the fact.

'2 F 2

400 WATTY FLAHERTY.

" I therefore respectfully solicit of your worships, that as this harm-
less simpleton cannot take care of himself, that you will order the only
honest butcher before you to take what justly belongs to him, and pay
this natural his two guineas and a half, and let him go back to his
family."

This address carried everything before it ; three of the wisest heads
in Limerick were immediately in contact ; two butchers looked very
blue ; and the Mayor drawing himself up with becoming dignity, spoke
as follows : —

" Mr. Gallagher, on the first view of the case, my own opinions and
those of my worthy brother magistrates were much against the pri-
soner ; but, considering your knowledge of the man, and the advan-
tages which have been taken of him, we are of opinion that John
O'Rorke is entitled to the calf, and he is accordingly ordered to hand
the money over in open court. As to the other butchers who were
instrumental in causing a riot, you James Hallinan, and you Denis
Moylan, are required to give security to keep the peace for twelve
calendar months. Officers, clear the court."

Mr. O'Rorke immediately handed two guineas and a half to Watty,
whose eyes glistened somewhat too knowingly as he stowed them safely
away in his leathern purse, making also rather too knowing a bow to
the bench. Mr. Gallagher was all hurry and impatience to get him
away, and leading him out of court, as soon as they got to a lane, turned
round and said,

" Now, Watty, for our bargain. Hand me over that half guinea."

To which Watty replied, throwing all the drollery into his face that
he could muster, " Oh, plase your honour, lave it so."

The effect was irresistible ; Gallagher was caught in his own net ;
and, after a hearty laugh, actually gave Watty half a guinea, on condi-
tion that he " would lave it so" and never say a word of their bargain.

CHAPTER III.

The best method of saving turf in Ireland — Hydrophobia. — Its dreadful effects on
turkeys. — How to kill a wife. — Parsnips versus Prussic acid. — Economy of coffins.
— The doctrine of consequences exemplified. — Its transporting effects, terminating
in change of climate.

WATTY had the charge of cutting a large supply of turf for winter
stock ; and as it was rather late in the autumn, and at that season
the country work becomes scarce, he devised the following scheme to
cut out a week or two more for his clan. Keeping out of sight him-
self, he instructed the men to make the rick under some trees, in
a damp place, he never stirring from the bog, but superintending the
loading of the cars.

When the work was finished, and he went to Mr. O'Dowd, he pre-
tended to be in the greatest state of excitement, which his master
perceiving, inquired what was the matter.

" The matter, your honour ? I never saw the likes of that ! Them
fellows must be either fools or madmen, or may be both ! "

" Who are the fools and madmen now ? " said the Squire.

<c Sure them rascals that were making up the rick, and myself down
at the bog ! Don't you see, sir, your own self, that the dropping of the
trees '11 ruin the whole of the turf in three weeks' time, the vagabonds ! "

" This is partly my own fault, Watty, for not taking notice of it.
But it 's true enough, the scoundrels ! "

WATTY FLAHERTY. 401

" Oh, lave them to me ! 1 11 serve them out, your honour. Every
bit of that turf shall them men draw out on their backs in baskets, and
take it up on that nice dry little hill there beyant, before they stop."

This was the very thing the fellows were scheming at ; accordingly
they had all of them work for two or three weeks longer ; and Mr.
O'Dowd relenting, as he usually did, gave them their full hire for
every day they were thus employed.

One fine November day, Watty and his " choice set of boys " were
threshing out a quantity of corn at a distant farm, under the care of a
crabbed old herdsman named Paddy Whelan ; and as they expected
Mr. O'Dowd over to look at the produce, they fell to joking among
themselves how much whisky they should get when he should see the
numerous rows of sacks all ready for the market.

Now Mr. O'Dowd had sent over to this farm, some months previously,
a number of fine young turkeys to fatten for Christmas, and had given
Whelan orders that they should be well fed. Watty and " his lads "
had cast many a wistful look at these turkeys, and had laid many
plans to remove them ; but they never could get an opportunity.

All at once Watty exclaimed, " Boys, I have it ! The master is
coming ; do as I '11 tell ye, and my hand t' ye, we '11 have the turkeys
before his face, and the whisky, — and not a feather of them, or a drop
of the spirit, without his lave and license ; and no thanks to Paddy
Whelan. We '11 have great fun entirely."

" Ah, now, Watty, how can you do that, and the master giving
such orders about them same turkeys ? "

" Ah, hold your tongue, man, and lave that all to me."

After waiting a while, and receiving their instructions, the man "on
the look out " came running with intelligence that the master was
riding " fair and aisy " up the road.

Watty no sooner heard this than, laying hold of one of the turkeys,
he stuck a bit of stick, which he had sharpened, into the poor anima'l's
head, and left it there. It may well be supposed that in its agony the
miserable creature commenced twisting itself about in a most extraor-
dinary way, and as soon as the other turkeys saw it, they all fell upon
the unfortunate animal, running, screaming, tumbling over each other,
and gobbling, as if the world was coming to an end ; and in the midst
of all this hubbub and confusion, up comes Mr. O'Dowd.

" Hollo ! what is the matter with -my turkeys ? Tell me directly.
You stupid fellows, why do you stare so, without speaking ? "

" Why, then, by dad, your honour, we can't exactly tell," said one
of the instructed. " They 've been going on that way this long time,
and we thought to go and tell yer honour av it, only you were coming."

" See, sir," says Watty, running up, " there did* a mad dog come
yesterday, and he bit one of the dogs here, and we killed the dog, your
honour, for fear he 'd bite any of the cattle, your honour." Watty well
knew his master's extreme terror of rabid animals.

" Bite the cattle ! — do you say ? And won't the turkeys bite my
cattle ? They are mad ! — I can see it ! Kill them all immediately !—
they '11 bite my fine cattle ! "

These were the commands Watty had anticipated j nor was it long
ere the whole flock had fallen under the flails of his comrades, all
dreadfully alarmed lest any of the poor creatures should bite them.
There they lay at lust, and were quickly thrown away, but not out of
reach.

402 WATTY FLAHERTY.

Order thus restored, Watty approached his master. " Well, now,
your honour, you can't say but that 's an elegant produce of corn. And
indeed, your nonour, we wouldn't even stop to ate breakfast or dinner,
but worked hard and well to have it all threshed out agin you 'd come."

" Oh, I knew you would, Watty. Go every one of you and get a
na<rgin a-piece, and drink my health."

" Long life to your honour ! and that we will, and that you may in-
crase. But there's Paddy Whelan there beyant; he'll be missing the
turkeys, and saying we stole them."

" Let him say a word if he dare. I 'm going to him now, and will
tell him so myself."

And away rode Mr. O'Dowd.

" Two of them 's mine ! " says Watty. " Now we have fine tur-
keys, and a naggin of the right stuff this evening, instead of praties and
a sup of milk. And another thing, — where do ye think we 'd get tur-
keys so nigh Christmas ? And can't he get them any place he plases ? "

Neither years nor seasons abated Watty's scheming ; and during a
severe winter, having a call upon him from a neighbouring attorney for
three guineas, which he had no means of raising, he bethought himself
of the notable expedient of making his wife's life pay for it !

It was a rough morning, when the snow was deep, that Watty,
with a face expressing all the sorrow he could throw into it, shivering
and shaking, crying and wringing his hands, burst into the yard at
the moment when he knew his master would be going the round of the
cattle-sheds.

" Watty, what 's the matter now ? " exclaimed Mr. O'Dowd.

" Oh, sir, my wife ! — my wife ! Oh, what '11 the poor childther do
at all now ! — the crathurs ! — Oh, my wife ! my wife ! "

" Poor fellow ! What is the matter with your wife ? Can I do any-
thing for you ? Tell me all about it."

" Oh, then, what can your honour do ? This morning when I woke
(the saints be betune us and harm !) what should I find (the Lord save
us !) but Molly stone dead in the bed! Oh ! wisha, wisha, wisha ! —
what '11 I do, what '11 I do ! "

Mr. O'Dowd began to be overpowered, and desired to know how
long she had been ill.

" Not long at all, your honour. Molly was complaining of being
hungry last night ; arid, as she was putting the childther to bed, I set a
pot full of fine pashnups on the fire ; and so, your honour, she wouldn't
wait till they were boiled enough, and being very fond of the pash-
nups, they must have overpowered her entirely ; for when she got into
bed, she tould me she felt all over like a blown bladher. But being
very tired after the hard work, I thought nothing more about it, and I
fell fast asleep, your honour."

" Poor woman ! — killed with eating parsnips. Dangerous food eat
quick. Well, my poor fellow, tell me only what I can do for you."

" Oh, sir, what can you do for me, indeed ! Why, then, as bad as the
day is, I must go to the town for a coffin, and I 'd like to bury the poor
crathur dacent, — and besides, I haven't a shilling to give for the coffin
to bury her in at all — only I know your honour is good, and you won't
see a poor man back — long life to you ! "

*' I am sorry for you indeed, Watty. Now tell me how much you
think ought to bury her."

" Why, then, I must say, sir, if I could manage to rise about two
guineas, it might be near enough."

WATTY FLAHERTY. 403

" Don't say another word, Watty. Here 's two guineas for you> and
don't be in any hurry about paying me again."

At this Watty shook and trembled more violently than before ; and,
after he had taken the guineas, stooped down, and pretended to be
searching about in the snow for something he had lost.

" What have you lost, Watty ? " said Mr. O'Dowd.

" Only one of the guineas, sir," replied Watty. " When a man is
in such trouble, he hardly knows what he is about. It has slipped
down through the snow, and I can't find it, good or bad, at present ;
but I '11 just make a mark in the place," (here Watty laid four or five
large stones on the spot,) " and when the snow melts we can find it
aisy."

" True," replied Mr. O'Dowd. " Here 's another ; and go now and
finish your business."

Watty appeared very loath to take the other guinea; but Mr. O'Dowd
forced it upon him, and away he went ; but in the evening, just at the
time he knew his master would be in spirits, back he came, grinning
from ear to ear.

" Bless me ! Watty, who would have thought of seeing you ! I
concluded you would be tvakeing poor Molly."

" Oh, your honour," says Watty, " only think of me going all the
ways and buying a coffin for the wife ! But when I came back to the
house, what should I see but a neighbouring woman sitting laughing for
herself, jist inside the dure.

" ' Welcome home/ says she, ' Watty/ says she.

" ' Ah, then, don't be making game under a poor man/ says I, € that 's
after coming all the ways,' says I, ' and buying a coffin for his wife,'
says I.

" ' There Js some one within wants to spake to you/ says she.

" ' Who is it ? ' says I. — ' Go your ways in and see/ says she.

" And so, sure enough, in I wint, and who should I see but the dar-
lint herself that I thought I 'd lost, sitting up in the bed, your honour,
and, thanks be to God ! not much the worse, only very pale and tired-
looking.

' ' Oh, Watty, dear,' says she, c I thought it was all over wid me,'
says she. — ' And so did I too, agrah/ says I.

" t But the Lord be praised ! ' says Molly, ' it was only a whirlwind.'

" ' A what ? ' says I. — ' A whirlwind/ says she. But bad luck to me
if I can tell what she meant ! I 've a notion it was a sort of a thing
they call a thrance Molly was in, that laves people that gets out of it
very wake intirely ; and the neighbours say, that when I can come at
a grain of tay and some sugar for her, and thin some good broth and
mate to stringthen her up with, she will do mighty well. But where
would the likes of me, a poor man, get them things ? "

" Well, well," said Mr. O'Dowd, " you shall have plenty of tea and
sugar, and a drop of wine for her too. But what did you do with the
coffin ? "

" Is it with the coffin, your honour ? Sure didn't I bring it home on
my back all the way ? "

" Yes," replied the squire ; " but what have you done with it ? "

" Why, thin, your honour, haven't I got it to the fore ? I carried it
up, and laid it safe above on the loft, and so mayn't I as well keep it ?
It will tit either me or Molly all the same, and we can hide little odd
things from the childther in it. It will be a useful sort of a chist, your
honour ; and few will be vent'ring to look inside it.

404 COLIN CLINK.

At this Mr. O'Dowd laughed as heartily as before, and the amuse-
ment was such, that he never more thought of his three guineas.

I should be happy to relate better things of Watty Flaherty. These,
and a thousand similar pranks, were carried on with various advan-
tages, and corresponding hazards, during the lifetime of his good old
master. But Mr. O'Dowd's successors did not evince the same sort of
relish for such jokes ; and one unlucky day, as he was selling half a
dozen fine fat sheep at a distant fair, he was accosted by a couple of
gentlemen in blue coats, who evinced such extraordinary solicitude for
his safety and accommodation, that they never lost sight of him till he
was on board a fine ship, in which, having previously received a suitable
admonition from an elderly gentleman in a very large wig, he was
indulged with a voyage to a distant colony, there to end his days and
speculations. In a word, he was — THRANSHPOORETED !

FINIS TO WATTY.

COLIN CLINK.

BY CHARLES HOOTON.

BOOK THE SECOND.

CHAPTER XVII.

Colin is pursued, and who his pursuer was. — A strange set-out, and a very pathetic

parting.

DURING the time the transactions recently related were progress-
ing, a strange hubbub had been raised at Whinmoor touching Colin's
disappearance. Palethorpe waxed desperate, and Miss Sowersoft's
temper curdled like an embryo cheese. Dire vengeance against him
was threatened. York Castle and bread and water were the mildest
things prescribed for him ; although, in their opinion he well de-
served a halter. Mrs. Clink and Fanny had been heartily abused by
Palethorpe for having « backed him up in burglary, and after-
wards connived at his running away from his work." The fact was,
this worthy felt doubly enraged because he had missed an excellent
chance of having a shot at him, and now swore that, if ever he could
lay hands upon him again, he would very nearly bray him into a
pulp.

At this portentous period it was that Dr. Rowel made bis appear-
ance at the farm, (after his discovery of Colin's letter at Kiddal Hall,)
and by all the arguments in his power raised the wrath of its inha-
bitants still higher against the young man, and even went so far
as to promise, that as he was himself also an injured party, he
had no objection to pay half of Palethorpe's expenses, if he would
go after the culprit to London, — whither, according to certain pri-
vate information he had received, Colin had directed his flight. Pale-
thorpe snapped at the offer as a hungry wolf might at a bone. He

COLIN CLINK. 405

had long wished to see London, and a capital opportunity was here
presented. He vowed that he would ferret out the lad before he
came back again, though he should dive to the bottom of the Thames
for him ; and proposed to set out on the following day, to avoid
farther loss of time.

This proposal being acceded to, nearly the whole night was ex-
pended by the attentive mistress in rigging him out for his journey.
The chaise-cart was got ready early next morning to convey Pale-
thorpe and his luggage to the coach-office at Leeds ; and an old half-
pint bottle filled with brandy and water, together with sandwiches to
the extent of a quartern loaf and two pounds of beef, were secretly
inveigled by Miss Sowersoft into his top-coat pocket.

Having duly inquired whether everything was ready, Mr. Pale-
thorpe was called into the parlour by his mistress, who, having shut
the door, set her candle down on the table, (for it was not yet day-
light,) and began to talk to him in a tone more than usually serious.

" You are going," said she, " a long journey, — a very long jour-
ney. I hope to heaven we shall see you safe back again. I 'm
sure I shall hardly sleep o' nights for knowing you are not in the
house ; but wherever you are, now do remember what I say, and
take care of yourself. We don't know what different places are till
we see 'em ; and I 'm sure I almost feel afraid — when it comes to
this last minnit — " Here she tucked up the corner of her apron, and
placed it in close proximity with the corner of her eye. " I raelly
feel afraid of trusting you there by yourself."

Palethorpe was here about to explain at large his own capabilities
for governing his own rampant self, had not Miss Sowersoft derived
additional vigour from the attempted interruption, and proceeded :

" I know you are plenty old enough to keep out of harm's way, —
that is certain ; but then there are so many dangers that nobody can
foresee, and temptations hung out beyond any single man's capacity
to resist — I am afraid. I 'm sure it would take a great load off of my
mind if I was going along with you, — a very heavy load, indeed.
Ay, dear ! "

" Oh, never heed, meesis," replied Palethorpe ; " I shall get back
as safe and sound as a rotten pear. A rotten pear, says I ! — no, I
mean as sound as a roach — trust me for that. I ar'n't going a-gate
of no temptations, that 's flat. Bless me ! I should think there 's
both ale enough, and opportunities for folks to get married enough,
i' Yorkshire, without goin' all the road to Lunnun for 'em ! "

" Well," replied his mistress, " you are very discretionary at
home. I say nothing about that ; but perhaps, you know, when
you 're surrounded by so many things to distract your considera-
tions, you might — a — a — . I 'm sure I hardly know how to express
myself fully ; but all I mean to say, is, that after all, you know, —
and do as we will to the contrary, yet somehow, as I was going to
say, men will be men sometimes, and women women ! "

As Miss Sowersoft uttered this very sagacious remark, she began
to sob rather hysterically, and seemingly to demand the support of
Mr. Palethorpe's arm. This he promptly offered ; a few more words
in a consolatory tone escaped his lips ; the maid in the passage out-
side thought she heard a slight report or two, not unlike the un-
corking of a bottle ; and in another minute the head farming-man
hurried desperately out. He was afraid of being too late at Leeds,

406 COLIN CLINK.

and in his hurry to rush through the dairy to get into the chaise-cart
which stood in the yard,, he kicked over a pan of new milk, and
plunged his other foot into a tub of hot hog- wash, both of which had
just before been placed upon the ground by the said maid.

"Dang your stuff!" exclaimed he, dashing his foot against the
overturned vessel ; " what, in the divil's name, isn't there room enough
in Yorkshire to set your things down, without cramming 'em under
people's feet like that ? "

The maid laughed in his face, and Miss Sowersoft called lovingly
after him not to mind it ; while Palethorpe leapt into the vehicle, and
ordered Abel to drive as fast as he could into Briggate.

On the following day he opened his wondering eyes for the first
time upon town.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Curiously illustrates the old saying, that a man may " go farther to fare worse."

No sooner had Mr. Palethorpe arrived than, following Dr. Rowel's
directions, he marched off in a very business-like manner to the York-
shire House, and inquired for Colin Clink. No such person was
there ; although one of the female servants told him she believed a
young man of that name had made a short stay at the house some
weeks ago, and had called once or twice since ; but he had left long
ago, and gone they knew not whither.

This information brought the pursuer to a dead stop. His scent
was lost all at once ; and as he had not made provision out of the
wits of other people for any disappointment of this kind, while
his own were very backward in coming to his assistance, he suddenly
felt that all was over. Moreover he found London to be a very dif-
ferent place to what he had expected ; and for a stranger to set about
in search of a lost man there, seemed worse even than hunting for a
needle in a bottle of straw. Instead, therefore, of troubling himself
just then any farther about the matter, he thought he would first
sleep upon it, and in the mean time go about and see the sights.
First he wended his way to the top of the Monument, having pre-
viously very carefully perused the inscription at its base. After
that he ascended into the lantern of St. Paul's. He then travelled
down to the Tower, and very narrowly escaped walking into the
ditch just where there chanced to be a rail broken, while his eyes
were turned up in curious scrutiny of the White Tower. He much
longed to go in, but dared not, for fear of the soldiers, as he was not
hitherto aware that it was guarded so stoutly by a military force.
When he got back into St. Martin's le Grand, and looked up at the
Post Office clock, he was about to pull out his watch and compare
dials, but, to his dismay, found that somebody had saved him the
trouble by pulling it out before him. In his confusion he instinct-
ively endeavoured to wipe his nose, but discovered that one of his
best handkerchiefs was gone too. In this double dilemma he stared
about him some minutes very oddly, and not a little to the amuse-
ment of certain cabmen, who stood hard by observing his motions
with visages wide awake. He began to be afraid of remaining any
longer in the street, and accordingly hurried back to the Yorkshire
House, where he endeavoured to console himself under his losses
by taking an extra quantity of Burton ale and gin -and- water.

COLIN CLINK. 407

These little bits of experience made him afterwards so very cau-
tious, that whenever he walked out he was continually engaged in
cramming his hands first one and then the other, into his coat-
pockets, then into his breeches, in order to be assured that his money
was safe ; for he held it as a maxim, that no man who knew what
he was about would leave his cash in a box which anybody might
unlock, at a public house where strangers were running in and out,
and up and down stairs, all day long. He accordingly, for the greater
safety, carried his whole stock about with him.

In this manner he wiled away nearly a week, waiting chances of
meeting with Colin accidentally, and hoping that he might luckily
call again at the Yorkshire House ; in which case he had made pro-
vision for securing him, by leaving word that, if he did come, he was
to be told that a very well-known acquaintance from the country had
arrived, who wished to see him upon most particular business. But
time passed on, his trap caught nothing, and, after eight or nine
days' stay, he found himself no forwarder, save in the amount of
wonderful things he had seen, and the quantity of money he had
expended, than he was when he parted with Miss Sowersoft. Dis-
astrous as all this was, it is not to be wondered at that his cou-
rage evaporated very rapidly, and in fact became so very nearly
dried wholly up, that he made up his mind, after many efforts, to
sneak back again into the country, invent the best tale he possibly
could, in order to satisfy his " meesis " and the doctor, and sit down
once again to his beer and bacon on the quiet farm, renouncing
London, and every attempt to catch Colin Clink, at once and for ever.

Fortune, however, which, as we are told, ever watches over the
brave, would not suffer him to go thus far, and undergo the fatigues
and dangers of such a journey, merely to come to such an inglo-
rious conclusion. And as Palethorpe manfully determined to have
a good last night of it before he left town, and see for himself what
life in London really was, the frail goddess took that favourable op-
portunity of adding a striking incident to the tail-piece of his chapter
of accidents, — an incident which, as it brought him very unexpectedly
into the presence of Colin, and otherwise is worthy of particular
note, I shall give in a chapter by itself.

CHAPTER XIX.

The singular meeting of Colin and Palethorpe. — A jolly night, and the results of
it, with one of the most remarkable discoveries on record.

ON the last afternoon of his intended stay in town, Mr. Palethorpe
rambled as far as Regent's Park, and into the Zoological Gardens,
where he amused himself some time by tempting the bears with a
bit of bun, without allowing them to get near enough to lay hold of
it; a piece of dexterity on his own part which made him laugh
heartily twenty times over ; for the cleverness of it seemed to him
excellent. When weary of that, he repaired to the monkey-cage, in
anticipation of some excellent sport ; but there he found many much
more able fellows than himself; and, in endeavouring to outwit a
great baboon with a walnut, got one of his ears nearly twinged off,
highly to the delight of a whole company of boys who stood by, and
whose laughter and jeers eventually caused him to beat a retreat
out of the gardens.

408 COLIN CLINK.

Having taken a pretty accurate survey of the West End, he de-
scended Regent Street in the evening, and about nine o'clock might
have been seen wending his way with indecisive step down Coventry
Street, from the Piccadilly end, with a considerable amount of Bar-
clay and Perkins's stout in his head, — porter being such a rarity to
him, that he thought it as well to make the best of it while he en-
joyed the opportunity.

On the right hand side of Coventry Street he accidentally espied
a fishmonger's shop. Palethorpe always enjoyed a good appetite for
oysters whenever he could get them, and, as he had fixed his eyes
upon a leaden tank full, he walked into the shop aforesaid, and re-
quested the man to open him a lot. As fast as he opened them, Mr.
Palethorpe swallowed them ; while, as long as he continued to swal-
low, the man continued to open, keeping silent count of the number
taken all the while, until in a loud voice he at last proclaimed a
numerical amount of five dozen. Mr. Palethorpe then bid him de-
sist, and, with great reluctance at the moment, paid the demand of
a crown for his supper. Somehow, however, his stomach raised
certain very cogent objections against thus suddenly being con-
verted into an oyster-bed, and demanded the instant administration
of a dram. This, however, he could not procure there, but was in-
vited to walk into the room behind, where he might take wine at
his leisure. Although Palethorpe did not much relish the notion,
he did not feel in the best possible condition for quitting the shop
and going elsewhere ; and therefore, almost as a matter of necessity,
adopted the waiter's suggestion. Pushing open a door, therefore,
with an oval glass in it, he found himself all at once in one of the
finest public apartments he had yet entered.

At first he felt almost doubtful whether he had not made a mis-
take, and walked into a chapel,— the gallery round the walls and the
pew-like seats very strongly favouring the idea. This notion was,
however, very soon put to the rout by an individual, whom he had
mistaken for a pew-opener, approaching him with the polite inquiry,
what wine would he please to take.

" Oh, ony '11 do. One sort is just the same as another to me, for I
know no difference," replied Palethorpe.

" Pint of sherry, perhaps, sir ? Very well, sir." And before
the Yorkshireman could find time to express either his acquiescence
or his dissent, the waiter had disappeared to execute the order of
his own suggestion.

When he returned, Palethorpe took the wine in silent dudgeon.
Of course he had the appearance of an animal too remarkable not
to attract attention anywhere in London, but especially so in the par-
ticular region where fortune had noAV condescended to cast him.

As far as he could discern anything of the matter, the company
appeared of the highest respectability, if not, in fact, almost too good
for him. But then, as everybody conducted themselves in the most
free and easy manner possible, he was not long in making him-
self perfectly at home. The ladies, who were beautifully dressed
and decorated with various sorts of flowers, struck him with parti-
cular admiration. All that disagreeable crust of reserve, in which
country people are so very prone to encase themselves, was here
worn quite clean off; and he found no more trouble in entering into
conversation with these ladies than he did at home in talking to

COLIN CLINK. 409

his horses. Two of them politely invited themselves to his wine,
and, without waiting permission, drank it off to his good health, and
suggested to him to call for more. They playfully tweaked his nose,
put his hat on their own heads, and invited him to partake of his
own drink so very kindly and pressingly, that at last it would
scarcely have been known whether they or he had in reality paid
for it.

About midnight, and at the particular request of a young lady
who was taking leave, Sammy was prevailed on to escort her home ;
a piece of politeness which he felt most competent to discharge by
calling a cab, as his own legs had by this time in great part lost the
faculty of carrying the superstructure of his body with that precise
degree of perpendicularity which is commonly considered essential
to personal comfort and safety.

From that moment up to the occurrence of the following inci-
dent, his history is wrapped in the most profound and mysterious
darkness.

On this eventful night, the intended last night of all Mr. Pale-
thorpe's experiences in the metropolis, as fortune would have it,
Colin Clink had treated himself with a sight of Vauxhall Gardens ;
and, as he remained to see the fireworks at the conclusion, he did not
get away very early. Add to this the time necessarily occupied in
taking refreshment, and walking all the way from the Gardens to
London Bridge, and we shall not expect to find him at the top of
Newington Road, on his way home, earlier than between one and two
in the morning. As our hero walked rapidly up Blackman- Street,
he observed a man, clothed in a short, square-lapped coat, of a broad
country-cut, staggering along before him very much as though he me-
ditated going head-foremost at every object that presented itself on
either side of the road. Occasionally he came to a full stop, and see-
saw'd his body backwards and forwards, until the impetus gained
one way either compelled him to recede a few paces, or plunged
him again desperately forwards. Now he seized a lamp-post, as
though it were some dear, newly-recognised friend ; and then made
a furious sally to reach some advanced point of the wall on the
other hand. Altogether his motions were so whimsical that Colin
slackened his pace in order to keep behind, and thus enjoy the fun.
The street was perfectly silent ; not a soul besides themselves was
about, and he had the farcical performer therefore altogether to him-
self. He did not enjoy the spectacle, however, very long. Scarcely
had the man staggered a hundred yards farther before he went down
on all fours ; and, as he found himself incapable of rising again, he
seemed by his actions, as though he finally submitted to fate, and
made up his mind to nestle there for the remainder of the night.
Since, however, our hero, Colin, never was the lad to leave a fellow-
creature helpless, without offering his assistance, he hastened for-
wards, and taking him by the shoulder, bade him get up, and go
home.

" Where 's meesis ? " demanded the sot. " I want a posset, and a
posset I '11 have, or be dang'd to me ! "

Colin immediately recognised the voice. Bursting into a loud laugh,
he raised the prostrate man's face towards the light, and beheld
the features of his old and inveterate enemy, Mr. Samuel Palethorpe.
What in the world could have brought him to town ? Although

410 COLIN CLINK.

Colin more than half suspected the real occasion, he determined to
ascertain the truth.

" And, where have you come from, my man? " demanded Colin.

<f Come from ! " repeated Sammy. " I '11 tell you where I come
from. I co — co — come from Whinmoor — Whinmoor, I say, in
Yorkshire. Miss Zowerzoft's my meesis — and a very good meesis
she is, I am happy to say. She knows me very well, and I know
her. I wish she were here ! "

" Well — well ! " cried Colin ; " but what have you come to London
about ? "

" Why, what do you think, now ! " asked Palethorpe, with a pecu-
liarly knowing look. " What do you think ? Just guess. I '11 bet a
shilling you can't guess, if you guess all night. No — no ; no man
knows my bizziness but myself. My name 's Palethorpe, and I
know two of that. Can you tell me, do you know anybody named
Colin Clink here i' Lunnun ? "

" I do," said our hero. " I know him well."

" You do ! " exclaimed Samuel, trying to start up and stare in his
face, but sinking again in the effort ; " then yo' are my man ! Gis
hold on your hand, my lad. Dang his carcase ! I '11 kill him as sure
as iver I touch him ! I will — I tell you. I '11 kill him dead on th'
spot."

" But you mean to catch him first," said Colin, " don't you ? "

" What do you mean ? Catch him ! I mean to catch him ! Be
civil, my lad, or else I shall put a spur in your sides afore you go."

" You brute ! " exclaimed Colin, seizing him by the collar on each
side of his neck, and holding his head stiff up with his knuckles,—
"look at me. I am Colin Clink. Now, you cowardly, drunken
scoundrel, what have you not deserved at my hands ? "

" Oh ! what, you are he, are you ! " gurgled Mr. Palethorpe.
" Just let me go "a minnit, and I '11 show you ! "

<' Come, then ! " said Colin, and he pulled the said Mr. Palethorpe
to the edge of the causeway. In the next moment he deposited him
in the middle of a large dam which had been made in the gutter
close by for the convenience of some bricklayers, who were repair-
ing an adjoining house, telling him to " sit there, and sober himself;
and the next time he tried to catch Colin Clink, to thank his stars if
he came off no worse." So saying, he left him to the enjoyment of
his " new patent water-bed," and his meditations.

Near the Borough town-hall Colin met a policeman, whom he in-
formed of the hapless condition of a poor drunken countryman some
distance down the street, and requested him to go to his assistance.
He then made off at the best speed he could, and soon baffled all
pursuit amidst the intricate turnings of the city. True, he lost his
way, still he reached his lodgings before four o'clock.

To return to Mr. Palethorpe. He had not yet seen even a tithe of
his troubles. The sequel of this last adventure proved richer than all
the rest. Between two and three o'clock in the afternoon of the follow-
ing day he crept very stealthily into the parlour of his inn, as " down
in the mouth " as a beaten dog. He called for writing-materials, and
addressed a strange scrawl to the Commercial Bank in Leeds, where
it was known he had deposited about three hundred pounds. He
afterwards retired to his bed-room, from which in a short time he

COLIN CLINK. 411

issued with a bundle in his hand ', and, after making certain confi-
dential inquiries of the shoe-black, walked forth in the direction of
Rosemary Lane. It seems pretty certain that John Boots directed
him thither as one of the most eligible places in the City for the dis-
posal of all sorts of worn-out or superfluous wearing-apparel, and
one to which poor gentlemen in difficulties not unfrequently resort-
ed. However that may be, the fact itself is positive, that on the
evening of the second Saturday after his arrival, Mr. Palethorpe was
seen in a very dejected mood, pacing along Rosemary Lane, towards
Cable Street, with a bundle tied up in a blue and white cotton hand-
kerchief, under his arm.

As his eyes wandered from one side of the street to the other, he
observed, idling at doors, or along the footway, a generation of low,
dark men, who, by the peculiar cut of their countenances might
readily have been mistaken — especially by lamplight — for lineal and
legitimate descendants of the old race of Grecian satyrs. Inhabiting
places in which no other description of person could breathe, and
carrying on their congenial frowsy trades in " Clo' — old clo' ! " these
people, with their families, live and thrive on the filth of all the other
parts of the unapproachable city. Nothing comes amiss to them : the
oldest garment has some profit in it, and the merest shred its frac-
tional value. Their delight seems to be in a life amidst black bags,
and the dirty cast-off rags of every other portion of the great com-
munity ; while the aspect of the region they inhabit — as if to keep all
the rest from being put out of countenance — is desolate, dark, slimy,
and enveloped in an atmosphere of eternal smoke. The very air seems
pregnant with melancholy reminiscences of the faded glory of by-
gone men, women, and times. The tarnished embroidery, the sooty
red suits, the flabby old silks, the vamped-up hessians, what spectres
do they not evoke as they dangle (ghostly mementos of departed
greatness) beside the never- washed windows ; or flap like an old
arras, with every gust of wind against the besmeared and noxious
walls ! Where, perhaps, the legs of some gallant captain once found
a local habitation, there the dirty Israelite now passing along feels
ambitious to encase his own. The handkerchief of a bishop invites
a " shopb'y's " nose ; the last rejected beaver of the Lord Mayor
awaits the acceptance of some rascally cranium, which the Lord
Mayor would give half his dignity 'to "nab," and "pop in quod."
Even some vanished great one's walking-stick, now sticks in the
black corner of the Jew's shop, waiting to be once again shaken by
the handle, even though it be but during a brief proud hour on Sun-
day, by the lad who yesterday hawked cedar pencils through the
streets at a halfpenny a piece.

" Buy, sir ? — buy ? — buy ? " Mr. Palethorpe replied in the nega-
tive to a man who thus addressed him, but voluntered to sell. 'He
produced the contents of his handkerchief; and before ten minutes
more had elapsed his best blue coat with gilt buttons, and a second
pair of corduroys, became the property of the Jew, at one-third less
than their value. The reason of this strange proceeding was that
during the preceding night's glorification the Yorkshireman had,
— in some way totally incomprehensible to himself, — been eased
of absolutely every farthing he possessed. He had, therefore, no
alternative but to raise a little ready cash upon his clothes, until

COLIN CLINK.

he could receive from the bank in Leeds, where he had deposited
his scrapings, enough to set himself straight again and pay his pas-
sage home.

Several times had the sun rolled over the head of this side of the
world after the scene above-described, when, one rainy evening,
about dusk, as Miss Sowersoft was casting a weary and longing eye
across the soddened fields which lay between Snitterton Lodge and
the high road, to her inexpressible pleasure she beheld the well-
known figure of Mr. Palethorpe making its way towards the house.

" Well, here you are again ! " she exclaimed, as he flung down
his top-coat, and demanded a jack to get his boots off. " How
have you gone on ? I see you hav'n't brought him with you, at all
events."

Although Miss Sowersoft had made an inquiry the moment Mr.
Palethorpe entered the house, she now refused to hear him talk until
he had satisfied his appetite. This achievement occupied, of course,
considerable time. He then, in the midst of an open-mouthed and
anxious rural audience, consisting of every individual, man, maid,
and boy, upon the farm, related — not his own adventures, but the
imaginary adventures of some person very closely resembling him-
self, who never lived, and whose peregrinations had only existed
in the very little world of his own brain.

His expedition had been most successful ; for, although he had
not exactly succeeded in discovering Colin's retreat, — a mishap at-
tributable to the enormous extent of London, and not to his own
want of sagacity, — yet he had astonished the natives there by such
specimens of country talent as they were very little prepared for.
He pulled out a new watch. " Look there," said he. " I got that
through parting with the old 'un, and a better than that niver went
on wheels. I bought some handkerchers for about half-price, and
see'd more of Lunnun in ten days than many folks that have been
agate there all their lives."

" Then you went 'top o' th' Moniment ? " demanded old George.

" To be sure I did ! " exclaimed Palethorpe, " and St. Paul's Ca-
thedral as well."

" I hope you did not get dropped on, anyhow," remarked Miss
Sowersoft, inquiringly ; for she really burned to know whether any
of the fears she had expressed at his setting out had been realised.

11 No, dang it ! not I," replied Palethorpe, in a misgiving tone,
though with a great assumption of bravery. Yet upon that subject,
somehow, he could not expatiate. He felt tongue-tied in spite of
himself ; and then, as if desirous of escaping any farther explana-
tion touching what he had individually done or not done, he got up
and went to the pocket of his great-coat, from which he drew a
Sunday newspaper that he had purchased as the coach was starting,
and presenting it to Miss Sowersoft, — " Here," said he, " I 've
brought you th' latest news I could lay my hands on, just to let
you see what sort of things they do i' th' big town. I hav'n't look'd
at it myself yet, so you 've the first peep, meesis."

Miss Sowersoft took the newspaper very graciously, and opened
it. Strange news indeed she very soon found there. While Pale-
thorpe was yet maintaining all the dignity of a hero, and stuffing his
audience with marvellous accounts of his own exploits, Miss Sower-
soft's eye fell upon a report under the head of (< Police Intelligence,"

COLIN CLINK. 413

entitled, (e A YORKSHIREMAN IN LONDON." She read it ; but with
such avidity and such a sombre expression of countenance, that the
eyes of every one present were irresistibly attracted towards her,
and even Mr. Palethorpe's efforts to speak passed almost unob-
served. At length Miss Sowersoft uttered a loud hysterical shriek,
and fell back in her chair.

Palethorpe instinctively snatched at the newspaper ; but, as Abel
had seized it before him, only a portion of it reached the fire, into
which it was instantly hurled. The part remaining in the grasp of
the farming-man contained the awful cause of Miss Sowersoft's ca-
lamity. A fight might have ensued for the possession of that frag-
ment also, had not Abel dexterously slipped round the table before
Palethorpe could reach him, and, snatching up a lighted lantern
that stood on the dresser, escaped into a hayloft; where, having
drawn the ladder up after him, he sat down on a truss, and, while
Palethorpe bawled and threatened vainly from beneath, deliberately
read as follows :

"A YORKSHIREMAN IN LONDON. — Yesterday a stupid-looking
' son of the soil ' from Yorkshire, whose legs appeared to have been
tied across a barrel during the previous part of his life, and who
gave his name Samuel Palethorpe, was brought before their wor-
ships, charged by policeman G. 95, with having been found dead
drunk in Blackman Street, Borough, between one and two o'clock
that morning. When found he was sitting bolt-upright in a pool of
lime-water about twelve inches deep, which had been made in the
gutter by some bricklayer's labourers employed in mixing mortar
near the spot. His hat was crushed into the form of a pancake, and
was floating beside him ; while he was calling in a stentorian voice
for assistance. From the very deplorable statement he made, with
tears in his eyes, it appeared that, after rambling about town the
greater part of the previous day, in search of the ' lions ' of Lon-
don, during which time he had imbibed an immense quantity of
heavy-wet, he repaired to a well-known house in the neighbour-
hood of the Haymarket, and regaled himself until midnight with
wine and cigars. While there he picked up an acquaintance in the
person of a ' lady/ (as he described her,) ' with a plum-coloured
silk gown on, and one of the handsomest shawls he ever saw in his
life.' As the ' lady ' was very communicative with him, and was
very polite, told him that she wished to marry, and how she liked
him, he naturally concluded she might entertain no very deeply-
rooted objection to himself. In order, therefore, to make a begin-
ning in his courtship, he eventually consented to accompany her
home. He believed her to be what she appeared, ' a lady,' and was
over-persuaded by the hope of marrying a good fortune. One of the
magistrates here expressed his astonishment that any man arrived at
the age of the prisoner (he appeared nearly forty-five,) even though
brought up in the veriest wild in England, could possibly be such a
fool as the individual before him represented himself. Mr. Pale-
thorpe replied that he had several times read of ladies falling in
love with cavaliers, and he thought such a thing might happen
to him as well as to anybody else. (Laughter.)

" e And what happened afterwards ? ' asked the magistrate.

" MR. PALETHORPE. — ' I don't know very well, for I 'd had a sup
too much. I ar'n't used to drink sich strong wine : but we went

VOL. vii. 2 G

414 AUNT FANNY.

over a bridge, I think, becos I remember seeing some lights dance
about ; but where we went to I know no more than this man here '
(pointing to the policeman).

" ' How much money did you spend ? '

" ' Whoy, unfortinately, I 've lost every farthing I had.'

"'And how much had you about your person when you set
out ? '

" ' Please, sir, I had seven pounds in goold, and about twelve shil-
lin' in shillin's, besides some ha'pence.'

" ' Do you think you 've been robbed, or did you spend it on the
lady ? '

" ( I don't know, sir, — but it 's all gone.'

" ' Well, as you seem to have paid pretty dearly for your pleasure,
I shall not fine you this time, but I should advise you to take better
care the next time you come to London/

" The prisoner left the court very chopfallen, while one of the
spectators as he passed whistled in his ear the tune of,

" ' When first in London I arrived, on a visit — on a visit!' "

Before Abel had perused half the above extract he was in ecstasies :
and when he had done he cut it out of the paper with his pocket-
knife, in order the easier to preserve it for future use. The story
soon became known throughout the country side, as Abel made a
point of reading it aloud at every public-house he called at, and on
every occasion when the hero of it chanced to displease him.

The gist of the joke, however, seemed, in the general opinion, to
consist in the fact that Mr. Palethorpe himself had unwittingly
brought it all the way from London in his own pocket, for the edi-
fication and amusement of the community. In fact, from that day
until the end of his life, Samuel never heard the last of his expedi-
tion to London.

But, how did he settle matters with his mistress ? That question
may be solved when other events of greater importance have been
described.

AUNT FANNY.

A TALE OF A SHIRT.
BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY, ESQ.

Virginibus, Puerisque canto. — Hon.
Old Maids and Bachelors I chaunt to!— T. I.

I SING of a Shirt that never was new ! ! —

In the course of the year eighteen hundred and two,

Aunt Fanny began,

Upon Grandmamma's plan,

To make it for me, then her " dear little man." —
At the epoch I speak about, I was between

A man and a boy,

A hobble-de-hoy,
A fat little punchy concern of sixteen,

AUNT FANNY. 415

Just beginning to flirt

And ogle, — so pert,

I 'd been whipt every day had I had my desert,
— And Aunt Fan volunteer'd to make me a Shirt.

I 've said she began it, —

Some unlucky planet

No doubt interfered, — for, before she and Janet,
Completed the " cutting-out," " hemming," and " stitching,"
A tall Irish footman appear'd in the kitchen ; —

This took off the maid,

And, I 'm sadly afraid,

My respected Aunt Fanny's attention, too, stray'd ;
For, about the same period, a gay son of Mars,
Cornet Jones of the Tenth, (then the Prince's) Hussars,

With his fine dark eyelashes,

And finer moustaches,

And the ostrich plume work'd on the corps' sabre-taches.
(I say nought of the gold-and-red cord of the sashes,
Or the boots, far above the Guards' vile spatterdashes,) —
So eyed, and so sigh'd, and so lovingly tried
To engage her whole ear as he lounged by her side,
Looking down on the rest with such dignified pride,

That she made up her mind

She should certainly find

Cornet Jones at her feet, whisp'ring, " Fan, be my bride ! "
She had even resolved to say " Yes " should he ask it,
— And I and my Shirt were both left in the basket.

To her grief and dismay

She discovered one day

Cornet Jones of the Tenth was a little too gay ;
For, besides that she saw him — he could not say nay —
Wink at one of the actresses capering away
In a Spanish bolero, one night at the play,
She found he 'd already a wife at Cambray ;
One at Paris, a nymph of the corps de ballet ;
And a third down in Kent, at a place called Foots'-Cray.

He was "viler than dirt." —

Fanny vow'd to exert
All her powers to forget him, — and finish my Shirt.

But, oh ! lack-a-day !

How time slips away ! —

Who'd have thought that while Cupid was playing these tricks,
Ten years had elapsed, and I'd turn'd twenty-six ? —

" I care not a whit,

— He 's not grown a bit,"
Says my Aunt, " it will still be a very good fit."

So Janet and she,

Now about thirty-three,

2 G 2

416 AUNT FANNY.

(The maid had been jilted by Mr. Magee,)
Each taking one end of the Shirt on her knee,,
Again began working with hearty good will,
" Felling the Seams," and " whipping the Frill," —
For, twenty years since, though the Ruffle had vanish'd,
A Frill like a fan had by no means been banish'd ;
People wore them at playhouses, parties, and churches,
Like overgrown fins of overgrown perches —

Now, then, by these two thus laying their caps
Together, my Shirt had been finish'd perhaps,
But for one of those queer little three-corner'd straps,
Which the ladies call " Side-bits/' that sever the «• Flaps ;"

Here unlucky Janet

Took her needle, and ran it

Right into her thumb, and cried loudly, " Ads cuss it !
I 've spoil'd myself now by that 'ere nasty Gusset ! "

For a month to come

Poor dear Janet's thumb
Was in that sort of state vulgar people call " rum."

At the end of that time,

A youth still in his prime,

The Doctor's fat Errand-boy, just such a dolt as is
Kept to mix draughts, and spread plaisters and poultices,
Who a bread cataplasm each morning had carried her,
Sigh'd, ogled, proposed, was accepted, and married her !

Much did Aunt Fan

Disapprove of the plan ;
She turn'd up her dear little snub at the man.

She " could not believe it "-

" Could scarcely conceive it

Was possible — What ! such a place ! — and then leave it !
And all for a shrimp not as high as my hat —
A little contemptible shaver like that ! !
With a broad pancake face, and eyes buried in fat ! ! "

For her part, <f she was sure

She could never endure
A lad with a lisp, and a leg like a skewer. —
Such a name, too ! — ('twas Potts !) — and so nasty a trade —
No, no, — she would much rather die an old. maid.
He a husband, indeed ! — Well — mine, come what may come,
Shan't look like a blister, or smell of Guaiacum ! "
But there !
She 'd "declare,

It was Janet's affair —

Chacun a son gout —

As she baked she might brew —

She could not prevent her — 'twas no use in trying it —
Oh, no — she had made her own bed, and must lie in it. —

AUNT FANNY. 417

They ' repent at leisure who marry at random."
No matter — De gustibus non disputandum ! "

Consoling herself with this choice bit of Latin,
Aunt Fanny resignedly bought some white satin,

And, as the Soubrette

Was a very great pet

After all, — she resolved to forgive and forget,
And sat down to make her a bridal rosette,
With magnificent bits of some white-looking metal
Stuck in here and there, each forming a petal.
— On such an occasion one couldn't feel hurt,
Of course, that she ceased to remember — my Shirt I

Ten years, or nigh,

Had again gone by,

When Fan, accidentally casting her eye
On a dirty old work-basket, hung up on high
In the store-closet where herbs were put by to dry,
Took it down to explore it — she didn't know why. —
Within a pea-soup colour'd fragment she spied,
Of the hue of a November fog in Cheapside,
Or a bad piece of gingerbread spoilt in the baking. —

— I still hear her cry,

" I wish I may die
If here isn't Tom 's Shirt, that 's been so long a-making ! —

My gracious me !

Well, — only to see !

I declare it 's as yellow as yellow can be !
Why, it looks just as though 't had been soak'd in green tea! "

Dear me ! — Did you ever ? —

But come — 't will be clever

To bring matters round ; so I '11 do my endeavour —
' Better Late,' says an excellent proverb, ' than Never ! '
It is stain'd, to be sure ; but ' grass-bleaching ' will bring it
To rights ' in a jiffy.' We '11 wash it, and wring it ;

Or, stay, 'Hudson's Liquor'

Will do it still quicker,

And " Here the new maid chimed in, " Ma'am, Salt of Lemon

Will make it in no time quite fit for the gemman." —

So they " set in the gathers," — the large round the collar,

While those at the wrist-bands of course were much smaller, —

The button-holes now were at length " overcast ;"

Then a button itself was sewn on, — 'twas the last !

All 's done !
All 's won !
Never under the sun

Was Shirt so late finish'd — so early begun ! —
The work would defy
The most critical eye,

418 AUNT FANNY.

It was "bleach'd," — it was wash'd, — it was hung out to dry,-
It was mark'd on the tail with a T, and an I !
On the back of a chair it
Was placed, just to air it,

In front of the fire. " Tom to-morrow shall wear it ! "
O cceca mens hominum ! Fanny, good soul,
Left her charge for one moment — but one — a vile coal
Bounced out from the grate, and set fire to the whole !
*****

Had it been Doctor Arnott's new stove — not a grate ;
Had the coal been a " Lord Mayor's coal," — viz : a slate ;
What a diff 'rent tale I had had to relate !
And Aunt Fan and my Shirt been superior to fate ! —

One moment — no more ! —

Fan open'd the door !

The draught made the blaze ten times worse than before ;
And Aunt Fanny sank down — in despair — on the floor !

You may fancy perhaps Agrippina's amazement,

When, looking one fine moonlight night from her casement,

She saw, while thus gazing

All Rome a-blazing,

And, losing at once all restraint on her temper, or
Feelings, exclaimed, " Hang that Scamp of an Emperor,

Although he's my son ! —

He thinks it prime fun,

No doubt ! — While the flames are demolishing Rome
There 's my Nero a-fiddling, and singing «' Sweet Home I "
— Stay — I 'm really not sure 'twas that lady who said
The words I 've put down, as she stepp'd into bed, —
On reflection 1 rather believe She was dead ; —

But e'en when at College, I

Fairly acknowledge, I
Never was very precise in chronology ;
So, if there 's an error, pray set down as mine a
Mistake of no very great moment — in fine, a
Mere slip — 'twas some Pleb'swife, if not Agrippina.

You may fancy that warrior so stern and so stony,
Whom thirty years since we all used to call BONEY,
When, engaged in what he styled " fulfilling his destinies,"
He had led his rapscallions across the Borysthenes,

And had made up his mind

Snug quarters to find

In Moscow, against the catarrhs and the coughs
Which are apt to prevail 'mongst the " Owskis " and " Offs,"

At a time of the year

When your nose and your ear
Are by no means so safe there as people's are here,
Inasmuch as Jack Frost, that most fearful of Bogles,
Makes folks leave their cartilage oft in their " fogies."

AUNT FANNY. 4U)

You may fancy, I say,

That same BONEY'S dismay,

When Count Rostopchin

At once made him drop chin,
And turn up his eyes, as his rappee he took,
With a sort of a mort-de-ma-vie kind of look,

On perceiving that " Swing,"

And " all that sort of thing,"

Was at work, — that he 'd just lost the game without knowing it —
That the Kremlin was blazing — the Russians " a-going it," —
Every plug in the place frozen hard as the ground,
And the deuce of a turn-cock at all to be found !

You may Fancy King Charles at some Court Fancy-Bali,

(The date we may fix

In Sixteen sixty-six,)

In the room built by Inigo Jones at Whitehall,
Whence his father, the Martyr, — (as such mourn'd by all
Who in his wept the Law's and the Monarchy's fall,) —
Slept out to exchange regal robes for a pall —
You may fancy King Charles, I say, stopping the brawl,*
As bursts on his sight the old church of St. Paul,
By the light of its flames now beginning to crawl
From basement to buttress, and topping its wall —
You may fancy old Clarendon making a call,
And stating, in cold, slow, monotonous drawl,
" Sire, from Pudding Lane's end, close by Fishmonger's Hall,
To Pye Corner, in Smithfield, there is not a stall
There, in market, or street, not a house great or small,
In which Knight wields his faulchion or Cobbler his awl,
But 's on fire ! ! " — You may fancy the general squall,
And bawl as they all call for wimple and shawl I —
— You may fancy all this — but I boldly assert
You cant fancy Aunt Fan as she look'd on MY SHIRT ! ! I

Was 't Apelles ? or Zeuxis ? — I think 'twas Apelles,

That artist of old — I declare I can't tell his

Exact patronymic — I write and pronounce ill

These Classical names — whom some Grecian Town-Council

Employ'd, — I believe, by command of the Oracle, —

To produce them a splendid piece, purely historical,

For adorning the wall

Of some fane, or Guildhall,
And who for his subject determined to try a
Large painting in oils of Miss Iphigenia

At the moment her Sire,

By especial desire
Of " that spalpeen O'Dysseus " (see Barney Maguire)

* Not a " row," but a dance —

" The grave Lord Keeper led the brawls,

The seals and maces danced before him." — GRAY.
—And truly Sir Christopher danced to some tune.

AUNT FANNY.

Has resolved to devote

Her beautiful throat

To old Chalcas's knife, and her limbs to the fire ;
An act which we moderns by no means admire, —
An off'ring, 'tis true, to Jove, Mars, or Apollo cost
No trifling sum in those days, if a holocaust, —
Still, although for economy we should condemn none,
In an ava£ avcpwv like the great Agamemnon,

To give up to slaughter

An elegant daughter,

After all the French, Music, and Dancing they 'd taught her,
And Singing, at Heaven knows how much a quarter,

In lieu of a Calf! —

It was too bad by half!

At a " nigger "* so pitiful who would not laugh,
And turn up their noses at one who could find
No decenter method of *' Raising the Wind ? "

No doubt but he might,

Without any great Flight,

Have obtain'd it by what we call " flying a kite."
Or on mortgage — or sure, if he couldn't so do it, he
Must have succeeded " by way of annuity."

But there — it appears,

His crocodile tears,

" His " Oh ! s" and his " Ah ! s" his " Oh Law ! s" and "Oh dear ! s'
Were all taken for Gospel, — in painting his Victim
The Artist was splendid — but could not depict Him.

His features and phiz awry

Show'd so much misery,

And so like a dragon he

Look'd in his agony,

That the foil'd Painter buried — despairing to gain a
Good likeness — his face in a printed Bandana.
— Such a veil is best thrown o'er one's face when one's hurt
By some grief which no power can repair or avert! —
Such a veil I shall throw o'er Aunt Fan — and My Shirt !

MORAL.

And now for some practical hints from the story
Of Aunt Fan's mishap, which I 've thus laid before ye ;
For, if rather too gay,
I can venture to say
A fine vein of morality is, in each lay
Of my primitive Muse, the distinguishing trait !
First of all — Don't put off till to-morrow what may
Without inconvenience be managed to-day !
That golden occasion we call " Opportunity "
Rarely 's neglected by man with impunity !
And the " Future," how brightly soe'er by Hope 's dupe
colour'd,

* Hibernic£ " nigger," quasi " niggard." Vide B. Maguire passim.

A SONG FOR THE END OF TERM.

421

Ne'er may afford
You a lost chance restored,
Till both you and your shirt are grown old and pea-soup-colour'd !

I would also desire

You to guard your attire,
Young Ladies, and never go too near the fire !
Depend on't there 's many a dear little Soul
Who has found that a Spark is as bad as a coal,
And " in her best petticoat burnt a great hole ! "

Last of all, Gentle Reader, don't be too secure !
Let no seeming success ever make you " cock-sure ! "
But beware, and take care,
When all things look fair,

How you hang your shirt over the back of your chair ! —
" There 's many a slip

'Twixt the cup and the lip ! "
Be this excellent proverb, then, well understood,
And DON'T HALLOO BEFORE YOU'RE QUITE OUT OF THE WOOD!!!

A SONG FOR THE END OF TERM.

Lastum Hilarerruyne diem. — Juv.

Air — The Keel row.

HURRAH ! for the Vacation.
This Term's termination ;
We '11 pour a full libation

In honour of his name,
To jolly old St. Hilary,
In punch of prime distillery,
And he deserves the pillory

Who will not do the same !

Your gloomy moralisers

Say mirth is " all my eye" sirs;

But let old Horace try, sirs, —

He '11 floor them great and small !
They preach that life is slippery,
All earthly joys mere frippery,
His " dulce est desipere

In loco " beats them all •'

He tells that Dan Apollo,*
Whose cause we ought to follow,
In Delphic valleys hollow

His bow would oft unstring ;
For, when our toils are ended,
Our minds, like bows distended,
Require to be unbended,

Or else they lose their spring !

When past are our " Collections,"
(Most dire of all inspections !)
And all our hearts' affections

Are homeward turn'd once more ?
Now home in flocks, like starlings,
We hasten to our darlings ;
For, spite of Cynic snarlings,

We live but in their smile !
And then, a few weeks later,
" Hark back ! " to Alma Mater,
With pleasure render'd greater

By absence for the while !
Then away with melancholy,
And let us all be jolly;
'Tis the very height of folly

To sigh when we can sing !
With thoughts of home before us,
How can we be dolorous ?
Then in a roaring chorus

We '11 make the welkin ring !

What time can be more fitting
Than at this present sitting
To hold a merry meeting.

Now that the Term is o'er ?

Chorus.
For we 're all right good fellows,

Good fellows, good fellows,
And we 're all right good fellows,

And fond of mirth and glee ;
And this our eve of parting,

Of parting, of parting,

And this our eve of parting,

We'll spend in jollity.

A. R. W.
Neque semper arcum

Tendit Apollo.— Lib. ii. Ode 10.

422
STANLEY THORN.

BY THE AUTHOR OP " VALENTINE VOX."

CHAPTER X.

The first night out.

As Amelia had been led to expect Stanley at eleven, when the clock
struck one she began to experience that species of painful anxiety, of
which it is to be hoped men in general are ignorant, inasmuch as their
ignorance of it alone can rescue them from the heavy charge of absolute
cruelty. Stanley had never before forfeited his word. Whenever he
had said distinctly that he would be at home at such an hour, at that
hour he had invariably returned. Still, could she have seen him then,
she would have been quite content ; for she chided her impatience, and
conceived for him numerous excuses, and contended with herself that
she ought not to expect him to run away at a moment's notice, as if
indeed he were her slave ; which, of course, was very amiable, and for
the time being had a good effect.

Two o'clock came. — She rose and went to the piano, with the
view of learning a new song ; but this was a task she was utterly un-
able to accomplish. Although her eyes followed the notes and the
words with due precision, her thoughts were of Stanley, and him alone.

The clock struck three. — This is not quite kind, thought Amelia.
But that thought was instantly checked ; she would not cherish the
idea of his unkindness for a moment ; she conceived it to be unjust ;
and hence, in order to banish it effectually, she opened a new and
popular novel, which, however, failed to interest her. Still she kept
her eyes fixed upon its pages, and tried to enter into its spirit, until the
clock struck four, when she burst into tears. For the first time she felt
that she was neglected, and that feeling was fraught with a terrible
pang. And clearly, had she been able to ward it off much longer,
she must have been either more or less than mortal. No creature
ever loved with more warmth and devotion, none could ever have
been more gentle, more patient, more confiding; but let those who
may be inclined to deem her suspicions of neglect either wholly un-
justifiable or premature, compare her former position with that which
she now occupied. But a few weeks before she was the centre of a
circle of affectionate relatives and friends, the beloved of all by whom
she was surrounded. All strove to anticipate her wishes, to contribute
in every possible way to her happiness ; and enjoying, as she did to
the full extent their sweet society, she was happy, and buoyant, and
gay. These friends, this society, this happiness, she had sacrificed for
one in whom her heart of hearts had taught her to confide, but who
neglected her, not, indeed, from any base desire to do so, but for want
of resolution to avoid those temptations which he ought before their
union to have taught himself to resist. She had now no society, no
friends around her ; she had given up all for him, and he was almost
continually absent. Who, then, can marvel that she experienced
painful feelings ? Oh ! how much misery and vice would be averted
if they who possess every blessing which parental affection can impart,
with every comfort which afHuence can collaterally yield, were de-
liberately to weigh present happiness against the prospect of realising
that which is based upon hope !

STANLEY THORN. 423

" Surely," exclaimed Amelia, " something dreadful must have hap-
pened. He must have met with some very sad accident ; he must
have been maimed or robbed by heartless ruffians — perhaps mur-
dered ! "

Something of a serious nature she felt sure had occurred, or he cer-
tainly would not have remained out so late. Yet what could she do ?
Should she send to the hotel? He surely could not, under the cir-
cumstances, be angry if she were to do so ? She rang the bell at once,
and, on being informed that Bob was in bed, desired William to get
into the first cab he met, and to hasten to the Tavistock.

" Do not," she added, "on any account send in. Simply inquire if
your master is there, and come back to me as quickly as possible."

The servant started, and Amelia paced the room in a state of anxiety
the most intense ; for since she had conceived the probability of his
having been injured, that belief was each succeeding moment more
and more confirmed. She opened the window, and went out on the
balcony, and listened to every footstep and every vehicle that ap-
proached ; but as this was a source of continual disappointment, she
paced the room again, resolved to wait until the servant returned
with all the patience she could summon.

At length a cab stopped at the door, when she rang the bell vio-
lently, and flew to the stairs. It was a single knock, and her heart
sank within her. The door was opened, and William entered to con-
vey the intelligence that the hotel was closed ; that not a light was to
be seen ; and that he had rung the bell again and again without ob-
taining an answer.

What was to be done ? A thousand new fears were conceived in an
instant. She rang the bell for her maid ; she could no longer bear
to be alone ; her mind was on the rack, and every fresh apprehension
teemed with others of a character more and more appalling.

"Good Heavens ! Smith, what am I to do ! " she exclaimed, as her
maid entered. " What is to be done ! " And again she burst into
tears, which for a time overwhelmed her.

" My dear, dear lady, cheer up. Don't distress yourself, pray don't.
He can't be long now ; he is sure to return soon."

" Oh ! Smith, I fear not. I fear that some frightful accident has
happened. Sit down and stay with me. If he don't soon return I
shall go mad ! "

Smith did as she was desired ; but she had not been seated long
before she began to nod and breathe very hard. Amelia started up
to pace the room again, but Smith was unable to keep her eyes open
even for an instant ; and as in a very short time her hard breathing
amounted to a most unpleasing snore, her mistress dismissed her to bed.

The clock struck five, and Amelia was again quite alone. Her state
of mind was now frightful. Every horrible accident that could be
conceived she imagined by turns had befallen Stanley. She again
went to the window, and after looking out upon the darkness for
some time, so excited and so nervous that the motion of a mouse
would have alarmed her, she was about to return to the fire, when she
was startled by the sound of a harsh cracked voice upon the stairs.
Her blood chilled, and she became motionless ; she listened, and trem-
bled violently as she listened ; it was some man singing ! The tune
changed, and the tones became nearer and more harsh, and she distinct-
ly heard the words,

STANLEY THORN.

Oh, the roses is red, and the wiolets is blue,

And the type off' infection 's the dove;
But then neither doves, roses, nor wiolets won't do

For to match with the gal wot I lo-o-o-ove,

For to match with the gal wot I love.

Who was it ? Whom on earth could it be ? Some burglar, perhaps,
whom drink had made reckless ? She was about to dart from the window
to the bell, with the view of summoning assistance ; but as at the mo-
ment she heard the handle of the door turn, she flew behind the curtain
in a state of mind the most dreadful that can possibly be conceived. The
door opened, and she heard some one enter and walk across the room.
She was half dead with fright ; she did not dare to touch the curtain ;
but as she at length summoned courage sufficient to look through an
opening, she saw the back of a man without his coat standing thought-
fully before the fire. She felt as if she could have sunk into the
earth. Her agitation was excessive. The next moment, however, the
man turned his head, and she beheld — Bob in a fit of somnambulism,
with a pair of Stanley's boots in his hand ! She had heard of his being
a somnambulist, but had never before seen him in that character ; and,
although her apprehensions having reference to the crime of burglary
vanished, she would neither make her appearance, nor allow herself
with any degree of freedom to breathe.

Bob stood before the fire for a considerable -time, and when he
felt himself thoroughly comfortable and warm, he began again to
sing the refrain touching the character of the girl whom he loved.
He then placed the boots upon the rug, and his candle upon the
table near the tray which had been set out for chocolate, and upon
which were two peculiarly-shaped bottles, one containing maraschino,
and the other cura9oa, of which Stanley after chocolate was especially
fond. Bob looked at these bottles for a minute or two, as if some very
powerful inclination had been struggling with his conscience ; but it
appeared that his conscience submitted to a defeat, for he poured out a
glass of maraschino arid drank it. He then looked steadily at the bottle
beside it, and at length helped himself to a glass of cura9oa; not, in-
deed, because he appeared to dislike the maraschino — by no means : it
was manifest that his object was simply to taste both, that he might
know which was fairly entitled to his preference. This point, however,
he appeared to be even then unable to decide with any degree of satis-
faction to himself. He rolled his tongue over and over, and nodded,
and winked, and smacked his lips with due gusto in honour of each ;
and as he evidently fancied that both were particularly pleasant, he
naturally felt that he should like to ascertain precisely how they
relished together. Actuated by this highly laudable impulse, he poured
out about half a glass of maraschino, and then filled it up to the brim
with cura9oa, and having placed the two bottles exactly where he found
them, he drank the delicious mixture, and, by smacking his lips louder
than before, really appeared to approve of it highly. His attention was
then directed to the appearance of the glass, which, by dint of zealous
rubbing and breathing, — for he found the task exceedingly difficult of
accomplishment, in consequence of the glutinous character of the
liqueurs, — he eventually polished with the blue cotton kerchief he
wore round his neck ; when, having tied that little article on again
with care, he re-established the glass upside down in the proper spot,
took up his light, and walked from the room with all the deliberate
dignity in his nature.

STANLEY THORN. 425

Amelia now quitted her place of concealment, and sank into a chair
in a state of exhaustion. It was six o'clock. Her thoughts reverted to
Stanley, and as her mind came again quite fresh upon the subject, she
conceived a variety of fresh fears. That which took the firmest hold
was, that Stanley and her father had met the previous evening ; that of
course they had quarrelled ; that a challenge had passed between them ;
and that they had both kept from home, with the view of meeting each
other at daybreak in the field. She knew the high resolute spirit of
her father ; she knew also the fiery disposition of Stanley, and felt
that, under the existing circumstances, a duel would be the inevitable
result of their meeting. She then dwelt upon the probability of either
her father being killed by Stanley, or Stanley being killed by her
father, with an effect so terrible, that she became almost frantic.

Seven, eight, nine o'clock came ; still Stanley did not return.
She rang again for the servants. She knew several of the friends
with whom he had dined the previous evening, and to them she sent
at once to ascertain what they knew about Stanley.

The answer in each case was, that he had left the party early in the
evening alone, which had the same effect upon her as if her worst
fears had been absolutely realised. She was distracted ; she knew not
what to do ; nor had she a single soul near her with whom to advise.

At length she sent for a coach, and, attended by one of the servants,
proceeded to the house of the widow, whom she found just sitting down
to breakfast, and who became so excessively alarmed on perceiving
Amelia's agitation, that she almost fainted.

" Good gracious ! " she exclaimed, " what on earth is the matter ?
What has happened to Stanley ? My dear girl, what is it ? "

" I cannot tell what," replied Amelia, in tears ; " but I am sure that
something dreadful has occurred. He has not been home all night ! "

" Ho I " exclaimed the widow, between a whisper and a groan, as if
the announcement had really to some extent relieved her, when, kiss-
ing Amelia affectionately, she added, " My child, we must hope for the
best. Let us hope that he is at home even now. I '11 go with you at
once. Depend upon it, my love, you will find him when you return."

They therefore immediately started, and on the way it was evident
that the widow had something in her more experience!! head, of which
Amelia had happily no conception. She was not, however, without her
apprehensions, although they were neither so lively nor so terrible as
those of Amelia, until she was informed of the assumed probability of
Stanley and Captain Joliffe having met, quarrelled, and fought, when
her alarm became, if possible, more frightfully intense than even that
of Amelia herself.

" Gracious ! " she cried, raising her hands, and assuming an expres-
sion of horror. "And is your father bloodthirsty, my love? "

" Oh, dear me, no ! quite the reverse ! "

" But has he been accustomed to shooting, my dear ? "

" He is a soldier," returned Amelia.

" I see it all ! I see it all ! My Stanley is no soldier ; he never had,
to my knowledge, a pistol in his hand. He is sacrificed ! — cruelly sa-
crificed ! My love, send to Richmond this moment — send instantly,
to ascertain whether Stanley has been heard of, and whether the cap-
tain, your father, be at home. Send Robert ; he will make the most
haste."

Bob was accordingly summoned, and desired to mount his swiftest

426 STANLEY THORN.

horse immediately, — to gallop to Richmond to make the necessary in-
quiries,— and then to gallop back with all possible despatch.

" Fly ! fly ! " cried the widow ; " stop for nothing ! The very life
of your master may depend upon your speed !"

Not another word was needed to put Bob upon his mettle. The
very moment he heard that, he darted round to the stable, twisted a
halter into the mouth of his best horse, and having mounted, dashed
out of the yard as he was.

" Oh ! these duels ! — these duels ! — these duels ! " exclaimed the
widow. " He is murdered, my love ! — I am sure of it ! "

" Hush ! " cried Amelia, darting wildly to the window, as a coach
at the moment drew up to the door. The widow followed. The
coachman slowly descended from his box, and knocked loudly. Ame-
lia could not breathe, her anxiety was so intense ; but when, on the
door being opened, she saw Stanley alight, she clasped her hands fer-
vently, and falling upon her knees, mentally offered up a thanksgiving.
Before she had risen Stanley rushed into the room, and, having
caught her in his arms, kissed her ardently, while she, sobbing aloud,
and clinging fondly to him, passed her hand over his pale, cold
brow, as if to be sure that it was he who embraced her. Seeing her
distress, and knowing what she must have suffered, for the first time
since he was an infant Stanley shed tears. For some moments
neither could speak. He held his hand to his mother, who was at the
time giving vent to her feelings very loudly, and kissed her ; and then
sank upon the sofa, with Amelia still clinging to his neck.

"My love — my dearest love!" said Amelia, at length, faintly,
a you look ill — very ill. I much fear even now that something dread-
ful has occurred."

" No — no, my sweet girl ; nothing — nothing of importance."
" Tell me," said Amelia anxiously, " that nothing serious has hap-
pened, and I shall feel as if in heaven ! "

" Nothing serious has happened, I assure you upon my honour."
" Are you sure — quite sure," said the widow, " that you have not
been engaged in a duel ? "

" A duel ! " cried Stanley. " How came you to think of a duel ? "
'* Oh, we have had a thousand thoughts ! " said Amelia. " We have
been tortured with a thousand apprehensions. But, my love, you are
faint. Come, draw near the fire. You look very — very pale."

" I will just step into my room for one moment, and then we will
sit down together, that I may give you a full explanation."

This, however, he had no intention of doing ; nor could he have
done so had he even felt disposed, for he had been in a state of the
most absolute insensibility from half-past three that morning until ten,
when he found himself in a station-house, lying on a board before the
fire, and surrounded by a number of policemen, from whom he ascer-
tained that he was discovered in Covent Garden Market about five,
fast asleep on a pile of carrots, with his pockets turned completely
inside out. He was also informed that as he looked very ill, the in-
spector, instead of placing him in a cell, had allowed him to lie near
the fire, and that he would have to go at eleven before the magistrate,
as a purely official matter, of course. On hearing this he rose, and
sent at once for a friend, but felt particularly queer ; and, on making
his appearance at the appointed hour before the magistrate he was
fined " five shillings for being drunk," and discharged. He had no

STANLEY THORN. 427

knowledge whatever of the way in which he had been robbed. The
value of his watch was about fifty guineas, and he had in his purse be-
tween twenty and thirty pounds. For his loss he cared but little ;
his chief object was to invent a specious tale to tell Amelia ; and that
object he had scarcely accomplished when he returned to the room.

" Well/' said the widow, when they had been sitting for some time,
" and what was it after all that caused your absence ? "

" The thing is soon explained," replied Stanley, — " very soon. The
fact is, I was coming home early, according to my promise ; and, being
foolish enough to walk, I was attacked near the Haymarket by a mob
of cowardly ruffians, by whom I was knocked down, robbed, and left
insensible ; in which state I presume some kind creature found me, for
on awaking I perceived that I had been carried to an hotel, and placed
comfortably in bed."

" Heaven bless him ! " cried Amelia. " I wish to goodness we knew
him, that we might thank him as he deserves. But you are hurt," she
continued, starting up with the view of examining his head. " I feel
sure that you are hurt, you look so dreadfully pale."

" No, indeed I am not. They simply stunned me ; that was all : I
feel nothing of it now."

"And what hotel did they take you to, dear.? " inquired the widow,
who did not by any means believe a single word of it, — which really
was very extraordinary, seeing that Amelia placed the most implicit
faith in every syllable. " What is the name of the hotel ? "

" I think they call it Pequeen's. I am not quite sure, but I think
it 's Pequeen's. I was, however, so anxious to get home that I did not
take any particular notice."

The incredulous widow deemed it prudent to press the matter no
farther ; at which Stanley was by no means displeased. It was the
very first direct and deliberate falsehood he had ever told ; and nothing
could surpass the deep feeling of humiliation he at the moment expe-
rienced. It was a meanness at which his spirit revolted, and the blood
rushed to his cheeks for very shame.

A servant now entered to announce the return of Bob, and Stanley,
of course, inquired where he had been.

" We sent him to Richmond," said Amelia. " We feared "

" To Richmond ! " cried Stanley, with an expression of amazement,
— " to Richmond! Good Heavens !. surely you don't mean to say
that you sent him to inquire for me there ! "

" I am sorry — truly sorry, if you are displeased ; but really I knew
not what to do. I was nearly distracted. But, indeed, it was the
very last place. I sent first to inquire of every friend I could think
of. I did, indeed ! "

" Sent first to inquire of every friend ! Then the thing is by this
time all over the country ! But, how could you think that they knew
anything of me at Richmond ? "

" I feared, my love, that you had met papa ; that you had quarrelled ;
and that either he had challenged you, or you had challenged him."

" And the moment," said the widow in continuation, — ' ' the very
moment I heard of the probability of such a thing, I suggested that
Robert should be immediately despatched to ascertain if it really were
so."

" I suspected that it was one of your brilliant thoughts, mother,"
said Stanley with considerable bitterness.

428 STANLEY THORN.

" Believe me," said Amelia, " we did everything for the best. You
cannot conceive what a horrible state of mind we were in."

" Well, the thing is done," said Stanley, " and cannot be undone.
Send Bob up," he continued, addressing the servant. " I would not
have had had it happen for five thousand pounds."

Bob, who was already at the door, now appeared in a state of steam-
ing perspiration. He panted, and blew out his cheeks to some consi-
derable extent, and smoothed his hair, and looked as if he had not
a dry thread about him.

" Well ! " said Stanley, ee whom did you see ? "

" I saw the Captain and Mrs. Joliffe. They had me in, sir, and said
they knew nothing at all about where you was."

" Did they say nothing more ? " inquired Amelia.

"No, ma'am," replied Bob; "nothing more; only the Captain
said it was just what he expected, and then his lady set off crying fit
to break "

" There, leave the room ! " cried Stanley with some fierceness,
which Bob, as he obeyed, thought strikingly ungrateful ; for he really
had done the whole four-and-twenty miles in less than an hour and a
half ; and he held it within himself to be questionable whether he
should have done the entire distance in so short a space of time, had
he known before what he knew then.

While Bob was engaged in the developement of his feelings by rub-
bing himself dry with unparalleled severity, Stanley and Amelia were
sitting in silence ; for, while the former felt galled at the idea of the
affair having been published so extensively, the thoughts of the latter
being at Richmond, induced as usual a fit of sadness.

Stanley's reverie was, however, soon at an end, for his friends came
pouring in with the view of ascertaining if they could do him any
service by backing him up.

While Stanley was engaged with the last of these gentlemen,
Amelia herself had a visiter — one whom she did not by any means
expect, and who was announced as a lady closely veiled, who had
arrived in a hackney-coach, who had refused to send up either her
name or her card, and who wished to speak immediately with " Mrs.
Thorn " alone.

Amelia, who was still very nervous, looked upon these indications of
mystery with alarm ; and the widow, who had conceived a variety of
ideas having reference to Stanley's indiscretion, contended that she
was the more proper person to receive the mysterious stranger. Amelia
of course readily yielded, and the widow at once bustled down, in the
full expectation of seeing some creature with far more boldness than
virtue. She was prepared for her, however, let her be whom she
might, and hence bounced into the room, with an aspect indicative of
dignity on the one hand, and inflexibility on the other.

The stranger rose, and bowed slightly, and then observed that she
was anxious to see Mrs. Thorn.

" My name is Thorn," said the widow.

The'stranger again bowed, and then said,

" Mrs. Stanley Thorn is the lady I wish to see."

" She is not quite well this morning," observed the widow.

"I am aware of it," said the stranger. " But probably you will do
me the favour to state that I am a very old friend, and will not long
detain her."

STANLEY THORN. 429

The widow moved, and was on the point of saying something about
whom she should have the honour to announce to Mrs. Stanley, and
so on ; but the manner of the stranger was so ladylike and gentle that
she bowed and retired, completely disarmed.

" She is rather an elderly person," said the widow on her return to
Amelia. " I cannot exactly make her out ; but at all events I think
that you may see her with perfect safety."

Amelia at this moment experienced a most extraordinary sensation.
She could not account for it. It might have proceeded from the pain-
ful state of nervous excitement in which she had been kept during the
night ; but she certainly never had so strange a feeling before. She
however went down, although excessively agitated, and on entering the
room saw her mother !

"My dear — dear mamma! " she exclaimed, rushing into her arms,
" What joy to see you here ! "

These were the only words that passed for some moments. Every
feeling was merged in that of affection. Their hearts beat in unison.
Nature was triumphant.

" Heaven bless you, my child ! — bless you ! " sobbed the affec-
tionate mother. " My heart is too full to allow my feelings to be ex-
pressed." And as she spoke her tears fell fast, and Amelia, who clung
to her, kissed her with heartfelt emotion.

" Oh, this is kind indeed ! " said Amelia, — " most kind. It is more
than I could have expected, — much more than I deserve." And, as
at the moment she appeared to have been awakened to a sense of her
position, she with downcast eyes dropped upon her knees.

" I came not to reproach you, my love ; I came not for the purpose
of wounding your feelings, but simply to learn if you are treated kind-
ly here ? "

"Oh! yes — most kindly," replied Amelia. *' My Stanley is most
affectionate. He does all in his power to promote my happiness. In-
deed he is a dear good creature. I cannot sufficiently love him."

" My child, conceal nothing from me. This morning you sent to
our house. He had been out all night, and "

"Yes — yes; he unfortunately met with an accident. He was
knocked down by some heartless persons, who, having robbed him, left
him insensible."

" Is he then seriously injured ? "

" Thank Heaven ! " cried Amelia, " he is not ; although I am sure
they have injured him more than he will admit ; he is so anxious to
conceal from me everything calculated to give me the slightest pain."

" Then in general he behaves with great kindness ? "

" Oh, invariably ! " replied Amelia. " There is nothing in his con-
duct of which I can complain. There is nothing, in fact, which does
not deserve the warmest praise."

" I am happy to hear it. My mind is now relieved. I much
feared that it was otherwise, and therefore determined to steal away
this morning, in order to ascertain from your own lips if it were so."

" But you will not leave me yet ? "

" I must, my dear child. I must return as quickly as possible. No
one has the slightest idea of my coming. It must, moreover, be kept
a profound secret still."

" Mamma ! " exclaimed Amelia, in a tone which could not fail to
touch the heart. " Dear — dear mamma, kiss me, and forgive me !

VOL. VII. 2 H

430 STANLEY THORN.

Pray — pray, mamma, forgive me .'"and again she sank imploringly
upon her knees,, and sobbed bitterly.

" I do, my child, forgive you. From my heart, from my soul, I
forgive you."

" Bless you ! — bless you ! — bless you ! " cried Amelia, as she kissed
the trembling hand of her mother passionately, and bathed it with her
tears. " Then I may hope that you will endeavour to obtain for us
the forgiveness of dear papa ! Nothing but that is required now to
perfect our happiness. You will ? Dear mamma ! let me beg of you
— oh ! let me implore you "

Amelia at this moment was so extremely energetic that her piercing
voice reached the ears of Stanley, who darted at once into the room ;
and, having raised her, bowed distantly to Mrs. Joliffe, and said,
" Madam, Amelia is not now in a tit state to bear reproaches."

" No — no, Stanley, no ! " exclaimed Amelia, tf you mistake, my love.
Mamma has been kind — very kind."

" I beg pardon," said Stanley. " I feel, of course, grateful for any
kindness you may have shown."

Mrs. Joliffe offered her hand, which Stanley felt but too happy to
take. " I have not time now," she observed, " to say another syllable.
Amelia will explain all. I must return with all possible speed. Adieu,
my children ! Heaven bless you both ! "

" But you'll allow me to see you home ? " said Stanley.

" By no means."

" Well, part of the way ? "

" Yes, do, mamma, do ! " said Amelia.

" Well, a very short distance. I return by the stage."

She then took an affectionate farewell of Amelia, by whom she was
accompanied to the door, and, when Stanley had handed her into the
coach, he ran back for a moment, and said to Amelia, " Do not wait
dinner, my love ; I will, if possible, go all the way."

Amelia was delighted : she looked upon a speedy reconciliation as
certain ; and as the coach drove from the door, she turned to shed tears
of joy.

CHAPTER XI.

Stanley's introduction to a modern Pandemonium.

ON reaching Piccadilly, Stanley begged so earnestly to be allowed to
take the coach on at least as far as Kew that Mrs. Joliffe opposed it
only as if she really wished he would. They therefore stopped at the
White Horse Cellar, and having engaged a place in the next Richmond
stage, rode forward, and soon began to converse with as much freedom
as if nothing of importance had happened. He had always been a most
especial favourite of Mrs. Joliffe ; and during their journey his conver-
sation so charmed her that she not only began to feel by no means asto-
nished at what had occurred, but really held it to be a pity that they
should continue to be separated, and thereby deprived of each other's
society.

Stanley saw that he had made a deep impression, and therefore called
all his eloquence into action with the view of making it " deeper and
deeper still ;" and in this he so admirably succeeded, that when the
stage overtook them at Kew, she shook hands with him in the warmest
and most affectionate manner possible, and left, fully resolved, without
any solicitation on his part, to endeavour to effect an immediate recon-
ciliation.

STANLEY THORN. 431

Stanley now directed his thoughts to Colonel Palmer, conceiving that
to be the day for which the engagement had been made ; and, although
he had requested Amelia not to keep the dinner waiting, expressly in
order that he might meet that gentleman, it will be here quite proper
to state that it was an appointment which in any event he was firmly
determined to keep. He was anxious to ascertain where the Colonel
had left him that morning ; in whose society ; at what hour: indeed,
there were several little particulars connected with his adventure upon
which he thought his friend might be able to throw a light.

On reaching town he therefore directed the coachman to drive to
the hotel where he found the gallant Colonel, (who had totally for-
gotten his engagement with Lord Chesterfield,) reading the journals of
the day.

Stanley approached him unperceived, and placed his hand upon his
shoulder, when the Colonel started up, really as if he had at the mo-
ment given birth to the idea of its being some individual who knew
him very well. This to Stanley was inexplicable, of course ; but the
Colonel soon felt himself better, and they shook hands with great
cordiality.

" I scarcely expected," said Stanley, "to find you here thus early."

" I should not have been here so soon," returned the Colonel, " had
I not been deceived by my fool of a watch."

" That is precisely the thing of which I am destitute," said Stanley.
" / have no watch to deceive me."

The Colonel, who appeared to be perfectly ignorant of the matter
involved in this quiet intimation, waived that particular branch of the
subject by saying, " Well, how did you get home ? "

" The very point I wish to come at," said Stanley. " I know
exactly how I got home ; but of all that occurred between half-past
three o'clock and five I am utterly unconscious."

" / never saw such a fellow in my life ! " cried the Colonel. , " I
have known in my time many high-toned dogs, but I never happened
to meet with so perfect a devil."

" Why," said Stanley, who, in accordance with the lively anticipa-
tion of the Colonel, looked upon this as an extremely high compli-
ment, " what did I do ? "

" Do ! You recollect leaving the place where they gave us the vile
filthy stuff they call negus ? "

" No, indeed I do not."

" You do not ! " cried the Colonel, with an expression of surprise,
which was really very clever in its way. " Do you mean to tell me
that you do not remember our walking from the room with that woman
you were so sweet upon ? "

" Certainly. I recollect nothing of the sort. But what occurred
after that ? "

" Why, the moment we were out of the place, you called a cab,
which I thought very wise, of course expecting that you intended to
go home at once ; but the cab no sooner drew up than you insisted
upon the fellow getting inside with me. You would drive. You
would have the woman with you on the box. You would see us both
home ; for you were sure that we were much too far gone to escape
mischief. Well, being at the time nearly as bad as yourself, I con-
sented to get inside with the cabman ; but you and the woman were no
sooner on the box than a policeman caught hold of the horse's head,

432 STANLEY THORN.

and of course checked at once the developement of your skill as u
tooler. To the prompt interference of that man I attribute the pre-
sent unbroken condition of any neck. I had, of course, very different
ideas on the subject then, while you were so excessively indignant
with the policeman that you threatened him with instant annihilation.
You would fight him. You would bet fifty pounds to a shilling that
you would polish him off in the space of three minutes. The man
was, however, exceedingly good-natured ; and, as I slipped half-a-
sovereign into his hand, he walked quietly away. I then again en-
deavoured to persuade you to go home. But, no. Did I think that
you were drunk ? Could I really entertain an idea so absurd ? Why,
of course I couldn't then, as you put it so pointedly : still I endea-
voured to persuade you to go home. Well, you would ; but you must
first treat the cabman, and as the fellow promptly offered to point out
a place, he led the way to one of the market-houses here in Covent-
Garden. Well, on entering this den we found it crowded with a
swarm of dirty vagabonds ; you entered at once into the spirit
of the scene, and appeared to be perfectly delighted. Your atten-
tion was, in the first place, directed to a knot of noisy nymphs,
who, although rather passee, looked blooming and fair, their cheeks
being duly embellished with brick-dust, while the coarse pores of
all the other parts of their faces were filled up ingeniously with
chalk. Having treated these ladies with raw rum all round (which
caused her whom you had brought to start off in high dudgeon,)
you turned to a mob of emaciated beings, who appeared to be trem-
bling upon the brink of starvation. Their appearance was the only
thing which seemed to give you no pleasure. They brightened up,
however, the very moment you noticed them, and promptly asked
what you were going to stand. ' What will you have ? ' said you. — ' A
drain o' gin/ was the reply. In this they were unanimous. ' Shall I
order half a pint ? ' inquired one. — ' Half a pint ! ' you exclaimed.
' Half a gallon ! ' — They all stared, of course ; but half a gallon was
ordered, and you paid for it instanter. ' Trotters ! trotters ! trotters ! '
cried a fellow who had a lot of pig's pettitoes in a basket. You
asked the women if they liked those particular things ; and, as they
held them to be delicious, you bought the whole stock, salt and all.
Of course, they looked upon you as little less than a god ; and when
you called for a dance, they got up at once a legitimate three handed
reel without music, as the man who kept the house placed his veto
upon the whistling. This seemed to impart to them additional delight ;
but, as they kept on swallowing the gin with remarkable constancy and
freedom, they soon began to drop off like sheep that have been too long
in a field of clover. On perceiving this you thought it high time to
start yourself; and having given, with a bribe, certain secret instruc-
tions to the cabman, you led the way out of the house ; but I had no
sooner got into the cab, expecting, of course, that you would follow,
than you closed the door with a bang, and away went the vehicle.
I called upon the fellow to stop; but no: he had received his in-
sttuctions : he would keep on ! I therefore sank back quite resigned
to my fate, and thus we parted."

Stanley was by no means displeased with the relation of this adven-
ture : he on the contrary laughed very heartily at various points, as if,
indeed, he had really done something to be proud of. " But, how
very extraordinary," he observed, " that I should not have the slightest
recollection of any one of the circumstances you have named ! "

STANLEY THORN. 433

" It is wonderful. I have a poor head myself when I have been
drinking ; but I recollect everything that happened as perfectly as if
I had drunk nothing but water."

Dinner was now placed upon the table, and Stanley began to ex-
plain how he was found by the police upon the carrots ; how he was
taken to the station-house without a shilling in his pocket ; how he
was marched before the magistrate ; and how he was fined.

Of course the Colonel expressed himself utterly astonished ! Had
he dreamt that such would have been the sequel, no cabman on earth
should have driven him away. " Why, where could you have got to ? "
he exclaimed. " But the thing is soon accounted for. Now I come
to think of it, there were two thievish, black-looking scoundrels at the
bar with those women whom you treated. I have not the smallest doubt
that they watched you from the house, and having plundered you, left
you asleep as you state. But I really am very sorry. I am, indeed."

" Oh, it isn't of much importance/' said Stanley. " The loss of my
watch is the only thing I care for. But, then, it is useless to dwell
upon that now. It is gone, and there 's an end of it. But how I
could have been such an idiot as to act as it appears I did, I cannot
conceive."

The Colonel smiled, and as he had already succeeded so well in de-
scribing the scene generally, he descended to particulars, and gave an
infinite variety of amusing imitations of Stanley's tone and manner
when in a state of excitement, which, of course, were assumed to be
faithful. Upon these he dwelt during dinner; and, as he felt himself
bound to be as facetious as possible, he did not fail afterwards to drag
into their general conversation the various hits which had had the most
palpable effect.

At length Stanley displayed symptoms of a desire to leave, being
most sincerely anxious to be home very early ; but the Colonel no
sooner perceived this anxiety than he felt it incumbent upon him to
subdue it.

" Well," said he promptly, without any apparent reference to what
he had perceived, " I suppose that, like myself, you have no desire to
be out late to-night. We will therefore just finish this bottle, and
start."

" Upon my honour I must beg to be excused," said Stanley.

" Excused ! " cried the Colonel. " My dear fellow, why ? "

<c Having been out all last night, I wish to be home this evening
early."

" Well, you will be home early. We shall both be home early.
Look at your watch," he added, smiling. " You don't mean to say
that you want to turn into bed at nine ! "

" No ; but, upon my word, you must, under the circumstances, ex-
cuse me."

" Now that is unfair. You have made, since I saw you, another ap-
pointment."

11 No, indeed I have not."

11 Then how is it possible for me to excuse you ? Nonsense ! I
must have your company this evening. Do you want to have sixteen
or twenty hours' sleep to make up for the loss of eight ? Pooh ! you '11
be in bed soon enough. I don't intend to stop more than two hours
myself. You can leave, of course, just when you please."

Stanley had not explained to the Colonel that he was married ; and,
as he had no other sufficient cause to show why the engagement he

434 STANLEY THORN.

had made should be broken, he consented to keep it with the full de-
termination to leave at eleven precisely.

" Of course/' said the Colonel, when he found that he had firmly
fixed his man, " you never play ? "

" At chess ? or billiards ? " inquired Stanley.

" They are both noble games, but I alluded more particularly to ha-
zard."

" I have not the slightest knowledge of the game," said Stanley.
" I never saw it played. I have often wished to go into one of those
houses ; but I never could make up my mind to go alone."

" Oh ! you need not go into a common pickpocketting gambling-
house to see the game of hazard. Almost every club in London has
its play-room. The Imperial has one — the club to which I belong. If
you like, as we are not going to stop, we '11 go up to the room at once,
and thus avoid the necessity for any formal introduction ? "

" I should like it much better ! " said Stanley. ' e I have for a long
time been anxious to see the game played."

" It is a game which is known to every man of the world," returned
the Colonel. " But come ! tempusfugit"

The bill was therefore ordered and discharged ; and when the cab,
which they had sent for was announced, they at once started.

Stanley, however, again thought of home. He felt that he ought to
return to Amelia ; but, of course, he could not do so then. Still he
was resolved to leave early let what might occur, and conceiving him-
self to be perfectly secure in the assumed strength of that resolution
he turned to dwell with pleasure upon the prospect before him.

The Colonel, on the way, seemed to be somewhat more thoughtful
than usual : indeed, he scarcely opened his lips until the cab stopped
at a very fair-sized house, a circumstance which seemed at once to
rouse him from his reverie.

" Well, here we are," said he, as the cabman knocked at the door,
which was instantly opened by a peculiar-looking porter, who appear-
ed to be very anxious to ascertain who they were. He seemed to be
satisfied, however, the moment he saw the Colonel ; and, having passed
through three doors, they ascended the stairs, and were ushered into a
room which was lighted up brilliantly.

In the middle of this room stood a table, round which several persons
were sitting, while a man who stood with a rake in his hand presided
over a cash-box, and several heaps of counters, which were marked "ten
pound" "Jive pound" " one pound," "• half pound" and so on. The
business of this person was to rake the money and counters towards him,
or to throw them to the players as occasion required, and to call " five
to three," " six to four," "six to five," " five to four," or whatever the
odds happened to be. Considerable sums of money changed hands
every moment, and Stanley was astonished at the rapidity with which
they played. His attention was, however, soon arrested by the Colo-
nel, who introduced him to the proprietor of the " Imperial," whom he
found to be an extremely vulgar fellow. " Yer do me proud, sir," said
he, " for to wisit my 'stablishment. I ope to ave the honour off seein'
yer ear offen. D' yer play, sir ? "

" Upon my word I have no knowledge of the game," replied Stan-
ley, who was rather amused with the fellow.

" It 's werry heasy ! There 's nothink a tall hin it. Set down, sir :
I '11 learn yer in no time."

Stanley accordingly sat at a side-table, when the preceptor produced

STANLEY THORN. 435

a pair of dice from his flaming, salamander-coloured velvet waistcoat
pocket ; and, having put them into a box, said, " Look 'ear ! s'pose yer
call seven 's the main, — there 's five mains, — f 'r instance, five, six, seven,
hate, and nine, vich his the on'y chances : but, s'pose yer call seven 's
the main : werry well. Yer throw seven ; veil, that 's the nick vich
in course vins the money. If yer throw eleven, that 's the nick too,
vich, in course, vins the money likewise. But, s'pose yer throws five
ven seven's the main, — f'r instance, there's five, yer know, kater
hace — vich is French, — then the hods is three to two, or six to four,
yer know, vich his the same ticket ven, if you throws the five ag'in,
yer know, afore yer throws the seven, yer vins both the hods and the
stake."

" But, suppose," said Stanley, " I happen to throw two or three ? "
" Vy, then, in that case hit 's the t'other, 'cos haces, as veil as duce
haces, is crabs. But, to show as there 's long hods ag'in yer doin' that,
if yer putt a pound down upon the haces afore yer throws, and throws
haces, yer vin thirty pound ; and, if yer putt a pound down on duce
haces, yer then vins fifteen, 'cos there 's on'y vun vay off throwing
haces, vile there 's two vays off throwin' duce haces, yer know."

" But, what do you call crabs ? "

" Vy, crabs is on'y ven yer don't vin."

" And how many are there ? "

" There's four crabs to the seven, — the sisses, the haces, hand the
duce haces twice; five crabs to the hate — the haces, the duce haces
twice, an' the sis an' sunk twice ; an' six crabs to the nine — the sisses
twice, the haces, the duce haces twice, hand the sis an' sunk twice ;
and, in course, the five his the same as the nine, an' the six his the
same as the hate."

" Then these are the chances in favour of the table ? "

" Percisely ! There yer 'ave the 'ole thing hat vunce ! I k no wed
veil you voodent be werry long a-learnin'. There 's two or three more
leetle pints vich '11 come to yer as nat'ral as clockverk vile playin'.
They calls out the hods, an' it 's hall skvare 'ear, yer know ! reg'lar
hupright an' downstraight."

At this moment Stanley heard the rapid application of those oppro-
brious terms, " scoundrel ! " " villain ! " and " thief! " and, on lookin^
round, beheld, to his utter amazement, a fine dashing fellow engaged
in the process of wringing the nose of the Colonel. Of course
he started up on the instant with the view of assisting his friend;
but before he was able to reach him, his vile, cringing, cowardly
spirit was so conspicuous that Stanley stopped short, with a feeling of
disgust.

" And vort 's all this ? " cried Stanley's preceptor. *' Vort 's 'e bin
arter now ? "

" Why do you allow this contemptible blackguard to be at the table ? "
demanded the colonel's fierce assailant. " How can you expect men of
character and respectability to come to the house, while you harbour so
consummate a scoundrel ? "

" That 's hall werry poss'ble," returned the proprietor, pursing his
lips, and looking through his shaggy brows. " But vort his 'e bin
hat ? "

' ' Securing ! — and stealing my counters."

" Vort ! the hold dodge agin ! "

" It is false ! " cried the colonel, with a look of indignation ; but he
had no sooner uttered the words than his accuser turned, and seizing

436 STANLEY THORN.

him by the throat, shook him violently, until, with the view of escaping
chastisement, he sank upon the floor.

" That jist sarves yer right ! Now you and me cuts it. I told yer
afore I woodn't 'ave it. I guv yer fair vorm'n'. Vy carn't yer do the
thing a leetle matters like a genel'man ? "

The gallant colonel made no reply. He felt himself reduced to the
most minute insignificance. The circumstance of his having his nose
thus pulled was sufficiently painful per se ; but when to this was
added the acute mortification with which the fact of Stanley happening
to be present at the time teemed, it appeared to be just about as much
as he could bear. Had the thing been done in the dark, or even before
a select party of friends, to whom his character had previously been
known, although he might most unquestionably have winced, he would
have cared in reality but little about it ; but the idea of his importance
being thus at once demolished, and himself dragged beyond even the
pale of contempt before the eyes of the very man whom he had con-
ceived the most ingenious designs to plunder, really wounded his fine
feelings so deeply, that he retired, with all the grace of a well-whipped
spaniel, to the most remote corner of the room.

"Is it possible," thought Stanley, as he stood very calmly before the
fire, having declined the affectionate invitation of his preceptor to take
a few practical lessons at the table — " Is it possible that a man so
highly educated and accomplished can be so depraved ! The accusa-
tion surely must have been false — and yet, could any innocent or ho
nourable man have either cringed beneath the infliction of a species of
chastisement so degrading, or submitted thus to the snarling of that
low vulgar dog ? Do you know that man ? " he inquired of the person
by whom the colonel had been assailed, and who now approached the fire.

" I know him to be one of the most pitiful villains upon town."

" Well," said Stanley, " I cannot be astonished at that, having seen
what I have just seen ; but I certainly was never so much deceived.
He is in the army, is he not ? He styles himself colonel."

"Oh, a colonel is he now? Last week he was a major, and he has
been a lieutenant-general. But what may his name be at present ? "

" Palmer," replied Stanley.

" Ah, Palmer — Colonel Palmer — and a very good name. It was
Dash wood a few days ago ,* but when I first knew him it was Berke-
ley."

" But what has he been ? "

" Why, independently of his having been everything as a soldier,
between an ensign and a general, he has been an extensive West India
proprietor, heir to some extraordinary estates in Ireland, an owner
of immense undiscoverable mines in the north, a Russian, Prussian,
Dutch, and Spanish charge d'affaires, and so on : but since he ran
through the property he had left him while at Oxford, he has been
what you see him now, a bonnet."

" A bonnet ! " said Stanley. " What is that ? "

" A picker up — a jackall — a fellow whose occupation is to seduce
young men into houses of play to be plundered. He picked you up —
I knew it the very moment you entered."

" But surely this is not a common gambling house ? " said Stanley.

" Why, what else do you conceive it to be ? "

" I understood that it was a club."

" Oh, a club ! So it is — yes, they call it a club — the Imperial Club.
I have not the pleasure of knowing you, nor do you know me ; but as

STANLEY THORN. 437

I perceive that you have had but little experience in these matters, let
me tell you that it is what you imagined it was not."

" Well, I thought that it was strange that a club, according to my
acceptation of the term, should be kept by so vulgar a man."

e( Oh, they are all low-bred scamps, from the richest to the poorest.
The majority are of the vilest and most degraded caste ; and they en-
gage as bonnets such men as our mutual friend the colonel, who are
accomplished, prepossessing, and in many instances highly connected. I
presume you know little of the game. I saw Sharp teaching you as
much as he wished you to know ; but allow me to give you a few pri-
vate lessons/'

" You are very polite," said Stanley. " I shall be happy to receive
them."

" Well, then, in the first place, never play at all. Shun gaming as
you would a pestilence ; for although a tyro almost invariably wins at
first, it is sure to involve him eventually in ruin."

" A tyro, I suppose, is permitted to win, for the purpose of urging
him on ? "

" Where they happen to be sure of him again. But it is an extra-
ordinary fact that, in the absence of all trickery, men almost always
win at first, — as if some evil spirit presided over the game, with the
view of communicating the disease ; for a disease it is, and one which
absolute ruin cannot cure. I therefore advise you strongly not to
play, if you wish to preserve any feeling of honour ; for be assured
that, whatever he may profess, or however anxious he may be to dis-
guise it from himself, no habitual gambler can be a really honourable
man. His sole object is to win. If he can do so fairly, it is well ; but
if not, he very soon becomes unscrupulous as to the means by which that
object is attained. Should you ever find the temptation to play irresist-
ible, bear in mind the few points with which I am anxious to make you
acquainted ; for, without any desire to induce you to entertain a high
opinion of me, I may state, that I am so far from being displeased with
your appearance, that I would not have allowed you to be plundered if
you had played."

" Now," thought Stanley, " let me narrowly watch this man. He
may be quite as designing a knave as the colonel."

" In the first place," continued the stranger, " you cannot tell whe-
ther the dice they give you to throw are fair or false — there is scarcely
one man in a thousand that can. They may be loaded, or incorrectly
marked : you take them up as a matter of course, play with them, and
lose, when you attribute the fact solely to ill luck ; and hence arises
in a great degree that species of superstition, which forms one of the
most prominent characteristics of a gamester. Now let me explain to
you how you will be able to ascertain whether dice are fair or false in
a moment. Put the six and the ace together thus : then turn them
until you also get the seven at the side either by the quatre trois, or
the cinque deux — let us say the quatre trois. Very well ; if the dice
be fair, you will find the six sevens without shifting those dice ; that
is to say, you will find the six ace top and bottom, the quatre trois on
either side, the cinq deux at the ends, and the same when you divide
them ; whereas if they be false, you will find, having placed the six
ace at the top, trois deux at the sides, quatre and cinq at the ends,— -
in short, anything but the right number."

" Then there are always six sevens on a pair of fair dice?"

" There are six real sevens ; but as eleven is what is professionally

VOL. VII. 2 I

438 STANLEY THORN.

yclept the 'nick' for the main of seven, there are in reality eight nicks
to that main. But remember that, unless you find the numbers pre-
cisely as I have explained to you, the dice are falsely marked. They
may, however, be marked correctly, and yet be false ; they may be
loaded, and the only way in which the fact can be ascertained without
cutting them up, is by trying to spin them. This requires some prac-
tice ; but if a die will spin, it cannot be loaded ; for if it be loaded, it
never will spin. Spin them, therefore, and make the six sevens, and
then you may be sure that the dice are fair."

" I understand," said Stanley. " As far as the marking is concerned,
the thing appears to be exceedingly simple."

" It is most simple when explained ; but there is not one in a hun-
dred at the present time who knows how to do it, although thousands
of pounds would be saved every night by that little knowledge alone."

" But what was that trick of the colonel's which you exposed ? "

" It is called ' securing,' — a species of legerdemain which some play-
men accomplish with surprising dexterity. The trick is done thus : I
am the caster, and have taken the- odds. I wish to throw a certain
number : very well. In taking up the dice, I secure one either between
the fourth and fifth finger, or between the fifth finger and the palm,
and put the other into the box. I then throw, of course bringing them
as near as possible to each other upon the table ; and as I have taken
care to have the deux, trois, or quatre of the one which I thus secured
uppermost, the chances are turned in favour of my throwing the very
number I happen to want."

" But can you not tell by the rattle that there is but one die in the
box ? "

" It can be told by an experienced ear ; but such an ear only can
detect it. I can tell in an instant ; and whenever I discover a man
resorting to the practice, I invariably expose him as I did your friend,
By the way, where did you meet with that ingenious scoundrel ? "

" At the theatre," replied Stanley.

" And he brought you out thus early ? "

" Oh, this was last evening."

e ' And what place did he take you to then ? Of course you didn't
leave him without being seduced somewhere ? "

" No ; we went to an hotel and had supper, and thence to one of
those saloons in the vicinity of Covent Garden."

" And did he not in any way swindle you ? "

" No. In fact, he insisted upon paying for the supper and cham-
paign."

" Of course he 'd do that. Then you managed to reach home without
sustaining any loss ? "

" No, indeed I did not. On the contrary, I lost my watch, and every
pound I had in my pocket."

" Exactly. I thought that he would never suffer you to escape."

" But this was after we had separated."

" Doubtless ! Will you explain the particulars ? "

Stanley did so, and was astonished to see the stranger occasionally
smile and toss his head, as if he could not have understood the thing
much better had he actually been there.

" Will you be guided by me in this matter ? Will you take my
advice ? " said he, when Stanley had concluded. " I can see through
it all : you were hocussed ! — that negus was drugged ; and, however
circumstantial his description of the scene at the bar of the market-

STANLEY THORN. 439

house may have been, depend upon it you never were there. The very
moment you became insensible, he and the woman led you out, and hav-
ing plundered you themselves, left you where you were found by the
police. Now, as the only thing you care much about is your watch, and
as, of course, you have no wish "to make the circumstances public, take
my advice : accuse this fellow at once of having robbed you ; threaten
loudly to call in a policeman to take him to the station-house, and then
to search his lodgings ; and the chances are in favour of your watch
being restored."

" Good Heaven ! is it possible ! " cried Stanley. " But where is he ? "
" I saw him leave the room about five minutes since ; he is still in
the house, I have no doubt. Come with me ; we shall find him."

They at once left the room ; and having learned from the porter below
that the colonel was in the kitchen, they proceeded there sans ceremo-
nie, and discovered that gentleman, in company with others connected
with the establishment, before a dish of boiled tripe, tastefully fringed
with immense onions.

" Colonel Palmer," said Stanley, " I wish to speak with you in pri-«
vate."

The colonel blushed deeply as he rose from his tripe, and became
somewhat nervous ; but he followed them, nevertheless, into one of the
unoccupied rooms on the ground floor.

" I have reason to believe," said Stanley, on reaching this room,
" that I have discovered the scoundrel who robbed me last night."

" Indeed ! " cried the colonel, turning at the moment very pale. " I
am very glad of it," he added, although anything indicative of gladness
in his countenance no soul could have perceived, — " very, very glad,
indeed."

" So am I," cried Stanley ; " and I therefore now call upon you to
return my watch, if you value your liberty."

In an instant the colonel assumed a look of indignation ; his blood
became hot, and his eyes flashed fire. " Sir ! " said he fiercely, as his
bosom swelled with wrath, " do you mean to insinuate — "

" Nothing ! " cried Stanley, with corresponding fierceness, " I mean
to insinuate nothing. I mean to charge you distinctly with having
robbed me ; and, unless you restore that watch, I will instantly send
for the police."

" Upon my honour I know nothing of it."

" Liar ! " cried Stanley, " that base look betrays you. Have you got
it about you ? Is it here ? "

" I will not be thus treated ! " cried the colonel ; but scarcely had he
uttered the words when Stanley threw him upon his back, and drew a
watch from his pocket. It was not the watch in question, nor had he
any other ; and as Stanley began to feel that he might have gone a
little too far, he relinquished his hold.

" Vy, vort 's o'clock now ? " cried the stumpy proprietor, who entered
the room at this moment. " Vort hin the name o' God and Mightv
his it?" ,

" Will you send for a policeman ? Last night this scoundrel robbed
me of my watch, and I 'm now resolved to make him give it up."

" Give it hup ! — has a matter off course. Kam, none o' yer warment
manoeuvres — shell out ! "

" Upon my word I have not got it. I have not, indeed."
" No, I dares to say not ; ner yer don know vere it his ? "
" For your own reputation, Sharp, make him restore it at once," said

440 STANLEY THORN.

Stanley's friend. " He is a servant of yours, and you are therefore to
some extent involved."

"Do me the favour to go for a policeman/' said Stanley to his friend,
" or watch the villain narrowly while I run myself."

" Don't, for God and Mighty's sake, bring the polis hin 'ear ! They
cusses the 'spectability of hevery 'stablishment they henters. I '11
bundle 'im hout neck and crop, and then yer cun give 'im hin charge.
But hare yer a-goin' for to give the ticker hup ? — Kam, that 's hall
about it."

" I tell you again that I have not got the watch," replied the colonel ;
and he winked at the proprietor, conceiving that that might have a
favourable effect. But in this he was mistaken ; for although Sharp
was quite as great a villain as himself, the subject of his own reputation
had been touched, and that induced him to be for once in his life honest.

" Oh ho ! I twig ! " said he, the moment the wink had been given.
" But no, it von't fit ; no, nothink off the sort ; I von't 'ave it."

This the colonel conceived to be extremely irregular, " honour among
thieves " having been for years the recognised motto of both. He, not-
withstanding, drew him aside, and said something in a whisper, as he
pulled from his pocket a dirty piece of card about an inch and a half
square.

" Now, serpose," said Sharp, as he returned with this card in his
hand, " serpose this 'ear votch is guv hup, vill yer pledge yer verd
yer 'ill perceed no furder ?"

<f I will," replied Stanley.

" Veil, then, serpose ag'in that it's pawned for ten pound, vood yer
hin sich a case, yer know, be satisfied with the dubblikit ? "

Stanley would have been, but his friend interposed. " By no
means," said he, <s if that wretch has ten pounds in his pocket."

" 'Ave yer got ten pound ? " inquired Sharp.

" I have not," replied the colonel.

" He had more than twenty pounds' worth of counters."

" That 's hall werry possible ; but for them, yer know, he guv' in a
cheque."

" Well, give me the duplicate," said Stanley. " This is correct, of
course ? "

"Oh, that's all reg'lar," replied Sharp. " You 'ave nothink to do
but to show it."

"Now," said Stanley, addressing the colonel, " in future keep out of
my path. You will never again let me catch you within the reach of
my foot if you are wise."

" An' 'e may think hisself lucky," said the virtuous proprietor, as
Stanley and his friend left the room ; " there ain't many as vood 'ave
let 'im off so heasy. At hall ewents, he don't darken my doors ag'in.
I 'ope as this 'ear von't per went yer from honourin' me vith another
hurly wisit. Good night to yer, gen'elmen — I vish yer good night."

They now left the house, and Stanley was about to express his
thanks" warmly ; but his friend, whom he subsequently found to be a
member of the House of Commons, would not hear a word. " You
will find me in the Albany," said he, " I shall be happy to see you.
You must promise to call."

The promise was given, and they parted. It was then two o'clock.
Stanley therefore at once proceeded home, where Amelia was happy in
the conviction that he had been dining at Richmond, and had thereby
effected a reconciliation.

-

!

;

i

441
GUY FAWKES.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.

ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CIIUIKSHANK.

BOOK THE FIRST.

CHAPTER X.
THE FATE OF THE PURSUIVANT.

ASSISTED by the stream, and plying his oars with great rapid-
ity, Guy Fawkes soon left the town far behind him ; nor did
he relax his exertions until checked by Humphrey Chetham.
He then ceased rowing, and directed the boat towards the left
bank of the river.

" Here we propose to land, Miss Radcliffej" observed the
young merchant to Viviana. " We are not more than a hundred
yards from Ordsall Cave, where you can take refuge for a short
time, while I proceed to the Hall, and ascertain whether you can
return to it with safety."

" I place myself entirely in your hands, Master Chetham,"
she replied ; " but I fear that such a course will be to rush into
the very face of danger. Oh ! that I could join my father at
Holywell ! With him I should feel secure."

" Means may be found to effect your wishes," returned
Humphrey Chetham ; " but, after the suffering you have re-
cently endured, it will scarcely be prudent to undertake so long
a journey without a few hours' repose. To-morrow, — or the
next day, — you may set out."

" I am fully equal to it now," rejoined Viviana, eagerly ;
" and any fatigue I may undergo will not equal my present
anxiety. You have already done so much for me, Master
Chetham, that 1 venture to presume still further upon your
kindness. Provide some immediate means of conveyance for me
and for Father Oldcorne to Chester, and I shall for ever be be-
holden to you."

" I will not only do what you desire, Miss Radcliffe, if it be
possible," answered Chetham ; " but, if you will allow me, I will
serve as your escort."

" And I," added Guy Fawkes.

" All I fear is, that your strength may fail you," continued the
young merchant in a tone of uneasiness.

" Fear nothing, then," replied Viviana. " I am made of
firmer material than you imagine. Think only of what you can
do, and doubt not my ability to do it, also."

" I ever deemed you of a courageous nature, daughter," ob-
served Oldcorne; " but your resolution surpasses my belief."

By this time, the boat had approached the shore. Leaping
upon the rocky bank, the young merchant assisted Viviana to
land, and then performed the same service for the priest. Guy
Fawkes was the last to disembark ; and, having pulled the

VOL. VII. 2 K

444 GUY FAWKES.

far, however, from this being the case, it seemed the object of the
by-standers to assist the progress of the conflagration, Several
horses, saddled and bridled, had been removed from the stable,
and placed within an open cowhouse. To these Guy Fawkes
called Chatham's attention, and desired him and the old steward
to secure some of them. Hastily giving directions to Hey-
docke, the young merchant obeyed, — sprang on the back of the
nearest courser, and seizing the bridles of two others, rode off
with them. His example was followed by Heydocke, and one
steed only was left. Such was the confusion and clamour pre-
vailing around, that the above proceeding passed unnoticed.

Guy Fawkes, meanwhile, ensconcing himself behind the court-
gate, looked about for the barrel of gunpowder. For some time
he could discover no trace of it. At length, beneath a shed, not
far from him, he perceived a soldier seated upon a small cask,
which he had no doubt was the object he was in search of. So
intent was the man upon the spectacle before him, that he was
wholly unaware of the approach of an enemy ; and creeping
noiselessly up to him, Guy Fawkes felled him to the ground
with a blow from the heavy butt-end of his petronel. The ac-
tion was not perceived by the others; and carrying the cask out
of the yard, Fawkes burst in the lid, and ascertained that the
contents were what they had been represented. He then glanced
around, to see how he could best execute his purpose.

On the top of the wall adjoining the stables, he beheld the
pursuivant, with three or four soldiers, giving directions, and is-
suing orders. Another and lower wall, forming the opposite side
of the quadrangle, and built on the edge of the moat, approached
the scene of the fire, and on this, Guy Fawkes, with the barrel
of gunpowder on his shoulder, mounted. Concealing himself be-
hind a tree which overshadowed it, he watched a favourable mo-
ment for his enterprise.

He had not to wait long. Prompted by some indefinable
feeling, which caused him to rush upon his destruction, the pur-
suivant ventured on the roof of the stables, and was followed
by his companions. No sooner did this occur, than Guy Fawkes
dashed forward, and hurled the barrel with all his force into
the midst of the flames, throwing himself at the same moment
into the moat. The explosion was instantaneous and tremen-
dous ; — so loud as to be audible even under the water. Its ef-
fects were terrible. The bodies of the pursuivant and his com-
panions were blown into the air, and carried to the further side
of the moat. Of those standing before the building, several
were destroyed, and all more or less injured. The walls were
thrown down by the concussion, and the roof and its fiery
fragments projected into the moat. An effectual stop was put
to the conflagration ; and, when Guy Fawkes rose to the boiling
and agitated surface of the water, the flames were entirely ex-
tinguished. Hearing groans on the opposite bank of the moat,
he forced his way through the blazing beams, which were hiss-

GUY FAWKES. 445

ing in the water ; and, snatching up a still burning fragment,
hastened in the direction of the sound. In the blackened and
mutilated object before him he recognized the pursuivant. The
dying wretch also recognized him, and attempted to speak ; but
in vain — his tongue refused its office ; and with a horrible at-
tempt at articulation, he expired.

Alarmed by the explosion, the domestics, whom, it has already
been mentioned, were confined in the cellar, were rendered so
desperate by their fears, that they contrived to break out of
their prison, and now hastened to the stables to ascertain the
cause of the report. Leaving them to assist the sufferers, whose
dreadful groans awakened some feelings of compunction in his
iron breast, Guy Fawkes caught the steed, — which had broken
its bridle and rushed off, and now stood shivering, shaking,
and drenched in moisture near the drawbridge, — and, mounting
it, galloped towards the cave.

At its entrance, he was met by Humphrey Chetham and Old-
corne, who eagerly inquired what had happened.

Guy Fawkes briefly explained.

" It is the hand of Heaven manifested by your arm, my son,"
observed the priest. " Would that it had stricken the tyrant
and apostate prince by whom our Church is persecuted ! But
his turn will speedily arrive."

" Peace, father ! " cried Guy Fawkes, sternly.

" I do not lament the fate of the pursuivant," observed
Humphrey Chetham. " But this is a frightful waste of human
life — and in such a cause ! "

" It is the cause of Heaven, young sir,1' rejoined the priest,
angrily.

" I do not think so," returned Chetham ; " and, but for my
devotion to Miss Radcliffe, I would have no further share in it."

" You are at liberty to leave us, if you think proper," said
the priest, coldly.

" Nay, say not so, father," interposed Viviana, who had been
an unobserved listener to the foregoing discourse. " You owe
your life — your liberty to Master Chetham.''

" True, daughter," replied the priest. " I have been too
hasty, and entreat his forgiveness."

" You have it, reverend sir," rejoined the young merchant.
" And now, Master Heydocke," he added, turning to the steward,
" you may return to the Hall with safety. No one will molest
you more, and your presence may be needed."

" But my young mistress — " said Heydocke.

" 1 am setting out for Holywell to join my father," replied
Viviana. " You will receive our instructions from that place."

" It is well," returned the old man, bowing respectfully.
" Heaven shield us from further misfortune ! "

Humphrey Chetham having assisted Viviana into the saddle,
and the rest of the party having mounted, they took the road to
Chester, while Heydocke returned to the Hall.

44G GUY FAWKES.

CHAPTER XI.
THE PILGRIMAGE TO SAINT WINIFRED'S WELL.

EARLY on the following morning, the party, who had ridden
hard, and had paused only for a short time at Knutsford to rest
their steeds, approached the ancient and picturesque city of
Chester. Skirting its high, and then partly fortified walls, above
which appeared the massive tower of the venerable cathedral,
they passed through the east-gate, and proceeding along the
street deriving its name from that entrance, were about to halt
before the door of a large hostel, called the Saint Werburgrfs
Abbey, when, to their great surprise, they perceived Catesby
riding towards them.

" I thought I could not be mistaken," said the latter, as he
drew near and saluted Viviana. " I was about to set out for
Manchester with a despatch to you from your father, Miss Rad-
cliffe, when this most unexpected and fortunate encounter spares
me the journey. But may I ask why I see you here, and thus
attended?" he added, glancing uneasily at Humphrey Chetham.

A few words from Father Oldcorne explained all. Catesby
affected to bend his brow, and appear concerned at the relation.
But he could scarcely repress his satisfaction.

" Sir William Radcliffe must join us now," he whispered to
the priest.

" He must — he shall" replied Oldcorne, in the same tone.

" Your father wishes you to join him at Holt, Miss Rad-
cliffe," remarked Catesby, turning to her," whence the pilgrimage
starts to-morrow for Saint Winifred's Well. There are already
nearly thirty devout persons assembled."

" Indeed ! " replied Viviana. " May I inquire their names ? "

" Sir Everard and Lady Digby," replied Catesby; " Mistress
Anne Vaux and her sister, Mrs. Brooksby ; Mr. Ambrose Rook-
wood and his wife, the two Winters, Tresham, Wright, Fathers
Garnet and Fisher, and many others, in all probability unknown
to you. The procession started ten days ago from Gothurst, in
Buckinghamshire, Sir Everard Digby's residence, and proceeded
from thence by slow stages to Norbrook and Haddington, at
each of which houses it halted for some days. Yesterday, it
reached Holt, and starts, as I have just told you, to-morrow
for Holywell. If you are so disposed, you will be able to
attend it."

4< I will gladly do so," replied Viviana. " And, since I find
it is not necessary to hurry forward, I will rest myself for a
short time here."

So saying, she dismounted, and the whole party entered the
hostel. Viviana withdrew to seek a short repose, and glance
over her father's letter, while Catesby, Guy Fawkes, and Old-
corne, were engaged in deep consultation. Humphrey Chetham,
perceiving that his attendance was no further required, and that
he was an object of suspicion and dislike to Catesby, — for whom
he also entertained a similar aversion, — prepared to return. And

GUY FAWKES. 447

when Viviana made her appearance, he advanced to bid her
farewell.

"I can be of no further service to you, Miss Radcliffe,"
he said in a mournful tone ; " and, as my presence might be as
unwelcome to your father, as it seems to be to others of your
friends, I will now take my leave."

" Farewell, Master Chetham," she replied. " I will not at-
tempt to oppose your departure ; for, much as I grieve to lose
you — and that I do so these tears will testify, — I feel that
it is for the best. I owe you much — more — far more than I can
ever repay. It would be unworthy in me, and unfair to you, to
say that 1 do not, and shall not ever feel the deepest interest in
you ; that, next to my father, there is no one whom I regard —
nay, whom I love so much."

" Love ! Viviana ? " echoed the young merchant, trembling.

" Love, Master Chetham," she continued, turning very pale ;
" since you compel me to repeat the word. 1 avow it boldly,
because — " and her voice faltered, — " I would not have you
suppose me ungrateful, and because I never can be yours."

" I will not attempt to dissuade you from the fatal determina-
tion you have formed of burying your charms in a cloister," re-
joined Humphrey Chetham. "But, oh ! if you do love me, why
condemn yourself — why condemn me to hopeless misery ? "

" I will tell you why," replied Viviana. " Because you are
not of my faith ; and because I never will wed a heretic."

" I arn answered," replied the young merchant, sadly.

" Master Chetham," interposed Oldcorne, who had approach-
ed them unperceived ; "it is in your power to change Miss
Radcliffe' s determination."

" How ? " asked the young merchant, starting.

" By being reconciled to the Church of Rome."

" Then it will remain unaltered," replied Chetham firmly.

" And, if Master Chetham would consent to this proposal, /
would not," said Viviana. " Farewell ! " she added, extending
her hand to him, which he pressed to his lips. " Do not let
us prolong an interview so painful to us both. The best wish
I can desire for you is, that we may never meet again."

Without another word, and without hazarding a look at the
object of his affections, Chetham rushed out of the room, and
mounting his horse, rode off in the direction of Manchester.

" Daughter," said Oldcorne, as soon as he was gone, " I can-
not too highly approve of your conduct, or too warmly applaud
the mastery you display over your feelings. But — " and he he-
sitated.

" But what, father ? " cried Viviana eagerly. " Do you think
I have done wrong in dismissing him ? "

"By no means, dear daughter," replied the priest. "You
have acted most discreetly. But you will forgive me if I urge
you — nay, implore you not to take the veil; but rather to
bestow your hand upon some Catholic gentleman —

448 GUY FAWKES.

" Such as Mr. Catesby," interrupted Viviana, glancing in the
direction of the individual she mentioned, who was watching
them narrowly from the further end of the room.

"Ay, Mr. Catesby," repeated Oldcorne, affecting not to
notice the scornful emphasis laid on the name. " None more
fitting could be found, or more worthy of you. Our Church has
not a more zealous servant and upholder ; and he will be at once
a father and a husband to you. Such a union would be highly
profitable to our religion. And, though it is well for those
whose hearts are burthened with affliction, or who are unable to
render any active service to their faith, to retire from the world,
it behoves every sister of the Romish Church to support it,
at a juncture like the present, at any sacrifice of personal
feeling."

" Urge me no more, father," replied Yiviana, firmly. " I
will make every sacrifice for my religion, consistent with prin-
ciple and feeling. But I will not make this ; neither am 1
required to make it. And I beg you will entreat Mr. Catesby
to desist from further importunity."

Oldcorne bowed, and retired. Nor was another syllable ex-
changed between them prior to their departure.

Crossing the old bridge over the Dee, then defended at each
extremity by a gate and tower, the party took the road to
Holt, where they arrived in about an hour. The recent convers-
ation had thrown a restraint over them, which was not removed
during the journey. Habitually taciturn, as has already been
remarked, Guy Fawkes seemed gloomier and more thoughtful
than ever; and though he rode by the side of Viviana, he
did not volunteer a remark, and scarcely appeared conscious of
her presence. Catesby and Oldcorne kept aloof, and it was not
until they came in sight of the little town which formed
their- destination that the former galloped forward, and strik-
ing into the path on the right, begged Viviana to follow him.
A turn in the road shortly afterwards showed them a large
mansion screened by a grove of beech trees.

" That is the house to which we are going," observed
Catesby.

And as he spoke, they approached a lodge, the gates of which
being opened by an attendant, admitted them to the avenue.

Viviana's heart throbbed with delight at the anticipated meet-
ing with her father ; but she could not repress a feeling of
anxiety at the distressing intelligence she had to impart to him.
As she drew near the house, she perceived him walking be-
neath the shade of the trees with two other persons ; and quick-
ening her pace, sprang from her steed, and almost before he was
aware of it was in his arms.

" Why do I see you here so unexpectedly, my dear child ? "
cried Sir William lladcliffe, as soon as he had recovered from
the surprise which her sudden appearance occasioned him.
" Mr. Catesby only left this morning, charged with a letter

GUY FAWKES. 449

entreating you to set out without delay, — and now I behold
you. What has happened ? "

Viviana then recounted the occurrences of the last few days.

" It is, then, as I feared," replied Sir William, in a despond-
ing tone. " Our oppressors will never cease till they drive us to
desperation ! "

" They will not ! " rejoined a voice behind him. " Well
may we exclaim with the prophet — 6 How long, O Lord, shall
I cry, and thou wilt not hear ? Shall I cry out to thee suffer-
ing violence, and thou wilt not save ? Why hast thou showed
me iniquity and grievance, to see rapine and injustice before
me? Why lookest thou upon them that do unjust things, and
boldest thy peace when the wicked devoureth the man that is
more j ust than himself ? ' '

Viviana looked in the direction of the speaker, and beheld a
man in a priestly garb, whose countenance struck her very forci-
bly. He was rather under the middle height, of a slight spare
figure, and in age might be about fifty. His features, which in
his youth must have been pleasing, if not handsome, and which
were still regular, were pale and emaciated ; but his eye was
dark, and of unusual brilliancy. A single glance at this person
satisfied her that it was Father Garnet, the provincial of the
English Jesuits ; nor was she mistaken in her supposition.

Of this remarkable person, so intimately connected with the
main events of the history about to be related, it may be proper
to offer some preliminary account. Born at Nottingham in
1554, in the reign of Queen Mary, and of obscure parentage,
Henry Garnet was originally destined to the Protestant Church,
and educated, with a view to taking orders, at Winchester school,
from whence it was intended he should be removed in due course
to Oxford. But this design was never carried into effect. In-
fluenced by motives, into which it is now scarcely worth while
inquiring, and which have been contested by writers on both
sides of the question, Garnet proceeded from Winchester to
London, where he engaged himself "as correcter of the press to a
printer of law-books, named Tottel, in which capacity he became
acquainted with Sir Edward Coke and Chief Justice Popham, —
one of whom was afterwards to be the leading counsel against
him, and the other his judge. After continuing in this employ-
ment for two years, during which he had meditated a change in
his religion, he went abroad, and travelling first to Madrid, and
then to Rome, saw enough of the Catholic priesthood to confirm
his resolution, and in 1575 he assumed the habit of a Jesuit.
Pursuing his studies with the utmost zeal and ardour at the
Jesuits1 College, under the celebrated Bellarmine, and the no less
celebrated Clavius, he made such progress, that upon the in-
disposition of the latter, he was able to fill the mathematical
chair. Nor was he less skilled in philosophy, metaphysics, and
divinity ; and his knowledge of Hebrew was so profound, that
he taught it publicly in the Roman schools.

450 GUY FAWKES.

To an enthusiastic zeal in the cause of the religion he had
espoused, Garnet added great powers of persuasion and elo-
quence, — a combination of qualities well fitting him for the
office of a missionary priest ; and undismayed by the dangers he
would have to encounter, and eager to propagate his doctrines,
he solicited to be sent on this errand to his own country. Hav-
ing, at the instance of Father Persons, received an appointment
to the mission in 1586, he secretly landed in England in the
same year. Braving every danger, and shrinking from no labour,
he sought on all hands to make proselytes to the ancient faith,
and to sustain the wavering courage of its professors. Two
years afterwards, on the imprisonment of the Superior of the
Jesuits, being raised to that important post, he was enabled to
extend his sphere of action ; and redoubling his exertions in
consequence, he so well discharged his duties, that it was mainly
owing to him that the Catholic party was kept together during
the fierce persecutions of the latter end of Elizabeth's reign.

Compelled to personate various characters, as he travelled from
place to place, Garnet had acquired a remarkable facility for
disguise ; and such was his address and courage, that he not un-
frequently imposed upon the very officers sent in pursuit of him.
Up to the period of Elizabeth's demise he had escaped arrest ;
and, though involved in the treasonable intrigue with the King
of Spain, and other conspiracies, he procured a general pardon
under the great seal. His office and profession naturally brought
him into contact with the chief Catholic families through-
out the kingdom ; and he maintained an active correspondence
with many of them, by means of his various agents and emissa-
ries. The great object of his life being the restoration of the
fallen religion, to accomplish this, as he conceived, great and
desirable end, he was prepared to adopt any means, however
violent or obnoxious. When, under the seal of confession, Ca-
tesby revealed to him his dark designs, so far from discouraging
him, all he counselled was caution. Having tested the disposition
of the wealthier Romanists to rise against their oppressors, and
finding a general revolt, as has before been stated, impracticable,
he gave every encouragement and assistance to the conspiracy
forming among the more desperate and discontented of the
party. At his instigation, the present pilgrimage to Saint
Winifred's Well was undertaken, in the hope that, when so
large a body of the Catholics were collected together, some ad-
ditional aid to the project might be obtained.

One of the most mysterious and inexplicable portions of Gar-
net's history is that relating to Anne Vaux. This lady, the
daughter of Lord Vaux of Harrowden, a rigid Catholic noble-
man, and one of Garnet's earliest patrons and friends, on the
death of her father, in 1595, attached herself to his fortunes, —
accompanied him in all his missions, — shared all his privations
and dangers, — and, regardless of calumny, or reproach, devoted
herself entirely to his service. What is not less singular, her

GUY FAWKES. 451

sister, who had married a Catholic gentleman named Brooksby,
became his equally zealous attendant. Their enthusiasm pro-
duced a similar effect on Mr. Brooksby ; and wherever Garnet
went, all three accompanied him.

By his side, on the present occasion, stood a remarkably
handsome young man, with a tall and stately figure, and a noble
countenance. This was Sir Everard Digby. Accounted one of
the handsomest, most accomplished, and best-informed men of
his time, Sir Everard, at the period of this history only twenty-
four, had married, when scarcely sixteen, Maria, heiress of the
ancient and honourable family of Mulshoe, with whom he ob-
tained a large fortune, and the magnificent estate of Gothurst,
or Gaythurst, in Buckinghamshire. Knighted by James the
First at Belvoir Castle, on his way from Scotland to London,
Sir Everard, who had once formed one of the most brilliant
ornaments of the court, had of late in a great degree retired from
it. " Notwithstanding," writes Father Greenway, " that he had
dwelt much in the Queen's court, and was in the way of ob-
taining honours and distinction by his graceful manners and rare
parts, he chose rather to bear the cross with the persecuted Ca-
tholics, et vivere abjectus in domo Domini, than to sail through
the pleasures of a palace and the prosperities of the world, to
the shipwreck of his conscience and the destruction of his soul."
Having only when he completed his minority professed the
Catholic religion, he became deeply concerned at its fallen state,
and his whole thoughts were bent upon its restoration. This
change in feeling was owing chiefly, if not altogether, to Gar-
net, by whom his conversion had been accomplished.

Digby was richly attired in a black velvet doublet, with
sleeves slashed with white satin, and wore a short mantle of the
same material, similarly lined. He had the enormous trunk
hose heretofore mentioned as the distinguishing peculiarity of the
costume of the period, and wore black velvet shoes, ornament-
ed with white roses. An ample ruff' encircled his throat. His
hat was steeple-crowned, and somewhat broader in the leaf than
was ordinarily worn, and shaded with a plume of black feathers.
His hair was raven-black, and he wore a pointed beard, and
moustaches.

By this time, the group had been joined by the others, and a
friendly greeting took place. Guy Fawkes was presented by
Catesby to Sir William Radcliffe and Sir Everard Digby. To
•Garnet he required no introduction, and Father Oldcorne was
known to all. After a little further conversation, the party ad-
journed to the house which belonged to a Welsh Catholic gen-
tleman, named Griffiths, who, though absent at the time, had
surrendered it to the use of Sir Everard Digby and his friends.

On their entrance, Viviana was introduced by her father to
Lady Digby, who presided as hostess, and welcomed her with
great cordiality. She was then conducted to her own room
where she was speedily joined by Sir William, and they remain-

452 GUY FAWKES.

ed closeted together till summoned to the principal meal of the
day. At the table, which was most hospitably served, Viviana
found, in addition to her former companions, a large assem-
blage, to most of whom she was a stranger, consisting of Anne
Vaux, Mr. Brooksby and his wife, Ambrose Rookwood, two
brothers named Winter, two Wrights, Francis Tresham, — per-
sons of whom it will be necessary to make particular mention
hereafter, — and several others, in all amounting to thirty.

The meal over, the company dispersed, and Viviana and her
father, passing through an open window, wandered forth upon
a beautiful and spreading lawn, and thence under the shade of
the beech-trees. They had not been long here, anxiously con-
ferring on recent events, when they perceived Garnet and Ca-
tesby approaching.

" Father, dear father ! " cried Viviana, hastily, " I was about
to warn you ; but 1 have not time to do so now. Some dark
and dangerous plot is in agitation to restore our religion. Mr.
Catesby is anxious to league you with it. Do not — do not
yield to his solicitations !""

" Fear nothing on that score, Viviana," replied Sir William,
" I have already perplexities enow, without adding to them."

" I will leave you, then," she replied. And, as soon as the
others came up, she made some excuse for withdrawing, and
returned to the house. The window of her chamber commanded
the avenue, and from it she watched the group. They remained
for a long time pacing up and down, in earnest conversation.
By and by, they were joined by Oldcorne and Fawkes. Then
came a third party, consisting of the two Winters and two
Wrights ; and, lastly, Sir Everard Digby and Tresham swelled
the list. The assemblage was then harangued by Catesby,
and the most profound attention paid to his address. Viviana
kept her eye fixed upon her father's countenance, and from its
changing expression inferred what effect the speech produced
upon him. At its conclusion, the assemblage separated in little
groups; and she perceived, with great uneasiness, that Father
Garnet passed his arm through that of her father, and led him
away. Some time elapsed, and neither of them re-appeared.

" My warning was in vain, he has joined them ! " she ex-
claimed.

" No, Viviana ! " cried her father's voice behind her. " I
have not joined them. Nor shall I do so."

" Heaven be praised ! " she exclaimed, flinging her arms
around his neck.

Neither of them were aware that they were overheard by Gar-
net, who had noiselessly followed Sir William into the room,
and muttered to himself — " For all this, he shall join the plot,
and she shall wed Catesby.

He then coughed slightly, to announce his presence ; and,
apologizing to Viviana for the intrusion, told her he came to
confess her previously to the celebration of mass, which would

GUY FAWKES. 453

take place that evening, in a small chapel in the house. Wholly
obedient to the command of her spiritual advisers, Viviana in-
stantly signified her assent ; and, her father having withdrawn,
she laid open the inmost secrets of her heart to the Jesuit.
Severely reprobating her love for a heretic, before he would give
her absolution, Garnet enjoined her, as a penance, to walk bare-
foot to Saint Winifred's Well on the morrow, and to make a
costly offering at her shrine. Compliance being promised to
his inj action, he pronounced the absolution, and departed.

Soon after this, mass was celebrated by Garnet and the two
priests, and the sacrament administered to the assemblage.

An hour before daybreak, the party again assembled in the
chapel, where matins were performed ; after which, the female
devotees, who were clothed in snow-white woollen robes, with
wide sleeves and hoods, and having large black crosses woven in
front, retired for a short time, and re-appeared, with their feet
bared, and hair unbound. Each had a large rosary attached to
the cord that bound her waist.

Catesby thought Viviana had never appeared so lovely as in
this costume ; and as he gazed at her white and delicately
formed feet, her small rounded ankles, her dark and abundant
tresses falling in showers almost to the ground, he became
more deeply enamoured than before. His passionate gaze was,
however, unnoticed, as the object of it kept her eyes steadily
fixed on the ground. Lady Digby, who was a most beautiful
woman, scarcely appeared to less advantage ; and, as she walked
side by side with Viviana in the procession, the pair attracted
universal admiration from all who beheld them.

Everything being at last in readiness, and the order of march
fully arranged, two youthful choristers, in surplices, chanting a
hymn to Saint Winifred, set forth. They were followed by two
men bearing silken banners, on one of which was displayed the
martyrdom of the saint whose shrine they were about to visit,
and on the other a lamb carrying a cross ; next came Fathers
Oldcorne and Fisher, each sustaining a large silver crucifix ; next,
Garnet alone, in the full habit of his order ; next, the females, in
the attire before described, and walking two and two ; next, Sir
Everard Digby, and Sir William Radcliffe; and lastly, the rest
of the pilgrims, to the number of fourteen. These were all on
foot. But at the distance of fifty paces behind them rode Guy
Fawkes and Catesby, at the head of twenty well-armed and well-
mounted attendants, intended to serve as a guard in case of need.

In such order, this singular procession moved forward at a
slow pace, taking its course along a secluded road leading
to the ridge of hills extending from the neighbourhood of
Wrexham to Mold, and from thence, in an almost unbroken
chain, to Holywell.

Along these heights, whence magnificent views were obtained
of the broad estuary of the Dee and the more distant ocean,
the train proceeded without interruption ; and though the

454 GUY FAWKES.

road selected was one seldom traversed, and through a country
thinly peopled, still, the rumour of the pilgrimage having gone
abroad, hundreds were stationed at different points to behold it.
Some expressions of disapprobation were occasionally manifested
by the spectators; but the presence of the large armed force
effectually prevented any interference.

Whenever such a course could be pursued, the procession
took its way over the sward. Still the sufferings of the fe-
males were severe in the extreme; and before Viviana had
proceeded a mile, her soft and tender feet were cut and bruised
by the sharp flints over which she walked ; every step she
took leaving a bloody print behind it. Lady Digby was in
little better condition. But such was the zeal by which they, in
common with all the other devotees following them, were ani-
mated, that not a single murmur was uttered.

Proceeding in this way, they reached at mid-day a small stone
chapel on the summit of the hill overlooking Plasnewydd, where
they halted, and devotions being performed, the females bathed
their lacerated limbs in a neighbouring brook, after which they
were rubbed with a cooling and odorous ointment. Thus re-
freshed, they again set forward, and halting a second time at
Plasiaf, where similar religious ceremonies were observed, they
rested for the day at a lodging prepared for their reception in
the vicinity of Mold.

The night being passed in prayer, early in the morning they
commenced their march in the same order as before. When
Viviana first set her feet to the ground, she felt as if she were
treading on hot iron, and the pain she endured was so excruciat-
ing, that she could not repress a cry.

" Heed not your sufferings, dear daughter,"" observed Garnet,
compassionately. " The waters of the holy fountain will heal
the wounds both of soul and body."

Overcoming her agony by a powerful effort, she contrived to
limp forward ; and the whole party was soon after in motion.
Halting for two hours at Pentre-Terfyn, and again at Skeviog,
the train, towards evening, reached the summit of the hill over-
looking Holy well, at the foot of which could be seen the reverend
walls of Basingwerk Abbey, and the roof of the ancient chapel
erected over the sacred spring. At this sight, those who were
foremost in the procession fell on their knees ; and the horse-
men dismounting, imitated their example. An earnest supplica-
tion to Saint Winifred was then poured forth by Father Garnet,
in which all the others joined, and a hymn in her honour
chaunted by the choristers.

Their devotions ended, the whole train arose, and walked
slowly down the deep descent. As they entered the little town,
which owes its name and celebrity to the miraculous spring
rising within it, they were met by a large concourse of people,
who had flocked from Flint and the other neighbouring places
to witness the ceremonial. Most of the inhabitants of Holy well

GUY FAWKES. 455

holding their saintly patroness in the deepest veneration, viewed
this pilgrimage to her shrine as a proper tribute of respect,
while those of the opposite faith were greatly impressed by it.
As the procession advanced, the crowd divided into two lines to
allow it passage, and many fell on their knees imploring a
blessing from Garnet, which he in no instance refused. When
within a hundred yards of the sacred well, they were met by a
priest followed by another small train of pilgrims. A Latin ora-
tion having been pronounced by this priest, and replied to in
the same language by Garnet, the train was once more put in
motion, and presently reached the ancient fabric built over the
sacred fountain.

The legend of Saint Winifred is so well known, that it is
scarcely necessary to repeat it. For the benefit of the uninform-
ed, however, it may be stated that she flourished about the
middle of the seventh century, and was the daughter of Thewith,
one of the chief lords of Wales. Devoutly educated by a monk
named Beuno, who afterwards received canonization, she took
the veil, and retired to a small monastery (the ruins of which
still exist), built by her father near the scene of her subsequent
martyrdom. Persecuted by the addresses of Caradoc, son of
Alan, Prince of Wales, she fled from him to avoid his violence.
He followed, and inflamed by fury at her resistance, struck off
her head. For this atrocity, the earth instantly opened and swal-
lowed him alive, while from the spot where the head had fallen
gushed forth a fountain of unequalled force and purity, pro-
ducing more than a hundred tons a minute. The bottom of this
miraculous well, even at the present day, is strewn with pebbles
streaked with red veins, in memory of the virgin saint from
whose blood it sprung. On its margin grows an odorous moss,
while its gelid and translucent waters are esteemed a remedy
for many disorders. Winifred's career did not terminate with
her decapitation. Resuscitated by the prayers of Saint Beuno,
she lived many years a life of the utmost sanctity, bearing, as a
mark of the miracle performed in her behalf, a narrow crimson
circle round her throat.

Passing the chapel adjoining the well, built in the reign of
Henry the Seventh by his mother, the pious Countess of Rich-
mond, the pilgrims came to the swift clear stream rushing
from the well. Instead of ascending the steps leading to the
edifice built over the spring, they plunged into the stream,
and crossing it, entered the structure by a doorway on the
further side. Erected by the Countess of Richmond at the
same period as the chapel, this structure, quadrangular in
form, and of great beauty, consists of light clustered pillars
and mouldings, supporting the most gorgeous tracery and
groining, the whole being ornamented with sculptured bosses,
pendent capitals, fretwork, niches, and tabernacles. In the
midst is a large stone basin, to receive the water of the foun-
tain, around which the procession now grouped, and, as soon

456 GUY FAWKES.

as all were assembled, at the command of Father Garnet they
fell on their knees.

It was a solemn and striking sight to see this large group
prostrated around that beautiful fountain, and, covered by
that ancient structure, — a touching thing to hear the voice of
prayer mingling with the sound of the rushing water. After
this, they all arose. A hymn was then chaunted, and votive
offerings made at the shrine of the saint. The male portion of
the assemblage then followed Garnet to the chapel, where fur-
ther religious rites were performed, while the female devotees,
remaining near the fountain, resigned themselves to the care
of several attendants of their own sex, who, having bathed their
feet in the water, applied some of the fragrant moss above-
described to the wounds ; and, such was the faith of the pa-
tients, or the virtue of the application, that in a short time they
all felt perfectly restored, and able to join their companions in
the chapel. In this way, the evening was spent; and it was
not until late that they finished their devotions, and departed
to the lodgings provided for them in the town.

Impressed with a strange superstitious feeling, which he
would scarcely acknowledge to himself, Guy Fawkes determined
to pass the night near the well. Accordingly, without commu-
nicating his intention to his companions, he threw a small
knapsack over his shoulder, containing a change of linen, and a
few articles of attire, arid proceeded thither. It was a brilliant
moonlight night, and, as the radiance, streaming through the
thin clustered columns of the structure, lighted up its fairy
architecture, and fell upon the clear cold waves of the fountain,
revealing the blood-streaked pebbles beneath, the effect was inex-
pressibly beautiful. So charmed was Guy Fawkes by the sight,
that he remained for some time standing near the edge of the
basin, as if fascinated by the marvellous spring that boiled up
and sparkled at his feet. Resolved to try the efficacy of the
bath, he threw off' his clothes, and plunged into it. The water
was cold as ice ; but on emerging from it he felt wonderfully
refreshed. Having dressed himself, he wrapped his cloak
around him, and throwing himself on the stone floor, placed
the knapsack under his head, and grasping a petronel in his
right hand, to be ready in case of a surprise, disposed himself
to slumber. Accustomed to a soldier's couch, he soon fell asleep.
He had not long closed his eyes when he dreamed that from
out the well, a female figure, slight and unsubstantial as the
element from which it sprung, arose. It was robed in what
resembled a nun's garb ; but so thin and vapoury, that the very
moonlight shone through it. From the garments of the figure,
as well as from the crimson circle round its throat, he knew that
it must be the patroness of the place, the sainted Winifred, that
he beheld. He felt no terror, but the deepest awe. The arm
of the figure was raised, — its benignant regards fixed upon him,
— and, as soon as it gained the level of the basin, it glided to-
wards him.

457

« Here I am !

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON,

ON A TRIP TO PARIS, IN 1830.

" I LEFT London on Sunday morning, May 23rd, 1830, at eleven
o'clock ; started from the Cafe de Paris, Haymarket, by the Dover
and Paris branch coach.

" Received of M. Armand, just before I got upon the coach, the
sum of fourteen pounds in advance, seven pounds of which I gave to
little Paulo at parting with him near the Asylum, St. George's
Fields, for his mother and my own. After taking an affectionate
farewell of the little fellow, I proceeded towards the Bricklayers'
Arms, where we joined the regular Paris coach; bought some
oranges, and a knife with six blades ; and, after some little delay,
(occasioned by a misunderstanding with the coachman and one of the

passengers,) we — Miss , our Columbine ; Madam her mamma ;

, the Harlequin ; and Monsieur Armand, our director — began

our journey to the far-famed city of Paris, full of thought till we
arrived at the summit of Shooter's Hill, with the exception of a few
jokes and common conversation on the way about our trip. Having

VOL. vn. 2 L

458 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

arrived at the top of the hill, I took a farewell look at London,
and fancied I could make out the roof of Covent Garden Theatre.
I am not ashamed to own it, that my heart misgave me at the
moment, and I could not help shedding tears, and offering up a fer-
vent prayer for the welfare of those I had left behind me.

" Passing through W , saw , the attorney (a d — d rogue).

He saw me, and I suppose he told his wife that I was one of the

many that he had plundered ; if he did not, I did to Mr. M- , at

Dartford, where we changed horses for the first time. Poor devils !
they knew their own way into the yard, and went under the gate

shaking their tails at us. Took brandy with M , who told me

he had not received one farthing from the scoundrel out of all the
money I had paid, and said he should immediately proceed against

for the same ; ( I wish he may get it.' Swallowed my brandy,

mounted the coach, and passed through the town of Dartford, which
has been the scene of many a happy day to me, when my poor dear
Mary, God bless her soul ! was alive. This brought on the blues
again till we got to Gravesend. More brandy ; talked of the beau-
tiful scenery that surrounded us, and passed on the time till we
reached Gad's Hill, where is the sign of Sir John Falstaff. This
produced a conversation about Shakspeare. I have acted one of
the carriers often. Arrived at Strood ; here was another scene of
my early days ; blues again. Crossed Chatham bridge into Chatham
town ; stopped to change horses ; more brandy. Walked about a
bit to stretch my legs, which were getting very stiff from the fatigue
of Saturday and this morning. Not nigh so young as I was. Got
on the coach again, all the better for dismounting and the brandy ;
for I not only found the use of my limbs, but of my tongue also ;
and from the laughing I caused, I believe my fellow-travellers
began to think that I was not quite so dull a companion as they
imagined me to be at our starting. Stopped again to change horses ;
can't recollect the name of the village ; alighted, and took my old
remedy, brandy. Mounting again, met with a shower of rain, which
brought forth a shower of complaints and lamentations from the
females, who, by the by, had frilled themselves out in all their fur-
belows to make a dash out of London, and astonish the poor natives
in the country ; and I really believe, from what little judge I am of
Lavater, that the poor natives in the country were astonished ; for
what with the quantity of dust before the rain fell, the oil in the
abundance of curls they wore, their \argejlop Leghorn bonnets, and
enormous ribbons, they looked like — what ? — why, like hunted
devils. But this was not the worst part ; for the wind by this time
began to blow pretty fresh, with drizzling rain, which drove their
poor bonnets, ribbons, and curls in all directions, so that in a short
time I could scarcely believe that they were the same ladies, who
left London with me in the morning dressed in all their finery, and
in full bloom ; — full bloom, I say ; because the mamma wore plenty
of paint on her cheeks, and she had a skin like a toad's back, with
numerous little cavities, by that fatal destroyer to beauty termed
the small-pox, which she must have had in the highest perfection.
What with white and red paint, pomatum, oil, dust, and rain, mixed
together and set in motion, with the dye from the bonnet-ribbons,
therefore the face of Columbine's mamma resembled the surface of
a bowl of negus, well sprinkled with nutmeg, with here and there a

JOURNAL. OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 459

email piece of lemon-peel, adding a lustre to the whole. Now, if this
was not enough to astonish the poor country natives, I don't know
what was.

" I shall now endeavour to give an outline of ourselves (the
male part). I shall begin first with our director, who, by the by,
was a worthy sort of little man, sprightly as possible when not on a
voyage, for then all his vivacity entirely leaves him, and he becomes
silent and dejected, and appears like a person in a state of melan-
choly madness. His person is small and very spare, with a long
thin visage, prominent cheek-bones, eyes sunk but piercing, high
forehead, long nose, mustachios, and his chin adorned with a tip or
tuft, which I imagine was to give a sort of consequential appearance
to his person, which was enveloped in a travelling-cloak with a high
fur collar, surmounted by a little hat, at each side of which was a
large brush of hair, that had been well-frizzed, bears'-greased, and
curled before starting in the morning, so that he looked for all the
world like a rat peeping out of a hayrick. The director parted with
some friends, who saw him off by the coach in the Haymarket, and
from that moment till we reached Paris his face was as changeable
as the weather-glass. He had a most horrid aversion to cross the
water from Dover to Calais, in consequence of his having been so
dreadfully sea-sick in coming to England, from which he had not
thoroughly recovered. His change of living in England, too,
and his fatigue while there, made him resemble a person just
emerging from the jaundice. After leaving his friends, he by de-
grees fell into that state of pensive melancholy I before mentioned,
from which he was occasionally roused either by my making them
laugh, or by one of our party (who could speak French), a kind of
half-bred fellow, between a Jew and a Paris cockney, who would
now and then explain our jokes to the director, some of which
puzzled him mightily.

" Down came the rain again, totally disorganizing the curls of the
manager, who began to change appearance as fast as the females, — an-
other object to astonish the poor country natives ! — a roused water-rail

" But the Jew-Frenchman ! oh ! he was a terrible utrosmoote* sort
of personage ! Sharp features, long Mordecai nose, piercing grey
eyes, negro hair, cadaverous complexion munificently marked with
the small-pox, which had carried away all his eye-brows, and left
considerable proofs of the favourable manner in which he must have
had it ! When the rain and dust had begun to operate on his
pepper-and-salt countenance, it would have bothered Hogarth, or
Cruikshank, to have matched it in caricature — another object to as-
tonish the poor natives in the country.

" Now for a touch of description of myself. Before starting I had
thus dressed for the journey ; boots sufficiently large, in case my bitter
enemy, the gout, might make his appearance, (as he generally did just
about Christmas pantomime time ;) light mixture trowsers, striped
waistcoat, black surtout coat, and a Brighton beaver great-coat (new);
black hat, quite easy enough, and tied to the button-hole for fear of
accident ; a full starched collar, and black cravat with red stripes.
So much for dress — now for figure : middling size, face red, nose
and chin long ; sharp eyes, dark, small ; carroty whiskers — I beg
their pardon, patches of hair on each cheek, just peeping over the

* Original orthography.

2L2

4()0 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PAXTALOON.

collar, the colour of which was soon changed to a dirty brown with
perspiration and the dye of my hat, till we met with the rain, and
then commenced the work of transformation.

" Put on the new great coat, which was well padded with Mack
wool, and lined with black glazed calico ; and, what with the pelting
rain, I may say that in a short time I was sitting in a dye-tub. I
had also tied a silk-handkerchief round my neck and over my
mouth, that almost suffocated me. This handkerchief, though war-
ranted fast colours when I bought it, like a coward, forsook his co-
lours— or rather the colours forsook it. So now it looked more like
the way to Statues than to Dover ; but I could not help myself,
for I had a full-bottomed person on each side of me, both with um-
brellas. My situation was now alarming. In tying my handker-
chief round my neck it had tightened the string from my hat, which
brought the rim down close to my face, and it appeared to me that
I was placed on the top of the coach, not as a passenger, but as a
kind of spout to carry off rain and dirt from two umbrellas, neither
of which afforded me the slightest shelter. In fact, from the end of one
of the whalebone tags a stream trickled into the nape of my neck, and
went chilling drop by drop down every joint of my spine, until I
found myself seated in a puddle ; and if my pockets at starting were
rather scantily furnished, they were now filled to an overflow. ' No
money to be returned' is a theatrical maxim ; but my pockets be-
gan to empty themselves on the good persons on each side, who had
supplied me with the water from their infernal umbrellas.

Thank God ! we stopped to change horses, — and it was time, for
they were like ourselves, wet through. I called lustily for my old
friend, brandy ; and I don't know a better in such a situation. Brandy
encore all round. By this time the folks of the place had collected at
the doors and windows to see the passengers from London. My
Brighton \yeaverBenjamin, with the dye from the lining, looked like
the coat of Joseph (I certainly bought it of one of the tribe) ; and I
had no sooner wiped my face with my once yellow handkerchief,
which had also been saturated with the dye, but I heard a loud
laugh not only from the coachman and outsiders, but from the peo-
ple standing around. Though I am accustomed to be laughed at, as
I did not know the cause, I made a mug, and inquired. Colum-
bine's mamma kindly informed me that * I had blacked my face in
endeavouring to wipe it, and that I looked like a master sweep out
for a holiday.' My starched collar, that had been quite stiff before,
now lay wet, one side up, and the other down. My hat, on which I
had prided myself, had descended over my forehead ; and the crown
had, by the heat of the sun immediately after the rain, rose up like
a sugar-loaf, so that I cannot give a better picture of myself than
that I must have looked like Guy Fawkes after a good ducking : a
regular finisher to astonish the poor country natives.

" On we went to Canterbury, with more rain ; and after a dreary
ride the coach stopped at the inn at which we were to dine. All dis-
mounted ; and, glad enough to get under any sort of shelter, sat
down to dinner off a small leg of lamb (such a little one, I wonder
where they got it from, — it was quite a curiosity), French beans,
potatoes, cheese, and a small tart, among five persons, at the very
moderate charge of three and sixpence per head, and two shillings
the waiter, who had the infinite modesty to say that it ' was not

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 461

enough.' I, thinking that he alluded to the above splendid dinner,
told him ' I was perfectly of his opinion.' Before we had quite finish-
ed our banquet, however, the four horses were to, and coach ready
to start. The rain now fell in torrents. Columbine and her mamma,
lamenting that they had not taken inside places in London, crawled
up the ladder again, while I undertook the superfluous task of keep-
ing their dresses from the wet wheel. Divided some saturated straw
amongst us, and started off again for Dover. But, Lord ! that Barham
Downs — what a miserable place ! The few sheep we saw on them
were apparently in the last stage of misanthropy ; and I was in-
clined to think that our little leg of lamb must have walked from
thence, fattened on rushes. At length, to my infinite joy, I espied
Dover Castle in the distance, and shortly after passed it, with joyous
feelings that we were near the end of our day's journey. These
feelings were somewhat checked by the ringing of a bell from the
top- window of a tower, used as the poor debtors' prison, where an
unfortunate devil let down a box with a string for a contribution
from the charitable. Alas! nothing dropped into his treasury
but the pitiless rain ! We soon arrived at the Packet Boat Inn,
changed our things, and got the wet ones well dried. A good fire,
and took some of my old friend, brandy ; which had become quite a
favourite with the whole party. Tea ready, with plenty of every-
thing necessary — particularly brandy.

" Stepped out to the chemist to prepare my poor stomach for the
passage across the water next day. Returned. Hot rumpsteaks,
and brandy and water all round, till we all (ladies included) forgot
the troubles of the day's journey. ' Good night ! ' Went upstairs
to my bedroom. Unlocked my trunk, and took out Boyer's French
Dictionary, which I had purchased at a general shop in the New-
Cut, in case of accidents, lest I should be put to a nonplus for want
of an interpreter in a foreign land. Shook out my pantaloon's dress,
and saw that my wig was not damaged by the journey. Got into
bed tired to death both in body and mind. Said my prayers, and
went to sleep till about five in the morning. The Dover chemist
had mistaken me for a horse.

" After a time roused my fellow-travellers to prepare for crossing
the Channel in the steamer.

" At eight o'clock I roused the rest -of our party for breakfast, and
to prepare for embarkation. Stomach failed me ; not so with my
travelling companions. Got safe on board the steam-packet; our
director in despair the moment he put his foot on deck ; bolted
irregularly to a berth below, tied a dirty white handkerchief tight
round his forehead, and looked like a patient of the Dreadnought at
Greenwich. Sat myself quietly down on a bench, and watched an
ingenious mode of petty smuggling. A little French female, in a
peasant's dress, with an English cloak on her arm made of what
they call grey Bath coating, lined with pink silk, and a hood and
lining of the same colour, came up to an English lady who was seated
near me, and smiling, said, ' Madame, s'il vous plait, you will be ver,
veri cold in de voyage : I sail tie dis round about you neck.' The lady
was taken by surprise, and, seeing the French girl about to leave her,
said, ' But where are you to get your cloak again ? Thank you, but
take it back.' The French girl replied, < Pardon, madame, he will keep
you from de cold. Ven you get to your hotel a Calais, my friend, a

462 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

littel girl, vill call on you, and say de name of Sofie, den you can return
de cloak. Adieu, madame ! ' She then stepped smartly away, and pre-
sently I observed her at the other end of the vessel, with another grey
cloak, seduce another English lady into her service in the same way.
Before the packet left the harbour, I again saw her with a third
cloak, and she went up the ladder, and was on the quay at Dover
without it, crying 'Bon voyage! bon voyage ! ' she had contrived to
ship off three contraband articles, taking the chance of their passing
through the custom-house at Calais, and entirely trusting to the ho-
nesty of perfect strangers to regain them, should the cloaks not be
seized. Being worn by English ladies, however, they passed safely
through.

" We had not long left Dover when a breeze sprung up, to the
joy of the captain and crew, but death to all the passengers. Oh !
the heaving of the vessel, and the heaving of the voyagers ! Not the
slightest occasion for the stomach-pump, — especially for myself. The
veterinary gentleman at Dover had provided against that, although I
went regularly through every action and attitude, so much so, that
the rest, who really were ill, and no mistake, thought I was
making fun of them, particularly Columbine and her mother, who
sat nearly opposite to me, only to the leeward. I held tight by the
arms of the bench, as I used to do in Mother Goose, for fear of being
pitched forward: so they had an excellent full view of my face
whenever they dared to lift their heads up, and see the ' much ado
about nothing ' I made. My dreadful faces and noises set them off
ten times worse than ever, and they held up their hands, and turned
up the whites — no, the yellows of their eyes, as much as to say, « For

£ity's sake, Barnes, don't do it again ! ' But Barnes could not help
imself.

" Here I was aroused by the most dismal and unearthly cries I
ever heard, and they proceeded from a small personage, a fellow-
traveller, a monkey, returning from England to the Continent. His
master, an Italian boy, had laid himself down in the fore-hold, and
tied this wretched beast to the leg of a seat on the deck, and as the
sea broke over the side, Monsieur Singe shrieked, and covered his
mouth with his India-rubber hands. From Dover until we arrived
at Calais this monkey was ill. He tried to throw away his tail in de-
spair ; and of all the discordant yelling I ever heard, his exceeded
it. He looked like a monkey sinner in a future state. Even the
people belonging to the steamer could not bear it, and they covered
him with a piece of tarpaulin. I gradually got better as we ap-
proached the opposite shore, and right glad was I when we ran
into Calais harbour. Then, and not till then, did Monsieur Armand,
our director, venture up the companion ladder. First I saw his
white handkerchief, and then his face, which was about half the size
it was when we left Dover, and had subsided into a pale drab colour.
" We landed, and were surrounded by a swarm of commissioners
(fine names for cads !) from the different hotels, none crying f stink-
ing-fish/ although there was a very prevailing smell of it ; but we
soon shook them off. I know well how to get out of a mob ; I have
done it in pantomime for the last twenty-five years. I can knock
two men's heads together, without myself offending them. Now
came the overhauling at the custom-house. My pantaloon's dress
was an object of debate and curiosity ; and, though I had left our

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 463

free country, where there is still a powder-tax, I was in fear that a
duty would be levied on my white wig. But, when the searchers
came to my little hat, about the size of an extinguisher, I thought
they never would have left off laughing. However, they all passed
examination. This was more than did the cargo of pantomime
tricks that had been made in London, and had been sent over the
day before in charge of Rolandson the carpenter, and Seymour the
mechanist. They were detained, as the French custom-house au-
thorities could not possibly describe them. There was a sofa that
changed to a fire-grate ; a pot of porter with cotton- wool froth,
which would transform to a nosegay ; a twelfth-cake that turned into
a rat-trap ; and a long string of sausages, which in an instant be-
came a • suit of darbies' There was an infinite variety of these in-
genious tricks ; but the Messieurs of the Douane (who would do
any one) did not comprehend any tricks but their own ; so our di-
rector was obliged to go and argue the topic with them, whilst we
made our way to Mrs. Symmond's, the Flying Horse Hotel, and ar-
rived just in time for dinner. The roasted turkey looked and smelt
nice. But, O Lord ! that cursed chemist at Dover ! I would give
a trifle to know where he learned his practice. It certainly must
have been at Whitbread's brewhouse, or Barclay and Perkins's!
Dear, dear ! the very thought of it has made me quail ever since !

" Monsieur Singe shortly after arrived. He had only been induced
to quit the vessel by sundry pulls of the tail, flips on the nose, and
pinches of the ear. He was now attired in a crimson jacket, faced
with black velvet, with silver embroidery.

" Ronaldson and Seymour both very glad to see me ; told me the
can de VEAU was capital j and they looked as if they had tried a
great many glasses to assure themselves of the fact.

" If I am tedious, remember it is all in character, for pantaloon
is a twaddle by nature. I do not know when I have felt more
anxiety of mind than I did this evening in witnessing, walking
after supper to see the steam-packets off, an accident to a beautiful
horse, which fell into the sea as they were hoisting him on board
the French packet. An English crew could not have been so lub-
berly as to drop him into the water. Poor thing ! how he struggled
for life ! How the poor animal moaned ! and what noble exertions
he made to preserve himself ! He swam ; but one of his legs was
evidently fastened in the tackling, which had given way whilst
raising him from the quay. Soon nothing but his nose was visible ;
boats were put off; and at last some English sailors from a merchant
brig had the good luck to get a rope round the poor thing's neck,
and a few feeling good-hearted men rescued him from a watery
grave. They towed him across the harbour on to the sands on
the opposite side.

" Glad enough was every spectator ; and the English gave three
hearty cheers to the boatmen. This brought out some of the mi-
litary to see what had happened. We made our way across to the
Elace where the poor fellow had been rubbed down ; and / — yes, /
;d him back into Calais with triumph.

" Returned to the hotel ; and after the excitement obliged to have
a little more eau de VEAU. Looked in my dictionary, and asked
the French chambermaid for a ' se mettre au lit,' which she did not
quite understand. To be sure I pronounced the last word as { light,'

464 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

because I wanted a bed-candle. So I looked again into the diction-
ary, and said ' aller se coucher ;' at which she smiled, and preceded
me upstairs with a warming-pan.

" Large room; good bed; but fell out of bed while at prayers,
in the middle of The Belief."

" Tuesday, May 25th. — Rose at seven. Walked out to take a survey
of the town. Calais has a very strange pervading smell : mixture of
salt marsh, burning turf, boiled onions, and stinking fish. Saw four
females going out shrimping ; costume indescribable ; petticoats above
knees ; legs above all comparison : never witnessed anything in fe-
male form so repulsive. Bad opinion of the comprehension of
shrimps, or they would be alarmed at such figures, and quit the
coast. Walked round the ramparts. Sentinels on guard, with a
hood to their grey cloaks, going all over their caps. Good protec-
tion from the night air. Worthy of imitation for our own guards.
Roamed round the streets. Evidently a great sensation amongst the
dogs of the town; they were barking sulkily at the corners of the
different avenues to the Grand Place. Tried to account for it, and
at last discovered the cause. When I was over at Calais and Bou-
logne, five years ago, the inhabitants of every house threw into the
centre of the street all the refuse and offal, cabbage-leaves, potato
and turnip peelings, bones, coffee-grounds, geese and turkey feet,
and other niceties too numerous to mention. Now these delica-
cies had from time immemorial been the exclusive perquisites of
the town dogs ; and there are a vast number more of these animals
in France than in our own dog-taxed country, — there they are dog-
cheap. Instigated by the English residents both at Calais and Bou-
logne, (and also, I believe, not without a subscription on their part,)
the public authorities at length established a sort of scavenger's
cart, and this bit of utility and comfort had only commenced opera-
tions a few days before. The large, rough, light blue-eyed poodles,
the mongrels of every variety, viewed this innovation on their rights,
immunities, and privileges, with jealousy and resentment; and, as
the cart proceeded from street to street to clear away heap by
heap, long-continued barkings, howlings, and other canine bewail-
ings were heard at every corner, reminding me of the grumbling
Roman citizens in Coriolanus, — one of which I have acted many a
time with the great John Kemble, and to his expressed satisfaction.
Returned to the ' Flying Horse * to breakfast. Thought of the poor
dogs' losses. No appetite. Took a little of my old friend. Market
held in the Grand Place — a large paved quadrangle.

" Noticed the differences between a French and an English mar-
ket. Small quantities of wheat or barley on a piece of canvas — per-
haps the whole not a gallon : and that which in England would be
looked at as a sample, was here the whole stock the poor cultivator
had to bring to market. Large patches on the pavement of the
oldest of old clothes, so aged and many-coloured, that the assort-
ment brought all the splendour of Ireland to my mind. A profusion
of poultry, eggs, butter, and vegetables. Turkeys abundant — num-
berless varieties of small birds, — crockery, tin-ware, cheap prints,
some not very decent, but adapted by that innate love of art so
conspicuous amongst foreigners, to the wants of the poor. Pretty,
clean-looking market-women, with olive complexions, white teeth,

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 465

and black eyes. ' Barney, let the girls alone :' your day has passed.
But, O dear ! the butchers' stalls ! fortunately not many of them.
Who taught them to cut up? What is it they cut up? — such
bits — dabs ! What would Mr. Giblett of Bond-Street say ? A
leg of mutton as long and as flat as a cricket-bat. The original
owner of it would beat all Sussex at 'tipper runner.' And the
oxen decidedly were of the most approved 'Leghorn breed' —
all legs and horns ! Once or twice in my life I have wondered
what caused the French cooks to be so superior to the English.
The proverb says, ' So many Frenchmen, so many cooks.' The
meat in Calais market accounted to me, in a moment, for it. In
England the meat is generally good ; therefore less pains has been
bestowed in dressing it: but if the cag-mag I saw had not been
stewed, larded, flavoured, and gravied over, it would have been un-
touchable. Our wild-beasts at the Zoological Gardens would not
have growled a grace over it. Saw Seymour trying to puzzle out
the French play -bill of the Calais Theatre stuck against the wall.
He shook his head, and gave it up. He pointed to another bill,
which he told me he did understand. It was, he said a « has
viol ' to be sold. I looked at the heading, which was ' Bas Vitte*
Poor Harry ! excellent pantomime trick-maker, but no scholar. And
now it was time to go to the police office for our passports. No oc-
casion for one for Monsieur Singe, who was, like ourselves, all the
better for a night's rest. The commissioner of the inn managed the
passport business for us ; but I could never make out why I was
described as un artiste. Monsieur Armand got all the tricks out of
the Custom-house officers' fangs ; but it was not accomplished with-
out going to the English Consul, and to the mayor. Returning, in
crossing the Grand Square, an Irishman, rather seedy in appearance,
addressed me by name. He was also acquainted with the names of
all the other Englishmen of our party. He told us he was going
over to Dover at night by the steam-packet, and kindly volunteered
to carry over letters for any of us. I determined to write to say
that we had arrived safe. I wrote also for Seymour to his wife,
as that department of his education had somehow been incautiously
neglected. I asked him in what affectionate style of terms I should
word my letter to his better half, and he replied, * Oh, tell her I
am slap up ! '

" As this Hibernian gentleman knew us all by name, we could do
no less than treat him with something to drink ; for which, by the
way, he gave a preliminary hint by remarking, * How much better
the brandy was in France, and how very much cheaper than in
England.'

" So, after he had partaken liberally of the eau de VEAU, — as Ro-
landson would persist in calling it, calf as he was, — the Irishman
took our letters, and wished us a pleasant journey to Paris. Now,
as these letters were never delivered, and when on my return I saw
the same gentleman at Calais, making the same offer to some new-
comers, I came to the conclusion that he obtained his living by this
ingenious mode, being a sort of promissory postman, who made it
his business to get the names of the persons who arrived at the
hotels from the various commissioners, and then, by offering his ser-
vices to convey letters to London, ' always being about to start by
the next packet,' he contrived to extract something from his dupes.

466 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

I booked this as a new mode of swindling ; but he only did us out
of the brandy. Saw many fades in Calais that I have seen in much
better plight as visiters behind the scenes at the theatre. They
looked now rather Benchy, with rain-polished hats, loose coats,
boots not blacked, no shirt-collars. One gentleman who used to
be all white kid-gloves and a crushed opera-castor, was carrying a
naked turkey by the neck in his bare hands. He recognised me,
and slunk away with his bird. * Ha ! ha ! ha ! there are more poor
devils in the world besides myself/ thought I. On the whole, I
think Calais a very desirable place of residence, with one reserva-
tion only, — viz. ' If you cannot live anywhere else. '

"Monsieur Armand settled our bill. Luggage trucked off to the
diligence by a fine-looking military person, who, they told us, had
been an officer in Napoleon's service ; in what department I could
not learn, but he evidently understood ' conducting the baggage ' re-
markably well.

" Entered, and stowed ourselves in the diligence. Sorry to ob-
serve that Seymour had e been at his tricks,' and was as drunk as
Chloe ! — as the saying is ; but as to who Chloe was, my reading
never informed me.

" To my horror, Monsieur Singe was an inside passenger ; but he
did not, fortunately, sit near me. The Italian boy, his conductor,
had only a few months before wandered with this beast from his
own distant home. It is what these Italians term ' travelling with
the comedy/ The English proverb says, ' fine words butter no
parsnips ;' but ' leading a monkey about ' being transmogrified
into ' travelling with the comedy/ makes me think that the Italian
parsnips are not without their sauce. I will be bound that the boy
walked half across the Continent foot-sore, and did not live a bit
better than the monkey ; but they had both visited Great Britain ;
they were accordingly patronised as foreigners. The Italian boy
was sleek, and comfortably clothed ; and his beast of a monkey,
which, of course, he had to carry back with him, was accommodated
inside the diligence, both animals having made their fortunes. Mon-
sieur Singe would look out at the window with his twinkling eyes :
and the children, with handkerchiefs pinned round their heads
tocque fashion, shouted ' Voila, petit Monsieur Singe, voyageur a
Paris/

" Columbine and her mamma were delighted with all they saw.
' No such sky in England/ — * no such wine/ — ' nothing half so good
in their own country,' — ' silk stockings cheaper than cotton,' —
' French ladies dressed so elegantly/ — ' peasants looked so cheerful,
pretty, and happy/

" The last observation was a little unfortunately applied as we stop-
ped to change horses at Marquise, for just at that moment two female
peasants were busily employed in loading a most odorous manure cart!
Such legs ! in colour, shape, size — roots of mangel wurzel, — beet all I
ever before saw. Yet one of these gentlemanly-looking damsels, as she
threw up a fork-full, called the other ' Angelique,' and the other, in
her reply, addressed her fellow hen-scavenger as ' Ma belle Pelagic.'

" On we went, I thought through a very dreary-looking country,
till we came in sight of the steeples of Boulogne, and Napoleon's
column, erected by that wonderful and wholesale invader to comme-
morate an event which never occurred, — his descent on England.

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 467

He certainly did subsequently pay us a visit, intended to come The-
mistocles over us ; but as we undoubtedly had, for many years, had
quite enough of him, Sir George Cockburn most politely gentleman-
ushered him to another part of the globe.

" Rattled into Boulogne ; almost every second face English ; all
gay and free, excepting those who occupied apartments in the Hotel
Anglais, which is the name they have given to the debtors' prison.
— Mem. Never be nabbed in France for debt. Great regularity, but

no rules, — no bail, — no blessed Insolvent Court, — no Messrs. L •

to get you through as clean as a whistle, and leave your creditors to
console themselves on nothing in the pound.

" Here we were set down at a very handsome inn, and all the
ton of the place collected to see the arrivals. Ours certainly was a
motley group. Two carpenters . — one tidy, Seymour drunk ; our
director, rather genteel than otherwise ; the Jew-Frenchman, shabby
genteel ; the ladies, all the worse for travelling ; myself, more like
a carcass-butcher in a consumption than a strolling actor ; and the
Italian boy, and his infernal monkey.

" I must say I felt, amongst so many English, rather ashamed of
our appearance ; for the arrival very much resembled those we see
at an assize town just before the trials commence. I don't mean the
judges, nor the counsel, nor the witnesses, nor even the Old Bailey
attorneys, but another principal party concerned. Nevertheless we
were very civilly shown in by the French waiters, who all jabbered
together, each giving directions to the other ; still I thought they
had but a shy opinion of us.

" We sat down to dinner, and a very handsome one it was ; soup,
bouille, roasted fowls, cotelettes, stewed pigeons, haricot, and other
things, that none of us English knew even the names of;' wine; and
the director told us, ' pain a discretion?

" Rolandson and Seymour did not know how to behave themselves,
the room was so genteel, the plate so plentiful, and the waiters so
many. Indeed, in Seymour's condition he was beastly stupid — and
his friend Rolandson had to set him upright in his chair every mi-
nute. Seymour complained that « his head ached most abominably.'
( Pain at discretion,' thought I. And then came a nice dessert. Lord
bless me ! dessert and wine for an Italian Boy and his monkey, and
an expatriated drunken stage carpenter ! Columbine and her mother
looked all manner of ways. Monsieur Armand was dignified, but
ate as much as he could of everything. I here observed that all the
Frenchmen mixed water with their wine. ' What a sober race are
the French/ said I, ' to mix water with wine that has so little body
in it as this ! ' And so I continued to think, until I found out my
mistake, and their perfect good sense. Instead of caring for the
body of the vin ordinaire, a Frenchman thinks of his own body, and
dispenses with half the acidity, by diluting it with water.

"Asa finishing coup d'ceil to the ridiculous figure our party cut —
(I hunted for coup d'ceil in my dictionary, and find it means a blow
over the eyes) — at the end of our dinner, a burning hot sort of
Yorkshire pudding was put on the table, of which we all had a por-
tion on our plates. At the same moment the time was called for the
diligence to start ; so into our mouths went the pudding, but, alas !
as soon, it was in our plates again ; for we might just as well have
held boiling pitch between our teeth. This was really too much for

468 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

the French waiters, who hurried out of the room to enjoy their
laughter. Poor Rolandson and Seymour, who had been bantered
during dinner, were ashamed to drop their hot pudding, so punished
themselves by holding it in their mouths, till their faces looked as
red as the sun on a frosty foggy morning.

« Monsieur Armand settled the bill ; four francs a-head, besides
waiters. This began to make our little director look mysterious,
and twiddle his side-curls, and scratch his whiskers, and shrug his
shoulders ; he muttered something, too, about sitting down with the
canal. I did not quite comprehend this, until Rolandson told me
that he had lodged at Paddington ; so I conjectured Monsieur meant
that.

" ' Place aux dames " put the ladies in their places in the dilly,
and off we started.

" A good dinner rendered us all very merry, and I contrasted my
pantomimic mode of travelling (vide sketch below) with my private
deportment in a public carriage. — Mem. Brought away a little bottle
of eau de VEAU, — a prodigious comfort after the vin ordinaire to an
inside passenger."

469

A LEGEND OF THE AMERICAN WAR.

" Incorrupta Fides nudaque Veritas

Quando ullum invenient parem ?" — Hon.

ALL lovers of Old England's fame know how the Yankee Chesapeake

Was pummell'd by our Shannon, whence they bear us yet, " I guess," a pique;

But listen, for a naval tale I 'm now about to handle,

To which that famed engagement is not fit to hold the candle !

Last war a Yankee cruiser once, amid the " darkness visible "
Of a hazy winter morning's dawn, when scarce to see one is able,
Made out upon his larboard bow an object which he " reckoned" on
To be an English man-of-war, and " bore down " in a second on !

He hail'd her thrice, he fired a gun, and several times successively,
But deuce an answer could he get, though nearing her progressively,
On which the Yankee "skipper," one of Boston's 'cute and witty sons,
Wax'd wrathful at this insult on our "free enlighten d citizens ! "

Says he, " Confound their impudence, we '11 speak a little louder then !
So ' bear a hand,' my gallant lads, get ready shot and powder then ;
( I guess ' we '11 mend their manners, though they are so 'nation skittish, boys.
* The British can whip all the world, but WE can whip the British,' boys 1 "

A shotted gun he forthwith fired, to try if th-at would bring her to ;
The unknown sent back her compliments, and shot away a wing or two ;
This set the Yankee's " dander " up, who into rage was furnaced now,
So he dropp'd his anchor, furl'd his sails, and bang'd away in earnest now.

Though three long hours the contest raged with wonderful ferocity,

The offensive all on one side lay, like Irish reciprocity ;

For the stranger, somehow, never fired till after the American,

But then she knock'd his tc sticks " about his ears, like any hurricane.

At length, when all his masts were gone, and half his crew disabled,
Poor Jonathan to " come to time" no longer was enabled.
" I've put my foot in 't, that 's a fact," says he; " and, though unwillingly,
Our glorious ensign must come down, and now not worth a shilling be !"

He struck his flag, and hail'd the foe, to tell him he had had enough ;

But still no officer there came to take him — this was bad enough.

And when the morning breeze sprang up, and clear'd the fog and smoke away,

I scarce dare tell you what he saw, lest at him "fun you poke " away !

A mighty Iceberg met his view, in most imposing attitude,

A sight, as navigators tell, quite common in that latitude,

'Gainst which, at every gun he 'd fired, his own shot had rebounded,

And swept off every mast he had, and fill'd his decks with wounded !

Our Yankee, who 'd commenced the fight, and rather to be donnish meant,

" Bam squabbled " felt (as well he might) with genu-iwe astonishment.

And when, by aid of jury-masts, he reach' d his native city,

If he didn't look " tarnation streak'd" and foolish, " it 's a pity ! ! "

MORAL.
Qui capit ille facit.

This tale a warning may afford to geniuses polemical,

Who love to plunge " in medias res " in contests academical,

Not knowing more the question, be 't in Ethics or Theology,

Than a cow does of acoustics, or a jackass of astrology ;

Lest haply, after wasting years in penning tomes voluminous,

To disprove what was ne'er advanced, with logic most acuminous,

They find that, like our hero, by mistake they Ve " caught a Tartar,"

And, 'mid the laughter of the world, be fain to cry for quarter ! !

A. R. W.
Oxford, 24th March 1840.

470

THE MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

BY DR. W. C. TAYLOR.

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY.

IF the great patron saints of the extremes of this metropolis, St.
Giles, and St. James, met to compare notes, they would discover se-
veral analogies between the localities over which they preside, less
fanciful than those on which the saints of Clapham rest their inter-
pretations of the Apocalypse. A Queen rules in the one, a number
of queans hold divided empire in the other. The court of St. James
exacts homage from the remote quarters of the world; the courts of
St. Giles levy tolls on all the districts between Tyburn and Execu-
tion-Dock ; the knights and heroes of St. James are rewarded with
pensions, those of St. Giles with suspensions ; both have numbers of
idle followers, who must be boarded and lodged at the public ex-
pense ; both levy contributions on the City and wise men of the
East; but as Mrs. Malaprop says, "comparisons are odorous," and,
if they were not so, they would not suit the localities of St. Giles,
and so we shall only add that the great celebrity of both dates from
the accession of the Hanoverian dynasty.

Everybody knows that the beauties and wonders contained in the
localities under the presidency of St. James are for the most part
internal, that the exteriors of the edifices have no form or comeli-
ness, and that those buildings which most merit notice, are hid in
labyrinths and mazes, only to be found by a stranger when aided by
an intelligent guide. Her Majesty, for instance, has two palaces ;
the older marvellously resembling a decayed hospital, and the newer
not quite so good-looking as an Irish barrack, but within them the
gorgeous dreams of Oriental magnificence are more than realised in
the display of wealth, art, and loveliness. Sutherland House can
only be reached through a stable-yard ; and the older part of Pall-
Mali reminds one of an architectural gaol-delivery, when ragamuf-
fins and dandies, — " breakers and swells," as they are technically
called, are let loose together upon the country. Carlton Terrace may
indeed be quoted as an exception ; but to say nothing of the column
on which the Duke of York has been placed to keep him out of the
reach of his creditors, no one can look down Waterloo Place with-
out admiring the ingenuity that has cut down, or rather cut up, the
trees of the Park into scrubby tufts of bushes, and travestied the
towers of Westminster Abbey into a couple of ugly sentry-boxes.
In short, the characteristics of the kingdom of St. James are not to
be discovered without time and trouble ; and those of St. Giles
equally require the toil of investigation.

There is a passage between Oxford Street and Holborn called
Broad-Street, where it is inconveniently narrow, and High-Street
in the part where it is low and flat. Where the high and the broad
streets join stands the church of St. Giles in the Fields, so named
because the space around is more crowded with houses, and more
densely populated than any other part of the metropolis. The bu-
rial-ground surrounding the church encroaches very awkwardly on

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 471

the street, — for it is an established rule that the repose of the dead
is infinitely more important than the repose of the living. This
burial-ground is very densely tenanted ; the opening of every new
grave sensibly affects the atmosphere to a considerable distance, and
hence the vicinity is rarely without cases of malignant fever. No-
body looks upon this as an evil, for apothecaries' apprentices could
never qualify as general practitioners if they had not opportunities
for acquiring experience ; and a glance at the multitude of under-
takers that have shops in the vicinity is sufficient to show that bu-
rial-restriction, like bank-restriction, might seriously affect the com-
merce of the country. Of course there are vaults under the church,
with sufficient provision for poisoning the congregation; because
many people, like "the old woman of Berkeley," look out for un-
pleasant visiters in the grave, and deem that they can only be safe
within the walls and gates of the Church. This privilege of sanc-
tuary is rather inconvenient ; the air of these tenanted churches is
apt to generate a cough which leads to a coffin, and the clergyman
doomed to preach in them finds that he has been inducted to a dying
instead of a living.

The passenger who journeys from Oxford-Street towards the
city may observe on his left certain narrow passage, facetiously de-
nominated streets, but more appropriately called " rookeries " by the
denizens and natives ; one of these, " The Rookery" par excellence,
is protected in front by posts and bars, designed in old times to
mark out the hallowed region

" Where no bailiff, dun, or setter,
Dared to show his frightful face."

The posts of St. Giles, like those of St. James, are rarely unoccupied,
and in both cases are objects of ambition to the children of the
courtiers. Until very lately the precincts, like the Civil List, were
studiously shrouded from public view, but the New Police have
enacted the part of Daniel Whittle Harvey, and laid bare the inte-
rior economy. The first glance down the Rookery reveals in all
weathers a goodly selection of sheets, blankets, and nondescript frag-
ments of linen, waving from poles and lines which project and cross
out of the upper windows. Sailors say -that the industrious washer-
women often find it as hard to reach the poles as Captain Parry
himself, and that <( crossing the line " is not less perilous to them
than to East-Indian griffins. Two senses, seeing and smelling, will
for a time afford sufficient occupation to the passenger: if he re-
mains long enough, that of hearing will be called into play by such
sounds as assailed the ears of ./Eneas when he visited the infernal
regions.

" Continue) audits? voces, vagitus et ingens,
Infanturaque auimse flentes in limine primo."

Which has been thus rendered by Father Prout : —

A concert appalling
Of squalling and bawling,
And squabbling and hauling,
And children down falling
On deaf mothers calling,

472 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

The passengers meet
At the top of the street.

In fact, the ground looks as if it had actually rained children, — a far
more formidable phenomenon than the showers of cats and dogs
with which we are sometimes threatened. If you attempted to go
down the court, you would be ancle-deep in infants at every step ;
they wallow about in the puddles, like Pharaoh's frogs during the
Egyptian plagues ; and at every step you would peril the existence
of one of O'Connell's " seven millions of the finest peasantry on the
face of the earth." However, if you want to see the wonders of the
place you must make a bold venture, treading lightly, like a donkey
amongst a brood of goslings, or an elephant dancing amongst
chickens. The first observation you will make is that the denizens
keep open house, — some, perhaps, have no doors ; others, certainly,
have very obstinate hinges ; all are hospitably unclosed, inti-
mating that "dry lodgings" may be had inside; that is to say,
lodgings in which, however moistened the outer man may be, he has
no chance of getting "heavy wet" for his inside. It is not an easy
matter for a decent-looking man to get access to the interior of
these domiciles ; he may be mistaken for a parson, an overseer, or
an attorney, and receive a practical comment on the perplexing de-
scription of " lapidary showers " in the Agamemnon of ^Eschylus,
which has so sorely puzzled translators and commentators. Your
safety lies in passing yourself for a railroad contractor in search of
Pat Mulcahy, Tim O'Regan, or Jack Murphy, of whose exploits as
excavators you have heard such wonderous accounts that you are re-
solved to have their services at any price. Whether persons re-
joicing in such names reside there or not, you will be sent from
house to house and room to room of this human hive, until you can
form a tolerable estimate of its population, which you will find to
average between a dozen and a score to most of the rooms, exceed-
ing, however, the highest number in the places used as " rope lodg-
ings," a term you will find explained in Pickwick. Having once
surveyed the density of the population, you will cease to be sur-
prised at finding the court paved with children ; in fact, their pa-
rents have nowhere else to keep them, and hence the importance of
the barricades at the entrance of the court. St. Giles and St. James
equally provide posts for younger children, but those of the former
are more frequently brought to the bar than those of the latter.

There is plenty of weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth among
the young fry, but there is very little of smiling or laughing in any
of the groups. It is true that sometimes,

Regardless of their doom,
The little victims play ;

but the space is too limited for such exertions ; for the most part
they lie listlessly on the ground, or crawl at a snail pace from one
door to another. There are some among them who have passed the
age of childhood, and are almost youths. Inquire their history.
They were found destitute of work or play by some of the con-
tractors for supplying pocket-handkerchiefs to the honest traders of
Field-Lane, — people well acquainted with the value of a new face,
not yet familiar to the police. They were promised pleasure and

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 473

excitement, in the shape of gin, tobacco, or a visit to some of the
lower places of public amusement ; they yielded to the temptation,
and they are now lads of promise, who will prevent degeneracy in
that very valuable class of society, the thieves of the Metropolis. We
might, perhaps, have said the most valuable class, seeing that it is
the only one honoured with any attention by the legislature.

After having finished your travels through this region, you may
cross High-Street, and examine many similar dens between St.
Giles's Church and the Seven Dials, and thence round in the di-
rection of Soho-Square. You will find a great sameness at first, but
you will soon observe that the proportion of females is rather greater
in the southern direction. At some future time you may be invited
to investigate this problem, but at present you are just arrived at
the solution of a different problem, the cause of the great amount of
juvenile delinquency in the Metropolis. You have seen one of the
national nurseries or seminaries for forcing forward thieves like
young plants in a hot-bed ; and if you are a hunter out of analogies,
you will observe that the seminary and the hot-bed rest on the same
stratum. If you love to make bad puns, — a folly against which you
are hereby solemnly and affectionately warned, — you may say with
the market-gardener " dung renders the growth stable."

" Idleness," says the proverb, " is the root of all evil ; " but the
correctives for idleness are not alone books and work, — harmless
play is just as useful, and ten times more effectual. It would be ad-
vantageous to send these neglected children to school ; but what are
they to do when school is over ? The reader, who in his imagina-
tion has made a courtly tour under our guidance, must have disco-
vered that these children have a greater want than a school — they
want a home. Their parents could not, if they would, confine them
in the hives where they sleep, during the day-time ; they must let
them run in the open air, exposed to all the contamination and se-
duction by which they are surrounded.

It is a gross error to suppose that the depravity of parents in all,
or even in most cases, is the cause of criminality in children. The
fact cannot be too strongly stated, that the Fagins of the Metropolis
seek invariably the children of honest parents, because they believe
that such will be most faithful to their infamous employers. An
Oliver Twist is a much more valuable acquisition than a Noah Clay-
pole. We have prohibited marbles, hoops, and tops ; the game of
foot-ball is only known by remote tradition ; and the flying of kites,
instead of being the sport of the young, is the trade of the aged.
We have consequently enforced idleness by act of Parliament ; and
having thus planted the root, we are astonished at the growth of the
evil. It would be well if legislators would remember that for every
innocent amusement taken away, a direct incentive to guilty em-
ployment is supplied.

" Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do ;"

and the efforts of many well-meaning people are directed to pro-
cure idle hands for Satan. There would be less crime in the world
if there was more sport in it.

The tales of juvenile depravity which are commonly circulated
give a very faint notion of its fearful amount. The youthful ima-

VOL. VII. 2 M

474 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

gination, once perverted, seems to exercise itself in the invention of
all monstrous, horrible, and ineffable crimes. It is recorded of a
depraved courtesan, that she declared " she could not enjoy innocent
pleasures:" — the juvenile delinquents could in many cases add, that
they cannot enjoy ordinary vices without superadding mysteries of
iniquity such as language would fail to describe. We dare not pub-
lish any one of the anecdotes which we have collected ; but we may
state as the general result, that, contrary to previous expectation,
the exercise of diabolical ingenuity was in direct proportion to ge-
neral ignorance, and that wherever there was anything like an
approach to education, there was a corresponding degree of refine-
ment even in vicious excesses. This had not been anticipated, but
it might have been ; for the missionaries in the South Seas found
the excesses of licentiousness and sensuality more diversified and
more aggravated in proportion to the amount of ignorance and bar-
barism. It must also be added, that a taste for music, for dancing
or even for theatricals, was found in some degree to check brutal
excesses of crime. This is, of course, not an invariable rule ; but
the exceptions were not numerous. A police inspector assured us,
that " in the assemblies where there was most fun there was least
vice ;" those most to be dreaded were such as met in silence, in
darkness, and in secrecy. We know from old experience that there
is often most guilt where there is least appearance of it ; and that the
" pestilence which walketh in darkness " is more perilous than " the
arrow which flieth at noon-day." Hence a possibility suggests itself,
that legislation against suspicious appearances has been carried to
rather too great a length, and that moral disease may in some cases
have been driven inwards from the surface to fasten itself upon the
system.

Gray has led many persons into error by speaking of

" The short and simple annals of the poor."

Their histories are longer and far more complicated than those of the
rich ; and those who have legislated on their notions of brevity and
simplicity have done incalculable mischief. One very important
error was abridging amusements, which were deemed capable of
being perverted. Not long ago, there was a disposition to make war
upon music in public houses : it was forgotten that the tap-room is,
in the majority of instances, the only parlour or drawing-room
which the poor man has to enjoy. There are multitudes who can
only afford to rent a room, or part of a room, for themselves and
families : — enjoyment of any kind at home is to them a physical im-
possibility. To the public house such people will go, and must go,
however uncomfortable law may make it. On such men music had
a moral influence ; it supplied an excitement, which would other-
wise have been sought in intoxication. It was said that the music
attracted persons who would otherwise have gone home with their
earnings. In some cases perhaps it did ; but in the majority of in-
stances it only transferred customers from the house which had not
music to that which had. Nobody seems to have thought of those
who, properly speaking, had no home to go to ; yet these, after all,
were the class most affected by legislation ; for any publican will tell
you, that for one housekeeper that enters his tap-room there are at
least twenty lodgers.

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 475

Intoxication was so notoriously checked by the introduction of
musical entertainments, that we have found upon investigation,
there were publicans who gratified their customers by applying for
music licences, while they took effectual measures secretly to insure
their own defeat ; and it is pretty generally known that several who
have them would rather be without them. It was said that children
frequented these places, and were thus brought on the road to ruin.
It is perfectly true that mechanics and labourers sometimes took
their children to hear the music, and allowed them to share their
beer, — just as on a Sunday in summer they take them to some of the
rural alehouses in the suburbs. But this habit was useful to the
parents, and not injurious to the children. Reverence for his off-
spring prevented the father from degrading himself into a beast ;
and the children generally were more interested by the intellectual
treat than by the physical enjoyment.

The moral influence of music is not less remarkable among the
higher ranks of society than among the lower. To its influence
must chiefly be attributed the decline of hard drinking, which was
so fashionable a vice in a former generation. " There will be no
more glorious claret-parties at Kill-'em-all House," said an old Con-
naught gentleman ; " for Tom has bought his wife a piano ! " A
clergyman of this country made a similar observation respecting a
gin-drinking baronet: — "He is grown quite sober, I assure you,
since his daughter began to have concerts in the evening. David's
harp chased away blue devils from Saul, and Louisa's harp has
conjured blue ruin from Sir Samuel."

In examining the condition of society, many people are apt to mis-
take brutality for blunt honesty, and to regard affectations of refine-
ment among the poor as suspicious, and even dangerous appear-
ances. But to strip vice of its grossness is a great step towards
virtue ; the desire of refinement even in sensual pleasure is itself a
triumph, however small, of man's moral nature over his animality.
The showman that taught his bear to dance only to genteel tunes
was a public benefactor ; for he suggested to his audience a desire
for better music and better dancing.

We have endeavoured to show that a considerable portion of ju-
venile delinquency must be attributed to two great deficiencies in
the economy of the poor, — the want' of domestic accommodations,
and the want of innocent amusements. Whatever success the non-
sense of socialism has obtained, must in a great degree be attributed
to its undertaking to supply those wants. The socialists open common
halls for conversation, music, dancing, and other recreations ; and that
these pleasures must be very attractive, is proved by their submitting
to such severe inflictions as Robert Owen's interminable lectures. The
poor man finds a comfortable place in which he can sit down, and
means of relaxation for mind and body. Few of us know the real
value of such luxuries, and we are therefore unable to appreciate the
power of a system which presents itself with such recommendations.
Some well-meaning people propose to take the field against the
Owenites with tracts and hymn-books. We do not undervalue these
weapons ; but we should recommend, in addition, a couple of fiddles,
a magic lantern, and the universal favourites Punch and Judy.
People weep into nonsense, and laugh into good sense; — hence
Bentley's Miscellany has effected more for the moral improvement

2M 2

476 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

of society than all the treatises published by the Society for the
Confusion of Useful Knowledge.

We have in this country somewhere about two millions of societies
for the relief and improvement of the lower orders ; — we have not
one single institution for promoting the recreations and increasing
the innocent pleasures of the poor, though such a one is sadly
wanted, and would do more to promote mutual good feeling between
the extremes of society than all the rest put together. The progress
of brick and mortar has swept away their former means of enjoy-
ment. In the reign of James the First, the popular pastimes were
thus enumerated : —

" Man, I dare challenge thee to THROW THE SLEDGE,
To jump or LEAPE over ditch or hedge,
To WRESTLE, play at STOOLEBALL, or to RUNNE,

To PITCHE THE BARRE, Or to SHOOTE OFF A GUNNE :

To play at LOGGETS, NINE-HOLES, or TEN-PINNES :
To try it out at FOOTEBALL by the shinnes :

At TICKSTAFFE, IRISH NODD1E, MAW AND RUFFE,
At HOT-COCKLES, LEAP-FROG, Or BLINDMAN-BUFFE ;

To drink half-pots, or deale at the whole can ;
To play at HARE, or PEN-AND-INKHORN, SIR JAN ;
To dance the MORRIS, play at BARLEY-BREAKE,
At all exploytes a man can think or speake ;

At SHOVE-GROATE, VENTER-POYNTE, Ol* CROOS AND PYLE,
At BESHREW HIM THAT'S LAST AT YONDER STYLE,
At LEAPING O'ER A MIDSUMMER BONFIRE,

Or at the drawing dun out of the mire.
At any of these, or all these presently,
Wagge but your finger, I am for you, I ! "

Here is a goodly collection of sports which the rich have taken
from the poor, and given nothing in return. We could not, were
we so inclined, restore the old English pastimes ; but we may and
ought to provide substitutes, especially as our course of legislation
has sadly interfered with the amusements which the poor have in-
vented for themselves. Genuine philanthropy is cheerful, and even
merry. Sour, pharisaic, lecture-giving charity has nothing of phi-
lanthropy about it. At best, it is but a way of showing that one is
better than one's neighbours, and the cost it involves is a tax unwill-
ingly paid by vanity. We insist that the best way to make this a
moral world is to make it a merry world. John Wesley added
greatly to the popularity of Methodism, by adapting his hymns to
favourite airs. He said that " he would not have the devil have all
the good tunes." We cannot see any reason why Satan should con-
tinue his monopoly of anything that is good, more especially good
humour, which is every day becoming a rarer, and therefore a more
precious commodity. As a mere matter of taste, we prefer the
variety of the dance to the monotony of the tread-mill ; and should
rather visit a musical academy than a penitentiary. Others may
differ from us, — " de gustibus et e&ygustibus non est disputandum ;"
but we think that amateurs of melancholy should keep the luxury to
themselves.

Many have undertaken to plead for the rising generation; but we
think that our plea is most likely to be sanctioned by our clients.
Give to youth opportunities of recreation and enjoyment : every-

JUVENILE DELINQUENCY. 477

thing added to the pleasures of innocence is just so much gained
from the attractions of vice. Juvenile delinquency must abound, so
long as delinquency alone furnishes exercise for the active faculties
of youth. If any one doubts this fact, let him go through some of
the lanes, courts, and alleys of this Metropolis ; let him enter any
one of the human hives where the lower classes of operatives and
labourers reside ; let him watch the children hour after hour, and
day after day ; let him investigate their little histories, and he will
find that the greatest sources of youthful depravity are the want of a
home, and the want of innocent recreation. It may seem incongru-
ous to ask grave divines to assist in contriving amusements and dif-
fusing pleasure ; but the first miracle wrought by the great author
of Christianity was designed to promote festivity ; and the earliest
Christian prelates did not disdain to superintend the pastimes of
their flocks. We have hitherto tried nothing but " preachee and
flogee " for the suppression of vice, and juvenile delinquency remains
as bad as ever. Let us try a different set of experiments, and endea-
vour to make the world better by rendering it happier ; let us form
an association for the suppression of stupidity, and the promotion of
innocent enjoyment. Games will beat gaming, music conquer drink-
ing, picking steps be more popular than picking pockets ; and finally,
Robert Owen will be driven from the field by the only antagonist
worthy to encounter him, the formidable Joe Miller.

This is not mere theory ; the experiment has been tried in Man-
chester, and its success has surpassed the expectations of those who
ventured on the innovation. In the Lyceums, for less than two-
pence a week, the operative can have the use of a " Temperance
news-room ; instruction not merely in the three r's (reading, writing
and a-rithmetic), but also in vocal and instrumental music, and in,
dancing. Conversaziones, or, as they are called, "tea-parties," are
occasionally given, the price of a ticket is sixpence, but admission is
restricted to members of the institution. The entertainment is diver-
sified by gossiping lectures, music of a very high order, and occa-
sionally a dance, in which there is as much of propriety and deco-
rum as could be found in the most fashionable ball-room within the
seas of Britain. All are clean and neatly dressed, but none are
dressed above their station. The distinction of ranks is 'the more
rigidly observed by its seeming to be" utterly forgotten ; there are
no airs of condescension on one side, there is no appearance of in-
trusion on the other; the rich and the poor meet together with
a feeling of mutual interest in each other's welfare, and exhibit a
proof of the aphorism that enlightened self-interest is genuine phi-
lanthropy.

The system is likely to be extended by providing gymnasiums for
youth. It was not enough for philanthropists to remove children from
the factory ; they should have found some other place where they
could be sent with safety. At present it is known that children are
sent to work in the coal-mines, until they are of sufficient age for
admission into the factory. And this must not be ascribed to any
absence of parental fondness, or to a mere desire of getting money.
It is a perplexing problem in a large town to keep children out of
harm's way. They cannot be kept in the crowded lodgings which
we have attempted to portray, where four or five families are
crowded into a single room. They do not feel the inconvenience at

478

CHARADE.

night ; at least one such nest, when examined, revealed but a single
cause of complaint, " We families as sleep in the corners, sir, get on
very well, but the gemman as has the middle of the room has in-
convenienced us by taking a lodger." When the factory bill de-
prived the children of work, it did not give them play, and it con-
sequently left them no alternative but mischief. Efforts have been
made in some places to correct this error of blundering humanity ;
but the evil is general, and so must the remedy be, or it will be
wholly ineffectual. Now there happens to be just at this moment a
great amount of mock and of genuine philanthropy going astray in
the world. We propose, as a test to distinguish the real from the
counterfeit, asking each of the professors of humanity how far they
are willing to contribute to the amusements of the people ; for they
are demonstrably among the essential elements of human happiness.
It is not enough to relieve physical want, it is also necessary to sa-
tisfy moral craving ; sympathy must be superadded to generosity ;
you must increase the joys as well as relieve the sorrows. The good
Samaritan pours not only oil but wine into the wounds of suf-
fering humanity ; the priest and Levite pass by on the other side."

CHARADE.

BY MISS A. FARRKR.

GENTLE and fair the maiden is,

And many a lover tries
With flatt'ring looks and honey'd words

To win so sweet a prize.
But still unmoved and calm she hears

Their vows of deep affection,
And courteous though her answer be,

'Tis firm in its rejection.
Each suitor sees the hopes destroy'd

His pride so fondly nurst,
And, mortified, they all agree

The maiden is " My First."

But there 's a blush on that fair cheek

The charge seems to deny ;
The tear that's check'd before the world

But falls when none are by.
Sadness that will not be dispell'd,

Indifference to please,
When mark'd by an observing eye,

Strong symptoms, maidens, these !
There 's love within that heart; but
though

A hidden love it be,
" My Second " mid the Alpine rocks

Is not more pure than she.

Oh ! Fortune, well they judged of thee

Who drew thine image blind,
For still thy shadows darkest fall

Where fate had else been kind.
No stain is on the maiden's choice,

Save one her guardians see,
Unpardonable in their eyes, —

'Tis that of Poverty.
And they forbid the sacrifice

Which she would gladly make,
Of wealth, and worldly splendour, all

For the beloved one's sake.

And so they part, with bitter tears,

But still unchanged, they '11 keep
The mem'ry of that treasured love

Which soothes them while they

weep.
And yet, young lovers, I will hope

The time may come at last,
When, rich in present happiness,

You '11 smile at sorrows past ;
For never fairer maiden graced

The dance in courtly hall,
And nobler heart than his ne'er beat

'Mid the brave ranks of "my all/'

CHINA.

THE REAL STATE OF THE CASE

FREELY TRANSLATED PROM THE ORIGINAL CHINESE,

AND ILLUSTRATED BY ALFRED CROWQUILL WITH FOUR REAL

CHINA PLATES.

" Why hath a man two eyes ?
other winks."

LETTER I.

Truly that he may see with the one, while the

How true is the saying that the junks of the Barbarians have no
eyes, and, therefore, see not. For many years have they been car-
rying on an illicit trade, and, emboldened by impunity, have fear-
lessly spread their sails, and pushed on in their wicked course,
throwing overboard the compass of Prudence, and placing their
helms in the hands of Indiscretion. The consequence is, they have
run upon a shoal, and are likely to founder, and — no mistake !
Like many more of my brothers who suffered by their black iniqui-
ty, I was tempted to indulge in secretly smoking the forbidden
drug, but the edict of the Brother of the Moon has opened my
drooping eyelids, and let in the day-light of truth. Yes ! I have in-
dignantly cast away my pipe — for there is no longer any opium to
supply it !

480

CHINA —

The eyeless junks of the more blind Barbarians are all seized ;
and there is, consequently, such a dust raised in Xantung that the

florious rays of the sun himself can hardly penetrate it. They loud-
y declare that they were led into this awful crime against the well-
being of the subjects of the Celestial Empire at the instigation, and
by the facilities offered to the illegal traffic by the officers in power.
Miserable Barbarians ! to endeavour to palliate their own misde-
meanours by casting reflections upon the integrity of our officials ;
who, if they did sometimes wink, was it not occasioned by the som-
niferous merchandize these barbarians brought into port? Dare
they accuse the honest men of taking a bribe ? Never ! unless, in-
deed it were of such a weight that it completely bore down all hu-
man opposition. For, as the poet saith, " are not all men's good and
evil actions like a pair of scales," wherein a weight being cast by
malice, maketh the good rise, and the evil preponderate, and vice
versa ? for what mortal can struggle against the decrees of Fate ?
It appears to my simple mind, too, perfectly correct that they
should squeeze the Barbarians : nay, morally just that they should
levy contributions on them as a fine for their wickedness ! Nay, is
not evil frequently done that good may come of it ? Doth not my
beloved LEW-SHE herself, the most careful of wives, waste cheese in
making toasted baits for the mice, that she may thereby destroy the
destroyers ? And, is not this small sinfulness of waste outweighed
by the great good of saving? And yet — would you believe it? — •
they kick. Now, can anything be a greater proof of folly than for
men to kick who have not a leg to stand on ? — ridiculous !

YUH FUNG.

LETTER II.

" Be composed, though the waves roll upwards to the sky, there is a middle
course ; pursue it, and your bark will glide gently on ! "

EVERY virtue under the sun flourishes and ripens in the Celestial
Empire.

Surely the present bobbery with these white-headed Barbarians
will serve our literati for a new volume of the KwE-Koo KE-

THE REAL STATE OF THE CASE. 481

KWAN.* What morals will they draw from their iniquitous pro-
ceedings in this affair ? Dearest SUNG KIN, I have not the power of
depicting in words half the interest which envelopes the absorb-
ing subject on which I write. My reed, in truth, is like a delusive
moonbeam in my fingers ; and, when I read over what I have writ-
ten— lo ! my tablets seem only to contain the fleshless skeletons of
the living figures wherewith my mind is charged. But, though I
possess neither the pen nor the imagination of TszE-KEEN,t I have
truth, which, like the purest gold, is still valuable, though unfashion-
ed by the hands of the skilful. Know SuNG-KiN, our Father, the
Emperor, whose actions are the offspring of good counsel and far-
seeing wisdom, has commanded the seizure of the whole of the per-
nicious drug contained in the vessels of the offending Barbarians ;
and worth about three millions of tales.

He has, moreover, in his unbounded clemency, spared their lives,
upon condition they shall never again offend against his laws, — those
unchangeable laws, which are inscribed in letters of gold by equity
and justice in the great book.

The man Elliott, having no fear in his eyes of the tremendous
arm of the Brother of the Sun, instead of humbly striking his fore-
head in the dust, presumes to murmur at the decree, and basely
defends his countrymen. The Commissioner LIN, bearing the
bright lantern of the Emperor's power in his hand, manfully wrestles
with the rebellious spirit, sending forth proclamation upon procla-
mation, and writing after writing, twice as long as Elliott's, and yet
the shallow man will not hear reason ; proving the truth of the say-
ing, that it is as difficult to convince a fool as it is to fill a sieve with
water.

This night he has taken himself away, and gone on board a vessel
of his country, taking with him many and many, and there he hovers
about, uncertain what to do ; like a dog which hath been beaten,
and is afraid, and yet, with lingering look and pendent tail, wishes
to return to the spot where he hath been fed by the hands of kind-
ness since the day he was pupped ! The heart of the savage is in
his breast, but he hath no knife! What ridiculous contention is
this ! — a bright ray of the Emperor (which is LIN) against the dark-
ness of this starless night (which is Elliott) ! — an imperial gong to
an infant's tom-tom ! In the mean time, the trouble of the peaceful
and well ordered inhabitants of Xantung is great; they fear the
rashness into which his folly may lead him, and with anxious eyes
they follow his movements, well knowing that they shall be com-
pelled to resist any outbreak, and reasonably fearing they may
suffer ; for when one bowl striketh another, one or both are likely
to be cracked by the collision !

Trade, too, is at a stand-still, and the merchants complain in a
small voice ; for if the Barbarians should make war instead of tea,
they know there is no longer any chance of their making money.

Where is that great King EAST-INDIA-COMPANY, whose words
flowed from the fountain of truth, and whose gold and silver were
never weighed even by the doubtful, such implicit faith did they
place in his honour and integrity ! There were no troubles during
his reign ; but, alas ! the Barbarians have deposed him ; — yes, the

* Ancient and Modern Wonderful Tales.

f Tsze-Keen possessed an extraordinary talent for writing themes and essays.

482 CHINA

fools have sawed away the prop of their house, and the roof falls in
and crushes them.

I here snap the thread of my communication, and will resume it
again should anything occur worthy the reading of my faithful

SuNG-KlN.

At present there is a lull, a heaviness in the atmosphere, which I
much fear portendeth a storm.

CHIN-SAN.
LETTER III.

" The sound of the kettle-drum urges the boatmen to row."

KWAN-FOOTSZE * has buckled on his shield and drawn his sci-
mitar.

Bold as the five-clawed dragon, he has marched from the land to
the sea, and — put his foot in it !

What hand can restrain the lion in his wrath when his eyes kindle
like the flame of a furnace, and his mane bristles like a field of bam-
boos ?

The great guns of the Barbarians have awakened the slumbering
tranquillity of our peaceful shores, and the courageous spirits of
hundreds of our beloved citizens have flitted away in the volumes of
rolling smoke !

The hearts of our women, even, are shrunk up to the size of stale
and wrinkled dates with terror and dismay !

Reams of paper have been consumed in offerings to the departed
heroes.t

And — But oh ! HAN-YUH ! the clear current of my thoughts is
become so perturbed and muddy that I know not what I do, and am
verily leading the pig by the tail instead of the snout, — and begin-
ning at the wrong end of my doleful history.

Learn, then, O ! HAN-YUH, and communicate the sad tidings to all
our loving kindred in CHOW-CHOW, that yesterday at the dawn of
day, our noble admiral, who has descended in a direct line, without
knots or twistings, or intermixture of baser blood, for two thousand
years, from a fruitful branch of the house of KAN-TUN-TSWEN, placed
his proud foot on the deck of his war-vessel, which undulated in the
waters like a trained horse curvetting beneath its rider, and gave a
signal to the whole fleet to precede him, that his unwinking eyes
might view their conduct in the incomparable project formed in his
sublime brains !

No sooner were his commands issued than a thousand oars divided
the yielding waters, and they flew swiftly forth like so many whist-
ling arrows loosed from the twanging bow-string.

Already had our undaunted and invincible war-men surrounded
the big ships of the foe, and fired their blinding charges of charcoal
powder into the round eyes of the tail-less Barbarians. Already had
they climbed the lofty sides of these sea-monsters, and with their
gleaming blades severed a thousand heads from their respective
bodies.

• The God of War.

t On all occasions of worshiping departed spirits, paper offerings are invariably
made use of, and generally accompanied with various articles, such as flesh, fowls,
wine, &c. At funerals it is customary to burn paper representations of men, wo-
men, houses, sedan-chairs, &c. and to pass them into the invisible state for the use
of the departed.

THE REAL STATE OF THE CASE.

Already had they blown into a thousand fragments those floating
castles, and scattered them like dust before the wind.

Already, I say, O ! HAN-YUH, had they performed these feats of
all-conquering valour — in imagination ! — when, approaching the
slumbering vessels of the enemy, the Barbarians were seized with
such a panic, that they accidentally in their mortal terror let . off
several of their great guns ! — and bang ! bang ! rattle ! rattle ! they
roared and boomed along the calm surface of the waters with the din
and clamour of a thousand gongs ! — and the next moment, lo ! se-
veral of the foremost of ou-r junks, quite unprepared for the unfore-
seen consequences of the Barbarians' dismay, were pierced and bat-
tered, and quick ! dived into the sea like so many decoy-ducks !

Merciful as he is valiant, our nobly-descended admiral immedi-
ately commanded the remaining junks — not to remain, — anxious to
prevent a greater effusion of blood. For, by the horse of FUH ! had
he persisted in pursuing his exalted project, it is impossible to say
what might have been the result ; for our brave fellow-citizens were
to a man rendered so desperate, that they lost all command of them-
selves and their oars, and pulled for the shore, when they intended,
no doubt, to run down the opposing craft ! It certainly appeared,
however, to the penetration of a cool observer, that the Barbarians'
craft had got the better of our cunning !

Let this be as it may, the sight of so many of our countrymen
dropping so suddenly into a watery grave was as distressing as if a
nail had entered one's eye ! May Lung* cherish their brave spirits !
If they are now doomed to wander at the bottom of the sea, it is at
least plucking some of the thorns from the poignancy of our sorrow
to know that, their vessels having gone with them, they will not
starve for the want of salt JUNK !

Thus, alas ! " the bloom of the flower perishes in the falling
shower, and the grass nipped by the hoar-frost loses its verdant
hue ! "

LEW-YEW-TSAE.

* The God of Heaven.

484
VISIT TO A SIBERIAN FAIR.

BY A RUSSIAN TRAVELLER.
THE TSHUKTSHI FAIR AT OSTROVNOIE.

WE started from Nishney Kolymsk on the 4th of March, 1820, in a
couple of narti, drawn by excellent dogs, for the village of Ostrov-
noi'e, a distance of two hundred and fifty versts. My companions were
the well-known pedestrian traveller, Captain Cochrane, a Cossack, and
a Yakoot. The latter was acquainted with the Tshuktshi dialect, and
was to act both as driver and interpreter.

The deep snow that covered the whole plain, and which had been
drifted to an enormous height in those places exposed to the wind, made
our first day's journey extremely fatiguing ; so that we found it impos-
sible to reach the Poverna, forty versts from Nishney Kolymsk. We
spent the night in the open air, and chose a spot sheltered from the north
wind by a small wood, on the edge of the elevated bank. The weather
fortunately was warm and mild for the country (my thermometer
showed only eight degrees of frost), so that we spent the night com-
fortably enough around a good fire.

On the following morning we proceeded on our journey, and got on
much better, meeting here and there with a beaten track of consider-
able length, for which we were indebted to those of the neighbourhood,
who had preceded us to Ostrovnoie, with their stock of merchandise,
composed of fish and furs. We soon reached the Little, or Dry Aniui,
and followed its course nearly due east, cutting off as often as possible
the long windings made by the river. We passed many of the villages
and summer settlements of the Yukagires, scattered along the banks of
the river ; but all were empty now, — the inhabitants one and all
having wandered away to the Fair of Ostrovnoie.

On the 8th of March we reached Ostrovnoie in safety. This place,
which is honoured with the name of fortress, is situated on a small
island formed by the Little Aniui, two hundred and fifty versts from
Nishney Kolymsk. The fortress is nothing more than a worm-eaten
paling surrounding a courtyard, which contains a few huts, pompous-
ly denominated barracks, and intended for the accommodation of the
Commissary, his clerks, and his Cossacks ; besides this, the place con-
sists merely of a small dilapidated chapel, dedicated to St. Nicholas,
and some twenty or thirty huts, that lie scattered about, without the
slightest attempt at regularity. These huts we found as full as they
could hold, but not affording accommodation for one-half of those who
come to visit the fair ; the remainder being obliged to bivouac among
the sledges, &c. The Tshuktshi were somewhat better off in their
tents of rein-deer skin, which they pitched upon the small islands of
the Aniui, at some distance from the market-place.

We found the whole place full of life and bustle ; and, though the
spectacle was grotesque enough upon the whole, yet the effect was
agreeable, and the picture original. The fortress and the surrounding
huts had been cleared of the snow with no little trouble ; neverthe-
less, with their flat, frozen roofs, they still looked little better than so
many heaps of dirty snow. In the evening the scene was changed :
nothing was then to be seen but the glimmer of the train-oil lamps

THE TSHUKTSHI FAIR AT OSTROVNOlE. 485

through the ice-panes of the windows; or the bivouac-fires of the
strangers who had arrived to visit the fair, and who now lay encamped
under the canopy of heaven ; or the column of smoke, intermingled
with sparks, issuing from the tents of the Tshuktshi. Over this
scene a yellow, red, or whitish-green, aurora borealis, cast its beams
in every-varying form along the horizon. All these negative illumi-
nations, to which, every now and then, was joined the distant sound
of a Shamaun's tambourine, produced a really magical effect, to which
one should have been tempted to listen with pleasure, were it not
for the severity of the cold, and the discordant chorus raised every
now and then, at regular intervals, by some hundreds of howling
dogs, that effectually prevented any kind of refined or contemplative
indulgence.

Over the entrance to the so called fortress there stands what was
formerly a turret, but which now performs no other office than to do
the honours of the house, by inclining its head respectfully to every
one that passes by. Within resides the Commissary ; who makes an an-
nual visit, with a few clerks and Cossacks, to collect the tribute, to
exercise a kind of police superintendence, and to afford protection to
the Russian merchants, in case of a hostile manifestation on the part of
the Tshuktshi. Fortunately no occurrence of the kind has ever taken
place ; otherwise the wooden enclosure round the fortress, or the Com-
mandant with his little ill-armed garrison, would be able to offer little
resistance to so numerous a body of stout savages as compose the
Tshuktshi caravan at Ostrovnoi'e. In addition to the garrison, the for-
tress contains the priest from Nishney Kolymsk, who yearly visits the
fair, bringing with him his saints and his church paraphernalia, and
performing mass daily during his stay.

One day after us the Russian merchants arrived, with one hundred and
twenty-five well-laden pack-horses. The Tshuktshi had been here for
some time ; they had located themselves in nine different encamp-
ments among the islands formed by the river, and were quite at home.
Their migration to this place is a remarkable fact. They cross Behr-
ing's Strait, and obtain by barter from the North Americans furs and
sea-horse tusks ; thence and from the extreme eastern extremity of
Asia, they arrive with their wives, children, household furniture, arms,
tents, and sledges.* Upon their way they visit two other places of
barter, Anadyrsk and Kamennoie ; and, for the sake of their rein-
deer they are obliged to make a great round through the moss-heath.t
They consequently spend five or six months upon a journey, which in
a straight line is not more than one thousand versts. They set off
generally in August, and arrive in Ostrovnoi'e about the end of Jan-
uary, or beginning of February, whence they start again after an in-
terval of eight or ten days. The chief part of their lives are accord-
ingly spent in travelling, but they make themselves at home wherever
they come ; for their customary dwelling, the reindeer-skin tent, with
all its domestic equipments, is their inseparable companion in all their
wanderings. One of these caravans of human snails, including women
and children, consists, in general, of about three hundred, of whom one
hundred to one hundred and fifty are armed men. Including the visit

* Each sledge is usually drawn by two reindeer.

t As it happens, nevertheless, that they have often to pass over large naked
tracts of land, without coming to any pasturage, a number of sledges laden with
moss usually follow the caravan to supply the reindeer with food.

486 VISIT TO A SIBERIAN FAIR.

to America, and other preliminary arrangements, the journey to the fair
occupies a party of Tshuktshi more than a year. When crossing Behr-
ing's Strait, they make use of a kind of leathern boats or baidares ;
and the slender construction of these little vessels, together with the
total ignorance of navigation on the part of the adventurous crews,
render the passage one of considerable danger. On their journey over-
land they usually halt at the Tshaun Bay, exchange their tired rein-
deer for fresh ones, and fetch their own again on their return.

In their trade with the Americans, as well as with the Russians, the
Tshuktshi are in reality only carriers ; for they embark no capital of
their own, nor, with the exception of reindeer-skins, and a few other
trifles, do they offer for sale any article the produce of their own in-
dustry. From the Kargauls, ani other inhabitants of the north-western
coast of America, they purchase sea-horse tusks and furs, and pay for
them with tobacco, ironware, glass-beads, &c. which they obtain from
the Russians, in exchange for the former description of merchandise.
In this commerce all the parties concerned are great gainers. For half
a pood of tobacco the Tshuktshi will obtain from the Americans a par-
cel of skins, for which the Russians cheerfully give two poods of the
same tobacco ; the Russian pays for these two poods of tobacco at most
one hundred and sixty rubles, and he obtains for them a parcel of skins,
which he is sure to dispose of for at least two hundred and sixty
rubles.

The furs brought for sale by the Tshuktshi consist chiefly of black
and silver-grey foxes, white or arctic foxes, lynxes, wolverenes, river-
otters, beavers, and a remarkably beautiful kind of marten, never met
with in Siberia, and very nearly approaching the sable in colour, as
well as in the quality of the hair. In addition to these, they bring
with them bear-skins, sea-horse leather, and the tusks of the same
animal, the latter in very great quantities. All these articles they
purchase from the Americans. The only articles of their own manu-
facture are sledge-runners of whale-ribs, various articles of wearing
apparel made of reindeer skins, and a kind of portmanteau of sealskin,
being nothing more than the entire skin of the animal, with a small open-
ing in the belly, through which the flesh and bones have been taken out,
and the interior very neatly tanned.

The goods brought by the Russian merchants are precisely calcu-
lated for the wants and tastes of the Tshuktshi. The great article
is tobacco : in addition to this, various iron tools, &c. such as kettles,
axes, knives, fire-boxes, needles ; copper, tin, and wooden vessels ; and
a number of coloured glass beads for the women. Fain would the
Russian traders add brandy to the list of their commodities ; but there
exists a most wise and benevolent prohibition on this subject, which
effectually prevents the open sale of spirits. A small quantity, how-
ever, still finds its way to the fair, and most extravagant prices are
given for it by the Tshuktshi, who call it the Maddening Water. Their
passion for spirits is so great that when a Tshuktshi has tasted one
glass, he will give unhesitatingly a fine black fox-skin, worth two hun-
dred and fifty rubles, for a few bottles of wretched corn-brandy, that
had been purchased at Yakutsk for a few rubles. The Russian mer-
chants bring likewise tea, sugar, cloths, &c. for those of their own
countrymen who visit the fair.

In addition to the Russians and Tshuktshi, the fair is visited by
many of the native tribes within a circuit of a thousand or fifteen hun-

THE TSHUKTSHI FAIR AT OSTROVNOlE. 487

dred versts,* some on narti, and others on horseback. They bring
with them a number of articles of their own manufacture, particularly
a great quantity of sledge-runners, which they barter away advanta-
geously to the Tshuktshi for furs. The variety of the costumes and
vehicles of these tribes contributes not a little to give animation and
interest to the scene.

On the 10th of February, the Russian merchants and the chiefs of
the Tshuktshi assembled at the Commissary's, to hear certain rules
and regulations respecting the fair. This, however, was a mere mat-
ter of form ; the real business being to fix certain prices for their re-
spective goods. This is a necessary precaution ; for, without it, the
mad competition of the Russian traders would lead them to outbid one
another, and the consequence would be the depreciation of the Russian
merchandise. After some discussion, dispute, and screaming, it was at
last settled that two poods of Circassian tobacco should pass current
for sixteen fox and twenty marten skins. According to this standard
the prices of all the other articles were fixed. Whoever should sell
anything at a lower price was to pay a fine, and lose the right for that
year of carrying on any dealings in the fair.

After the Commissary had levied from the Tshuktshi a trifling toll,
on account of government, a solemn mass was performed in the chapel
on the morning of the llth, followed by a prayer soliciting success to
trade, f and immediately afterwards a flag was drawn up, as a sig-
nal for opening the fair. The Tshuktshi, armed with spears, bows,
and arrows, then put themselves in motion, approached in an orderly
and solemn procession, and arranged the sledges containing their mer-
chandise in a semicircle in front of the Commissary's. The Russians and
the other visiters to the fair arrayed themselves on the opposite side, and
all awaited with impatience the sound of the bell, before which the
barter was not permitted to commence. The first stroke appeared
to act like electricity on the Russian side of the fair. Old and
young, men and women, all rushed helter-skelter, one over the other,
to the Tshuktshi sledges. Every one was anxious to be the first, to
snatch up the best lots, and dispose of his own goods to the best ad-
vantage, with which he was laden in the most fantastic manner. The
Russians were by far the most eager and animated. Dragging a heavy
sack of tobacco with one hand, a couple of iron pots or kettles with
the other, with axes, knives, wooden and horn tobacco-pipes, glass
beads, &c. suspended from their girdles, and over their shoulders,
these ambulatory booths were running at full speed from one sledge
to another, puffing their various commodities in a kind of lingua franca
that passed current at the fair, composed of a strange mixture of Rus-
sian, Yakootish, and Tshuktshish. The screaming, the crowding, and
the pushing baffle all attempts at description. Here one tumbling
down in the snow, and fifty or a hundred of his rivals running over
him ; in the confusion he loses cap and gloves, and perhaps finds him-
self minus a brace of teeth ; still the excitement of trade will not
allow him to pause ; quickly he is on his legs again, running about
with bare head and hands, in spite of thirty degrees of frost, anxious

* The standard of measurement is here somewhat large ; but it must be remem-
bered that the district of Kolymsk extends over about forty-four thousand five
hundred square versts.

f I very much regretted that the companion to this ceremony, the incantation of
the Tshuktshi Shamauns, likewise intended to procure for them a fortunate issue
to the fair, had taken place the day before my arrival.

488 VISIT TO A SIBERIAN FAIR.

apparently to atone for lost time by redoubled activity. The extraor-
dinary activity of the Russians forms a singular contrast to the serious
demeanour and imperturbable tranquillity of the Tshuktshi, who stand
quietly by the side of their sledges, and either answer nothing to
the inexhaustible eloquence of their antagonists, or if they do vouch-
safe a reply, it is only by a syllable or two. It is only when the offer
appears perfectly acceptable that they very coolly take possession of
the article offered them, and hand over theirs in return. This discreet
behaviour, quite characteristic of the Tshuktshi, gives them an im-
mense advantage over the Russians, who, excited by the spirit of ri-
valry, quite forget the tariff of prices, frequently offer two poods of
tobacco for one, and often, instead of a sable, accept a marten, or some
other skin of inferior value. It is remarkable to observe how exactly the
Tshuktshi, who make no use of weights, can tell by the mere handling of
a bag whether it contain the stipulated quantity. If there be a pound
or two wanting in a pood, they detect the deficiency immediately.

In about three days all the merchandise at the fair usually changes
hands. The Tshuktshi thereupon leisurely depart ; the Russians and
the other visiters likewise bid farewell to the place ; and in a few days
afterwards this flourishing emporium of trade is left without a single
human creature. And should a drift of snow of more than common
weight pass that way, the chances are that the flag-staff on the for-
tress will be the only visible object by which it will be possible in the
ensuing year to discover the buried greatness of Ostrovnoie.

This fair is of much more importance than might be supposed,
when the brief duration and the insignificant toll paid by the Tshukt-
shi is considered. The merchandise bartered away averages two
hundred thousand rubles every year. The intercourse to which this
fair has led has taught the Tshuktshi the use of many objects of
which formerly they had no knowledge, but which have now become
articles of necessity to them ; particularly tobacco and iron. Strong
as their objection is to everything in the shape of a tribute, which
they consider as an acknowledgment of subjection, they are still quite
willing to purchase the permission of dealing for those articles with the
Russians, by the payment of the market toll already alluded to. The
toll amounted this year only to thirty foxes' skins, of which one was
paid by each of the principal traders. No doubt the Tshuktshi
might easily be brought to pay the tribute, and to submit them-
selves formally to the Russian government, if the commissaries knew
how to gain their confidence and respect. The cowardice and incon-
sistency of these officers, and their mean avarice, lead them to number-
less acts of baseness and imbecility, by which they entirely forfeit the
respect of the Tshuktshi, who, in spite of their want of polish, have
certainly a very quick and correct apprehension of right and wrong.

I took advantage of the first meeting at the fortress to have some dis-
course with a few of the principal Tshuktshi chiefs on the subject of
our intended journey and its motives. The principal persons at this
conference were, Makamok and Loit, from the Bay of St. Lawrence ;
Valetka, whose numerous reindeer feed to the east of Cape Shelagskoi ;
and Evrashka, whose tribe lead a nomadic life about the Tshaun Bay.
After they had received rich presents of tobacco, I acquainted them
that we had been commissioned by the Emperor to examine the Arctic
Ocean, and its shores, in order to ascertain whether, and in what
manner, that part of it might best be navigated, and the articles of

THE TSHUKTSHI FAIR AT OSTROVNOlE. 489

which they stood in need brought to them in greater quantities, and
cheaper. As, however, it might be necessary in the course of these
investigations to approach their coast, perhaps even visit it, we hoped
that we should meet with a friendly reception and assistance, for
which they might look to be liberally rewarded. This last remark ap-
peared to give some offence ; and one of them, Valetka, said, " Are
we not also subjects of the Son of the Sun (the Emperor), who gave us
these arms, — not to do injury with them, or to abuse them, but to be-
come useful through their means? " Saying this, he struck with evi-
dent pride on a silver-mounted cutlass, which his father had received
as a present in the reign of Catherine II. and in that sovereign's name.
The result of the conference was, that all the chiefs pledged their
words, and struck hands upon the promise, not only to give a friendly
reception to our expedition, but to support it by every means in their
power. The treaty was ratified by a portion of spirits, which I placed
before my guests, to their very great satisfaction.

The negotiation of my travelling companion, Cochrane, terminated
less favourably. He represented himself to be a merchant, desirous
of passing through the Tshuktshi-land to the Bay of St. Lawrence,
and thence to America, and offered a liberal remuneration in spirits
and tobacco for a safe conduct. Loit demanded no less than thirty
poods of tobacco* to convey him to Metshigmensk Bay in June ; Va-
letka, on the other hand, offered to take him to the Verkon River for
nothing, and there to recommend him to the care of another chief, with
whom he might go to Tshukotskoi Noss ; or, if he preferred it, he
might return with him (Valetka) next year to Ostrovnoie. Loit's de-
mand was extravagantly high ; Valetka, however, by his extreme dis-
interestedness, excited suspicion. Mr. Cochrane, moreover, had had
many opportunities of seeing the Tshuktshi more closely, and felt con-
vinced that a prolonged residence among them would bring with it
many privations and sufferings, while his ignorance of their language
would prevent him from deriving any really useful information. These
reflections, and the conviction which forced itself upon him, that, ow-
ing to the violent character of these unceremonious Nomades, his pass-
port from the governor would secure him neither against being mur-
dered, nor against being frozen to death, induced him to resign his
original plan, and to return to Nishney Kolymsk.

The Tshuktshi are as yet but very imperfectly known. Few ob-
servant travellers have visited this part of the world, and those few
have described only the costume of the people, and some of their most
striking customs and religious solemnities. No one yet has ever had
an opportunity by a prolonged residence among them, or by means of a
knowledge of their language, of becoming acquainted with their manner
of life, their political institutions ; in a word, no one has yet been in
a situation to pronounce a deliberate judgment on the peculiar cha-
racter of a race deserving, in many respects, of our attention. I my-
self spent only a few days among them, and could ascertain but little
respecting their opinions, customs, and manners. Their whole atten-

* Cochrane says, the demand was one hundred and twenty poods (4,320 Ibs.
English), and makes no mention of the more liberal offer of Valetka. Cochrane,
however, laboured under great difficulties in the conference, and may have misun-
derstood much. He was ignorant of the Russian language ; and all the conversa-
tion between himself and the Tshuktshi had to pass through the hands of two
interpreters. — ED.

VOL. VII. 2 N

490 VISIT TO A SIBERIAN FAIR.

tion was at this time occupied by the business of the fair ; and extreme
caution was necessary, lest by asking too many questions, suspicion of
some design against their independence might be awakened, — a subject
on which they are at all times extremely jealous. I endeavoured, how-
ever, to collect as much direct information from them as circumstances
allowed.

Of all the tribes of Northern Asia, the Tshuktshi have maintained
their national peculiarities in the greatest purity. Peaceably disposed,
and conscious of their own weakness, they wander among the heaths,
the mountains, and the ravines of their native land, the limits of which
have been greatly circumscribed, in consequence of many sanguinary
battles with the first conquerors of Siberia. Like all uncivilized na-
tions they have few wants, and these are for the most part satisfied by
their herds of reindeer, which provide them with shelter, clothing, and
food. Under their reindeer tents they think themselves far happier
on the snowy wastes of their gloomy icy land, than any of their neigh-
bours dwelling under Russian laws. They endure the severest hardships
and privations with a light heart ; they feel elevated by a conscious-
ness of their own independence ; and look down with contempt upon
those who have forfeited their hereditary freedom for the sake of a few
enjoyments and conveniences that may be dispensed with.

Previously to the conquest of Siberia, the Tshuktshi dwelt in a state
of almost uninterrupted warfare with the other tribes, owing to the
constant acts of spoliation of which they were guilty towards each
other. Here, however, as elsewhere, a common danger united the bit-
terest foes. Frequent incursions of the Russians had almost put an
end to internal dissensions, when the more important invasions, in
1750, of Shestakoff, and of the Voyevode of Yakutsk, Pavlutski, led
all the smaller tribes to form a league with the Tshuktshi, in order to
offer resistance to the common enemy. Still the contest remained
most unequal. Several signal defeats shook the confidence enter-
tained till then in the invincibility of the Tshuktshi, who fled at last
for refuge to their inhospitable mountains and ravines, whither it was
difficult for the victors to follow them, and where nothing tempted to
a pursuit attended by innumerable perils and obstacles.

The Russians contented themselves, therefore, with the subjection of
the smaller tribes ; and it was long before they even succeeded in esta-
blishing anything like a commercial intercourse with the Tshuktshi.
Still full of suspicion, they at first appeared upon their own frontiers
in large numbers only, completely prepared for battle ; and it was
not till after an experience of many years had satisfied them of the
peaceable disposition of the Russians, that they gradually became more
confiding. At present they come with wives and children to a consi-
derable distance within the Russian frontier, and enter on a commerce
of barter highly profitable to both parties. This traffic has exercised a
very favourable influence upon them, their intercourse with the Rus-
sians having considerably softened their manners. Upon the whole it
is scarcely to be doubted that they will gradually approach more nearly
to the Russians, and at length become incorporated with them, like
the Yukagires, the Tshuvantsi, the Koriaks, &c.

The greater part of the Tshuktshi have allowed themselves to be
baptized, but this has had no farther influence; they are merely bap-
tized Pagans, without the slightest conception of the doctrines and
spirit of the Christian religion. With most of them, indeed, the act of

THE TSHUKTSHI FAIR AT OSTROVNOlE. 491

baptism is a mere matter of finance, by means of which they obtain
possession of a few pounds of tobacco, a copper kettle, or some such
article, — presents being always made to those who submit to the
ceremony. The consequence of this is, that many who have already
been baptized once, after a little while apply a second time, and are
very much dissatisfied if their demand for a second christening is not
complied with. It seldom happens that the priest of Nishney Kolymsk,
who visits the fair every year, does not find a few Tshuktshi or Lamoots
that have not yet been baptized. These generally agree to undergo
the ceremony, if a present is promised them. Such was the case this
time with a young Tshuktshe, with whom the prospect of obtaining a
few pounds of Circassian tobacco, operated as a powerful inducement.
A great number of spectators were assembled in and about the chapel.
The ceremony began ; the new convert standing very quietly and re-
spectfully, and allowing the priest and sponsors to do as they
thought proper ; but when called on, in compliance with the rites of
the Russian church, to plunge into the baptismal font arranged for his
accommodation, consisting of a large wooden tub or cask, he began
to shake his head very gravely, and advanced a multitude of objections
that were of course quite unintelligible to any of us. After a long
" confabulation " with the interpreter, in which the tobacco probably
played the most prominent part, our candidate for Christianity at length
mustered resolution, and plunged into the icy bath. He jumped out
more nimbly than he had jumped in, and, trembling all over with
cold, cried out, " My tobacco ! give me my tobacco ! " Pains were
taken to make him understand that the ceremony was not yet over,
and that, having gone so far, he was bound to go farther. All this, how-
ever, was preaching to deaf ears ; he jumped about, with his teeth
chattering, and incessantly crying out, " Enough ! — no more ! — my
tobacco ! " At last, unable to gain his point, he left the whole assembly
in the lurch, and ran off to his polog, or tent, to warm himself a little
after the cold bath into which he had allowed himself to be seduced.

Such scenes, I was told, were of frequent occurrence, and this may
afford some notion of the real value of these Tshuktshi conversions ;
which are not, nor cannot be, of the slightest value, not being preced-
ed by any preparatory instruction. To give them this is indeed scarce-
ly possible, on account of the wandering life they lead ; on account of
the ignorance of their language, which disables the priest from affording
them any explanation of the principles of religion. The Bible Society
of St. Petersburg has indeed had the Ten Commandments, the Lord's
Prayer, the Creed, and, if I am not mistaken, one or two of the Gos-
pels, translated into the Tshuktshi dialect, and printed in Russian
letters ; but, in the first place, the rude language was wanting in a
multitude of words to express new and abstract ideas ; and, secondly,
there were no letters to express its eternal rattling, hissing, and croak-
ing sounds ; the consequence is, that this translation is entirely unin-
telligible to those for whom it is intended The baptized Tshuktshi
have hitherto assumed only a few outward signs of Christianity, and
such only as occasioned no inconvenience to them, or interfered with
none of their previous habits. Thus, for instance, polygamy is as com-
mon among the baptized as among the unbaptized ; the wealthy have
two, three, and even more, wives, and these they take and leave ac-
cording to their fancy, and sometimes even exchange for others. The
condition of the women, therefore, is that of slaves, yet they are

2 N 2

VISIT TO A SIBERIAN FAIR.

better treated on the whole than among more uncivilized nations.
Marked respect is shown them ; they are the constant companions of
their husbands, and it is not at all uncommon to see a clever housewife
exercise the most perfect control over all the rest of the family.

Among the Pagan customs to which the Tshuktshi still adhere,
there are some most revolting and inhuman. All children, for instance,
born with bodily infirmities, are immediately put to death ; and the
same course is pursued with respect to old people, who are thought
to be no longer able to endure the hardships of a wandering life among
the icy deserts. A melancholy example of the latter kind occurred
only a few years ago. One of the most wealthy and powerful of the
Tshuktshi chiefs, the father of Valetka, felt himself growing feeble,
and weary of life, and was at his own request put to death by his near-
est relatives, who in so doing thought they were only performing a sacred
duty. The Shamauns, who, in spite of the baptismal rite, still exer-
cise an immense influence, contribute much to the maintenance of these
inhuman customs. Every tribe, every caravan, has one or more Sha-
mauns, who are consulted upon every important occasion, and whose
decisions no one ventures to oppose. How great their influence was may
be gathered by the following, among other instances, that occurred at
the fair of Ostrovnoie in 1814. A pestilence broke out suddenly among
the Tshuktshi who had come to the fair, and became more and more
violent, in spite of all the incantations, drummings, and jumpings of
the Shamauns ', many men died, and a still greater number of rein-
deer, the chief wealth of the people. A general assembly of Shamauns
was held, in which it was determined that, to propitiate the incensed
spirits, and to put an end to the destructive malady, it was necessary
that Kotshen, one of the most influential among all their chiefs, should
be sacrificed. Kotshen was so generally beloved and esteemed by his
nation, that, notwithstanding the implicit obedience generally shown
to the decisions of the Shamauns, their judgment was on this occasion
rejected. The pestilence, however, continuing to rage among men
and cattle, and the Shamauns persisting in their judgment in spite of
threats and ill-usage,* Kotshen, at length, like another Curtius, de-
clared he saw the spirits were determined to have him for a sacrifice,
and therefore devoted his own life to preserve his nation. Still the
general affection with which he was regarded opposed itself to the
execution of the horrible sentence of the Shamauns. No one would
lay his hand upon the sacrifice, till Kotshen's own son, softened by the
father's entreaties, and by the menace of his malediction, planted
the murderous steel in his heart, and surrendered the body to the
Shamauns.

So powerful is still the influence of Shamaunism, which occupies the
place of religion, but which is distinguished from all other religions
by the absence of everything like doctrine or law, if we except a few
fabulous traditions. The belief and practice of the Shamauns is not
anything invented by one man, and bequeathed to others ; it arises in
the breast of each separately from the impression of the objects by
which he is surrounded. As the exterior objects in the wastes of
Siberia are everywhere as uniform as the degree of enlightenment

* The Shamaun is often well beaten, to induce him to alter an unpopular
judgment. This gentle correction frequently produces the desired effect ; but he
often persists in his first decision, and such firmness never fails to raise him
greatly in public estimation.

THE TSHUKTSHI FAIR AT OSTH9YNO1&, 493

to which the half-savage population has reached, the impressions pro-
duced are nearly the same in all places, and on all individuals. When
these Nomades abandon their wandering life, fix themselves in perma-
nent habitations, and are brought within the reach of civilised influ-
ence, then, and then only, will the spontaneous belief in good and evil
spirits and Shamauns disappear, and give place to the pure doctrines of
Christianity.

Almost all who have hitherto expressed an opinion respecting the
Shamauns, pronounce them at once to be gross cheats, whose convul-
sions are a mere juggle, carried on with a view to gain. From all I
have observed here, and in other parts of Siberia, I am disposed to
consider this judgment severe and unjust. It is, at all events, one-
sided, and can apply only to the jugglers who, under the name of
Shamauns, wander through the country, and by a variety of mar-
vellous conjuring tricks, such as handling red hot iron, piercing their
skin with needles, and the like, astonish the ignorant, and extort
money from them. The real Shamauns belong to no caste ; they form
no distinct body, combined for one common object; they arise as
individuals, and stand individually alone. A man happens to be born
of an enthusiastic imagination and of excitable nerves ; he grows up in
a belief in the marvels of spirits and Shamauns ; the spectacle of their
unnatural convulsions, the mystical character of their whole existence,
produce a lively impression on the youth. He longs to obtain admis-
sion to a communion with the strange and supernatural ; but there is
no one to act as his guide ; for the oldest Shamaun is himself uncon-
scious how he became one. It is from himself, — from that vast and
gloomy nature that immediately surrounds him, — that the neophyte
must derive his knowledge of that which is incomprehensible. Soli-
tude, retirement from human intercourse, watching, fasting, heating and
narcotic drugs, — all these raise his imagination to the highest point of
excitement. He becomes convinced that he has himself seen the spi-
rits and apparitions of which he heard in early youth. At length he is
consecrated as a Shamaun, — that is to say, during the silence of the
night, and amid certain solemn forms, he is made acquainted with the
conventional grasp of the hand, the use of the magic drum, &c. But
all this adds nothing to his previous knowledge, occasions no change in
his state of mind ; it is a mere external ceremony ; his future words,
actions, and feelings remain the effects of his mental constitution ; he is
no cold calculating impostor, no common juggler. Whenever I have
seen a genuine Shamaun perform his rites, the spectacle has always
left a lasting and gloomy impression upon me : the wild look, the
bloodshot eyes, the hoarse voice, apparently forcing its way by a power-
ful effort from the convulsively contracted breast, the unnatural distor-
tion of the face and the whole body, the erect hair, nay even the hollow
tone of the magical drum, — all combined to impart something ghastly
and mysterious to the scene.

The camp of the Tshuktshi, formed of several detached groups,
presents not a very cheerful, but, in its way, a very picturesque
aspect. In the centre of each group of ten or twenty tents rises that
of the chief, which is larger, loftier, and more ornamented than the
rest, generally close to a tree, against which it leans for support, sur-
rounded by the travelling sledges of the women and children. Near it
stands a few favourite reindeer, tied up and fed on fine moss, while the
rest are obliged to scrape away the snow with their hoofs, in order to get

494 VISIT TO A SIBERIAN FAIR.

at their scanty food. About the tents, and on the branches of the trees,
are hung in poetical disorder, bows, arrows, quivers, articles of dress,
skins of all colours, and household utensils of various forms. From the
summit of each tent rises a column of smoke mixed with sparks, and
here and there perhaps a fire in the open air, with a pot suspended
over it. Among all this are seen the grotesque human creatures
themselves, enveloped from head to foot in furs, covered all over with
a white hoar frost, and running about so merrily, in spite of thirty-four
degrees of frost, that one might be tempted to believe them insensible
to any feeling of cold.

The travelling tents, not so large as those the Tshuktshi use at home,
are of soft tanned reindeer skins sewn together, and sustained by means
of a few thin poles. Under this outer tent, which has an opening at
the top to let out the smoke, are the kitchen (an iron pot, with a fire
lighted under it), and the sleeping-tent. This is a large bag sown to-
gether, of the finest skins of young reindeer, and kept in the form of a
square box by means of some staves and laths, but so low, that the most
its inmates can do, is to sit upright in it, or to creep about upon their
knees. This sleeping tent has no opening either for light or air. To
give light and warmth to this sleeping-tent, a large earthen pot stands
in the centre filled with train-oil, and in this burns a wick made of
moss. In so small a space, hermetically closed, the heat produced by
this lamp-fire is so great, that even during the severest frost the in-
mates sit there nearly naked. One tent often covers two or three
sleeping-tents, each containing a separate family, or perhaps one of the
wives of the owner of the tent and her children.

Loit, one of the richest chiefs, invited me to visit him. and I was
delighted with this opportunity of seeing something of the domestic
life of these people ; but scarcely had I been introduced into the sleep-
ing-tent by my hospitable host in the humble manner above described,
than I most heartily wished myself out again. The atmosphere pre-
vailing in the air-tight box may be imagined. I thought I should
have been stifled. The hostess and her daughter, a young girl of
seventeen, received me with a loud shout of laughter, occasioned, no
doubt, by the awkward manner in which I entered their drawing-
room, which contained six naked Tshuktshi, male and female, and then
proceeded, without the slightest embarrassment, to plait a few strings
of beads into their greasy hair, a thing done entirely in honour of my
visit. I was requested to be seated ; and as soon as their toilet was
completed, Madame Loit placed a dirty wooden trough before me, with
some boiled reindeer venison without salt, and over this, to make it
more agreeable and palatable, she poured a liberal portion of rancid
train-oil, and kindly invited me to fall to without ceremony. I shud-
dered, but there was no help for it. Not to give offence, I was obliged to
swallow a few mouthfuls. My host meanwhile devoured meat and broth
with incredible eagerness, and without the assistance of fork or spoon,
praising to me all the while in broken Russian the culinary talents of
his lady, who, it seemed, was famed for her skill in communicating to
the train-oil a certain bitter acid flavour, that was highly prized by her
lord. I shortened my visit as much as possible, and was well pleased
when I got out, and was able to breathe a little fresh air again ; but
the smell of the sleeping tent remained in my clothes for several days,
in spite of all my beating and airing. Loit is not only one of the
richest, but also one of the most cultivated of his nation ; some notion
may therefore be formed of the domestic delights of humbler mansions.

THE TSHUKTSHI FAIR AT OSTROVNOlE. 495

It is astonishing that, living in so pestilential an atmosphere, and in
such habitual filth, the people remain so strong and healthy as they do.
They are a fine well-grown race of men ; and herein, as well as in their
physiognomy, they are distinguished from all other Asiatic nations.
The Tshuktshi appear to be of American origin, although their lan-
guage bears no resemblance to the American dialects. Their own name
for themselves is Tshetko.

In addition to the soiree just described given me by my friend Loit,
I was invited by another chief, Makomol, to a race given by himself
near his camp, and to which he brought me in his own sledge. A large
portion of the assembled crowd had been attracted from the fair, and
these, having posted themselves in two lines, formed the race-course.
Three prizes were destined for the victors, namely, a blue fox-skin, a
beaver, and two very fine sea-horse tusks. At a given signal the race
commenced, and we had every reason to admire, not only the astonish-
ing rapidity of the reindeer, but also the admirable skill with which
the charioteers guided and urged them. In addition to the prizes, the
victors received the loud acclamations of all present, more particularly
of their own countrymen, upon which they appeared to place the
highest value. The sledge-race was followed by a foot-race, more cu-
rious even than the former, the competitors being all in their usual
heavy, stiff, and cumbrous costume, in which it was only with the
greatest difficulty that we could stir at all. They ran, however,
through the deep snow as lightly and nimbly as a most elegant runner
could have done in his jacket and pumps. They were thoroughly
" game," as may be judged from the fact, that the distance to be run
round a hill could not be less than fifteen versts, and that the race was
well contested. The victors were again rewarded by inferior prizes,
and by the applause of the public ; but it was evident the Tshuktshi
set less value on the skill of the runners than on that of the charioteers.
As soon as the games were ended, the whole assembly were entertained
with boiled reindeer, cut up into portions, and served out in wooden
bowls, each Tshuktshi fetching one for himself, and eating it very con-
tentedly on the snow. Their orderly behaviour, as well during the
games as at the banquet that followed, was admirable. There was
no crowding, pushing, or quarrelling ; everything went off decorously.

On the following day I was visited at my quarters by a numerous
party of Tshuktshi, male and female, who came to take leave of me,
and to commend themselves to my remembrance. I had only tea and
sugar-candy to treat the ladies with. The latter they accepted very
willingly, but left the balmy infusion, which appeared not to be to
their taste. Frugal as was my entertainment, still, by the aid of a
few glass beads, blue, red, and white, which I distributed, I put my
guests into such good humour, that the ladies offered to get up a
dance. There was nothing, to be sure, very refined in the ballet ', but
it was peculiar in its kind. The bayaderes, in their stiff ungainly
furs, placed themselves in a close circle, and, without stirring from the
spot, kept moving their feet slowly backwards and forwards, and toss-
ing their hands violently about in the air all the time. The counte-
nance, however, played the most prominent part in the performance,
being distorted most extravagantly. This was accompanied by a kind
of song, consisting of single discordant tones, or successive grunts. By
way ofjinale, one of their favourite national dances was executed by
three artistes of the first eminence, whose performance was most en-
thusiastically applauded by their own country-people. We uninitiated

496 JACK FROST.

ones beheld only three uncouth oily objects, holding one another by
the hand, rushing at each other with the most frightful grimaces, then
starting back again, and keeping up the sport till perspiration and
exhaustion forced them to break up the ball. By the advice of our
interpreter, a little brandy and tobacco was offered to these solo
dancers, who accepted them with great delight, and the whole party
left us highly pleased with our hospitality, and with reiterated invita-
tions to visit them in their own country.

On the sixth day after our arrival the fair was at an end. The
Tshuktshi chiefs paid me one last formal visit, to renew their assurance
that we might depend on a friendly reception in their country ; after
which they set off for their homes, in five or six separate caravans.
The population of the surrounding country did the same, as did also
the merchants of Kolymsk, the Commissary, and the priest, to whose
party we joined ourselves. In a short time the last trace of the busy
life that had so lately prevailed there disappeared under a covering
of fresh snow. Some hungry foxes and wolverenes established them-
selves there immediately on our departure, and held a little fair of their
own, to discuss the bones and other remnants that lay scattered about
the huts and the late encampments.

I left Ostrovno'ie on the 16th of March. Our return was quick and
easy, partly because the dogs had been well fed and well rested during
the fair time, and partly because we everywhere found hard and beaten
tracks. We accordingly reached Nishney Kolymsk in good spirits on
the 19th.

JACK FROST.

WHAT a very strange fellow Jack Frost must be !

What a creature of mischief and fun !
Just come to the window a moment, and see

What odd things the urchin has done.

The meadows were emerald-green last night,

And the ruffled pond was blue ;
But the mischievous elf has clothed in white

The pond and the meadows too.

He 's always on some strange frolic bent

When the sun is out of the way,
And prowls about with felon intent

In winter, by night and by day.

Sometimes with glass he paves the flood,

Or whitens the emerald dale,
Or he scatters his wool o'er the naked wood,

Or pelts the roof with hail.

I should like to know where his home may be —

Perhaps on Ben Nevis' crest,
Or perchance in the dreary Polar sea

He makes his icy nest.
With silent tread, when we 're in bed,

He '11 be at his pranks again,
With wind and snow, and I don't know who,

And the rest of his madcap men.

But we '11 heap the blazing fagots high,

And sit round the fire so bright,
And we '11 spend the day right cozilv,

And laugh at all his spite. S. W. P.

497

THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

FROM THE POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF A LATE SURGEON.

" One fatal remembrance." — MOORE.

I HAVE often thought that no profession is so fraught with the
recollection of human suffering, mental and corporeal, in all their
varied and characteristic shades of life and death, as that of the sur-
geon and general medical practitioner. The attorney in the course
of business is sufficiently connected with misery, Heaven knows. It
may be his stern duty to drag from the writhing hand of poverty the
last shilling ; he may have to issue an execution, and, amid the wail-
ings of a forlorn family, see torn from them, by his minion the
broker, their every household chattel, — perhaps leaving a once smil-
ing and happy hearth desolate indeed ; nay, the attorney may have
to consign some hopeless debtor to all the wretchedness of a prison
for life ; but the melancholy sequel — the last horrors of existence that
border upon the mystic awfulness of eternity — the deathbed — be-
longs of right to us, and those whose holy ministry breathes, through
a blessed Redeemer, the consoling balm of peace to the repentant and
departing soul !

The wealthy, the poor, the honourable and ignoble, in all the lights
and shadows of circumstance and character, call upon the professor
of the " healing art " to administer the fruits of his study, to expel
that foe to health and enjoyment, fell disease, with its hydra head.
In the chambers of the sick, in the grey of early morning, or with
the garish sunlight of the day streaming through the half-closed
curtains, or at the more solemn midnight hour, when tf half the
world is hushed in deep repose," the eventful pages of life and
death sometimes display strange and startling scenes to us ; — when
the anguish of the body and mind conjoined in the sufferer have
thrown off the artificialities of every-day existence. The spirit then
bordering upon the confines of another world, in the muttering of
the broken sleep, the sudden start and exclamation, or even in the
very raving of delirium, oftentimes but too eloquently tells of woe
or vice, in all the horrors of their true details. Amid such scenes I
have often noted that truth has worn a garb stranger than fiction.

Some such motive, I may say, has induced me to write the fol-
lowing recollection.

My early life in the profession was accompanied by a circum-
stance that, to say the least of it, was not a little singular. It is now
some five-and-twenty years since I first commenced practice in this
at present overgrown metropolis of London. The first house I occu-
pied was in a style commensurate with my humble fortunes, in a
small thoroughfare leading out of Oxford Street. Having but few
friends, and those resident in the country, and but a very meagre
capital for support until I got into active employment, the knowledge
of this fact perhaps only served to stimulate me in my endeavours to
obtain practice ; but, in spite of every effort, it was to no purpose.
I felt myself under a kind of ban, of having the tolerable portion of

498 THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

dually decreased, I had the mortification of knowing that my
cumstances soon threatened to involve me in all the horrors of po-
verty.

If I had been a single man, I could have managed to have borne
my ill fortune perhaps with something like resignation ; but there
were two beings entirely dependent upon me for support — a young
wife,, and an infant at her breast.

One dull December evening, my wife and I were mourning over
our gloomy circumstances. The tea-things had been just removed,
and we were sitting in the little parlour adjoining my small and sel-
dom-visited surgery. As I contemplated for a moment the horrors
of beggary, I burst out into some of those repinings, which I did not
possess philosophy enough entirely to suppress, while my angel wife
endeavoured to soothe the rugged bitterness of my spirit with the
first and last exhortation of the wretched — to hope ! My last twenty
pounds had been taken from my banker's hands the preceding week,
and where I was to obtain a fresh supply when that was gone, Hea-
ven only knew. Something was to be resolved upon soon ; but each
plan proposed was speedily rejected as impracticable. We had
sunken into a silent fit of reflection, gazing at the fire, when the
voices of many persons, apparently approaching the house, fell upon
our ears.

" This is the house — here 's the nearest doctor's. Take care of the
gemman," cried several voices.

I rushed to the door, which was already opened by the servant, and
by the light of an adjoining lamp I beheld a considerable crowd of
people half surrounding four men, employed in supporting the body
of one who, twenty rough voices at one and the same moment in-
formed me, had been run over by a carriage.

Conducting the four men into my surgery, I had my patient
placed in a reclining arm-chair. He appeared covered with mud,
and in great pain. In crossing Oxford Street, one of the men who
assisted in bringing him informed me, he had been run over by the
wheels of a carriage driven at a furious rate. The stranger, judging
from a single glance at his tall and attenuated figure, had once,
no doubt, been a singularly fine man, though now debilitated
by age and grief, as his white hair and the furrowed lines of his
open and intellectual countenance seemed to infer. He was suffer-
ing acute pain, which he informed me proceeded from his right leg.
I now perceived, indeed, that this limb laid in a very lifeless and
unnatural position. Taking my scissors from my case, I immedi-
ately cut down the seam of the trowsers, and through part of the
stocking, laying bare the hurt limb, which, as I had expected, ex-
hibited a severe fracture, through which a portion of ragged bone
protruded. At the same moment the old gentleman had with much
difficulty raised himself a little, and now bent his eyes over the shat-
tered leg.

" Ha ! as I thought ! " he exclaimed, in a tone of voice in which
pain, self-possession, and resignation were singularly blended.
" Fracture of the tibia andjibula, just below the upper third. You
must have recourse to your splints."

THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION. 499

At this observation, which I knew could only have emanated from
a medical man, the slight hope of reward I had cherished at once
vanished from my mind, and I prepared as cheerfully as I could to
render those services to a brother of the profession that were called
for by humanity, and rendered gratuitous from custom. Indeed, I
apparently had little reason to regret the discovery ; for, from the
old man's dress, it would have been reasonable to infer that his re-
sources admitted but of a very wretched fee.

By the time I had cleaned the wound and bandaged on the splints,
— a painful operation, which my patient bore with unshrinking firm-
ness,— he complained of considerable faintness, which I relieved by
administering a small glass of brandy.

" I fear this will go hard with my life," said the old gentleman,
regarding my countenance with a steady glance.

" If I were to tell you that you are not in considerable danger, I
should deceive you, sir," I replied, at the same time inwardly dread-
ing the worst from the evidently debilitated state of my patient's
frame.

" Well, God's will be done, and not that of a wretched sinner like
me !" murmured the stranger, laying a kind of bitter emphasis upon
the latter word.

The men who had carried my patient, and who seemed to belong
to that very doubtful class, who, without any direct employment, may
generally be seen congregated round the coach-stands in London,
now took the opportunity of asking very significantly if they were
wanted any longer. I immediately perceived their drift, and asked
my patient if it would not be better to send a note to his family or
friends to apprise them of the accident, before making his appearance
among them.

" JNo, it is needless ; that pain is mercifully spared me and them.
1 have no family, — no friends," replied the old gentleman, in a voice
so forlorn that it went to my heart at once, and even for a moment
seemed to affect the men standing by.

" Shall I call the gemman a coach ? " inquired one.

" No," replied my patient ; " that is the worst conveyance for a
broken limb. Take a cab, and obtain for me, if possible, a stretcher,
and — "

The old man, evidently with a strong mental effort, suppressed the
anguish he felt from his fractured limb; but the agony he endured
was but too perceptible in the writhing of his countenance, down
which the large drops of perspiration trickled one after the other. I
was moved at the sight, and a feeling of commiseration got the better
of my selfishness : indeed, I even forgot my own situation at the
moment, as I made him the offer of a vacant bed in the house.

"You are kind, sir," he replied, a flush succeeding the death-like
paleness of his care-stricken features. " I am not quite prepared to
die — that is, I could wish to live some months longer, and I fear a
removal at present might greatly increase the inflammation ; there-
fore, if I do not encumber you, I will accept your offer. But there
is one, my kind landlady, — you must apprise her of my misfortune."
And he gave me his address, when I immediately penned a note,
which I despatched by one of the men to the street in Tottenham-
court-road where Mr. Benfield (the name of my patient) resided.

500 THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

After giving him an anodyne draught, by assisting the men a little,
I managed to get him carried up stairs, without inducing much addi-
tional pain from the fractured limb.

" Perhaps the gen'elman will have the goodness to think of us
now," said one of the men, as we got my patient into bed, endea-
vouring to assume an air of modesty which sat upon his coarse fea-
tures with intolerable grace,

" True, I must remember I have to reward your humanity, as it
is not the worldly fashion to confer services for nothing." And the
old gentleman putting his hand into a small side-pocket of his great-
coat, as it hung by his bed-side, took out a sovereign, which, to my
surprise, he gave to be divided among the men.

The sight of this sum, so much larger a donation than these wor-
thies had expected to receive, wrought an almost magical effect upon
them, and brought forth numerous professions of gratitude.

" I see, sir, you 're a real gemman," uttered the fellow who had
been spokesman previously. " Although I didn't think of it afore,
I can tell you the number of the coach as knocked you down."

te It is of little consequence," said the stranger with a deep sigh.

" But the willain, Jem Burns, as drove over your honour," conti-
nued the man.

"I forgive him with all my heart," uttered the benevolent old
gentleman.

Perceiving that the sleeping potion was already beginning to take
a slight effect upon my patient, I placed the bell-rope close to his
head, and forbidding the expression of some thanks he was about to
utter, I led my rough assistants down stairs, when they took their
departure with many offers of service to " the queer old gen'elman,
as didn't mind people running over him."

In the parlour I found my kind partner all anxiety to learn the
state of our guest, and while discoursing of the suddenness on the
occurrence, Mrs. Smith, his landlady, arrived. She was a woman
past the meridian of life, and, with all the vulgar garrulity so com-
mon to her station in society, displayed a strong feeling of sorrow
for Mr. Benfield's accident. The cause, indeed, of this emotion was
sufficiently accounted for, when she informed us that her lodger
had, by his great attention and medical skill, saved the life of her
eldest son.

" Oh, sir," continued the widow, for such she was, " poor dear old
Mr. Benfield is the best of men. He 's never happy but when he 's
doing good to somebody or other ; though, poor gentleman, his sad-
ness at times, and his lone ways, sitting up as he will half through
the night praying and calling himself names, as I 've known him to
do, makes me quite miserable. And then the old gentleman, if he
only hears of a case of distress, will run out in all weathers to give
relief. He 's the best of human beings, sir ; though he often talks as
if he 'd done something wicked in his youth."

" Is he not in practice as a surgeon ? " I inquired.

" Oh, no, sir," replied Mrs. Smith ; " though I heard him say he
was once a doctor when a young man ; and then, as though the re-
collection made him miserable, he told me in his mild way never to
ask him questions, or remind him of it ; so that I and my eldest boy,
whose life he saved, fancy he might have been unfortunate in busi-
ness."

THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION. 501

" But has he no relations or acquaintance ? "

The kind landlady's face assumed a look of grave thought as she
replied, "Oh, no; there it is where the old gentleman's sadness
sometimes lays. He will talk in the most moving way for hours to-
gether in the middle of the night of his wife and children, that are
dead. And then to see how hardly he treats himself in his living,
when he thinks nothing can be too good for others, it makes me
quite fretful to see it ; but he will have his own way, and says any-
thing is good enough for him."

It is almost unnecessary to say that my wife and myself were
but too interested in the welfare of the excellent and eccentric old
man, who had so strangely been made an inmate under our roof, not
to listen with much interest to the brief particulars we collected of
him from Mrs. Smith.

As the kind-hearted landlady seemed desirous of seeing her lodger,
I immediately led the way up into his room. From his heavy and
laboured breathing as I opened the door, I knew that he was
asleep, and motioned Mrs. Smith to tread softly, while I shaded the
light which I carried in my hand, so that its rays might not tend to
disturb his slumbers. My patient's sunken cheek I perceived, as I
bent over the bed for a moment, wore an alabaster paleness, which,
with the few floating grey hairs streaming over his deeply furrowed
countenance, gave him an appearance peculiarly venerable. Still,
from a slight spasmodic play of feature, and an occasional half mur-
mur in the hard breathing, it was but too easy to perceive that the
old gentleman was in a high state of fever, and that his sleep, so far
from being repose, seemed—

" But a continuance of enduring thought."

All my fears were respecting the strong tendency to fever, so evi-
dent in the frame of my patient, and this reflection I had just whis-
pered to Mrs. Smith, when he uttered a groan ; then followed a half
muttering sound, as though he were talking in his sleep. Fearful
of awaking him, I had just motioned to my kind-hearted companion
to follow me out of the chamber, when the slumberer, in a voice
whose cavernous and half-stifled tone seemed to emanate from the
very depths of his chest, exclaimed —

<c Blessed Lord ! when shall I be forgiven ! "

There was something so solemn in this appeal, that I was deeply
impressed by it as I softly closed the door.

" That's just like him, sir," said Mrs. Smith, as I conducted her
down stairs. " To hear Mr. Benfield at times, you 'd think he 'd been
a very wicked man ; when it 's quite impossible such a good man
could ever have done anything wicked."

Three months passed before anything like perfect adhesion took
place in the fractured bones. During this period I had many op-
portunities of becoming intimately acquainted with the character
of a man, whose extensive knowledge and erudition were only
equalled by his Christian philanthropy and humanity. From many
conversations I had with him, my previous belief was confirmed,
that my patient was labouring under some painful recollection of
early indiscretion or guilt, which his over sensitive mind, it appeared
to me, seemed to imagine could never be atoned for in that world

502 THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

" where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."
I now became the confidential agent of* the kind old gentleman in a
hundred actions of the purest benevolence. Like a second Howard,
I discovered that he had made it his study to find out and relieve the
wretched and distressed —

" Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame."

My own embarrassments, notwithstanding several patients I had
obtained through the representations of Mrs. Smith, had now grown
too serious to be concealed any longer. Indeed, a few days after
the removal of my patient, I found myself in circumstances of po-
verty peculiarly mortifying.

I had scarcely two pounds in the house, and my poor wife now
indeed was inconsolable. After revolving a variety of expedients, I
saw but one way of obtaining money sufficient to defray the land-
lord's demand, and therefore in a letter to Mr. Benfield stated my
present difficulties, and requested the loan of twenty pounds. This
gave me some pain ; and while anxiously expecting an answer, Mr.
Benfield drove up to the door in a coach. I could not help remark-
ing that he looked more than usually pale and troubled. Seizing my
arm in an agitated and nervous grasp, he drew me into my study,
and shut the door.

" And how was it I had no suspicion ? " said he. " You are
poor ; you want money ; in practice, and want money. Why have
you not told me of this before ? "

I hesitated for a moment in offering him my reasons.

" Ah ! I know the pride of a professional man. Oh ! I was once
a medical man — poor. Would I had ever remained so ! but tempta-
tion came like a fiend, accompanied by opportunity, — and a long
life of anguish has been the result." And the excited old man now
buried his face in his hands. I was moved.

" This is weakness, I know you will say," he continued ; " but,
oh ! if you knew all, you would cease to wonder at these ebullitions
of a repentant spirit. The similarity of your present situation with
my own on my first entrance into life, has called up these feelings.
My prayer to heaven is, that you may shun the fatal rock upon
which my every hope of eternal happiness has been wrecked. But,
come ; give me pen and ink, at least I may reap some happiness
from your wants." And, hastily taking a banker's book from his
pocket, he wrote a cheque for two hundred pounds.

So unexpected and handsome a gift at first entirely deprived me of
the power of returning thanks, and I attempted to object receiving
a sum, to the fourth part of which I had no claim. But I was met
in the old gentleman's usual determined manner when contributing
to the wants of others.

"Arid, why should you not keep it? " he uttered calmly. " It
has been honourably earned in the exercise of your profession. I
feel happier at this moment than I have for many years. Oh ! " he
added, raising his eyes upwards, while the tears trickled down his
furrowed cheeks, — " oh ! that some one in my hour of need had
thus stepped before me," and his head again sunk between his
hands, and for a moment he seemed buried in the one terrible
thought that appeared to canker his existence.

THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION. 5013

As he left my house he exclaimed, " God bless you ! you have
made me happy if I have in any way contributed to serve you.
In difficulties, in distresses, and misery, may you ever be enabled to
resist temptation to evil. That I have not done so has made me the
wretch you behold. When I have grown calmer I will again call and
see you."

Two days passed, and I heard nothing of Mr. Benfield. On the
third, my wife at breakfast was reminding me that it would look
neglectful if I did not call, when Mrs. Smith was announced. Her
benevolent lodger had been thrown upon a sick bed the day pre-
vious, and having grown considerably worse, she had with his con-
sent come for me.

It is needless to say that I immediately waited on him.

His greeting was as kind as usual, but, if anything, more sad and
solemn. He had been attacked by fever.

' ' I know I am going fast. The Almighty has already prolonged
my days more than" — his voice here fell into a mysterious whisper —
" more than I had a right to expect. I have wandered about the
world the last twenty years of my life, a wretched, and but for the
all-redeeming mercies of our blessed Saviour, I might say, hopeless
man. But now I feel — indeed I have had presentiments I rely
upon — that my time on earth is nearly up."

Feeling his pulse, I found it beating 130. He was, indeed, in a
high state of fever, no doubt induced in a great measure by the ac-
tive working of his mind. His leg that had been so lately fractured
I was sorry to perceive in a very inflamed state ; and, although I
insisted upon the application of leeches immediately, he shook his
head with a mournful presentiment of his approaching fate.

" It is of no use ; but you shall have your own way, my young
friend. I feel ' that within which passeth show ' which tells me I
have not long to live."

I left him indeed that day with the conviction that his constitu-
tion, unable to rally from the severe shock it had so lately re-
ceived, was sinking fast, and that the excellent old man had but a
short interval before he was destined to be ushered into a better
world.

In the evening I found him considerably worse. In spite of
topical depletion, and other remedies I used, there still was a strong
tendency to inflammation. His throat had become slightly affected,
while a general languor and debility reduced him to a state of great
weakness. Although evidently on his death-bed, he was resigned,
and even cheerful.

That night there was a slight inclination to delirium ; which,
however, subsided a little by the morning, when I left him enjoying
a gentle doze, to seek for myself a brief respite from the fatigue of
watching by his bedside. On returning in the evening, Mrs. Smith,
whom I met at the door, informed me that to her surprise he had
sat up in bed, supported by pillows, and had employed himself
during great part of the day in writing some letters, notwithstanding
all she could do to dissuade him from it, on account of the fatigue
and excitement it must necessarily occasion.

On entering his bed-room I found him reclining in a disturbed
slumber. Even since the few hours I had last seen him a rapid and
deathlike change had taken place in his countenance ; the features

504 THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

had become more sharpened, and wore that blueish paleness which is
so characteristic of approaching dissolution. Gazing at the old man
as he now and then moved restlessly in his troubled sleep, I felt an
emotion of sadness deeper than I had experienced for years. His
patience, — his humility, — his kind and charitable heart, — his high
and cultivated mind, blasted as it seemed by some dark recollection,
threw over him, as it were, an almost romantic veil of interest, and
made me feel for him as I had once felt for a father whom I had
lost.

I know no solitude equal to the melancholy of a sick-chamber,
when left to one 's own ruminations ; the garish gleaming of the
candles as their flame is reflected in gigantic shadow upon the bed-
curtains, or wall ; the falling of a cinder from the fire ; nay, the very
ticking of the clock, are apt to cause a peculiar sense of dreariness
and desolation, which is anything but lessened by the hard and la-
boured breathing of the dying.

While my patient slept, desirous, if possible, of relieving the me-
lancholy of my thoughts, I took up an old newspaper that was lying
amongst some loose papers on a table near the bed. I mechanically
began turning it over, and perceived it was a Scotch paper, published
some twenty years previous. Running my eyes over its columns
my attention suddenly became arrested by a heading in large cha-
racters of

" HORRIBLE AND MYSTERIOUS MURDER ! "

I know not why, but there is a strange fascination that attracts
one's attention to the narrative of crime or suffering, and I imme-
diately commenced reading. To the best of my memory the rela-
tion ran as follows : —

*' HORRIBLE AND MYSTERIOUS MURDER. — It is our painful and
melancholy task to announce a murder which has just been committed
in the very heart of our usually peaceful city, and which has created
a sensation of surprise and alarm not easily to be described. The
unfortunate victim, we are sorry to say, is Joseph Saunderson, the
well-known gigantic porter, who has been for so many years in the

service of Messrs. > the bankers. Yesterday, in the morning,

the unfortunate man was sent early with a heavy package, mostly
of gold, — in amount £3,000, it is said, — to book and enter, by the
evening mail for London. Not returning as soon as he was expect-
ed, the chief cashier began to grow anxious about the safety of the
parcel, and knowing Saunderson, — (who had been for the last fifteen
years in the employ of the house,) to be a remarkably steady man, he
was induced to think that something extraordinary must have occur-
red. On despatching a clerk to the coach-office, it was ascertained
that Saunderson had not been there. Suspicions of the unfortunate
man's character became entertained by the firm ; the police were call-
ed in, and a general search instituted*. Half an hour afterwards, we
grieve to say, poor Saunderson's body was found lying in Pas-
sage, weltering in his gore. The unhappy man had taken this unfre-
quented path to get into Street, and had there met his death

from the hand of some assassin or assassins at present unknown. On
examining the body only one wound was found inflicted, and that
was apparently by the thrust of a sharp knife, given with such
precision that it had gone completely through the unfortunate man's

THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION. 505

heart, killing him, no doubt, instantly, before any alarm could be
given, and evidently inferring the murderer to be well acquainted
with the anatomy of the human frame. It is needless to say, the
valuable money parcel has been stolen by the murderer or mur-
derers. What renders the circumstance so peculiarly singular is,
that the crime should have been committed in the open day, and on
a man whose gigantic strength, with a less fatal blow, might have
been justly dreaded. This has generally induced the supposition
that it has been the deliberately-planned act of more than one indi-
vidual. As the numbers of the notes are known, and the police ac-
tively on the search, a feverish anxiety prevails for the intelligence
of the apprehension of the inhuman murderers. Poor Saunderson,
whose honesty and industry had procured him the entire confidence
of his employers, and who has thus come to a sudden and untimely
end, has left behind him a wife and five children to lament his
loss.

"On Tuesday a coroner's inquest will be held, when it is to be
hoped further particulars will be elicited."

" Poor Saunderson ! " I almost unconsciously exclaimed with a
sigh.

My aspiration was echoed by another so sepulchral, deep, and in-
tense, so full of human agony and suffering, that I cast my eyes to-
wards the couch from whence the sound proceeded, in the full belief
that it was the last tribute of expiring nature. There, to my horror,
I beheld Mr. Benfield sitting up in his bed, his few grey hairs wild-
ly streaming over his attenuated countenance, and his deep, sunken
eyes gleaming from under his pent brows, apparently with a more
than mortal light, as they steadfastly regarded me.

" Poor Saunderson, indeed ! " exclaimed the old man, solemnly ;
" and, why do you not give vent unto the feelings of your heart,
and curse his cruel and relentless murderer. Behold him here, in
this corroded heart and withered frame ! You now are in possession
of the fatal secret, which, for the last twenty years of my wretched
existence, has, like some Gorgon, been feasting upon my entrails.
Yes, behold here the hitherto undiscovered murderer of the un-
happy Saunderson ! " And the wretched man buried his livid coun-
tenance in his clasped hands, through which the scalding tears fell
fast, while sighs, long and heavy, filled the little apartment.

Conquering the shock the old man's sudden exclamation had
given rise to, (for his grief and repentance, put everything out
of my mind at the moment but his sufferings,) and, hastily uttering
I know not what words of comfort, I sprang towards the bed,
and caught him in my arms, as, overcome by his sudden emotion,
he fell back, and fainted.

Applying a little ammonia to his nose he slowly opened his eyes ;
when I endeavoured to allay the excitement under which he was
labouring.

" No, I must speak — I feel I must/' he exclaimed, in those queru-
lous tones I had so often marked as one of the signs of approaching
dissolution. " You know my deep, — my soul-involving guilt, and
something, — some slight portion of that remorse, which, if human
suffering on earth may constitute an expiation in the eyes of the
Almighty disposer of events, I am not without hope may be taken
into consideration in my final account. You know my guilt. Now

VOL. vii. 2 o

506 THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

listen to the miserable narrative of a dying man. Oh ! beware of
temptation ; take warning from my unhappy story, and learn that
any state is far preferable to the loss of virtue and honour.

" I was young, — in your own profession, — my situation even some-
what like your own. I had married, without due reflection in respect
to my worldly means, one whom I loved more than I valued life.
The natural gaiety of our hearts led us into the first society of the
city in which we resided ; and the usual consequence, of living
beyond an income, resulted — we became involved, and were threat-
ened with ruin. Oh ! had I listened in time to her, instead of my ac-
cursed pride, and retired from the scene of my former extrava-
gance, all had been well. But there is a web woven by Fate that I
believe we are destined to be enmeshed in. I remained — remained
to hear the insulting remark, — the half sneer, — the tone of pity, from
those towards whom I had perchance felt but contempt in the
days of my thoughtless prosperity. The changed countenance of
former friends, — the taunt of gratified malignancy from the base-
minded at times drove me half mad, and, I believe, changed my
nature. Even my gentle and endearing partner failed to console
me, and I became morose and savage, detesting myself, and hating
all mankind. In this frame of mind, with the stinging reflection
that the little practice I had was fast seceding from me, and that I
should soon be a beggar ; a temptation the most fatal was suddenly

thrown in my way. Going into the banking-house of Messrs.

to receive the amount of a small cheque, I accidentally heard a clerk
talking to a fellow-servant of the house respecting a large sum they
were to send in the morning by the mail. I knew that from the
shipping connexion large amounts of gold were constantly being
sent up to London : I had even once or twice met their trusted
and colossal porter, the unhappy Saunderson, in that Passage which
I often traversed, as it saved me a considerable distance in going
to one part of the town. The devil that very night filled my mind
with one appalling idea — it passed through my brain like light-
ning, as it were, scathing and consuming. My circumstances were
more desperate even than were known. I was daily living in the
fear of an arrest. My house was stripped of its contents. I had
nothing, — no hope from the world, — still less from those who had
once been friends. Oh, hour of horror ! — I resolved upon the diabo-
lical act of murder and robbery. Why should I dwell on the
bloody detail? I waylaid my victim — struck the fatal blow with my
knife ; and almost before the departing breath had fled, possessed
myself of the treasure. Ten thousand furies seemed ringing their
plaudits in my ears as I hurried home with the package hidden be-
neath my cloak ; which before I had committed the murder I had
laid aside, with a villain's foresight, and which now covered the
sanguine stains that marked me for a murderer. My brain was on
fire. The notes, which I knew it would be dangerous to pass, I bu-
ried with the package case. You, whom I have left my executor,
will have the direction where to find it.*

* It is a singular fact, that all the notes and bills of exchange, to the amount of
1,700/. have been recovered, from the directions left by the repentant criminal.
The papers were found in a wonderful state of preservation considering they had
lain wrapt up for a period of twenty-nine years in a deal box, buried in the earth.
—En.

THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION. 507

"It was only after the hurried excitement had ceased that the
dreadful and soul-appalling horrors of the atrocious act sunk with a
cold and deadly chill into my heart. Then it was that my guilty mind
became overwhelmed with terrors unutterable. Nightly — those
dreadful nights ! — nightly in my dreams I saw the wretched victim,
pale and bloody, at my bedside, upbraiding me with my infernal
deed. Such visions were frequently followed by fits of partial in-
sanity,— if I may so term them; in one of which my gentle wife
learnt my dreadful secret. Its horrors soon overwhelmed her ; and
in less than a month the tomb had closed upon her seared and
blighted heart.

"Although I lived in a thousand daily terrors, suspicion had
never for a moment been directed towards me. Though I had, as it
were, bartered my soul for one cursed deed, still I had never touch-
ed a shilling of the plundered gold. The fact that most maddened
me is to come. Saunderson had scarcely been buried a fortnight,
and my wife on the point of death, when news came to say an uncle
in the East Indies had died, and left me a handsome fortune. Oh,
how I cursed it in my heart ! • — and, wretch that I was ! I rashly
accused Providence of betraying me into the commission of the
most revolting crime.

" Glad of a pretext to leave Scotland, and disdaining the now
proffered smiles of menial parasites, I departed with my two chil-
dren. The curse of the Almighty seemed to pursue me ; my chil-
dren within a few months of each other died : I was left alone — a
branchless and scathed trunk upon the world's waste ! What lan-
guage can do justice to my horrors and remorse ! Time, instead of
alleviating, seemed only to strengthen the gloomy and harrowing
feeling that I was peculiarly marked out as an object of Divine
wrath in this world, and that more dreaded world to come. I
sought to appease the Divine anger by works that, emanating from
other hands, might have been considered virtuous. But it seemed
fated that I should never cease to feel bitterly the curse of an accus-
ing spirit.

" I have nearly done," pursued the dying man, his sudden ex-
citement yielding to the feelings of exhausted nature, — " I have left
the remnant of my property to be .applied to certain purposes*
which you will find specified in that paper," and he pointed to a
packet lying on the table.

His voice during the latter part of his confession had sunk into a
low, half-articulate whisper, that intimated a state of complete ex-
haustion. His senses were yielding to the influence of delirium.
Placing his gaunt and bony hands across his forehead, he began
rambling for several minutes in an unconnected strain, that was
painful to hear.

As I perceived that his late excitement had indeed in a great
measure caused this imbecile state, I immediately administered an
opiate draught, which shortly had the effect of throwing my pa-
tient into a quiet and undisturbed slumber. This induced me to
seek a temporary rest in the easy arm-chair I occupied. I was
soon in a kind of restless and uneasy doze.

* To be invested in certain charitable institutions. A trust that was scrupu-
lously fulfilled by the late esteemed writer of this paper. — ED.

2o2

508 JUDGING BY APPEARANCES.

When I awoke the first cold light of another day was stealing
through the curtained window, giving a sickly hue to the tall flame
of the unsnuffed taper on the table. I listened eagerly, "but in vain,
to catch the respiration of my patient. All was still, save the mo-
notonous ticking of the house clock.

With a dread of the worst I hastily drew aside a part of the
curtain of the bed. To my surprise and horror I beheld my patient
kneeling up in bed, his bony hands clasped together, and his head
thrown back, while the glassy eyes seemed directed upwards. But
there was neither movement nor pulse in the frame before me ! the
penitent and sorrow-stricken wanderer had breathed his last sigh in
prayer to the Almighty !

H. J. M.

JUDGING BY APPEARANCES.

MISTAKES IN A DRAWING-ROOM.

I HAVE always entertained a good opinion of myself, at least upon
one point ; but, unfortunately upon this point, none of my friends
would ever agree with me, — I have always flattered myself that I
was a man of nice discernment, and that my forte lay in a felicitous
deduction from appearance, which, however slight or few, would
enable me to penetrate character, dive into plans, and prophesy con-
sequences. I have studied Lavater and phrenology, and have by
heart those malevolent authors, who lay down that man is by nature
a mean rogue, and who teach how to see through his hypocrisy. Let
the sequel testify whether I have been too arrogant with respect to
my own abilities.

I was at the splendid party of my friend, Sir George Railtravers,
— for, though small, and termed a family party, it was given with
a magnificence that bordered upon ostentation. The reasons were
obvious. Sir George's affairs were going down hill with a steam-
engine velocity ; whilst his sons and daughters were growing up in
geometrical proportion, — for every season witnessed the debut of
a son, or the introduction into fashionable life of a daughter. A
man of rank and fashion in ruined circumstances, and with a nume-
rous family, must keep up appearances. His extravagance concerns
only his creditors, and cannot make him worse ; whilst appearances
are his only chance of saving his family by advantageously settling
them in life. The party, moreover, like many other parties that
make a figure in history, was got up for an object, which, in the
eyes of the persons concerned, would justify any means for attain-
ing the end.

In fact, the entertainment was a scheme of Lady Railtravers to se-
cure to her daughter the hand of Sir Larry Balooney, whose father,
Sir Perkins Balooney, had transferred an immense capital from Lon-
don to an estate in Yorkshire, and who dying soon after the transfer
was made, had left his son — in his twenty-first year — the joyful
successor to his property. Miss Matilda Railtravers was un pen
passee. She had been the star of fashion for some years ; had moved
in the highest circles at Brussels, Paris, Vienna, Rome, Florence,

JUDGING BY APPEARANCES. 509

and Naples ; her mother now thought that she was standing in the
way of her younger sisters, and that she might by good management
have a chance of captivating Sir Larry, the son of a broker desirous
of a fashionable connexion. Sir Larry, with his tall, lanky person ;
his large round face, full cheeks, and vacant eyes, was the admired
of all beholders. But in vain did Miss Railtravers exert her fas-
cinations upon Sir Larry. She was everything by starts, and nothing
long. She varied from the skittish to the matronly, from the lively
to the innocent, and even descended to the childish. She was by
turns prudent, gay, fashionable, domestic, fond, and coquettish.
Had Sir Larry's heart been of bell-metal he could not have been
more insensible. Throughout the scene his broad, tawny face, was
directed to the other extremity of the room, towards which his large
lack-lustre eyes seemed to be spell-bound.

And, what was there at the other end of the room that could so
entrance this unfortunate youth ? In a recess, upon a couch shaded
by drapery, sat the juvenile sylph, Rosa Railtravers. Poor Rosa's
face was pale, full of anxiety, pensive, and melancholy. She was
too young to conceal the sympathy between the heart and counte-
nance ; too pure to practise disguise. Here was the very personifi-
cation of one " who never told her love, and let concealment prey
on the damask cheek ;" yet the damask cheek told the story more
powerfully to the heart than could ever love-letter to the eye, or pa-
rental negotiation to the ear.

The cause of Rosa's melancholy was fathomable to a man of my
penetration ; for, in the opposite recess, on a couch shadowed by
similar drapery, was Mr. Doveways, who gazed on Rosa, looking
unutterable tenderness, while he seemed to blush and tremble at his
temerity in gazing. Lady Railtravers was sensible of Rosa's exqui-
site beauty. She counted upon her as the retrieve point of the
family fortunes, and predicted that when brought out next season
she would immeasurably outstrip all rivalry. Her determination
was that Rosa should marry a man of first-rate rank and fortune.
Now Mr. Doveways was not a man of title ; but, as his uncle, though
married, was childless at sixty-seven, he was heir-presumptive to an
earldom ; and, though as yet a minor, he was within four months of
being of age, when he would come into the possession of one of the
finest estates in England, with the immense accumulations of a long
minority. Oxford and London boasted of him as a well-governed
youth, — for, though spirited and fashionable, he had always been
discreet, and had kept himself within the bounds prescribed to him
by his guardians and the Court of Chancery. No stripling of aris-
tocracy could be better adapted to Lady Railtravers' ambition, or to
Sir George Railtravers' dilapidated affairs, or more calculated by
nature to win the heart of the delicate Rosa. Mr. Doveways was
rather tall, finely formed, of elegant manners, and with a face intel-
ligent and handsome, though somewhat effeminate ; whilst a tone of
sentiment in all he spoke was in unison with all he looked and acted.
" And this," said I, " is to be the husband of the beautiful Rosa ?
The affection is clearly mutual, and may Heaven prosper the unison
of their young and ardent loves ! "

Rosa was the most perfect of human beings, and I had a strong
influence over her, from a friendship of thirty years standing with
her father, and from my intimate acquaintance with, her sweetness

510 JUDGING BY APPEARANCES.

of temper, her affectionate, ingenuous, and playful disposition. Rare-
ly had Nature blended in one person so many admirable qualities.
She was only in the beginning of girlhood, with every promise of a
perfect maturity.

" And, Rosa," said I, after prefaces artfully contrived to lull sus-
picion, and to draw from a girl the secret of her love, — " who, dear
little Rosa, is the best dancer in the room ? "

" You surely must know that," said Rosa.

" My dear little Rosa, no man on earth is more ignorant of such
subjects. At the Opera, when I hear one dancer spoken of with
ecstasy, and another with equally fervent dislike, I look at both,
and can discover no difference."

" But here," said Rosa, " the difference is so plain ;" and poor little
Rosa spoke with an approach to a sigh, that showed that her heart
trembled on her tongue.

'• And who, Rosa, is the best dancer ? for I am still in ignorance."

" Captain Bruen, to be sure ; it is impossible not to perceive that,"
said she, with an energy I had never before witnessed in her.

I cast my eyes on Captain Bruen, who was then going through a
quadrille.

Never was there a finer specimen of the militaire. Captain Bruen
was the beau ideal of a soldier. He was six feet two without his
shoes; but, though his shoulders and limbs were the most admira-
ble I had ever witnessed for a charge against Napoleon's cuirassiers,
they were but little adapted to a drawing-room, still less to a quad-
rille. He beat the ground with stamps so furious that a modern
floor might have quaked under his exertions, and seemed as if in-
spired by reminiscences of riding rough-shod over the enemy.

Rosa, thought I, is not quite so innocent as I imagined. She is
slyly directing my attention from her Mr. Doveways ; but it would
be odd if a man of my penetration were not a match for a girl of
seventeen.

After a little chat, artfully managed on my part, I said, " Dear
Rosa, I would be your lover, but for two causes."

" What causes? " said the sensitive and tremulous Rosa.

" I am too old, and too poor."

'* The last is no objection to a generous heart or disinterested
mind."

" Ah, Rosa, but your silence on the first point is the most cruel of
expressions. My poverty, as I get older, I shall get rid of by the
death of my relations ; but my former sin must grow with my growth,
and strengthen with my years. But come, tell me, Rosa, who is the
finest and handsomest man in the room ? "

" The finest and handsomest man," said the simple unsuspecting
girl, " is unquestionably Captain Bruen."

" If immense stature, and a robust frame, — if powerful limbs con-
stitute the finest man, Captain Bruen is unquestionably — "

" But he is so handsome ! " said Rosa.

I looked at Captain Bruen, and, as far as a proiusion of coal-black
curls over his forehead — as far as immense whiskers, huge tufts of
hair under his chin, and over his eyes and upper lip, would allow
one to get a peep at his face, I was enabled to come to a conclusion
that nature, in so handsomely endowing his person, had balanced the
account in the formation of his face. He was a hard-featured man,

JUDGING BY APPEARANCES. 511

and his countenance advertised that he had seen much service, in
climates not favourable to beauty. Captain Bruen was dancing vi-
gorously with a fat lady of forty, who scarcely reached his hip ; and
whilst the lady's sympathy of 'exertion made her fat cheeks of the
colour of an autumnal gooseberry, the stalwart Captain's face was as
dry as parchment.

" But who is the most elegant man ? " said I to the lovely rose-bud
Rosa, determined to discover her secret. Rosa coloured, seemed dis-
tressed, and made no reply. " Mr. Doveways, Rosa ? " said I archly.

"Pshaw!" said the lovely girl, with almost rudeness.

" Oh, oh," said I to myself; " is the girlish simple Rosa already
so cunning ? "

The quadrille had ended, and another was to be arranged.

" Rosa, will you dance ? " I asked, with a determination to procure
Mr. Doveways for her partner.

" No — yes — I don't know — I can't say now — perhaps I may — not
this dance ; perhaps I may the next," said little Rosa, her cheeks
changing colour, and her beautiful eyes and lips varying in expres-
sion at every no and yes.

" But, beautiful little Rosa, the no or yes depends on the partner,
and I can — "

" Oh, I will dance," said Rosa, in a voice too tremulous to be un-
derstood ; but her emotion spoke her meaning.

" Rosa, you must positively dance," said Lady Railtravers, as I
left Rosa to procure for her the partner of her choice, and the future
partner of her life.

" My dear mamma, pray leave me alone ; I don't think I can
dance the next two. I am not well." And Rosa looked at me as if
her whole soul depended on my success.

"You will dance, of course," said Sir George to Lady Macedonia
Grizzle, who had been eyeing the juvenile dandy Doveways with as
much passion as he had been exhibiting towards the lovely Rosa.
" Lady Macedonia, you will of course dance ? "

" Faith, I dinna ken ; but sence you are so very poleete, I have na
muckle objiction to dance the twa next kadreeles."

" You will dance ? " said I to Mr. Doveways, and Mr. Doveways'
cheeks coloured like fire.

" Yes," said Mr. Doveways, his eyes beaming with delight at Rosa.

All might have been happy, — Rosa might have danced with Mr.
Doveways, — but Lady Macedonia marred all my arrangements. The
high stalwart figure of this lady of fifty, her broad shoulders and
projecting wing-like shoulder-blades, with hands, ankles, elbows,
and cheek-bones to match, did credit to the aboriginal breed of
her native mountains.

" Faith, and I will dance the twa," said Lady Macedonia.

Never was man so put to a non plus. When Sir George asked
Lady Macedonia, he had conceived that it was as absurd as asking
the Monument to dance. But here was a dilemma ; a partner must
be found ; and Lady Macedonia soon cut the gordian knot. Taking
Sir George by the hand, and leading him as a victim up to Mr.
Doveways, adroitly giving to the company the appearance that she
was the lady introduced, she addressed poor Doveways, and said,

" My freend, Sir Geordie, is unco poleete in introducing ye to me ;
and, faith; Mr. Doveways, I will e'en dance with ye, according to

512 JUDGING BY APPEARANCES.

your deseeres, for I have lang wushed to form your acquaintance ;
and, as an old Scotch proverb says, ' The maire ye ken, the maire ye
leeke.' "

Poor Doveways cast a look of wretchedness at Rosa, and bowing
profoundly, handed Lady Macedonia to the quadrille, muttering
something like " I am very happy." Rosa curtesied pensively as her
mother presented to her Sir Larry. Never did a quadrille go off
worse. Matilda was enraged at her younger sister's carrying off her
beau, and her anger was not decreased by her having to dance with
a little elderly foreign Count, who wore powder, and sported a pig-
tail. Lady Macedonia danced with great prowess at Mr. Doveways,
who seemed rather to dance from than with her. Poor Rosa moved
with submissive apathy, whilst Sir Larry's round cheeks were flushed
with satisfaction. Lady Railtravers watched the scene with delight,
and whispered to Sir George, that if Sir Larry did not take with
Matilda, he was a capital catch for Rosa. The only two dancers
that were completely happy were Captain Bruen and his corpulent
beauty ; for, in spite of etiquette, these two would dance together in
this, as they had done in the preceding quadrilles. I enjoyed Lady
Railtravers' illusion ; for I knew that Mr. Doveways would be a far
better match for her daughter Rosa than the other.

Never did a match party produce greater disasters. In three weeks
Captain Bruen went off with his fat partner ; it was entirely a love-
match on both sides. Sir Larry, by the advice of a friend, read all
the fashionable novels, that he might learn to make love, but in
vain ; for, in spite of the efforts of both father and mother, Rosa
could not bring herself to listen to his addresses. My friend Dove-
ways made Rosa an offer ; — never shall I forget my surprise when
he showed me her delicate, mild, but firm REFUSAL ! Doveways took
the disappointment keenly to heart, and went off to Florence. To
Florence after him flew Lady Macedonia Grizzle, on account of her
health. Sir George and Lady Railtravers repaired to Boulogne.

Poor Rosa, the most beautiful in form and face, the most graceful
in manners, the most artless and innocent, the most frank and affec-
tionate, never lived to realise her mother's anticipations. I think I
now see her timid varying countenance, and hear the playfulness of
her voice, giving charm to her delicacy and young sensations at life
opening to her in prospect. Rosa was disappointed in her love, and
died early of consumption.

" Never again," said I, " will I pique myself upon my penetra-
tion; for never did it strike me that poor Rosa was deeply, fatally in
love with Captain Bruen III"

EARLY FRIENDSHIP;

OR, THE SLAVE OF PASSION.

HENRY FORTESCUE has been some years numbered with the dead,
or the following impressive narrative would not yet have seen the light.
Nor would I give it now, were one being in existence who could re-
cognise with any painful sensation the facts I shall record. Facts
they are, clothed only in the garb of fiction so far as relates to actual
names and situations. There is always something in the language of
truth which carries with it its own certificate ; and the story itself,
which has dwelt, unimparted, on my mind for many and many a year,
will, now that I can safely and honestly divulge it, ease my recollection
of a load which, from accumulated burthens of my own, I have felt a
hundred times a disposition to shake off. But the integrity of even
boyish confidence I believe is seldom broken. For my own part, I
would not for the wealth of worlds abuse a secret reposed in me in the
unsuspecting days of youth, any more than I would the apparently
more important communications of matured age. In fact, we might
generally risk the latter rather than the former ; for it is observable
that the secrets confided in middle and advanced age are seldom of a
nature which compromise character, or, if imparted, such as would
endanger respectability. We grow cautious, if we do not grow wise, as
we grow old ; though even caution must be considered as one of the
humbler attributes of wisdom.

Henry Fortescue was my schoolfellow, and my earliest friend. He
protected me from the tyranny of bigger boys because I was weakly,
and seemed to love me the better for having protected me. There
have been worse causes than this for devotion on the part of a young-
ster in after-life towards a young man in many respects his superior.
He finished his school education many years before myself; but he
never forgot his early protege. We did not, however, meet again until
he was in his twenty-third year, and he was my senior by about six years.
Accidental associations at this time brought us into frequent collision,
and adventitious circumstances had rendered us mutually serviceable
to each other. The dissimilarity of our ages, particularly felt at the
period of life to which I allude, made me regard Henry Fortescue for
some time as a superior ; and in many respects he was really so. His
mariners were highly attractive, his person unusually handsome, his
education finished, and his birth just above the middle rank of society.
With such advantages, it can be no matter of surprise that a lad in all
these respects beneath him should be nattered by his notice, and at-
tached by his regard ; and, whatever might be his genuine feelings
towards me, who had little more than high spirits and good nature to
recommend me, his early kindness and subsequent notice bound me to
him with a sort of romantic affection, which would have induced me
cheerfully to risk my life in his service or defence.

Young persons, at the age I have described myself to be at the
period I refer to, are rarely indeed remarkable for examining very mi-
nutely into the real characters of their chosen, or rather accidental,
associates and friendships. I did not examine at all. I was first at-
tached by kindness, and afterwards somewhat dazzled by the acquire-

514- EARLY FRIENDSHIP;

ments of my friend, and altogether flattered by his confidence. To the
common eye, the coarsest iron may be so polished as to resemble steel ;
the basest copper may be so washed as to pass current for gold. Ex-
perience, too often dearly bought, teaches us to look beneath the sur-
face, and to separate the ore from the refined metal ; but those who
look for, or expect to find, the discernment of experience in youth,
prove only their own inexperience. The young, amongst many enga-
ging qualities, — of which this open confidence, this very want of circum-
spection, is assuredly prominent, — the young, I say, see no spots on
the sun's disc ; while the philosopher, with his smoked glass, not only
sees, but counts and describes them. It would indeed be to dash with
bitterness the cup of youth, could the penetration and foresight of age
be at once conveyed to their understandings, when all the glowing
fancies, the warm anticipations, and buoyant hopes of their vital spring
were bracing with joyous elasticity their highly-wrought imaginations.
It were cruel kindness, were it possible, to instil this precocious wis-
dom, and worse than cruel to debar that precious period of life of its
natural and best delights.

The weaknesses, the frivolities, the errors of the young, are there-
fore justly regarded with a lenient eye. The offspring of the monarch
of the woods must be a whelp before he can become a lion ; and the
mind of man must " grow with his growth, and strengthen with his
strength," through many a slow gradation, before it can arrive at that
stage of advancement when reason is to become the guide of judgment,
and judgment the master of passion.

Henry Fortescue had just sufficient fortune, derived from the be-
quest of a near relation, to enable him to mix in good society, and to
preserve a straitened independence. His parents had wished him to
follow one of the learned professions ; and after some years had been
lost in hesitation rather than in deliberation, he discovered that it was
too late to commence the necessary studies ; and having some consider-
able expectations hereafter from a rich maiden aunt, who had always
shown great affection towards him, he soon determined to adopt the
indolent plan which his inclination suggested, and to continue to live
on the adequate, but still slender means, I have before described.

With that sort of desultory education, which enables a young man of
good address and agreeable manners to pass muster in the world, he
now considered that his acquirements were all-sufficient for the pur-
poses of a private gentleman, and soon gave himself up to that fatiguing
" idleness," which consists in a round of dissipation, and which has been
emphatically and most truly considered " the root of all evil."

Henry Fortescue had no ambition, and as little foresight. He
laughed at the suggestion of marriage, which he denominated a state
of servitude and thraldom if maintained in purity, and as one of aban-
doned infamy if violated in its avowed and sworn integrity.

In these acknowledged feelings there was too much of unquestion-
able truth to excite any sentiments beyond those of pity in some sedate
minds, and of applause in many honest ones ; and had his opinions
been founded on firmer ground than his imagination, and proved con-
sistent in the end, he might have passed onward to age with the cha-
racter of a respectable old bachelor, and died perhaps in the arms of
some affectionate niece, who might have long anxiously watched his
declining health, while calculating the precise amount of the promised

OR, THE SLAVE OF PASSION. 515

inheritance or bequest, on which depended the fruition of her own long-
anticipated matrimonial arrangements.

But fate had otherwise ordained.

Henry Fortescue's denunciation against marriage was by no means
the result of a phlegmatic temperament. His passions were strong,
and his admiration of the softer sex ardent, — s-o ardent, indeed, that
the indulgence of his passions had, very speedily after he became his
own master, in some degree impaired the slender independence of
which I have spoken ; still it was not without some surprise on my
part that he one day laughingly announced to me that he had reviewed
the subject of his favourite professions, and had arrived at last at a dif-
ferent conclusion.

" Then," said I, " you are about to reform, and marry ? "

His only answer was a deep sigh.

" You reasoned so well, and so convincingly," I continued, " on your
former resolutions, that I am justly entitled to hear the motives which
have influenced your renunciation of them."

" My reasoning," he replied, " was too just to be controverted, or at
least refuted; but when I adopted it, I had never known what it was
to love."

" Oh ! ho ! " I exclaimed.

' The fox that laugh'd at each snare he pass'd
Was caught in a simple trap at last ! ' "

" Alas ! my dear young friend," he very seriously replied, " this is
no jesting matter."

He now proceeded to confide in me his " tender tale of love." He
had many months before become acquainted with the only daughter of
a wealthy merchant, a very young and beautiful girl, to whom he had
gradually become devotedly attached, who had evinced, and at last ac-
knowledged, that his passion was as warmly returned ; but that the
enraged father, having discovered their reciprocal understanding, and
having far superior views in life for his only child, (having indeed,
already selected the man whom he preferred, on commercial considera-
tions, as her future husband,) had at last peremptorily forbidden him
the house, in which he had been for some time almost domesticated,
informing him at the same time, " that the young lady was in fact
already engaged, — and that, having been brought up to fear as well as
to respect parental authority, she had easily abandoned all idea of op-
position to their will, — had yielded cheerful obedience to her sense of
duty, and had given a solemn and voluntary promise that she would
never more see or correspond with her new admirer until one or both
of them were otherwise disposed of in marriage."

For many weeks after this confidential communication I grieved
to see my somewhat libertine friend a victim to his absorbing passion,
and a prey to that morbid melancholy, which is at once the con-
sequence and the solace of a sincere and devoted affection. It was
evident enough, even to me, that he had never before known what a
real passion meant. He had heretofore been like the voluptuous bee,
that gathers sweets from every flower, whether wholesome or poisonous,
and too often, like the worm that works its insidious way into the nas-
cent bud, to canker and destroy the blossom ; but never till now had
he appeared to settle on one object that genuine affection, which has
been rather hyperbolically said by Goldsmith to be

516 EARLY FRIENDSHIP;

" On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest."

This mood in my early friend had lasted many months, when he ap-
peared to make a desperate effort to rally, and resume his wonted
gaiety. One morning he called upon me, as I plainly saw, in a state
of some excitement.

" Ralph," said he, " desire yourself to be denied for half an hour, as
I have something particular to say to you." I did as he desired, and
he began — " You once asked my motive for changing, or I should rather
say, for not adhering to my principles in regard to marriage. I gave
you a satisfactory one, — namely, that when I formed those principles I
had never known what it was to love. I now again propose departing
from them ; but my present motive is a very different one."

" You astonish me ! " said I.

" I knew I should," replied he, " and have rather astonished myself,
— but so it is. I never, my dear Ralph, so much required the encou-
ragement of a friend as I do at this moment. You are younger, little
man," as he had frequently called me from our boyish days, " you are
younger than I am ; but 1 know not where to seek advice but from
one in whom I can confide my whole heart and soul."

I was about to reply, when he proceeded —

tf I have far outrun my limited income. My creditors have applied to
my father ; and I would die rather than involve him and my mother in
difficulties, which it is alone my business to repair. They are, happily,
independent, thank God ; and I would not abstract one iota from their
comforts to relieve myself from abject misery."

" My dear Henry," I replied, interrupting him, " I have a little hoard
of money, which is yours from this moment." And I rose to fetch it.

" Stop, stop," cried he ; " this is far from my meaning."

" But," said I, " I have no use whatever for some eighty or ninety
pounds in my writing-desk."

" Eighty or ninety pounds, my little man, will go but a small way
towards paying nearly two thousand. I am seriously so far involved.
And now hear the truth. A lady of unimpeachable character, with a
fine fortune, unencumbered, — that is, without parents or guardians, —
has condescended to cast on your humble servant an eye of approba-
tion,— or whatever you may please to call it. The lady is not very
young, or remarkably handsome ; but — but — attend to the but, my dear
Ralph — she has at least thirty thousand pounds for her fortune. She is
a widow ; but what of that ? I hope she may possibly love a young
husband better than, as report goes, she ever loved her departed old
one. Now my notion is, that with such a lady, and her fortune, I may
pass a contented life, though, after what you already know, I never can
pass a happy one. What say you ? "

" I am very young and very ignorant," I replied ; " but it strikes me
that your heart being already devotedly engaged — "

" The heart must not be brought into a question of this sort," he re-
torted. " I love, I adore Julia still, and ever shall. I never loved
another, and never can — "

" Then do not marry another," I replied ; " for that, to my poor
understanding, would appear a base violation of every feeling of truth
and integrity, which is most valuable to man in the discharge of his
allotted duties."

" You speak warmly, my friend," he replied.

OR, THE SLAVE OF PASSION. 517

" It is for your sake I speak so. Whether my passions are weaker
than yours, or my acquired sense of right stronger, it is not for me to
decide ; but I shudder when I see the dilemma in which you are about
to involve yourself."

" This is all mighty wise, my dear Ralph ; but why bring passion
into the affair ? What has passion to do with a simple mariage de con-
venance, — or, if you prefer it, a mariage de raison ? "

" Nothing," I replied ; " and for that very reason I argue against it.
What happiness can be expected, or rather what misery may not be
anticipated, from a union without affection, — or, what is still worse,
with the affections wholly and for ever, as you say, devoted to another
being?"

He sighed heavily, and replied, " Of happiness I never spoke or
dreamt ; but it seems you disapprove of my necessary plan."

" I do, as one which in the end must necessarily involve your own
misery."

" Then, my friend, we must part for the present. I cannot lose
time in argument when I have resolved on action. I have, as you
know, always been the creature of impulse. It is now too late to
reflect; for

' I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die.' "

While uttering these lines with a theatrical air, he shook me by the
hand, and before I had time to utter another word he was gone.

It was nearly twelve months before I again beheld him. I heard,
indeed, that he was married to the rich widow, and had departed on a
continental tour, and subsequently that they had returned, and were
living in a handsome style in the neighbourhood of Berkeley Square.

Circumstances at last brought us together in society. There was a
momentary hesitation on the part of both as our eyes met, but it was
rather of surprise than doubt. I met him as one always meets an old
friend who has been long lost ; received his not uncordial pressure of
the hand with a warmth which left no doubt of the pleasure the meet-
ing afforded to both, and which at once awaked all our bygone and
half-obliterated feelings.

Few things give a greater zest to friendship than the renewal of
kindly intercourse after a temporary, and perhaps unavoidable inter-
ruption. Persons suffering under misfortunes of any kind are too apt
to think themselves slighted by those with whom they have for-
merly lived in habits of friendly intimacy ; and indeed it requires no
small exertion of liberal feeling to make the necessary allowances for
such occasional estrangements; but these, in fact, arise much more
frequently from casual inadvertency than from premeditated neglect ;
and the consciousness of having merited even a gentle reproach too
often permits us to delay the reparation until a sense of shame renders
explanation difficult, and apology painful ; and thus are loosened, and
at last broken, some of the best and dearest ties of our nature.

After some interesting conversation, and a recurrence to old times, I
could not avoid remarking to him how much he was altered ; for he
was indeed looking wretchedly ill. He hastily withdrew me to another
room.

" Ralph," he said, " when we last parted, we separated as friends
whom adverse opinions had divided ; but I have the same reliance still

518 EARLY FRIENDSHIP ;

on your truth and your integrity, and I cannot withhold from you a
secret which weighs upon my heart, and which is the final termination
of all the follies you have deplored, and all the wretchedness, I hope
and trust, which I have drawn on my own heart and conscience, by the
unbridled indulgence of my unrestrained and unblessed passions.
Breakfast with me to-morrow morning, and you shall learn the whole
of rny fearful and most warning history."

I promised to do so, and again we parted.

On the following morning I was punctual to my appointment. Our
breakfast was taken in silence, only interrupted by occasional common-
place remarks on the weather, &c. ; for my friend appeared lost in
thought, as preparing himself for some painful communication. He
was indeed extremely pale, and had lost much of the freshness of youth,
and all its gaiety.

When the things were removed, he desired the servant to deny him
to every one, as he should be for some time engaged on particular
business. He then drew to the fire, stirred it, threw himself back in
his chair with a deep sigh, and thus began.

" I have scarcely closed my eyes during the past night. At one
time my heart smote me for having promised to communicate a dreadful
secret, which is not altogether my own, and which cannot be divulged
without involving a being whom I would now cheerfully lay down my
life to redeem from a situation in which my accursed passions have
involved her. But I again reflected that I could have no hope without
the counsel, and perhaps assistance, of a tried and faithful friend, and
my heart assured me that I might look in vain for one of that descrip-
tion, if I found him not in you. I ask for no pledge, because I know
you are incapable of betraying the trust I am about to repose in you.
You are already aware of my motives in marrying ; and I trust and
believe that Mrs. Fortescue has never yet felt a moment's regret for
the selection she had made. Love I never professed, for you well know
that I had no heart to bestow — it was lodged once and for ever in the
breast of another — but I have ever treated her with kindness and at-
tention ; and I flatter myself that, up to the present time, she has con-
sidered herself a happy wife. But you are already aware also of my
long-avowed and oft-repeated opinions in regard to marriage, and that
I regarded any violation of the vowed fidelity in that state, on the part
of man as well as of woman, as an act so infamous as to entail equally
on either the contempt, and scorn, and reprehension of the world. This
opinion is still unchanged, though in that confession I pronounce my
own condemnation. But even such degradation in my own eyes and
those of the world I would be content to bear, were it not for the
greater horrors that surround my far less guilty victim. You remember
the name of Julia ? "

" Good God ! " I interrupted, " not she, I trust ! "

" You must not interrupt me," he exclaimed ; " and do not — for
God's sake, do not reproach me, when my own heart is throbbing with
remorse, and almost bursting with a load of misery arid self-accusation.
It is indeed of Julia that I must speak. I was long a great favourite,
as you know, with her parents, until they discovered the attachment
between her and myself; and when our future correspondence was
prohibited, with vanity, which was not perhaps altogether unnatural,
I conceived myself to be insulted, if not absolutely injured. With this
feeling, I left no stone unturned to obtain a clandestine interview ;

OR, THE SLAVE OF PASSION. 519

but she was too well guarded and watched, or, as I sometimes feared,
too indifferent, to give me a chance of success. Letter after letter was
returned unopened, and at last a short note was brought to me from
Julia. It was couched in cold but determined language, and merely
informed me that she had given a solemn promise, which no power on
earth could induce her to violate, to hold no farther correspondence
with me until one or both should be otherwise disposed of in wedlock.
Indignantly I tore this letter into a thousand pieces. You remarked at
the time these matters occurred, as I well remember, the distracted
state of my mind, and the intense sufferings I underwent. In the
midst of these I determined on a ruse. I wrote to the father, in the
hope that he would relax his vigilance. I stated that his daughter's
letter had convinced me of the inutility of farther perseverance ; that
I was now satisfied that I had mistaken her gentle kindness and con-
descension for a warmer feeling ; and that I began to suspect that I
had been somewhat deceived by my own heart, which, though it could
not fail to appreciate her virtues, I now found quite as deeply deplored
the loss of the long-enjoyed society of her parents as of her own en-
gaging presence ; in short, that I gave up all my former presumptuous
and silly fancies ; and therefore ventured to express an earnest hope
that I might be permitted occasionally to renew my visits, and not to
be considered, as his harsh sentence had decreed, an alien from his
house and ever hospitable table.

" To this letter I received a very cutting and sarcastic answer in the
frigid form of a note, which I will now read to you."

So saying, he took from his writing-desk the note, and read as fol-
lows : — <e ( Mr. Bankson presents his kindest regards to his young
friend, Mr. Henry Fortescue. He is delighted to learn that his sen-
timents have undergone so sudden and so salutary a change, and sin-
cerely hopes that the restoration of tranquillity to his own bosom may
produce a corresponding peace of mind in a family whom his "mistaken
views" have plunged into much affliction and disturbance. Neither
Mr. nor Mrs. Bankson have in any respect altered their opinions of
Mr. Henry Fortescue's amiable and varied attractions. They have
had too serious and severe a proof of them : and while they regret, at
least as sincerely as he can do, their deprivation of an agreeable associ-
ate, they must still adhere to the opinion that prevention is better than
cure ; and that until their daughter or Mr. Henry Fortescue shall have
otherwise irrevocably disposed of themselves, they should not again
subject the "gentle kindness arid condescension" of their daughter to
be mistaken for a " warmer feeling" At the same time Mr. B. begs
to assure Mr. Henry Fortescue that when he has verified his profes-
sions so far as to have put himself in a matrimonial position in any
other quarter, as he is happy to say his daughter is on the eve of doing,
it will afford him and his family the highest pleasure to renew an
intimacy which was always a source of pleasure, until it became also
one of irreconcilable apprehension.
" ' Throgmorton Street,' &c. "

My poor friend folded up this note, and replaced it in his desk, with
the air of a man, who, having sustained a grievous injury, and exhibit-
ed his forbearance in not resenting it, exclaims, " What think you of
that, sir ? "

But I did not interrupt him, and he continued,

520 EARLY* FRIENDSHIP;

" You will scarcely believe, my dear Ralph, the effect this note pro-
duced upon me. I was not so destitute of vanity as to have been
blind to the obviously marked preference, and I may say allurements
of the respectable widow, who is now my wife. I called on you with
a warm anxiety to receive your approbation of a measure on which I
had already decided, and was startled by the objections which your
younger, less practised, and better feelings, at once raised to my
scheme. Had I listened to you, and reflected, I might have been
spared those bitter pangs which I feel are now hastening me to my
grave. But, as I before said, I was already determined; and, like
the generality of men who think they ask advice, I was only seeking
an opinion to corroborate and strengthen my own. I married — not, if
I must lay bare my whole heart as I now ought to do — without the
hope of an early restoration to the fireside of Mr. Bankson : but, as
Heaven shall eternally acquit or condemn me, with a heart as remote from
a guilty thought as ever innocence itself presents before the throne of
its unerring judge ; with an unknown, and therefore indescribable feel-
ing, I panted once more to see and enjoy the society of my beloved
Julia ; but in marrying another, who was to relieve my mind from the
pressure of pecuniary difficulties, I had most solemnly resolved to ve-
rify my own system, and to prove an honourable, just, and conscien-
tious, if not a loving husband. I therefore passed two months on the
Continent with my wife, in order to fortify my resolution, and if pos-
sible to wean my heart from its unfortunate predilection. I recalled
all my old maxims of the duties attached to the married station ; and,
as I thought, by a determined effort of reason, persuaded myself that
I could now meet Julia Bankson with no other feelings than those of
a passionless and attached brother. In justice to myself — and I re-
quire, indeed, every palliative that the most indulgent friendship can
afford me — in justice to myself I ought to state, that even previous
to my marriage I had frankly avowed to the liberal widow the simple
story of my rejection, without, of course, compromising the young lady
by a declaration of the return she made me. I told her, with truth,
that, however I had deviated from the straight path of moral right,
this had been my first and only real attachment ; and she so fairly ral-
lied me on my notions of Jlrst love, hinting not obscurely her know-
ledge that I had not led the chastest of lives, that I felt almost sorry
that I had so unnecessarily made a painful, and, as I felt, humiliating
confession.

" We had sent to Mr. and Mrs. Bankson the usual announcement of
our marriage, and, no sooner was our return from the Continent pro-
claimed in the newspapers than the tickets of those persons were left
at the hotel at which we had taken up our temporary residence, — I
must abridge my story, dear Ralph, or I shall fatigue you — and my-
self."

" I am riveted," said I, " and burn with impatience for the con-
clusion."

" I shall not long detain you now," he said ; " but I am faint," and
he rang the bell, and ordered brandy. He had, indeed, exhibited
frightful emotions during some parts of his unaffected narrative ; but
he appeared determined to go through with it, as a man mortally
wounded in the act of committing some atrocious crime will sometimes
struggle for life to make confession of the diabolical villany he had
perpetrated.

EARLY FRIENDSHIP. 5#1

The brandy was brought in, and Fortescue swallowed a bumper
glass of it.

It was the first time I had ever seen brandy swallowed in that way,
and most especially in the morning. I made some movement, or some
ejaculation, which attracted his notice.

" You are surprised at this," said he. " Learn to be guilty, and you
will learn the value of brandy ! Boy ! dear Ralph ! may you never,
never know that the oblivion of intoxication is the only, — ay, save
death, — the only refuge for crime ! "

I saw his eye reverting to the bottle, and I removed it.

f( Ay — ay," he said, ' ' you are right, or I might not be able to
finish my story.

"Well, sir," he at last resumed, "visits of ceremony were ex-
changed, but Julia never appeared. It was something to look at the
dwelling which contained a being who, though I would not admit the
consciousness, still remained the primum mobile of my existence. I
sometimes left my house with a deliberate intention of visiting the
gallery of the House of Commons, and found myself at the entrance to
Throgmorton Street, or even before the gate of her actual residence.
On one of these occasions I ventured to knock at the door, and, in-
quiring after the family, left my name, and retreated as if I had com-
mitted a felony.

" In a day or two after a similar propensity led me to the same spot,
and an increased confidence enabled me to inquire of a footman whom
I had never seen before, if Mr. and Mrs. Bankson were at home. The
answer was a negative — both were absent ; and Miss Bankson ? — ' She
is at home, sir/ was the reply.

" ' Say that Mr. — say that a gentleman requests to speak with her/

"I was now in the house which contained that jewel, of all others
on earth the most precious to me. At the next moment I became
alarmed at the agitation which shook my frame, — my heart beat with
frightful rapidity, — I felt the blood rushing to my head, — my feet like
ice, and my limbs trembling beneath me. At this moment I wished
myself a hundred miles in some other direction. At the next, the door
opened, and the footman re-appeared.

" ' My young lady, sir/ he said, ' begs to be favoured with your
name/

" This was an instant relief to me ! How I should at that instant
have borne her presence I know not. I recovered my recollection suf-
ficiently to say.

" ' I ought, not, perhaps, to have troubled Miss Bankson. I leave
my card, and will wait on Mr. and Mrs. Bankson another day ;' and
precipitately left the house.

" I should not have dwelt so particularly on this circumstance, had
it not produced an event. The following morning Mr. Bankson called
upon me at an early hour. He shook me very cordially by the hand.

" ' I have heard of your visit yesterday/ said he, ' and have hastened
to express not only my approbation, but my obligations also, for the
delicacy and propriety of your conduct. I am now convinced that we
may meet once more as friends, and, if it be your wish, as intimate
ones. Let us begin without ceremony, and bring your wife to dine
with us enfamwe to-morrow/

<f ' For my own part,' I replied, ' nothing can afford me greater plea-
sure ; but Mrs. Fortescue left me two days ago on a visit for a week

VOL. VII. 2 P

522 EARLY FRIENDSHIP.

or two to a relation in Worcester, while I am detained in town on bu-
siness which requires my attention.'

" ' Then at six/ said he, ' we shall expect you/

" We now conversed for some time on the common topics of the
day, and parted with the same cordiality as we had met.

" I had now time to collect myself, and prepare my spirits for an in-
terview which I still dreaded. But I had no cause : she did not make
her appearance till the moment when dinner was announced ; and then
hastily acknowledged my salutation, and taking her father's arm, de-
scended to the dining-room. That hasty recognition of my presence
had not, however, passed unnoticed by me. I observed that she never
raised her eyes from the ground, but that her face and throat were suf-
fused with a crimson blush. There were two other gentlemen present
besides myself and our entertainers ; and it so happened that I was
seated nearly opposite to her. I now saw at a glance that she was
pale as death ; but, notwithstanding, was far more lovely than ever.
In two years that I had not seen her, her graceful form had expanded,
for she was now only eighteen years of age, into the richest bloom of
feminine beauty. The gentleman who sat beside her was that accursed
Mr. Vanderspecken, by whose patronized addresses she had been so
long persecuted. He was marked in his attentions ; and, though they
appeared to be coldly received, I felt a strong desire to strangle him.
The dinner was altogether a painful one to me ; but I rallied my
spirits, and exerted all the little powers I possessed to make myself
agreeable, as in former and happier days, and so well, at last, suc-
ceeded, that I saw out of the corner of my eye that even Julia could
not repress a smile while the rest of the party were enjoying a hearty
laugh.

" Why do I dwell on these trifling and minute particulars ? I know
not, unless it be that they were anything but trifling to me ! But I
will not dwell upon them, or describe the progress of our renewed in-
timacy. Enough that I became what I had formerly been — a daily
visiter. My wife wrote to me frequently ; and, as she was often the
subject of our conversation, I read them occasionally passages from her
letters ; especially, I must admit, such as spoke of her attachment to
me, of the happiness she always enjoyed in my society, and her deep
regret that the increasing infirmities of her relation were likely to de-
tain her from me for a longer time than she had anticipated.

" In the mean time an opportunity soon presented itself for an eclair-
cissement with Julia. I began by half-seriously, half-playfully reproach-
ing her with having abandoned me, and this she answered more seriously
than I had expected, for she burst into tears, and exclaimed with pas-
sionate vehemence, that it was unmanly to jest on such a subject, or to
charge her with the violation of an engagement which her wretched
heart had ever held sacred, and which I, and I alone, had coolly, basely,
and deliberately broken ! You will guess my astonishment and agony
at hearing this charge. I stood for some moments appalled. The ex-
pression of the features when the heart adjusts the index is not easily
mistaken. I asked what she could mean ? reminded her of the many
letters she had returned unopened. She had'never received or heard
of a single one ! I spoke of the cold and cruel letter she had sent me,
declaring her firm resolve to abide by the promise she had given
never to see me more. With almost a shriek she vowed she never had
penned to me a single line ! and that if any such letter had been re-

EARLY FRIENDSHIP. 523

ceived, it must bave been written by her mother, whose hand-writing
her own exactly resembled ! That a promise, indeed, had by dreadful
violence been extorted from her by her father that she would not write
to me, and that she had been kept a close prisoner in her own apart-
ment for many weeks, excepting when ordered to attend when the
hateful Mr.Vanderspechen, whom they had endeavoured to force upon
her acceptance, was invited to renew his abhorred addresses. That
during the whole of this time she had been assured by both her parents
that I had treated the subject of my attachment to her with the ut-
most levity. That I had spoken of her as a mere child in haste to ob-
tain a lover ; and had at last been shown a letter from myself to her
father, corroborating, to a certain extent, the facts which they had
stated. Every feeling of my nature roused, as you may well suppose,
to refute these atrocious slanders with a vehement, yet connected
statement which carried upon its surface the stamp of truth, I explain-
ed all I had suffered, and all I had attempted. I had, unfortunately,
in my pocket-book her father's detested sarcastic letter, which I in-
stantly produced. She read it with almost breathless horror. I then
briefly told her of my embarrassed situation; of my belief that she was
lost to me for ever ; of the widow's attachment ; of my pure and holy
wishes to restore some portion of my lost happiness by purchasing once
more at any price the chastened enjoyment of her beloved — her adored
society. Not one syllable beyond the solemn truth did I dare to utter.
She saw — she felt — she comprehended as I proceeded the artful means
which had been adopted to separate us. She burst into an agony of
tears, not unaccompanied by my own. I endeavoured to support, to
console her. Her head fell upon my shoulder. O God I could I for-
get for ever that moment of delirious transport ! "

Just then I observed that my unhappy friend became, if possible,
paler than ever : his lips and his cheeks were livid ; his features were
slightly convulsed; and he threw himself back on his chair, hiding his
eyes and forehead with both his hands. He sobbed aloud.

I urged him to take something — brandy.

<< No — no — no," he uttered, in a voice scarcely articulate, " not
now ! — not now ! I have nearly finished," and after a violent effort he
recovered sufficiently to add : —

" I cannot proceed thus ! indeed I know not how I can proceed at
all ! Circumstances — strange and maddening circumstances — every
thing conspired to produce the fall of innocence as pure as ever en-
tered heaven. I again appeal to that heaven to witness the absence of
every bad intention in my own heart. It was infatuation ; it was de-
lirium ; it was Fate ! and she was ruined !

Again he sank back exhausted in his chair. I had struggled hard
to suppress my own emotions at various parts of this calamitous story.
I now, though long anticipating the event, uttered a wild cry of hor-
ror. My wretched friend started up with a degree of maniacal fury,
and shouted,

" Do you exclaim at that ! ay, do ! it is indeed enough to make a
host of angels weep ! But, mark what follows, and prepare to hear a
legion of devils laugh ! The crime — the abhorred, unconscious crime
of that fatal evening never was again repeated. It was not want of
opportunity either ; but both shrunk with an awful consciousness of
guilt from every approach to tenderness. With the worm that never
dies gnawing at my inmost soul, I met her, — again arid again I met

2 P 2

524 EARLY FRIENDSHIP.

her ; for with her the wreck of my heart was lodged. I saw her gra-
dually fading in beauty, and sinking in health. At last — not three
days ago — she told ine — I cannot speak the rest. Yet one word, and
I have done — I am destined to become a father !"

To attempt consolation at such a moment I felt would be hypocriti-
cal, if not cruel, as well as useless. I sat for some minutes collecting
my agonized thoughts in the best manner I could ; and coming at last
to the conclusion that he had some specific object for making me use-
ful in his confidence, I said, with as much self-command as I could as-
sume : —

" And now, my dear and unhappy friend, in what possible way can
I serve you ? "

" I have thought much of suicide," he quickly answered.

' ' What ! " said I, " and leave that hapless girl alone to struggle
with the bitter world, and her more cruel shame ! O Henry ! such a
thought is unworthy of a man, and disgraceful to his nature. No, my
friend, you must live to bear not only your own share of the burthen,
but to support hers also. To die is easy ; but even I, your warmest
friend — I, and the whole world, would denounce you as a paltry
coward should you dare to shrink from the responsibility which your
own frailty has incurred, and thus deprive your forlorn victim of the
only prop on earth on which she can rely ! "

He rose from his seat, took from his waistcoat pocket a vial, and
dashed it to atoms beneath the grate. He then turned and embraced
me with the affection of a brother, saying, " You have saved my life,
— -for her I — or that laudanum would have done its work before an
hour had elapsed. My sole object in this conference was to have re-

? nested your friendly — your brotherly care — to my adored Julia when
should be no more. Blessed be the day when I first protected you
from ill-usage when we were boys at school ! I will live — I will en-
dure ! — come what may, I will not rob my forlorn victim of, indeed,
her only friend ; nor will I fly from life while I have on earth so true
a friend as you."

Though I could not contemplate the slave of passion, and the in-
tended suicide without some emotions of horror, I own that compassion
predominated over every other feeling. I stayed with him the remain-
der of that day, and summoned every little art of consolation I could
command to soothe and encourage him ; and on his solemn promise to
see me on the following day, we parted at a late hour.

The remainder of this distressing tale, as I afterwards heard it, will
be quickly told. The parents of the unhappy girl soon discovered in
the altered and wan appearance of their child that she was miserable ;
and their long-obscured sagacity at length glanced at a suspicion that
they had incurred imminent danger to her peace by bringing her again
into the society of one who had so clearly been the object of her young
affection, although they had long persuaded themselves that that affec-
tion had been forgotten. To account for such fatuity it can scarcely
be necessary to explain that Mr. Bankson, though a thorough man of
business, was wholly ignorant of the world ; that his mornings were ex-
clusively devoted to his ledgers ; his early afternoons to the Exchange
and Lloyd's ; and his evenings— except on foreign post-days, — to his
amusements. It was his especial pride to make his table a constant
scene of mirth, as well as hospitality ; and the gay manners, elegant

EARLY FRIENDSHIP.

and fashionable deportment, and amusing anecdotes of my friend
Fortescue, once enjoyed and appreciated, he had felt a vacuum at his
table which he never ceased to regret, and was delighted once more to
fill, the moment that the event occurred which completely silenced his
former apprehensions.

Now, indeed, when too late he saw, or suspected, that the for-
mer feelings of his daughter had only been suspended, and that the
presence of a once-favoured lover, though now a married man, had re-
vived the dormant predilection, he became ferociously enraged at the
discovery of his own imbecility. His intemperate anger, instead of
falling on himself, was first vented on his weak wife, who had all along
been a mere instrument in his hands. The next object was his daugh-
ter ; who, habitually timid from the excessive rigour of her education,
had long been accustomed to yield obedience without deliberation, and
to submit implicitly to authority without ever presuming to listen to
the adverse dictates of her own judgment.

He now broadly accused her of having broken her former sacred pro-
mise ; demanded her keys, and searched in every drawer for letters or
papers to convict her ; but he sought in vain ; still nothing could sub-
due his fresh and too just suspicion. He made her swear — and she
swore truly, that she never had received a single letter from Henry since
their separation. He would not believe even her oath ; and imprecated
the most bitter and blasphemous curses on her head if she did not cor-
roborate her assertion by the only proof she could give of her veracity,
by an immediate marriage with Mr. Vanderspechen, who had so
long been a supplicant for her rebellious and refractory heart.

She threw herself on her knees ; she clung to his ; begged and im-
plored in tears, and accents that might have softened the heart of any
other tyrant, to be spared the dreadful crime which obedience to his
commands would entail upon her. The hardened brute actually spurn-
ed the fragile creature before him with his foot, and left her again, de-
nouncing curses on her body here, and her soul hereafter, if she did not
obey his commands within six days. The prostrate being — prostrate
in heart and mind, as well as body, lay happily senseless on the floor
where this detestable scene had occurred, for many minutes; and
when she revived she found herself supported by the arms of a mother,
who, weak in understanding, and irresolute in heart, had never been a
mother in the proper sense beyond the moment she had given her birth.
No confidence could exist between the wretched girl and such a pa-
rent ! The latter only preached obedience to her father's will, and
charged her to escape her father's curse !

Lost in agony, and forgetful at that moment of all else beside, she
cried, " Do with me as you will. I am a wretch, and must endure."

Three days after this scene she was married by special licence to Mr.
Vanderspechen, and was carried fainting from the ceremony to her
bed.

The dreadful excitement she had undergone produced a strong re-
vulsion in her frame ; and a confidential female servant, whose devo-
tion Fortescue had secured by liberality, but far more Julia by kind-
ness, within two hours after acquainted him that he was no longer in
danger of becoming a father !

Henry Fortescue and Julia never met again. No.

526

STANLEY THORN.

BY THE AUTHOR OP " VALENTINE VOX."

CHAPTER XII.

In which Stanley performs a gallant action, and the Widow is smitten again.

ALTHOUGH Amelia felt for the moment disappointed on hearing
that Stanley had not been to Richmond, she soon became reconciled
when he described the pleasure evinced by Mrs. Joliffe on their way
to Kew Bridge ; while the fact of his having recovered his watch
(which was really a miraculous fact as he explained it) formed, in her
gentle judgment, a sufficient excuse for his return being so long de-
layed.

Stanley was not, however, satisfied with himself. He appreciated,
perhaps more highly than ever, the amiable characteristics of Amelia,
and upbraided himself with neglect. He began to doubt the strength
of his own resolution ; and often, while reflecting, would he press
his lips together, and unconsciously frown, as he fixed upon a new
course of action indicative of anything but an insensibility to the
value of self-esteem, the loss of which leaves a man nothing of value
to lose but his life, and of that he then soon becomes reckless. He
had frequently felt that he was not all a husband should be to a wife
so affectionate and gentle as Amelia ; but on this particular occasion
so determined was he to reform, that — like a drunken individual,
who makes up his mind to stick to tee-total principles for a week or
a month, when the probability is that he will then break loose, and
become worse than ever — he resolved to devote to her society ex-
clusively three entire days ! To this resolution he adhered ; and
Amelia was happy, and had recourse to every means at her command
of rendering that happiness mutual ; but before the first day was at
an end, he began to view it as an act of penance. Amelia was all he
could have wished her to be ; her society was pleasing, indeed very
pleasing ; but the pleasure was too monotonous ; the thing be-
came irksome ; the hours passed slowly, and hung heavily as they
passed ; still he would with manly firmness adhere to his resolu-
tion ! — although it would perhaps have been as well if he had
not.

On being released from this self-imposed punishment, — for a pu-
nishment he unhappily held it to be, — he proceeded to the Albany to
make his first call upon his friend, Sir William Wormwell, the per-
son by whom the soi-disant Colonel had been so mercilessly exposed.
He found him engaged in the pleasing occupation of perusing a
number of letters from certain of his constituents, who were most
sincerely anxious for him to procure for their sons and nephews
appointments in the Treasury, the Customs, the Colonies, or in fact
— not being by any means particular — in any other place within the
scope of his influence, which letters he invariably answered to the
effect, that he was particularly sorry the application had not been
made two days earlier; but that he would, notwithstanding that
unfortunate circumstance, assuredly bear the thing in mind.

His reception of Stanley was of the most cordial character. He

STANLEY THORN. 527

appeared to be highly pleased to see him ; and, after a long and mu-
tually interesting conversation, Stanley prevailed upon him to pro-
mise to have a quiet domestic dinner with him and Amelia at six,
when, remounting his favourite horse Marmion, he rode towards the
Park.

The day was fine, and, although it was yet early, there was rather
an unusual number of equipages in the ring. Of these equipages
there was one which especially attracted Stanley's attention. It was
an elegant phaeton, drawn by a pair of extremely beautiful white
ponies, upon one of which was mounted a chubby little fellow, who
might have been seven years of age, although he was quite small
enough to have been taken for four. In this phaeton were two
rather brilliantly dressed persons, who appeared to be mother and
daughter, both of whom took particular notice of Stanley as he
passed them, which notice was repeated as often as they met.

This excited his curiosity. No arms appeared upon the panel, nor
was there any crest upon the harness ; while the only livery of the
boy was a jacket with three rows of round gilt buttons, a cap with a
gold tassel, top-boots, and an infinitesimally small pair of smalls.
He had therefore no means of ascertaining who they were, although
he felt anxious to do so. In fact his anxiety on the subject became
very intense ; for they met with unusual frequency, and each time
their notice became more marked.

" Well," thought Stanley, " this is very singular. Who can they
possibly be ? I never saw them before to my knowledge, although
I appear to be known to them. I wish they'd bow : I'd ride up
and speak to them at once."

Inspired with a very lively hope that they would give him this
little opportunity of ascertaining who they were, he turned again ;
but scarcely had he done so, when a lady, whose horse had taken
fright, dashed past, crying aloud, " Oh, save me ! — save me ! "

In an instant Stanley put spurs to Marmion. "Courage, cou-
rage ! " he cried. " Be silent, and you are safe."

The lady was then about twenty yards a-head ; but, although the
horse she rode was a fine, swift, high-spirited creature, the beautiful
Marmion being put upon his mettle, flew over the ground in gallant
style. They were soon side by side. •

" Hold firmly by the saddle," cried Stanley, f< and drop the reins."

The lady did so, and he seized them in an instant, and tried to
check the horse, but in vain ; for as Marmion now made strong
efforts to shoot a-head, he found it difficult to control even him. All
he could do, therefore, was to keep them side by side in the middle
of the road, and thus they dashed on until they turned round by
Cumberland gate.

At this point the lady's courage failed. " Oh ! " she exclaimed,
" I am off ! — my head whirls ! — I can hold on no longer !— I can hold
on no longer ! "

" Trust to me, then," cried Stanley, who, just as she was on the
point of fainting, caught her firmly by the waist, when, sending his
foot home in the near stirrup, and checking Marmion's speecl, he
drew her off; but the pommel of the saddle caught her habit, and
held it. He tried to rend the robe, but could not, the whole of his
strength being required to sustain his inanimate burthen, who was
then in a more perilous position than before. Bob, however, fortu-

528 STANLEY THORN.

nately came up at the moment, and having unhooked the garment,
Stanley had the lady safely in his arms.

" Stop Marmion ! " cried Stanley, who had not then the power to
do it himself.

Bob spoke to him, and Marmion knowing the voice, at once slack-
ened his pace, when Stanley was able to pull him up with ease.
Bob then dismounted, and having received his master's burthen,
who was still quite insensible, and looked pale as death, bore her
manfully in his arms to the lodge, where every exertion was made
with a view to her recovery.

By this time the lady's servant had providentially reached the spot,
upon a mare that appeared to be about the same age as himself,
which could not have been much less than sixty, and immediately
afterwards a carriage drove up containing two of the lady's relatives,
when Stanley, conceiving that he could render no farther assistance,
satisfied himself that the patient was recovering, remounted his horse,
and rode at once through the gate.

Bob, however, did not at all approve of his immediate departure.
He held it to be altogether premature. It was a proceeding to
which he gave no countenance, and which, indeed, he never would
have sanctioned, his private opinion being, that if his master had
remained until the lady had had time to look a little about her,
something bearing the semblance of a present would have passed
between her friends, in the fulness of their gratitude, and himself.
Nay, so deeply was he impressed with this conviction, that, as his
master remounted, he intimated as pointedly as possible the expe-
diency of being permitted to take upon himself the entire responsi-
bility of catching the lady's horse, which would have answered his
purpose perhaps equally well ; but as even this privilege was denied
him, notwithstanding he urged that it was six to four at least against
the lady's groom catching that horse in a fortnight, he thought it so
particularly unhandsome and unkind, that as the natural sweetness
of his disposition began to change, he pronounced it to himself, con-
fidentially, to be enough to make a man's blood boil.

On reaching home, Stanley found his mother, whom Amelia had
prevailed upon to dine there that day, and who was therefore
about to dismiss her carriage. Her spirit was perturbed. She was
fidgety and absent, and indeed appeared to have been altogether
put out. She had passed Mr. Ripstone that morning ; and Mr. Rip-
stone, by bowing with peculiar politeness, had awakened those beau-
tiful feelings which, cradled in her heart, had been sleeping so
soundly and so long. She would have stopped the carriage, — she
would have sent the servant after Mr. Ripstone, — she would have
taken his hand with the same cordiality as before; but serious con-
siderations, having reference to the correctness of such a course,
backed by an acute recollection of what had occurred, began to
struggle with her inclination, and long before the contest was de-
cided Mr. Ripstone was out of sight. Still she felt it very strongly ;
it interfered to some extent with the usual regularity of her pulse,
while her nerves appeared to be — nay, really were — quite unsettled.
But when she heard from Stanley that she would — ay, that very day
— dine with Sir William Wormwell, a Baronet, and a member of
Parliament to boot! — regret was supplanted by hope, and her spirit
became much more tranquil. She deemed it then singularly fortu-

STANLEY THORN. 529

nate that she had not spoken to Mr. Ripstone ; and as she proceeded
home to dress, — for that was held to be, under the circumstances,
absolutely indispensable, — she thought that Lady Wormwell was a
remarkably euphonious name, and, moreover, one which could not
be objected to even by the most fastidious. Lady Wormwell ! —
really it sounded very well, and would look very well on a card.
Lady Wormwell — Mrs. Ripstone. No comparison could be ration-
ally instituted between them ; — the difference was very wide, and
as to which name was entitled to the preference ! — Well, she reached
home, and having dressed irresistibly, returned to Stanley's house
filled with high aspirations, and was soon introduced to Sir Wil-
liam. Why, what a charming person ! Really his manners were
very elegant ! How excessively polite ! And what beautiful
eyes ! Then his figure ! It was not perhaps quite so sym-
metrical as that of her Stanley ; but then it was an altogether
different style of figure. And then his voice ! It was a fine, manly,
musical voice, and he spoke so firmly, and with so much confi-
dence,— and yet not unpleasantly so ! — by no means ! On the con-
trary, it was precisely as a man ought to speak. She never could
admire moustaches before ! — oh ! she could not endure even the sight
of them; but then the moustaches of Sir William were such an im-
provement, that she marvelled they were not more generally worn.
His conversation, too, was very entertaining ; while his style was
extremely interesting and eloquent. In a word, her delight was un-
qualified until dinner was announced, when she could not resist
slightly envying Amelia, he led her into the dining-room with such
surpassing grace. And yet this was not as if it had been a matter
of choice ! Had it been so, why, the case being different, might have
engendered very different feelings. Nor was it as a matter of pre-
ference that he sat where he did. She, singularly enough, thought
of this tranquillising circumstance, and the thought had a very good
effect ; for, after all, of what real importance was it ? He sat imme-
diately opposite, — their eyes could, and did, meet constantly ; and
although, in taking wine with Amelia, he looked at her probably a
little too long, when he took wine with her his look was far more
expressive, — indeed so much so, that she felt in some slight degree
embarrassed at the moment, which- Sir William perceived, and
hence addressed his conversation during dinner, not exclusively, it is
true, but chiefly to her ! There was then, of course, not the smallest
doubt about the matter in her mind, nor was there the smallest
doubt about the matter in the mind of Sir William, who continued
to be as fascinating as possible until the ladies retired.

And then, with what rapture did she applaud his companionable
qualities ! He had made a very favourable impression upon Ame-
lia, she regarded him as an exceedingly gentlemanlike person ; but
the widow was in ecstasies ; and, while he and Stanley were over
their wine, she thought every minute an hour at least.

At length the reunion took place ; and Stanley in due time pro-
posed a quiet rubber, which seemed to impart pleasure to all ; and,
as the widow very pointedly intimated that she should like to have
the self-same party at her own house on an early day, the day was
fixed, and they passed the remainder of the evening, delighted alike
with each other and themselves.

530 STANLEY THORN.

CHAPTER XIII.

Treats of the Park, and of Stanley's mysterious interview with Madame
Poupetier.

BUT one thing was now required to render the happiness of Ame-
lia complete, and that was the formal forgiveness of her father.
Poor Mrs. Joliffe laboured hard to effect this ; but the Captain was
not to be moved. He was sorry for Amelia : he was not — he could
not be — angry with her: his anger was directed against Stanley
alone ; for, as far as her prospects of happiness were concerned, he
would have been more content had she married a tradesman. He
looked upon Stanley as a youth without any fixed principles, — one
who had been thrown upon the world without any sufficient check
upon his passions, but with the means at his command of giving per-
fectly full swing to them all ; who had to form casual friendships,
which are at all times most dangerous ; who had nothing on earth to
seek but pleasure ; and who, while fascinated by every novelty, had
the power to indulge in every vice. He therefore felt that domestic
happiness would be entirely out of the question ; that, as love cannot
live upon itself alone long, new scenes and temptations would wean
him from home, if even they failed to drag him into the gulf of
dishonour. The only thought which in the slightest degree shook
his resolution to avoid a formal reconciliation was this, that he
might, perhaps, be able to guide Stanley ; to advise him what to
embrace, and what to shun. But, when he reflected upon Stanley's
headstrong disposition ; when he considered that any opposition on
his part might have the effect of stimulating, rather than that of
checking him, he soon became convinced that the only wise course
he could pursue was that of holding out until the time of danger
had passed, conceiving that the additional claim which Amelia — in
consequence of having sacrificed all else for him — then had upon his
tenderness, would, in the event of a reconciliation, no longer exist,
while the vanity of Stanley might prompt him to act so as to enable
him anon to exclaim with exultation, e< Now what have you to say
against me or my conduct ? What becomes now of your baseless
fears, your unworthy suspicions and guesses ? " This consideration
had great weight with the Captain ; and, as nothing arose to out-
weigh it, he adhered to his resolution firmly, notwithstanding the
pathetic appeals of Mrs. Joliffe, who advanced with great point that
what was done could not be undone, with a variety of other argu-
ments equally novel and strong.

Amelia, of course, had no knowledge of the Captain's real motive.
She attributed the fact of his continuing to withhold the expression
of his forgiveness to anger alone, yet hoped that reflection would
cause him to relent. She would have gone at once, and thrown her-
self imploringly at his feet ; but she could not without having Stan-
ley's consent, which she perfectly well knew she could never obtain.
This necessarily made her feel sad ; and, as she appeared to be un-
usually depressed the day after that on which Sir William dined
with them, seeing that the few pleasant hours they had passed re-
called to her recollection the very many happy evenings that were
associated with the home of her childhood, Stanley felt pleased
when the widow, who was in the highest possible spirits, called, ac-
cording to promise, to take Amelia for a drive.

STANLEY THORN. 531

As soon as they had departed he ordered his horse, and proceeded
at once to the Park. It was Sunday ; and, being, moreover, an ex-
cessively hot day, the appearance of the Ring was most animated and
imposing.

Perhaps there is no scene in Europe that can be held to be com-
parable with that which the Ring in the Park presents on a fine
sultry Sunday. In the Drive there are vehicles of every description,
from the aristocratic curricle to the " vun oss shay." The countess,
luxuriantly lounging in an almost horizontal position in her britska,
is followed by the butcher in his " ginteel drag " who (while " his
missus, the vife oft' his buzzum," is injuring her spine by leaning over
the back of the buggy, with the laudable view of doing the thing
with all the luxuriant grace of the countess,) is constantly looking
with an expression of agony at the unexampled tightness of the bel-
lyband, and continually making " a hobserwation " to the effect that
" she mil set a leettle matter forrard, if she doesn't petickler vornt to
be spilt." Then comes the rouged roue, with the rein hooked ele-
gantly upon his little jewelled finger, and with an eye-glass stuck
with surpassing dexterity between his finely pencilled brow and his
blooming cheek-bone, staring on the one hand into every carriage,
and smiling at every milliner that passes on the other with all the
power of fascination at his command. The dowager follows, with
her three devoted daughters, whom she has put up at auction to be
sold to the highest bidder, and who are engaged, as a mere matter of
duty, in making eyes of the most provoking caste at those gudgeons
whom their ma is most anxious for them to hook. Then comes an
acknowledged leader of ton. Every eye is upon him. Whatever he
may wear of an extraordinary character, whether of shape, make, or
colour, is held to be the mode, which is a source of hebdomadal mor-
tification, inasmuch as when his aspiring civic imitators fancy that
they have matched him to a hair, they find on the following Sunday
that he is dressed in a style most astonishingly different altogether.
After him comes an old-fashioned phaeton, drawn by an old-fashion-
ed horse, driven by an old-fashioned gentleman, with an old-fashion-
ed lady behind him, guarded by an old-fashioned groom. The lady
and gentleman when abroad never speak to each other by any
chance. Neither has to communicate anything of which the other
knows nothing : they know each other's sentiments so well that they
are mutually impressed with the conviction that they need not trou-
ble themselves to explain them. For a period of fifty years, proba-
bly, they have been man and wife, and their feelings, their preju-
dices, their hearts so mingle, that the death of one — come when it
may, will be death to the other. Then follows the invalid, taking
the air in a chariot, with all the windows up ; thus inhaling the
fetid atmosphere he has a thousand times exhaled, with a view to
the expansion and more healthy action of his tubercled lungs. A bar-
rister follows, riding in state to extend his practice, and calculating
— with correctness too, seeing that he must be an extremely eminent
person to be enabled to live in such style, — upon his airings not only
keeping his carriage, but putting into his pocket an additional thou-
sand a year. And thus they go round and round, to see, and to
be seen ; flanked by equestrians from the duke to the draper, while
the promenade is thronged with pedestrians of every grade ; of whom
the majority, however, are milliners and tailors, raising dense clouds of

532 STANLEY THORN.

dust behind a row of individuals at the rails, who are engaged in
usurping the functions of the Crown by conferring high honours
upon persons unknown, and pitchforking people up to the peerage
by wholesale. The heart of him who thus establishes himself as a
fountain of honour must teem with a peculiar sort of secret satisfac-
tion. It is highly irrational to suppose that, were it not so, he would
take so deep an interest in the thing ; for he is never by any chance
at a loss for a title. A black-whiskered bootmaker appears : of
course he is an illustrious duke. His Grace is followed by a bag-
man : he is some celebrated marquis. A blackleg, who, in his
early youth practised as a pickpocket, follows him : he is some dis-
tinguished baronet, whose family originally came over with William
the Norman in the reign of Queen Anne, when Richard the Third
started over the Alps after Julius Caesar. And this is pleasing to all
concerned : it pleases him who imparts the information as well as
him who receives it, while it meets the views of those upon whom
the titles are conferred, and whose aim is to be taken for persons of
distinction.

Stanley had not been long in the Park when he met the identical
pony-phaeton, which he had noticed so much the day before. The
same ladies were in it, and the same lightning glances were ex-
changed. What could they mean? They might be friends of the
lady whom he had rescued ! and yet, had they not glanced thus
pointedly at him before that event took place? They met again
and again ; but, at length, having made a sign to Bob, they gave
him a card to deliver to his master, and drove at once out of the
Park.

Bob rode forward ; but as Stanley was then at the door of his
mother's carriage, and continued to ride by the side of it until they
reached home, he very prudently deferred the delivery of the card
until then, when he explained, of course, how, and from whom he
had received it.

" Madame Poupetier ! " said Stanley, as he looked at this card, —
" Madame Poupetier ! " It was a name of which he had never be-
fore heard. What could be the meaning of it ? What could be the
object of Madame Poupetier ? He was engaged in conjecturing
during the remainder of the day, and conceived ten thousand ideas
on the subject. The thing was so unusual, — so mysterious ! As a
matter of courtesy he must call upon Madame Poupetier ; and as a
matter of courtesy, well seasoned with curiosity, he did call the fol-
lowing morning.

Madame Poupetier was at home ; and, from the manner of the ser-
vant it was clear that she expected him, for he was shown at once
into a room which was ornamented with singular elegance and taste,
and which he could not help admiring while the servant went up
with his card.

In due time the lady appeared ; and, having taken Stanley by the
hand, she gave him at once a most fascinating smile, and they sat on
the sofa together. It was plain that she had been a most splendid
woman ; for, although she was at that period passe, traces of beauty
still remained of a character unusually striking.

" I feel honoured by this visit," she observed, with a slight foreign
accent, " but indeed you must forgive me for having had recourse to
the means by which it was procured."

STANLEY THORN.

533

Stanley bowed, without replying ; for the fact is, he did not ex-
actly understand it even then ; besides he felt at the time in some
slight degree confused, which Madame Poupetier in an instant per-
ceived, and therefore drew somewhat nearer, and took his hand
again, and having pressed it, continued to hold it in hers.

" This is rather warm ! " thought Stanley, as she looked into
his eyes as if she then felt quite happy. " I suppose that I shall
presently know what it means."

Madame Poupetier at this moment of interest drew nearer still,
and then resumed. " The fact of my having sent my card to a
gentleman to whom I never had the pleasure of being introduced,
must, I am aware, appear strange ; but when I explain that I was
impelled to that course by a lady who is dying to impart to you
something of importance, I feel sure that you will pardon me."

" I beg," said Stanley, " that you will not name it. I am happy,
without reference to the means, in having become acquainted with
Madame Poupetier."

Madame bowed and smiled, and pressed his hand again, and drew
so closely to him then, that she absolutely fixed him in a corner.

Have I the pleasure to know the lady of whom you speak ? " in-
qu red Stanley.

I believe not," said Madame Poupetier.
Have I never seen her ? "

It is the lady who was with me in my phaeton yesterday."
Oh, indeed ! and the day before ? "

Yes : she is a dear, good, affectionate girl ; and I love her so
much, that I consented to resort to the only means available of let-
ting you know that she had something to communicate."

" Indeed you are very polite. I shall be happy to receive any
communication from that lady. But — pardon my curiosity — do you
know at all the nature of that communication ? "

" Why," said Madame Poupetier, who smiled, and shook her head
playfully, " I do know ; but Isabelle would scold me if I were to
explain."

" Then I will not by any means urge you. When shall I have the
pleasure of being introduced ? "

" Isabelle is very anxious for it to 'be as soon as possible; but
matters of this description are managed with more pleasure to both
parties without the formality of a set conversation. I have therefore
undertaken to solicit the favour of your company to-morrow even-
ing, when, as I am going to have a little party, all can be explained
without any reserve. Will you do me the favour to join us ? "

" With pleasure," replied Stanley.

" There 's a good creature. Poor little Isabelle ! — she will be so
happy ! You will not be late ? Say ten o'clock — do not be later
than ten."

" I will not," replied Stanley, who rose to take leave.

" Then you forgive me? " said Madame Poupetier, as she smiled
and rang the bell. " You are sure, quite sure that you forgive me ? "

" I am delighted," returned Stanley, " as well with this introduc-
tion to Madame Poupetier, as with her polite invitation."

" It will be a sort of fancy dress party," she observed ; <c but you
need not come in any fancy costume. If, however, you wish to ap-
pear like the rest, I have one with which I am sure you will be

534 STANLEY THORN.

pleased, although I think you cannot possibly assume a more attract-
ive character than your own."

Stanley appreciated this flattering observation, and having acknow-
ledged the receipt of the compliment inclosed, he gracefully took
leave of Madame Poupetier, stepped into his cab, and drove off.

It was perhaps but natural that he should have deemed all this
strange. The interview, instead of satisfying his curiosity, had had
the effect of exciting it still more. What could be the nature of this
important communication ? What could it mean ? Surely no lady
had become desperately enamoured of him ? It was very mysterious !
The warm manner of Madame Poupetier, her mode of pressing his
hand, and sticking so closely to him on the sofa, with other little
familiarities, with which he could not feel displeased, he attributed
to the fact of her being a French woman, in whom they were un-
derstood to be common civilities. This he could — or, at all events,
fancied he could — well understand, but nothing more ; all the rest
was a mystery, which had still to be solved.

CHAPTER XIV.

Explains the characteristics of a peculiar Fancy Dress Ball, at which Stanley
receives a highly interesting communication.

AT the appointed hour the following evening, Stanley — having
explained to Amelia that, as he was going to sup with a few friends,
he should not perhaps return quite so early as usual — repaired to the
residence of Madame Poupetier, who received him with characteristic
grace, and expressed herself highly delighted.

" Mademoiselle Mignon," said Madame Poupetier, after the first
cordial greeting, ' ' has not yet arrived ; but I expect her every in-
stant. You cannot conceive how enraptured she was when I told
her that you would be here."

Stanley now, of course, perceived that Mademoiselle Mignon was
the little Isabelle, and having observed that he should be equally
delighted to see her, he was sent with an attendant to put on the
dress she had prepared, and was then led by Madame Poupetier
into a brilliantly illuminated ball-room, in which there were from
thirty to forty persons assembled, of whom the majority were fe-
males, dressed in various styles, with so much elegance and taste,
that each style appeared to be absolutely the most attractive. He
had never before seen so much beauty. It appeared to be impossible
for the passion of envy to be excited there ; for although some were
habited as nuns, some as sylphs, and some as peasants, while others
were in Persian, Greek, and Turkish costumes, they vied with each
other in personal charms so successfully, that it would have been
indeed extremely difficult to point out the loveliest in the room.

As Stanley entered, eight very young and graceful creatures, who
appeared to have been under the tuition of some accomplished
maitre de ballet, were engaged in a picturesque dance, of which
several gaily-attired elderly gentlemen appeared to be lost in admira-
tion. At the upper end of the room a quadrille band was stationed,
and by the side of the temporary orchestra a group of old ladies,
with remarkably round, red, anti-aristocratical faces, stood discuss-
ing with surpassing volubility divers matters, in which they seemed
to take the deepest possible interest. But for this particular group,

STANLEY THORN. 535

which was not fairy-like in the slightest degree, the whole scene
would have appeared to be one of enchantment. This reduced it at
once in Stanley's view to reality ; and, as an elegant brunette at the
moment took his arm pro tew.'he began to notice the chief charac-
teristics of the scene, a variety of which struck him as being most
strange ; but that which he held to be more extraordinary than all
was the dearth, nay the almost total absence of young men. The
ladies danced with each other, promenaded with each other, and
chatted with each other exclusively, which Stanley conceived to be
not quite correct ; although it might have been reasonably inferred,
from their vivacity, that nothing was really wanted to render their
happiness complete.

He had scarcely, however, brought his mind to bear upon the
cause of this singular circumstance, when Madame Poupetier re-en-
tered the room with an exceedingly delicate beautiful blonde, whom
she introduced to Stanley as plain Isabelle. He had never before
beheld a creature so fair. Her skin was as clear and fine as that of
an infant, rendering more sparkling her brilliant blue eyes, which,
notwithstanding the whiteness of her lashes and brows, were pecu-
liarly expressive ; while her flaxen hair, soft and fine as silk, hung in
ringlets upon a bosom comparable only to animated wax.

There could be now no longer any doubt about which was the
loveliest girl in the room ; for, although she was dressed in the most
simple style, she, at least in Stanley's view, eclipsed them all ; while
— on recovering her self-possession, for she appeared somewhat tre-
mulous when Stanley took her hand — she spoke in tones of surpass-
ing sweetness.

There is probably nothing more really engaging than the simple
conversation of one who has acquired a sufficient knowledge of our
language to make herself just understood. Like the innocent prattle
of an infant, it fixes our attention, while we are interested and
amused, and almost imperceptibly inspires us with feelings which
are nearly allied to those of love.

Isabelle was born and educated in France. She had been at the
period of her introduction to Stanley but twelve months in England,
and knew just enough of the English language to make those with
whom she conversed comprehend what she meant. Stanley was
therefore charmed with her conversation, and gazed upon her as she
spoke as he would have gazed upon a child. Indeed he regarded
her but as a child, assumed a patronising tone, smiled at everything
she said, however seriously intended, and kept her hand playfully in
his.

' You will dance with me, Isabelle ? " said he.
Oh ! I vill be mos delight ! "

You are extremely fond of dancing, I presume ? "
' Oh, yes ! I vos lof it indeed veery great."
Well, then, we '11 dance the next set."

And they did so ; and nothing could surpass the elegant ease of
Isabelle, who glided through the figures like a fairy. Stanley now
became more delighted with her than ever, and went through the
following set, and then joined in a waltz, which he kept up with
spirit, until his knees began to tremble, and he had lost the point of
sight, when with great consideration he drew her arm in his, and
inquired if she did not begin to feel fatigued.

536 STANLEY THORN.

" Fatigue ! " she exclaimed, with surprise. " Oh non : I vill not
feel fatigue till the day beefore to-morrow."

Stanley believed what she meant to convey ; but as he felt fatigued
himself, he confessed it, and led her to a seat, when she gaily ex-
plained to him that she had on one occasion danced " tree days
effeery day, vid no daylight, no fatigue, no sleep," and he warmly
applauded her spirit.

" And now, Isabelle," said he, taking advantage of a pause, " what
is this highly important secret you are so anxious to communicate?"

" Oh," said Isabelle, blushing deeply, and pretending to adjust
Stanley's dress, " I cannot possible tell to you now : I am beesy."

" But, my dear girl, you may as well tell me at once."

" My dear girl ! " echoed Isabelle, with an expression of pleasure.

" Upon my word I beg pardon/' said Stanley ; " but really I am
so accustomed — "

" Accustom !" interrupted Isabelle, as she turned her blue eyes
full upon him — •" Accustom ! — Oh, yes ! " she continued, as her fea-
tures relaxed, " you have leetel sistare — dear girl — I comprehend."

" Well, then," said Stanley, " now, keep me no longer in suspense.
What is it?"

" Noting a tall beefore souper ! Indeed it vos not quite possible
to tell to you beefore."

Madame Poupetier now approached, and, after making a variety
of observations touching matters in general, but more particularly
with reference to the perfect understanding which appeared to exist
between Stanley and Isabelle, she expressed a highly laudable hope
that they were happy, and left them again to themselves.

" Have you known Madame Poupetier long ? " inquired Stanley.

" No ; not long. I vos not been in Engeland long."

" Your friends knew her, probably, before you arrived ? "

" Oh, no," said Isabelle, with an aspect of sadness. " My friends
nevare vos know Madame Poupetier." And as she spoke the tears
sprang into her eyes, which she tried, but in vain to conceal.

Stanley changed the subject in a moment; but before Isabelle
could reassume her wonted gaiety supper was announced, to the
entire satisfaction not only of the elderly gentlemen, but of the red-
faced ladies, who hailed the announcement with manifest delight.
They therefore at once slipped away, taking with them all who were
not then engaged in the dance, save Stanley and Isabelle, who found
pleasure in lingering until the conclusion of the quadrille, when they
followed of course with the rest.

On entering the supper-room, Stanley found everything arranged
in the most recherche style, and for the first time perceived that,
while engaged with Isabelle, the number of gentlemen had greatly
increased.

" Is that Monsieur Poupetier?" he inquired, alluding to a fine
portly person who sat at the top of one of the tables.

Isabelle looked and smiled, and then replied, " Non. Dere ne-
vare vos be Monsieur Poupetier. Madame Poupetier vos nevare be
marry."

" Indeed ! " said Stanley ; " I was not aware of that."

Isabelle looked and smiled again.

The champagne soon began to go round very briskly, and the
guests felt, in consequence, much less restrained. They conversed

STANLEY THORN. 537

with more spirit, and laughed with more freedom, and, indeed, there
were several present who displayed no inconsiderable share of true
wit. These, however, did not create the most laughter. The greatest
amount of merriment was produced by two aged individuals, who
had not a tooth between them, but who, nevertheless, exhibited the
chief characteristics of buffoons to such perfection that Mirth burst
the barrier of Pity to roar. Not, however, content with this pleasing
result of the laudable developement of his genius, one of them actu-
ally kissed two nuns who sat beside him ; and Stanley conceived, as
they offered no resistance, but, on the contrary, felt rather flattered
than not, that he was the father of those nuns, or their uncle, or
their guardian at least, until Madame Poupetier, who saw the
outrage committed, exclaimed, with appropriate solemnity, "My
Lord ! "

The expression of the noble individual's queer countenance on
being thus solemnly called to order, became so excessively droll that
it induced a simultaneous burst of laughter, which, being both loud
and long-continued, threw his lordship into a state of perfect rap-
ture, the powerful developement of which he managed by rolling re-
markably in their sockets his two odd eyes, with which, in point of
legitimate obliquity, nothing at all comparable in the annals of eyes
either ancient or modern exists upon record. The only person who
did not laugh at this highly-interesting exhibition was the noble
lord's rival. To him the effect was wormwood. He became ex-
tremely jealous. He held it to be a monstrous monopoly, and tried
to break it down ; but, although he laboured hard to eclipse the
noble lord, he eventually felt himself utterly extinguished.

It may here be remarked that champagne is a wine of which ladies
in general are fond : it were useless, perhaps, to dive to any depth
into the cause ; but that they do love it dearly is a fact which expe-
rience has placed beyond the pale of dispute. Such being the case,
then, it may, without any impropriety, be mentioned, that at this
particular period of the evening that light and lively wine began to
work its legitimate effects upon the elderly round-faced ladies by
whom the festive board was adorned, and who entered at large into
the general economy of the establishments over which they had re-
spectively the honour to preside. This appeared to be deeply inter-
esting to them, but not to Stanley : still his eyes might even then
have been opened, had not Madame Poupetier with great adroitness
suggested that the young ladies present were then at liberty to re-
turn to the ball-room, when, as this correct suggestion was acted
upon generally, Stanley and Isabelle joined them at once.

" Now, Isabelle," said Stanley, having led her to a seat, "what is
thi s grand secret ? "

Isabelle gazed at him intently for a moment, and then said, " Est-
il encore un secret ? "

(C Oui vraiement," replied Stanley ; " mats parlez Anglais. II m'est
difficile — il m'est difficile — de vous faire comprendre en Frangais ; en
meme temps j 'admire beaucoup plus — beaucoupplus — j 'admire beaucoup
plus votre Anglais que votre Frangais."

" Vich vos be de same to me myself, but different. Still I sail
try to pleasure you."

" Well, then," said Stanley. " Now what is it ? "

" Vy," said Isabelle, as she played with Stanley's chain, and ar-

VOL. VII. 2 Q

538 STANLEY THORN.

ranged it in various devices upon his vest, f< it is — I — it is veery
terrible to me to tell to you. I cannot possible."

" Why, you silly girl ? "

" Veil, you sail — you sail deviner — vot you call ? — guess — yes,
yes, you sail guess."

fc Impossible ! I cannot."

" Cannot guess ? Vot vill I do ? You vill not be angry ? Please
do not be angry ? "

" Angry, my dear girl ! Why should I be angry ? I cannot be
angry with you ! "

Isabelle raised her eyes, which then sparkled with pleasure ; but
dropped them again as she said, " Oh, it is veery shocking for me !
but it vill as veil bee done at last as at fost ! " when, taking a deep in-
spiration, she added, " I lof you ! " and buried her face in his bosom.

" And this is the secret," thought Stanley. "Well! I suspected
as much. Now how am I to act ? I must not be serious with this
poor girl. I must pass it off with levity, — treat it as a jest. Isa-
belle," said he playfully, " let me see your eyes."

Conceiving that his object was to test her sincerity, she looked at
him firmly in an instant.

" And so you really love me ? "

" Oh, yes, indeed ! I have veery dear great lof for you in my heart."

" Upon my honour I feel highly flattered."

" Oh, no : tere is no flatterie in verite. Indeed I vos not a tall flatter."

<e And, pray how long have I had the honour of your love ? "

" Evare, from ven I deed know you to see."

" Indeed ! Well, that is strange. But, Isabelle, what is the cha-
racter of your love ? "

" Te character ? I cannot tell. I nevare deed lof like tis lof bee-
fore. Oh ! it is happiness — yet it is not : it gives to me pleasure,
and yet it does not: it is te supreme — it is — oh ! — it is lof! "

" Now, suppose, Isabelle, that I were married."

" Marry ! oh, no, no, no ! you are not marry."

"But, if I were?"

" Vy, if you vere marry, it vill be veery terrible to me."

" Of course in such a case you would love me no more ? "

" No more ! Till evare and evare ! I vill not help it. But, no,
no, you are not marry a talL I perceive by you smile you are not,
vich is veery great felicity to me."

" Well, come," said Stanley, attempting to rise, f( shall we dance
the next set? "

"Yes — yes," said Isabelle ; " but — you have quite forget to tell
to me someting."

" Indeed ! What have I forgotten ? "

" You have quite entirely forget to say you lof me."

" Well, that is indeed very wrong, is it not ? "

" But," said Isabelle after a pause, " you have nevare tell to me
still ! — You do not lof me."

" Love you ? How can I resist ? I can't but love so sweet a girl."

" But, do you lof me vid de veritable lof vich is lof — vich is
true ? Ah ! vy you hesitate ? vy you not answer to me ? You are
— marry ! Oh, tell to me if it is so ! but do not — oh, do not be cruel
to say it is if it is not. Are you marry ? "

" I will not deceive you," said Stanley : " I am."

STANLEY THORN. 539

Isabelle dropped her head, and was silent. The tears flowed fast
though unheeded by her, and she looked as if the answer of Stanley
had been death to every hope she had cherished.

" Come, come," said he, " why are you so sad ? Because I happen
to be married ? Why, I hope to see you married soon."

" Oh, nevare ! You vill nevare see Isabelle marry : you vill ne-
vare see Isabelle more ! "

" Hark ! what is that ? " exclaimed Stanley, as at the moment he
heard a loud scream, followed by cries which had a thrilling effect.
" Remain here, my girl. Do not be alarmed. I will return to you
immediately."

Isabelle pressed his hand, and he darted from the room.

Following the sound of the voices, which now became more and
more loud, he soon entered the room in which supper had been laid,
and which at that time presented a scene of a character the most
lively and imposing. The tables were turned upside down ; the
chairs were broken ; the pier-glass was starred ; and the carpet was
strewn with the fragments of bottles, and saturated with wine ; and
while those of the guests by whom the sport was enjoyed were pull-
ing others back, and shouting, " Let them alone ! " the noble indi-
vidual who had produced so much mirth, and his rival, whom at
supper he had totally eclipsed, were mounted upon the sideboard, en-
gaged among the glasses in the performance of a musical pas de deux.

Stanley at first could not get even a glance at the principal charac-
ters engaged in the scene ; but having, by dint of great perseverance,
broken through a kind of ring, he perceived two of the red-faced
ladies devoting all their physical energies, with the view of getting
as much satisfaction out of each other as possible, to the manifest de-
light of those by whom they were respectively backed. One of these
ladies struck out like a man quite straight from the shoulder and
fairly ; but the other, though incomparably less scientific, did with
her talons the greatest amount of execution. They were both in a
state in which ladies ought never to wish to be, whether they do or
do not love their lords ; and being so, the highest object of each was
to damage the countenance of the other as much as she comfortably
could.

" Pray — pray, put an end to it, — pra'y ! " exclaimed Madame Pou-
petier, with an expression of agony. " Oh, the reputation of my
house ! — the reputation of my house ! "

Stanley, on being thus appealed to, at once interfered, but in vain.

"I'll teach her to run down my girls ! " shrieked the more scien-
tific of the two, who at the moment aimed a left-handed blow at her
opponent, whose cap, though adorned with pinks, lilies, and roses,
and long ears of corn, was so frightened that it flew off her head.
" I '11 show her the difference ! I keep them like ladies, and that 's
more than some people do," and she aimed another blow, which had
so powerful an effect upon the face of her opponent, that that lady
considered it expedient to close ; when, apparently with malice afore-
thought, she plucked off in an instant her more scientific antagonist's
coiffure, consisting not only of a violet velvet turban, with three
birds of paradise stuck up in front, but of an elegant, richly- curled,
highly-wrought peruke ! Oh ! to the delicate and strictly-private
feelings of that lady this was terrible indeed, — and it may not be al-
together incorrect to mention, that with her white bald head, and

540 CAPTAIN MORRIS.

her round red face, thus completely unadorned, she did not look so
comfortable quite as she did before. Still, although she felt it deep-
ly, while the other shrieked with laudable exultation, she flew at her
boldly again, and caught hold of her hair, expecting evidently a
similar result, which would have made her comparatively happy ;
but, albeit she tugged and tugged with becoming perseverance, she
found it so excessively natural that she really began to deem herself
conquered, inasmuch as she felt that she could not inflict upon the
feelings of her opponent so deep a wound as that which her oppo-
nent had inflicted upon hers. So natural a fact is it that, while she
cared but little about an exposure of her moral defects, over -which
she had control, she could not bear the exposition of those physical
defects, over which she had no control whatever ; and hence, not-
withstanding the enthusiastic promptings of her satellites, who really
gave her every encouragement to " go in and win," she snatched
from the ground her degraded coiffure, and rushed from the room,
amidst loud roars of laughter.

Stanley now began to feel convinced that some of the per-
sons there assembled were not of the most respectable caste ; but,
without at all dwelling upon the importance which ought to have
been attached to this conviction, he returned to the ball-room,, with
the view of rejoining Isabelle. He reached the couch on which he
had left her: she had vanished. He inquired of those around:
they knew nothing of her departure. He requested the servants to
search the house, and they did search ; they searched every room :
she was not to be found. He remembered the last words she had
uttered ; and became apprehensive of her having madly rushed to
self-destruction. He wished that he had not been so candid, yet felt
that he could not be blamed. He inquired of Madame Poupetier ; he
inquired of all whom he met ; he could not obtain the slightest in-
formation. He felt that during the disgraceful confusion she must
have escaped unperceived, and, being firmly convinced that she was
lost, he changed his dress, and left the house, with her last words
ringing in his ears, " You will never see Isabelle married : you will
never see Isabelle more ! "

CAPTAIN MORRIS.

A REVIEW.

WITH A PORTRAIT.

I.

HERE goes a review, such as Yellow and Blue

Its pages most glorious ne'er clapt in ;
And sure it were wrong, if in aught but a song

A notice we gave of THE Captain !
Hail, Morris ! the chief, prime bard of prime beef!

Other poets on feeding more airy
Their thin muses may starve — richer diet must carve

Our old Beef-Steak-Club Se-cre-ta-ry.

CAPTAIN MORRIS.

541

Moses tells us, that " when we 've reach'd threescore and ten,

Our work in the. world is nigh over ;"
And you '11 find it true still, search wherever you will,

From the house of John Groat down to Dover.
If that date we o'erpass, our strength is, alas !

Shrunk away down from giant to fairy,
Except in such case, as the reader may trace

In these songs of a non-a-ge-na-ry. —

$>ear IHornS [at ninety ]«
" Well, I 'm come, my dear friends, That my heart can yet glow with the

your kind wish to obey,
And drive, by light Mirth, all Life's

shadows a

ay ;
To turn the heart's sighs to the throb-

bings of Joy,
And a grave aged man to a merry old

boy.
Tis a bold transformation, a daring

design,
But not past the power of Friendship

and Wine;
And 1 trust that e'en yet this warm

mixture will raise
A brisk spark of light o'er the shade of

my days.
The swan, it is said by the poets, still

tries
To sing, if he can, a last song ere he

dies:
So, like him, my dear brethren, I '11

do what I can,
Though th' attempt savours more of

the goose than the swan.
When I look round this board, and re-
call to my breast
How long here I sat, and how long I

was blest,
In a mingled effusion, that steals to

my eyes,
I sob o'er the wishes that Life now

denies.
'Twas here my youth, manhood, and

age used to pass,
Till Time bade me mark the low sands

in his glass:
Then with grief that alone Death can

hide from my view,
I gave up the blessing, and sadly with-
drew.
But my sorrow is soothed, my dear

friends, let me say,
As your ' tribute of friendship ' I

proudly survey,

joy it reveals,
And my tongue has yet power to tell

what it feels.
How many bright spirits I 've seen

disappear,

While Fate's lucky lot held me hap-
pily here !

How many kind hearts and gay bo-
soms gone by,
That have left me to mingle my mirth

with a sigh.
But whatever be the lot that Life's

course may afford,
Or howe'er Fate may chequer this

ever-loved board,
So the memory of Pleasure brings

Sorrow relief,
That a ray of past joy ever gleams o'er

the grief.
And still in your presence more

brightly it glows :
Here high mount my spirits, where

always they rose ;

Here a sweet-mingled vision of pre-
sent and past
Still blesses my sight, and will bless

to the last.
When my spirits are low, for relief

and delight,
I still place your splendid memorial*

in sight ;
And call to my Muse, when Care

strives to pursue,
, Bring the steaks to my memory, and

bowl to my view.'
When brought — at its sight all the

blue devils fly,
And a world of gay visions rise bright

to my eye ;
Cold Fear shuns the Cup where warm

Memory flows ;
And Grief, shamed by Joy, hides his

budget of woes.

* A large and elegant silver bowl, with an appropriate inscription, presented by
the Society as a testimonial of affectionate esteem.

CAPTAIN MORRIS.

Tis a pure holy fount, where for ever I

find
A sure double charm for the body and

mind ;
For I feel, while I 'm cheer'd by the

drop that I lift,
I 'm blest by the motive that hallows

the gift.

Then take, my dear friends, my best
thanks and my praise,

For a boon that thus comforts and ho-
nours my days ;

And permit me to say, as there 's Life
in a Bowl,

That Taste forms its body, but Friend-
ship its soul."

III.
The Beefsteaks are done, — pepper, salt, mustard gone, —

Not a songman, or speechman, or quillman
Now is found in the haunt, where was heard their last chaunt —

('Twas a grog-shop, establish'd by Spilman).
Burnt down is the house where they used to carouse :

O Arnold ! what fun and vagary,
Before the old Strand had grown gaudy and grand,

Was by Exeter 'Change Me-na-ge-rie.

IV.

You ought not to think it was merely the drink

Brought those wonderful fellows together ;
To be sure we have heard that the bottle was stirr'd,

And the bowl too, in wintersome weather.
Though they never profess'd that " water is best,"

(See Pindar, translated by Gary,)
Yet something beside the wine's glowing tide

Was deem'd by those wits ne-cess-a-ry.

" Think not, because I praise my
glass,

That brute excess my song excites ;
That Nature's charms unheeded pass,

And nought of mental joy delights :
Did not my soul's best feelings wake,

My fancy's sweetest visions rise,
Soon would my lip that fount forsake

Where now my bosom's blessing
lies.

Tis the past ardours of my soul,

The glowing transcript of my joys,
That, brightly pictured in my bowl,

Enchant, and fill my moistening

eyes;
Tis the sweet trace of raptured days,

That fondly glide through Memory's

dream,
Tis that alone that wakes my praise,

And tempts me to the magic stream.

Tis warm devotion to those powers
That dwell in thought and mind

alone ;

Tis the sweet triumph of those hours,
When man's sublimest bliss is
known :

Did not my glass this heaven disclose,
For ever tasteless would it be ;

If there no blest Elysium rose,

Dead would be all its charms to

When wine
store,

unlocks

my

bosom's

It stirs no heartless boisterous noise ;
Far from the thoughtless revel's roar
My raptured fancy reaps its joys ;
My glass ne'er prompts the clamorous

din
That burst on Riot's senseless ear ;

But feeds a softer fire within,
And soothes the breast with Memory's
tear.

Yes! 'tis a soul-subliming cup,

That, with its pure refining glow,
Still wakes and lifts each virtue up,

And shows Love's eyes its heaven

below :
Then say not to my ardent soul,

That vicious Folly prompts her

mirth ;
Love's holy fervour charms my bowl,

And Virtue gives that fervour birth."

CAPTAIN MORRIS. 543

V.

And of songsters the first, sweetest cry i' the. burst,

Was Morris, from whom we are quoting,
Long caroll'd the strain which, to prince or to swain,

Sang of that on which mankind is doting.
But our times more demure, so pragmatic and pure,

Must (in printing, at least,) be more wary ;
Of his loves all and some, we must therefore be mum

In this our review li-te-ra-ry.

VI.

The days are now past, when the King before last

Was kicking the world all before him.
He was old, and too fat, full of fuss, and all that,

When, as King, we were call'd to adore him ;
But what were the tales of the gay Prince of Wales

When, as eaglet fresh fledged from his eyrie,
He first started forth, the prime star of the North,

Our ple-ni-po-ten-ti-a-ry.

VII.

Some songs here we know are very so-so,

In the style of a Laureate-ode ditty ;
But as old Fum the Fourth (see Tom Moore) had the worth

Of pensioning Morris, 'twas pretty
That in his old age he should ink out a page

With verses though heavy and hairy,
For him who, when young, he had charm'd in a song

Of a style that would bang Tipperary.

VIII.

Some remembrances old does our Nestor unfold —

We wish that he gave them more plenty, —
What a life he could write, if he chose to recite

All he saw up to ninety from twenty !
Two only we '11 take, in which the old lake

Sings out in a tone rather dreary,
Over palace o'erthrown, and tavern pull'd down,

And the death of a chief culinary.

"His last steak done, his fire raked And ne'er did Earth's wide maw a

out and dead, morsel gain

Dish'd for the worms himself, lies ho- Of kindlier juices or more tender

nest Ned. grain.

We, then, whose breasts bore all his His tongue, where duteous Friendship

fleshly toils, humbly dwelt,

Took all his bastings, and shared all Charm'd all who heard the faithful

his broils, zeal he felt;

Now, in our turn, a mouthful carve Still to whatever end his chops were

and trim, moved,

And dress, at Phrebus' fire, one scrap 'Twas all well-season'd, relish'd, and

for him. approved.

His heart, which well might grace This room his earthly heaven, when

the noblest grave, _. Fate drew nigh

Was grateful, patient, modest, just. The closing shade that dimm d his hn-

and brave; genng eye,

544

CAPTAIN MORRIS.

His last fond hopes, reveal'd by many
a tear,

And the last words that choked his
parting sigh,

Were that his life's last spark might ' Oh ! at your feet, dear masters, let
glimmer here ; ™» di» ' ' "

" Farewell for ever ! — Thus, then,

falls, at last,
The roof where all my proudest joys

have passed ;
Where Mirth, enthroned in splendour,

held her reign,
And Royal voices echo'd still her

strain :
That roof, where minds with Life's

high polish stored
Still graced the banquets of her glow-

ing board ;
Where Wit and Wisdom mingled

grave and gay,
And Reason revell'd with the Fancy's

play.

Farewell, farewell ! a sad memento lie
How Fame's lost lustre dims the sor-

rowing eye,
And bids the heart, long cheer'd by

Fancy's beam,
Sink in sad languor o'er the fleeting

dream.

Again farewell ! for ill my sight

can bear
Thy crumbling ruins, once so famed

and fair.
What art thou now ? a heap of rub-

bish'd stone ;
1 Pride, pomp, and circumstance' for

ever gone !

A prostrate lesson to the passing eye,
To teach the high how low they soon

may lie.
Dust are those walls, where long, in

pictured pride,
The far-famed Dilettanti* graced their

side;
And where so long my gay and frolic

heart
Roused living spirits round these

shades of art,

me die!

Sunk are they all, in heedless silence

lost,
Or 'midst the flames, as useless refuse,

cast;
All hid, all hush'd, — no vestige left to

tell
Where Mirth thus honour'd rose, or

where it fell :
Bare to the desert air now stands the

space
Long fill'd with classic taste and

fashion'd grace.

Down falls the Palace too! — and

now I see
The street, a path of deadly gloom to

me:

And, as I range the town, I, sighing, say,
* Turn from Pall Mall : that 's now no

more thy way ;
Thy once-loved "shady side," oft

praised before,
Shorn from earth's face, now hears thy

strains no more ;
And where thy Muse long ply'd her

welcome toil,
Cold Speculation barters out the soil.'

Thus sinks the scene — thus proud

emotions rest,
That fondly warm'd so long my flat-

ter'd breast ;
And now, to ease the sad regrets that

rise,
All-soothing Hope in cold oblivion

lies.

Let me forget, then, till that fatal day
That sweeps my time-worn frame, like

thine, away ;

For soon, alas ! my aged fabric must,
Struck by Fate's hammer, drop, like

thine, to dust."

IX.

Jolly Captain, adieu ! — Your song is sung through,

Chousetl out of your last derry down derry.
[As a matter of trade, 'tis fit to be said

That these songs all so joyous and merry,
In octavos a pair, in type very fair,

If you wish them to grace your library,
Slip a guinea quite gently in the palm of R. Bentley,

The Queen's Bibliopole Ordinary.]

* A club, composed of most of the travelled noblemen and gentlemen of the
kingdom, and called the Dilettanti, was held in the great room of this tavern.

5*5

GUY FAWKES.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

BY W. HARRISON AINSWORTH, ESQ.

ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER XII.
THE VISION.

BEFORE daybreak on the following morning, Garnet, who had
been engaged in earnest conference with Catesby during the
whole of the night, repaired to the sacred spring for the purpose
of bathing within it, and performing his solitary devotions at the
shrine of the saint. On ascending the steps of the struc-
ture, he perceived Guy Fawkes kneeling beside the fountain,
apparently occupied in prayer ; and, being unwilling to disturb
him, he paused. Finding, however, after the lapse of a few
minutes, that he did not move, he advanced towards him, and
was about to lay his hand upon his shoulder, when he was
arrested by the very extraordinary expression of his counte-
nance. His lips were partly open, but perfectly motionless,
and his eyes, almost starting from their sockets, were fixed
upon the boiling waters of the spring. His hands were clasped,
and his look altogether was that of one whose faculties were
suspended by awe or terror. Aware of the fanatical and en-
thusiastic character of Fawkes, Garnet had little doubt that^
by keeping long vigil at the fountain, he had worked himself
into such a state of over-excitement as to imagine he beheld
some preternatural appearance ; and it was with some curiosity
that he awaited the result. Glancing in the same direction,
his eye rested upon the bottom of the well, but he could discern
nothing except the glittering and bloodstreaked pebbles, and
the reflection of the early sunbeams that quivered on its steam-
ing surface. At length, a convulsion passed over the frame of
the kneeler, and heaving a deep sigh, he arose. Turning to quit
the spring, he confronted Garnet, and demanded in a low voice,

" Have you likewise seen the vision ? "

Garnet made no reply, but regarded him steadfastly.

" Has the blessed Winifred appeared to you, I say ? " con-
tinued Fawkes.

" No,11 answered Garnet; " I am but just come hither. It is
for you, my son, — the favoured of heaven, — for whom such glo-
rious visions are reserved. I have seen nothing. How did the
saint manifest herself to you ? "

" In her earthly form," replied Fawkes ; *' or rather, I should

VOL. VII. 2 R

546 GUY FAWKES.

say, in the semblance of the form she bore on earth. Listen
to me, father. I came hither last night to make my couch be-
side the fountain. After plunging into it, I felt marvellously
refreshed, and disposed myself to rest on that stone. Scarcely
had my eyes closed when the saintly virgin appeared to me.
Oh ! father, it was a vision of seraphic beauty, such as the eye
of man hath seldom seen ! "

" And such only as it is permitted the elect of heaven to see,"
observed Garnet.

" Alas ! father," rejoined Guy Fawkes, " I can lay no claim
to such an epithet. Nay, I begin to fear that I have incurred
the displeasure of heaven.""

" Think not so, my son," replied Garnet, uneasily. " Relate
your vision, and I will interpret it to you."

" Thus then it was, father," returned Fawkes. " The figure
of the saint arose from out the well, and, gliding towards me,
laid its finger upon my brow. My eyes opened, but I was as
one oppressed with a night-mare, unable to move. I then
thought I heard my name pronounced by a voice so wondrously
sweet that my senses were quite ravished. Fain would I have
prostrated myself, but my limbs refused their office. Neither
could I speak, for my tongue was also enchained."

"Proceed, my son," said Garnet; "I am curious to know
what ensued."

u Father," replied Guy Fawkes, " if the form I beheld was
that of Saint Winifred, — and that it was so, I cannot doubt, —
the enterprise on which we are engaged will fail. It is not
approved by Heaven. The vision warned me to desist."

u You cannot desist, my son," rejoined Garnet, sternly.
" Your oath binds you to the project."

" True," replied Fawkes ; " and I have no thought of aban-
doning it. But I am well assured it will not be successful."

" Your thinking so, my son, will be the most certain means
of realizing your apprehensions," replied Garnet, gravely.
" But, let me hear the exact words of the spirit. You may
have misunderstood them."

" I cannot repeat them precisely, father," replied Fawkes ;
" but I could not misapprehend their import, which was the
deepest commiseration for our forlorn and fallen church, but a
positive interdiction against any attempt to restore it by blood-
shed. ' Suffer on,' said the spirit ; ' bear the yoke patiently,
and in due season God will avenge your wrongs, and free you
from oppression. You are thus afflicted that your faith may be
purified. But if you resort to violence, you will breed confu-
sion, and injure, not serve, the holy cause on which you are
embarked.1 Such, father, was the language of the saint. It
was uttered in a tone so tender and sympathizing, that every
word found an echo in my heart, and I repented having pledged
myself to the undertaking. But, when I tell you that she

GUY FAWKES.

547

added that all concerned in the conspiracy should perish, per-
haps, you may be deterred from proceeding further."

" Never ! " returned Garnet. " Nor will I suffer any one
engaged in it to retreat. What matter if a few perish, if the
many survive. Our blood will not be shed in vain, if the true
religion of God is restored. Nay, as strongly as the blessed
Winifred herself resisted the impious ravisher, Caradoc, will I
resist all inducements to turn aside from my purpose. It may
be that the enterprise will fail. It may be that we shall perish.
But if we die thus, we shall die as martyrs, and our deaths will
be highly profitable to the Catholic religion."

" I doubt it," observed Fawkes.

" My son," said Garnet, solemnly, " I have ever looked upon
you as one destined to be the chief agent in the great work of
redemption. I have thought that, like Judith, you were chosen
to destroy the Holofernes who oppresses us. Having noted in
you a religious fervour, and resolution admirably fitting you
for the task, I thought, and still think you expressly chosen
by Heaven for it. But, if you have any misgiving, I beseech
you to withdraw from it. I will absolve you from your oath ;
and, enjoining you only to strictest secrecy, will pray you to
depart at once, lest your irresolution should be communicated
to the others."

" Fear nothing from me, father," rejoined Fawkes. " I have
no irresolution, no wavering, nor shall any engaged with us be
shaken by my apprehension. You have asked me what I
saw and heard, and I have told you truly. But I will speak of
it no more."

" It will be well to observe silence, my son," answered Gar-
net ; " for though you, like myself, are unnerved, its effect on
others might be injurious. But you have not yet brought your
relation to an end. How did the figure disappear ? "

" As it arose, father," replied Fawkes. " Uttering in a sweet
but solemn voice, which yet rings in my ears, the words, ' Be
warned !' it glided back to the fountain, whose waves as it ap-
proached grew still, and gradually melted from my view."

" But when I came hither you appeared to be gazing at
the spring," said Garnet. u What did you then behold ? "

" My first impulse on awaking about an hour ago," replied
Fawkes, " was to prostrate myself before the fountain, and to
entreat the intercession of the saint, who had thus marvellously
revealed herself to me. As I prayed, methought its clear
lucid waters became turbid, and turned to the colour of blood."

tf It is a type of the blood shed by slaughtered brethren of
our faith," rejoined Garnet.

" Rather of our own, which shall be poured forth in this
cause," retorted Fawkes. " No matter. I am prepared to lose
the last drop of mine."

" And I," said Garnet ; " and, I doubt not, like those holy

548 GUY FAWKES.

men who have suffered for their faith, that we shall both win
a crown of martyrdom."

" Amen ! " exclaimed Fawkes. " And you think the sacrifice
we are about to offer will prove acceptable to God ? *

" I am convinced of it, my son," answered Garnet. " And I
take the sainted virgin, from whose blood this marvellous spring
was produced, to witness that I devote myself unhesitatingly to
the project, and that I firmly believe it will profit our church."

As he spoke, a singular circumstance occurred, which did not
fail to produce an impression on the superstitious minds of
both parties, — especially Guy Fawkes. A violent gust of wind,
apparently suddenly aroused, whistled through the slender co-
lumns of the structure, and catching the surface of the water,
dashed it in tiny waves against their feet.

" The saint is offended," observed Fawkes.

" It would almost seem so," replied Garnet, after a pause.
" Let us proceed to the chapel, and pray at her shrine. We
will confer on this matter hereafter. Meantime, swear to rne
that you will observe profound secrecy respecting this vision."

" I swear," replied Guy Fawkes.

At this moment, another and more violent gust agitated the
fountain.

" We will tarry here no longer," said Garnet. " I am not
proof against these portents of ill."

So saying, he led the way to the chapel. Here they were
presently joined by several of the female devotees, including
Viviana, Anne Vaux, and Lady Digby. Matins were then said,
after which various offerings were made at the shrine of the
saint. Lady Digby presented a small tablet set in gold, repre-
senting on one side the martyrdom of Saint Winifred, and on
the other the Salutation of our Lady. Anne Vaux gave a small
enamelled cross of gold ; Viviana a girdle of the same metal,
with a pendant sustaining a small Saint John's head surrounded
with pearls.

" Mine will be a poor soldier's offering," said Guy Fawkes,
approaching the shrine, which was hung around with the
crutches, staves, and bandages of those cured by the miraculous
spring. " This small silver scallop-shell given me by a pil-
grim, who died in my arms near the chapel of Saint James of
Compostella, in Spain, is the sole valuable I possess."

"It will be as acceptable as a more costly gift, my son," re-
plied Garnet, placing it on the shrine.

Of all the offerings then made, that silver scallop-shell is
the only one preserved.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE CONSPIRACY.

ON Viviana's return from her devotions, she found her father
in the greatest perturbation and alarm. The old steward,

GUY FAWKES. 549

Heydocke, who had ridden express from Ordsall Hall, had just
arrived, bringing word that the miserable fate of the pursuivant
and his crew had aroused the whole country ; that officers, at-
tended by a strong force, and breathing vengeance, were in pur-
suit of Sir William Radcliffe and his daughter ; that large
sums were offered for the capture of Guy Fawkes and Father
Oldcorne ; that most of the servants were imprisoned; that he
himself had escaped with great difficulty ; and that, to sum up
this long catalogue of calamities, Master Humphrey Chetham
was arrested, and placed in the New Fleet. " In short, my
dear young mistress/' concluded the old man, "as I have just
observed to Sir William, all is over with us, and there is no-
thing left but the grave."

" What course have you resolved upon, dear father?*" said
Viviana, turning anxiously to him.

" I shall surrender myself," he answered. " I am guilty of
no crime, and can easily clear myself from all imputation.*"

" You are mistaken," replied Viviana. " Do not hope for
justice from those who know it not. But, while the means of
escape are allowed you, avail yourself of them."

" No, Viviana," replied Sir William Radcliffe, firmly; " my
part is taken. I shall abide the arrival of the officers. For you,
I shall intrust you to the care of Mr. Catesby."

" You cannot mean this, dear father," cried Viviana, with
a look of distress. " And if you do, I will never consent to
such an arrangement."

" Mr. Catesby is strongly attached to you, child," replied
Sir William, " and will watch over your safety as carefully as I
could do myself."

" He may be attached to me," rejoined Viviana ; " though I
doubt the disinterestedness of his love. But nothing can alter
my repugnance to him. Forgive me, therefore, if in this one
instance I decline to obey your commands. I dare not trust
myself with Mr. Catesby."

" How am I to understand you ? " inquired Sir William.

" Do not ask me to explain, dear father," she answered, " but
imagine I must have good reason for what 1 say. Since you are
resolved upon surrendering yourself, I will go into captivity
with you. The alternative is less dreadful than that you have
proposed."

" You distract me, child," cried the knight, rising and pacing
the chamber in great agitation. " I cannot bear the thought of
your imprisonment. Yet if I fly, I appear to confess myself
guilty."

" If your worship will intrust Mistress Viviana with me,"
interposed the old steward, " I will convey her whithersoever
you direct, — will watch over her day and night, — and, if need
be, die in her defence."

" Thou wert ever a faithful servant, good Heydocke," re-

550 GUY FAWKES.

joined Sir William, extending his hand kindly to him, " and
art as true in adversity as in prosperity."

" Shame to me if I were not," replied Heydocke, pressing the
knight's fingers to his lips, and bathing them in his tears.
" Shame to me if I hesitated to lay down my life for a master
to whom I owe so much."

" If it is your pleasure, dear father," observed Viviana, " I
will accompany Master Heydocke; but I would far rather be
permitted to remain with you."

<{ It would avail nothing," replied Sir William, " we should
be separated by the officers. Retire to your chamber, and
prepare for instant departure. And in the mean while I will
consider what is best to be done."

" Your worship's decision must be speedy," observed Hey-
docke : " I had only a few hours1 start of the officers. They
will be here ere long."

" Take this purse," replied Sir William, " and hire three of
the fleetest horses you can procure, and station yourself at
the outskirts of the town, on the road to Saint Asaph. You
understand."

" Perfectly," replied Heydocke. And he departed to execute
his master's commands, while Viviana withdrew to her own
chamber.

Left alone, the knight was perplexing himself as to where he
should shape his course, when he was interrupted by the sud-
den entrance of Catesby and Garnet.

"We have just met your servant, Sir William," said the
former ; " and have learnt the alarming intelligence he has
brought."

" What is your counsel in this emergency, father ? " said
Radcliffe, appealing to Garnet.

" Flight — instant flight, my son," was the answer.

" My counsel is resistance," said Catesby. " We are here
assembled in large numbers, and are well armed. Let us await
the arrival of the officers, and see whether they will venture to
arrest you."

" They will arrest us all, if they have force sufficient to do
so," replied Garnet ; " and there are many reasons, as you well
know, why it is desirable to avoid any disturbance at present."

" True," replied Catesby. " What say you then," he conti-
nued, addressing Radcliffe, " to our immediate return to Holt,
where means may be found to screen you till this storm is blown
over?"

Sir William having assented to the proposal, Catesby instant-
ly departed to acquaint the others ; and, as soon as preparations
could be made, and horses procured, the whole party composing
the pilgrimage, quitted Holywell, and ascending the hill at the
back of the town, took the direction of Mold, where they ar-
rived, having ridden at a swift pace, in about half an hour.

GUY FAWKES. 551

From thence they proceeded without accident or interruption,
to the mansion they had recently occupied near Holt. On
reaching it, all the domestics were armed, and certain of their
number stationed at the different approaches to the house to
give the alarm in case of a surprise. But as nothing occurred
during the night, the fears of Sir William and his friends began
in some degree to subside.

About noon, on the following day, as Guy Fawkes, who ever
since the vision he had beheld at Saint Winifred's Well had
shunned all companionship, walked forth beneath the avenue
alone, he heard a light step behind him, and, turning, beheld
Viviana. Gravely bowing, he was about to pursue his course,
when, quickening her pace, Viviana was instantly by his side.

" I have a favour to solicit,1' she said.

" There is none I would refuse you, Miss Radcliffe," answer-
ed Fawkes, halting ; " but, though I have the will, I may not
have the power to grant your request."

" Hear me, then," she replied, hurriedly. " Of all my fa-
ther's friends, — of all who are here assembled, you are the
only one I dare trust, — the only one from whom I can hope for
assistance."

" I am at once flattered and perplexed by your words, Miss
Radcliffe," he rejoined ; " nor can I guess whither they tend.
But speak freely. If I cannot render you aid, I can at least
give you counsel."

" I must premise, then," said Viviana, " that I am aware,
from certain obscure hints let fall by Father Oldcorne, that
you, Mr. Catesby, and others are engaged in a dark and dan-
gerous conspiracy."

" Miss Radcliffe," returned Guy Fawkes, sternly, " you have
once before avowed your knowledge of this plot. I will not
attempt disguise with you. A project is in agitation for the
deliverance of our fallen church ; and, since you have become
acquainted with its existence — no 'matter how — you must be
bound by an oath of secrecy, or," and his look grew darker,
and his voice sterner, " I will not answer for your life."

" I will willingly take the oath, on certain conditions," said
Viviana.

" You must take it unconditionally," rejoined Fawkes.

" Hear me out," said Viviana. " Knowing that Mr. Catesby
and Father Garnet are anxious to induce my father to join
this conspiracy, I came hither to implore you to prevent him
from doing so."

" Were I even willing to do this, — which I am not," replied
Fawkes, " I have not the power. Sir William Radcliffe would
be justly indignant at any interference on my part."

" Heed not that," replied Viviana. " You, I fear, are linked
to this fearful enterprise beyond redemption. But he is not.
Save him ! save him ! "

552 GUY FAWKES.

" I will take no part in urging him to join it," replied
Fawkes. " But I can undertake nothing further."

" Then mark me," she returned ; " if further attempts are
made by any of your confederates to league him with their
plot, I myself will disclose all I know of it."

" Miss Radcliffe," rejoined Fawkes, in a threatening tone,
" I again warn you that you endanger your life."

" I care not," rejoined Viviana ; " I would risk twenty lives,
if I possessed them, to preserve my father."

" You are a noble-hearted lady," replied Fawkes, unable to
repress the admiration with which her conduct inspired him ;
" and if I can accomplish what you desire, I will. But I see not
how it can be done."

" Everything is possible to one of your resolution," replied
Viviana.

" Well, well," replied Fawkes, a slight smile crossing his
swarthy features ; " the effort at least shall be made."

" Thanks ! thanks ! " ejaculated Viviana. And, overcome by
her emotion, she sank half-fainting into his arms.

While he held her thus, debating within himself whether he
should convey her to the house, Garnet and Catesby appeared
at the other end of the avenue. Their surprise at the sight
was extreme ; nor was it lessened when Viviana, opening her
eyes as they drew near, uttered a slight cry, and disappeared.

" This requires some explanation," said Catesby, glancing
fiercely at Fawkes.

" You must seek it, then, of the lady," rejoined the latter,
moodily.

" It will be easily explained, I have no doubt," interposed
Garnet. " Miss Radcliffe was seized with a momentary weak-
ness, and her companion offered her support."

" That will scarcely suffice for me," cried Catesby.

" Let the subject be dropped for the present," said Garnet,
authoritatively. " More important matter claims our atten-
tion. We came to seek you, my son," he continued, addressing
Fawkes. " All those engaged in the great enterprise are about
to meet in a summer-house in the garden."

" I am ready to attend you," replied Fawkes. " Will Sir
William Radcliffe be there ? "

" No," replied Garnet ; " he has not yet joined us. None
will be present at this meeting, but the sworn conspirators."

With this, the trio took their way towards the garden, and
proceeding along a walk edged with clipped yew-trees, came to
the summer-house, — a small circular building overrun with ivy
and creepers, and ornamented in front by two stone statues on
pedestals. Here they found Sir Everard Digby, Ambrose Rook-
wood, Francis Tresham, Thomas and Robert Winter, John and
Christopher Wright, awaiting their arrival.

The door being closed and bolted, Garnet placing himself in

GUY FAWKES. 553

the midst of the assemblage said, " Before we proceed further,
I will again administer the oath to all present." Drawing from
his vest a primer, and addressing Sir Everard Digby, he desired
him to kneel, and continued thus in a solemn tone, " You shall
swear by the Blessed Trinity, and by the sacrament you propose
to receive, never to disclose, directly nor indirectly, by word or
circumstance, the matter that shall be proposed to you to keep
secret, nor desist from the execution thereof, until the rest
shall give you leave."

" I swear," replied Digby, kissing the primer.

The oath was then administered in like manner to the others.
This done, Catesby was about to address the meeting, when
Tresham, glancing uneasily at the door, said, " Are you as-
sured we have no eaves-droppers ? "

" I will keep watch without," observed Fawkes, " if you have
any fears.1'

" It were better," replied Robert Winter. " We cannot be
too cautious. But if you go forth, you will be able to take no
part in the discussion."

" My part is to act, not talk," rejoined Fawkes, marching to-
wards the door. And, shutting it after him, he took up his
position outside.

" This precaution taken, we can securely proceed with the
discussion," observed Sir Everard Digby.

" We can," replied Catesby. And he thereupon commenced
a long and inflammatory harangue, in which he expatiated witli
great eloquence and fervour on the wrongs of the Catholic
party, and the deplorable condition of its church. " It were
easy to slay the tyrant by whom we are oppressed," he said, in
conclusion ; " but his destruction would be small gain to us.
We must strike deeper to hew down the baneful stock of he-
resy. All our adversaries must perish with him, and in
such manner as shall best attest the vengeance of Heaven. A
mine of powder placed beneath the Parliament-house shall hurl
it and its heretical occupants into the air, — nor shall any one
survive the terrible explosion. Are we all agreed to this plan ? "

All the conspirators expressed their assent, except Sir Eve-
rard Digby.

" Before I give my concurrence to the measure," said the
latter ; " I would fain be resolved by Father Garnet whether
it is lawful to destroy some few of our own faith with so many
heretics."

" Unquestionably, my son," replied Garnet. " As in besieg-
ing a city we have a right to kill all within it, whether friends
or enemies, so in this case we are justified in destroying the in-
nocent with the guilty, because their destruction will be advan-
tageous to the Catholic cause."

*' I am satisfied," replied Digby.

** As to the tyrant and apostate James," continued Garnet,

554 GUY FAWKES.

" he is excommunicated, and his subjects released from their
allegiance. I have two breves sent over by his holiness Pope
Clement VIII. in 1601, one directed to the clergy, and the other
to the nobility of this realm, wherein, alluding to Queen Eliza-
beth, it is expressly declared that, ' so soon as that miserable
woman should depart out of this life, none shall be permitted
to ascend the throne, how near soever in proximity of blood,
unless they are such as will not only tolerate the Catholic
faith, but in every way support it.' By this brief, James is
expressly excluded. He has betrayed, not supported, the
church of Rome. Having broken his word with us, and op-
pressed our brethren more rigorously even than his predecessor,
the remorseless Elizabeth, he is unworthy longer to reign, and
must be removed."

" He must," said the conspirators.

" The Parliament-house being the place where all the mischief
done us has been contrived by our adversaries, it is fitting that
it should be the place of their chastisement," said Catesby.

" Doubtless," observed Ambrose Rookwood.

" If the blow we meditate should miscarry," observed Thomas
Winter, "the injury to the Catholic religion will be so great,
that not only our enemies, but our very friends will condemn us."

" There is no chance of miscarriage, if we are true to each
other," said Catesby, confidently. " And if I suspected any
one of treachery, I would plunge my sword into his bosom, were
he my brother."

" You would do wrong to act thus on mere suspicion," re-
marked Tresham, who stood near him.

" In a case like this, he who gave the slightest ground for
doubt would merit death," replied Catesby, sternly; "and I
would slay him."

" Hum ! " exclaimed Tresham, uneasily.

" Mr. Catesby will now perhaps inform us what has been
done to carry the project into effect ? " said Sir Everard Digby.

" A small habitation has been taken by one of our chief con-
federates, Mr. Thomas Percy, immediately adjoining the Par-
liament-house," replied Catesby, " from the cellar of which it
is proposed to dig a mine through the wall of the devoted build-
ing, and to deposit within it a sufficient quantity of gunpowder,
and other combustibles, to accomplish our purpose. This mine
must be digged by ourselves, as we can employ no assistants,
and will be a laborious and dangerous task. But I for one will
cheerfully undertake it."

" And I," said the elder Wright.

"And I," cried several others.

" Supposing the mine digged, and the powder deposited," ob-
served Ambrose Rookwood, " whose hand will fire the train ? "

" Mine ! " cried Guy Fawkes, throwing open the door. As
soon as he had spoken, he retired and closed it after him.

GUY FAWKES. 555

" He will keep his word," remarked Garnet. " He is of a na-
ture so resolute that he would destroy himself with the victims
rather than fail. If ever man was created to be the main agent
of a conspiracy, it is Guy Fawkes."

" Well, gentlemen," said Catesby, " we are now at the latter
end of July. All shall be ready against the meeting of Par-
liament in November."

" There is some likelihood, I hear, that the meeting of the
house will be prorogued till February," remarked Tresham.

" So much the better," rejoined Catesby ; " it will give us
more time for preparation."

"So much the worse, I think," said Ambrose Rookwood.
" Delays are ever dangerous, and doubly so in a case like ours."

" I am far from desiring to throw any impediment in the way
of our design," observed Sir Everard Digby. "But I would
recommend, before we proceed to this terrible extremity, that
one last effort should be made to move the king in our behalf."

" It is useless," replied Catesby. " So far from toleration,
he meditates severer measures against us ; and I am well assured
if Parliament is allowed to meet, such laws will be passed as
will bring all of us within premunire. No, no ; we have no
hope from James, nor his ministers."

<s Nor yet from France or Spain," observed Thomas Winter.
" In my conference with the Constable Velasco at Bergen, I
received assurances of the good-will of Philip towards us,
but no distinct promise of interference in our behalf. The
Archduke Albert is well disposed, but he can render no assist-
ance. We must depend upon ourselves."

" Ay, marry, must we," replied Catesby ; " and fortunate is
it that we have devised a plan by which we can accomplish our
purpose unaided. We only require funds to follow up with
effect the blow we shall strike."

" My whole fortune shall be placed at your disposal," replied
Sir Everard Digby.

" Part of mine has already been given," said Tresham, " and
the rest shall follow."

" Would I had aught to peril in the matter except my life,"
said Catesby. " I would throw everything upon the stake."

" You do enough in adventuring thus much, my son," re-
joined Garnet. " To you the whole conduct of the enterprise
is committed."

" I live for nothing else," replied Catesby ; " and if I see it
successful, I shall have lived long enough."

" Cannot Sir William Radcliffe be induced to join us ? " asked
Rookwood. " He would be an important acquisition ; and his
wealth would prove highly serviceable."

" I have sounded him," answered Catesby. " But he appears
reluctant."

" Be not satisfied with one attempt," urged Christopher

556 GUY FAWKES.

Wright. " The jeopardy in which he now stands may make
him change his mind."

" I am loth to interrupt the discussion," said Garnet : " but
I think we have tarried here long enough. We will meet again
at midnight, when I hope to introduce Sir William Radcliffe to
you as a confederate."

The party then separated, and Garnet went in search of the
knight.

Ascertaining that he was in his own chamber, he proceeded
thither, and found him alone. Entering at once upon the sub-
ject in hand, Garnet pleaded his cause with so much zeal, that
he at last wrung a reluctant consent from the listener. Scarcely
able to conceal his exultation, he then proposed to Sir Wil-
liam to adjourn with him to the private chapel in the house,
where, having taken the oath, and received the sacrament upon
it, he should be forthwith introduced to the conspirators, and
the whole particulars of the plot revealed to him. To this the
knight, with some hesitation, agreed. As they traversed a gal-
lery leading to the chapel, they met Viviana. For the first time
in his life Radcliffe's gaze sank before his daughter, and he would
have passed her without speaking had she not stopped him.

" Father ! dear father ! " she cried, " I know whither you
are going — and for what purpose. Do not — do not join them/'
Sir William Radcliffe made no reply, but endeavoured gently
to push her aside.

She would not, however, be repulsed, but prostrating herself
before him, clasped his knees, and besought him not to proceed.
Making a significant gesture to Sir William, Garnet walked
forward.

"Viviana," said the knight, sternly, " my resolution is taken.
I command you to retire to your chamber."

So saying, he broke from her, and followed Garnet. Clasp-
ing her hands to her brow, Viviana gazed for a moment with a
frenzied look after him, and then rushed from the gallery.

On reaching the chapel, Sir William, who had been much
shaken by this meeting, was some minutes in recovering his
composure. Garnet employed the time in renewing his argu-
ments, and with so much address that he succeeded in quieting
the scruples of conscience which had been awakened in the
knight's breast by his daughter's warning.

"And now, my son," he said, " since you have determined
to enrol your name in the list of those who have sworn to de-
liver their church from oppression, take this primer in your
hand, and kneel down before the altar, while I administer the
oath which is to unite you to us."

Garnet then advanced towards the altar, and Sir William was
about to prostrate himself upon a cushion beside it, when the
door was suddenly thrown open, and Guy Fawkes strode into
the chapel.

,:': ^

' /

'

GUY FAWKES. 557

" Hold ! " he exclaimed, grasping Radcliffe' s right arm, and
fixing his dark glance upon him ; " you shall not take that oath."

" What mean you ? " cried Garnet, who, as well as the
knight, was paralysed with astonishment at this intrusion. " Sir
William Radcliffe is about to join us."

" I know it," replied Fawkes ; " but it may not be. He has
no heart in the business, and will lend it no efficient assistance.
We are better without him, than with him."

As he spoke, he took the primer from the knight's hand, and
laid it upon the altar.

" This conduct is inexplicable," cried Garnet, angrily. <{ You
will answer for it to others, as well as to me."

" I will answer for it to all," replied Guy Fawkes. " Let
Sir William Radcliffe declare before me, and before Heaven,
that he approves the measure, and I am content he should take
the oath."

" I cannot belie my conscience by saying so," replied the
knight, who appeared agitated by conflicting emotions.

" Yet you have promised to join us," cried Garnet, re-
proachfully.

" Better break that promise than a solemn oath," rejoined Guy
Fawkes, sternly. " Sir William Radcliffe, there are reasons why
you should not join this conspiracy. Examine your inmost
heart, and it will tell you what they are."

" I understand you," replied the knight.

" Get hence," cried Garnet, unable to control his indignation,
" or I will pronounce our Church's most terrible malediction
against you."

" I shall not shrink from it, father," rejoined Fawkes, humbly,
but firmly, " seeing that I am acting rightly."

" Undeceive yourself, then, at once," returned Garnet, " and
learn that you are thwarting our great and holy purpose."

" On the contrary," replied Fawkes, " I am promoting it, by
preventing one from joining it who will endanger its success."

l( You are a traitor ! " cried Garnet, furiously.

" A traitor ! " exclaimed Guy Fawkes, his eye blazing with
fierce lustre, though his voice and demeanour were unaltered, —
" I, who have been warned thrice, — twice by the dead, and
lastly by a vision from heaven, yet still remain firm to my pur-
pose,— I, who have voluntarily embraced the most dangerous
and difficult part of the enterprise, — I, who would suffer the
utmost extremity of torture, rather than utter a word that
should reveal it, — a traitor ! No, father, I am none. If you
think so, take this sword and at once put an end to your doubts."

There was something so irresistible in the manner of Guy
Fawkes, that Garnet remained silent.

" Do with me what you please," continued Fawkes, " but do
not compel Sir William Radcliffe to join the conspiracy. He
will be fatal to it."

558 GUY FAWKES.

** No one shall compel me to join it," replied the knight.

" Perhaps it is better thus," said Garnet, after a pause, during
which he was buried in reflection. " I will urge you no further,
my son. But before you depart you must swear not to divulge
what you have just learnt."

" Willingly," replied the knight.

" There is another person who must also take that oath," said
Guy Fawkes, " having accidentally become acquainted with as
much as yourself."

And stepping out of the chapel, he immediately afterwards
returned with Viviana.

" You will now understand why I would not allow Sir Wil-
liam to join the conspiracy," he observed to Garnet.

" I do," replied the latter, gloomily.

The oath administered, the knight and his daughter quitted
the chapel, accompanied by Guy Fawkes. Viviana was profuse
in her expressions of gratitude, nor was her father less earnest
in his acknowledgments.

A few hours after this, Sir William Radcliffe informed Sir
Everard Digby that it was his intention to depart immediately,
and, though the latter attempted to dissuade him from his pur-
pose by representing the danger to which he would be exposed,
he continued inflexible. The announcement surprised both
Catesby and Garnet, who were present when it was made, and
added their dissuasions to those of Digby — but without effect.
To Catesby's proposal to serve as an escort, Radcliffe likewise
gave a peremptory refusal, stating that he had no fears ; and
when questioned as to his destination, he returned an evasive an-
swer. This sudden resolution of the knight, coupled with
his refusal to join the plot, alarmed the conspirators, and
more than one expressed fears of treachery. Sir Everard Digby,
however, was not of the number, but asserted, " Radcliffe
is a man of the highest honour. I will answer for his secrecy
with my life."

" Will you answer for that of his daughter ? " said Tresham.

" / will," replied Fawkes.

" To put the matter beyond a doubt," said Catesby, " I will
set out shortly after him, and follow him unobserved till he
halts for the night, and ascertain whether he stops at any sus-
picious quarter."

" Do so, my son," said Garnet.

" It is needless," observed Sir Everard Digby ; " but do as
you please."

By this time, Radcliffe's horses being brought round by
Heydocke, he and his daughter took a hasty leave of their friends.
When they had been gone a few minutes, Catesby called for
his steed ; and, after exchanging a word or two with Garnet,
rode after them. He had scarcely proceeded more than a couple
of miles along a cross-road leading to Nantwich, which he learnt

GUY FAWKES. 559

from some cottagers was the route taken by the party before
him, when he heard the tramp of a horse in the rear, and,
turning at the sound, beheld Guy Fawkes. Drawing in the
bridle, he halted till the latter came up, and angrily demanded
on what errand he was bent.

" My errand is the same as your own," replied Fawkes. " I
intend to follow Sir William Radcliffe, and, if need be, defend
him."

Whatever Castesby's objections might be to this companion-
ship, he did not think fit to declare them, and, though evi-
dently much displeased, suffered Guy Fawkes to ride by his
side without opposition.

Having gained the summit of the mountainous range extend-
ing from Malpas to Tottenhall, whence they beheld the party
whose course they were tracking enter a narrow lane at the
foot of the hill, Catesby, fearful of losing sight of them, set
spurs to his steed. Guy Fawkes kept close beside him, and
they did not slacken their pace until they reached the lane.

They had not proceeded along it more than a quarter of a
mile, when they were alarmed by the sudden report of fire-
arms, followed by a loud shriek, which neither of them doubted
was uttered by Viviana. Again dashing forward, on turning a
corner of the road, they beheld the party surrounded by half
a dozen troopers. Sir William Radcliffe had shot one of his as-
sailants, and, assisted by Heydocke, was defending himself
bravely against the others. With loud shouts, Catesby and
Guy Fawkes galloped towards the scene of strife. But they
were too late. A bullet pierced the knight's brain; and, no
sooner did he fall, than, regardless of himself, the old steward
flung away his sword, and threw himself, with the most piteous
lamentations, on the body.

Viviana, meanwhile, had been compelled to dismount, and
was in the hands of the troopers. On seeing her father's fate,
her shrieks were so heart-piercing, that even her captors were
moved to compassion. Fighting his way towards her, Catesby
cut down one of the troopers, and snatching her from the
grasp of the other, who was terrified by the furious assault,
placed her on the saddle beside him, and striking spurs into
his charger at the same moment, leapt the hedge, and made
good his retreat.

This daring action, however, could not have been accom-
plished without the assistance of Guy Fawkes, who warded off
with his rapier all the blows aimed at him and his lovely
charge. While thus engaged, he received a severe cut on the
head, which stretched him senseless and bleeding beneath his
horse's feet.

560

THE EVENING STAR.

BY HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE night is come, but not too soon ;

And sinking silently, —
All silently, — the little Moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven
But the pale light of stars ;

And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love ?

The star of love and dreams 1
Oh no ! from that blue tent above

A hero's armour gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise

When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,

The shield of that red star.

0 star of strength ! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain ;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,
And I am strong again.

Within my soul there shines no light
But the pale light of stars ;

1 give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars !

The star of the unconquerM will,

He rises in my breast, —
Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possess'd.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,

As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O ! fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know ere long,

Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong !

561

THE PORTFOLIO OP MR. PETER POPKIN (DECEASED).

WHERE SHALL WE DINE? A LUCKY DISCOVERY.

SAMUEL RUSSELL, when a young man, and Cresswell (afterwards
of Covent-Garden Theatre), belonged to a small strolling company
in Kent. This concern breaking up, they applied to the manager
of the Deal Theatre for employment, and succeeded in obtaining an
engagement. The theatre, it was stated, would open in a few days.
In the mean time their finances were in a woeful plight, Cresswell
not having a farthing, and Russell possessing only three shillings
and sixpence in the world. To render the matter worse, the latter,
fancying that he had friends at Deal, laid out his three and sixpence
on a pair of second-hand white kerseymere breeches, in which he
intended to enact the part of Belcour. After making this purchase,
Russell to his mortification discovered that the friends from whom
he had expected assistance had quitted Deal.

Cresswell was a stout, melancholy person, and paraded the sands
with an awfully craving appetite, and no credit. Russell, pour
passer le temps, went to his lodging to try on his kerseymeres.
Whilst admiring them, he imagined that he felt something like
buttons inside the lining at the knee. He proceeded immedi-
ately to cut open the seam, and, to his great delight, miraculously
discovered three half guineas, which had probably made their way
from the pocket of some former fortunate possessor of the small-
clothes. Highly elated with this piece of luck, Russell hit on an
expedient to have some fun, in consequence, with poor Cresswell.
Accordingly he went to a tavern — the Hoop and Griffin, and or-
dered a roasted fowl and sausages, and a bottle of sherry, telling the
waiter to lay the cloth, and he should return. He then sought
Cresswell, whose appetite and despondency had increased in an
eminent degree.

" What, in the name of Heaven, is to be done, Cresswell ? This
is Thursday, and the theatre will not open until Monday next. If
you can last so long as that, I cannot"

" I last ? " replied Cresswell. " I am now perfectly empty. Look
at my waistcoat."

" Come along," says Russell ; "let us put a bold face on it. It is
of no use being poor, and seeming poor, too. Let us go to the
Hoop and Griffin, and try and get a dinner. We cannot be worse
off than we are at present."

Cresswell was a modest reserved man ; but he followed Russell
into the coffee-room of the tavern, which was vacant. As they stood
before the fire the waiter was busily employed in laying the cloth.
When he had left the room, " Cresswell/' said Russell, "I have made
up my mind to one point. You and I will dine with the gentleman
for whom that cloth is laid."

" Heavens ! Russell, what is your intention ? "

" No matter," replied Russell ; "leave it all to me."

He then looked out at the window, as if to observe whether any
person was coming.

VOL. VII. 2 S

562 THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN.

"Here goes," said Russell ; and he rang the bell consequentially.
" Waiter, tell your mistress to send in the dinner."

" Yes, sir."

" Heaven bless us ! " exclaimed Cress well. " You surely are not
going to get us in such a dreadful scrape ? We had better be hungry
than dishonest."

" Necessity has no law," said Russell ; " and so I shall tell the
gentleman when he comes." The waiter now entered with the
roasted fowls and sausages, placed them on the table, and left the
room.

ft I cannot resist it, Cresswell," exclaimed Russell. " How nice
this fowl smells ! " Accordingly he sat down, and removed the
covers. " Let me exhort you to take care what you are about," said
Cresswell ; " you know we neither of us have got a farthing. Oh !
if you had not laid out your money on those deplorable breeches !
Good Heavens ! you are cutting up somebody else's fowl ! Sup-
pose the gentleman should come ! Hadn't you better wait for him,
and explain ? "

"D the gentleman!" said Russell. "I'll fight him, if he

does not like it. Sit down, I say. I '11 hold you harmless ! "

Cresswell was in great distress, and endeavoured in every way to
persuade Russell to desist from his fraudulent mode of proceeding.
At this moment the waiter bustled in with the bottle of sherry.
Cresswell inwardly groaned, " There 's the gentleman's wine, too,
to add to the misdemeanour ! " At length, worn out with hunger,
overcome by the savoury exhalation of the roasted fowl and sau-
sages, and persuaded by Russell, Cresswell moodily seated himself at
the table. While Russell was carving, he took the opportunity occa-
sionally to peer out of the window, and remark, " He has not come
yet." After some glasses of wine Cresswell became a little less un-
happy.

" For what we are going to receive," said Russell, " the Lord
make us truly thankful."

" Amen ! " fervently ejaculated Cresswell, and devoured his share
of the dinner with an appetite that showed how much he was in
want of it. When the fowl was demolished, Russell, looking into
the street, saw a stranger coming into the tavern.

" Here he is," said poor Cresswell. " Now it is all up with us ! "

" I will bet you a bottle of wine," replied Russell coolly, " to be
paid in more prosperous times, that the gentleman will not take the
slightest notice that we have eaten his dinner."

" I hope to Heaven," sighed Cresswell, " he may not ! "

" Now, observe," said Russell, " when he comes into the room I
will give him a look that shall prevent him saying a word to us."

Here the stranger entered : Cresswell modestly hung down his
head ; whilst Russell rose, and affected a sort of swagger, flourishing
the carving-knife, humming a tune, and sitting down again.

" You are a wonderful fellow, Russell," whispered Cresswell.
" He has not taken any notice of the loss of his fowl and wine ! "

" Nor will he" said Russell. " He knows better."

Cresswell remained on tenter-hooks all the afternoon, expecting
the gentleman to break out every moment. He never knew that his
companion had hoaxed him ; but he set the stranger down as the
greatest poltroon he had ever met in his life.

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN. 563

THE PRINT OP GENERAL WASHINGTON.

James Heath, A.R.A. the excellent engraver, having, with great
labour, completed his fine whole-length portrait of Washington, from
the picture by Gabriel Stuart, (a print which was to have been publish-
ed by subscription,) found himself in the predicament of having only
seventy guineas subscribed. On complaining of this inadequate com-
pensation, a printseller offered him one hundred guineas for the
plate. This was disdainfully refused by Heath. On the evening
of the day that he sent the plate to the printer, the news of the
death of Washington arrived from America. This event so altered
the state of affairs that impressions could not be produced fast
enough for sale ; and the artist's house was literally besieged for
them. An American speculator, who came over in the ship that
brought the intelligence, took two thousand impressions, and paid
Heath two thousand guineas for them. The fortunate engraver,
in fact, cleared considerably above five thousand pounds by the
happy decision of keeping the plate in his own possession. No one
regretted his good luck, for it is a beautiful work of art ; and is
always reckoned by continental artists and intelligent amateurs as a
standard and sterling specimen of the art of engraving in England.

ANONYMOUS LETTER.

Mr. Aaron Graham, who for some years filled the situation of
chief magistrate at the public office, Bow-Street, was once placed in a
situation (totally unconnected with his magisterial functions), where-
in he had to interfere in the domestic disagreements of a gentleman
and his wife, his friends. After weighing in his own mind all the
circumstances of the case, Mr. Graham decided that the husband
was greatly to blame ; but, as this husband was of an impetuous
temper, the worthy magistrate judged it prudent to point out to
him the irregularities he had committed, by an anonymous letter,
thinking that would entirely put an end to the affair. He accord-
ingly penned an epistle of strong remonstrance to the husband,
pointing out his folly and weakness in energetic terms, and advising
an alteration of his conduct. This anonymous letter was copied by a
confidential clerk in the office ; but it happened most unfortunately
to be on Aaron Graham's escrutoire with a number of warrants,
summonses, &c. to which a police magistrate has habitually to affix
his signature, and he, in a moment of abstraction, wrote "AARON
GRAHAM " at the bottom of his intended anonymous admonition.
The letter was duly despatched ; and the worthy magistrate was
called out by the infuriated husband.

MICHAEL KELLY'S PONY.

Kelly for several years rode a brown pony, which had been pre-
sented to him by the Prince of Wales. This animal was the only
being in Kelly's confidence, as regarded certain visits to some-
what questionable female acquaintances, and with the friendship of
many such Mr. Kelly was honoured. Poor Kelly was attacked seri-
ously by gout, and could not be carried by his sagacious pony to

Mrs. 's nor to Miss 's ; and, as there did not appear any

2s2

564 THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN.

chance of immediate recovery, the pony was sent to friend Tattersall's.
Here it was recommended as being remarkably quiet; any timid
gentleman might ride it. It was accordingly purchased for the Rev.

W. T. O , at that time in a bad state of health, and who had

been ordered by his physicians to take equestrian exercise. The
invalid clergyman was not a first-rate rider, and Michael Kelly's
pony was of fixed and persevering habits, and of his own accord
regularly trotted up with his reverend owner on his back to several
doors, where it was anything but reputable to be seen. There he
waited habitually for his master to dismount. The Archbishop of
Canterbury having notice of the fact, it was found necessary to sell
the pony.

TOM SHERIDAN.

At one of the election dinners at Stafford, (when his father was
returned for that borough,) Tom Sheridan was in earnest conversa-
tion with the gentleman who sat at table next to him. The mayor
of Stafford, Mr. Horton, an eminent shoe-manufacturer, (the staple
commodity of the town,) presided, and, as a matter of course, gave
as a toast, " Prosperity to the manufacture of Stafford." This was
not heard or attended to by T. Sheridan, who continued his conver-
sation ; on which the chairman, in rather a dignified tone, exclaimed,
" Mr. Tom Sheridan, I have proposed the toast of ' Prosperity to the
manufacture of Stafford/ which you have utterly disregarded." Tom
instantly turned, and imitating the pompous manner of the mayor,
said, " Sir, may the manufacture of Stafford be trampled on by the
whole world ! "

CLAUDE SEURAT, THE LIVING SKELETON.

When that extraordinary being denominated the " Anatomic Vi-
vant" was brought over from the Continent as an exhibition, Major

W , the speculator in the affair, observed, that this skeleton was

very fond of, and always gallant to, the English ladies. My friend
Barnaby remarked, " That it would be a bad thing for the country,
as it might have an effect in thinning the population.

LADY PAYNE'S MONKEY.

R. B. Sheridan was on terms of intimacy with Sir Ralph and Lady
Payne. Her ladyship had a favourite monkey, which was seized
with a peculiar melancholy incidental to its species. It had taken to
eating its tail — a sure forerunner of death.

Mr. Sheridan came to dinner, and Lady Payne informed him that
poor Jem was no more ; that she intended to have him buried ; and
entreated the author of the " School for Scandal " to write an epitaph
on her monkey. Sheridan was not quite in the vein ; but the lady
pertinaciously placed paper and pen before him, whereupon the great
dramatist and orator sulkily scratched —

" Poor Jem !
Sorry for him !
I 'd rather by half
It had been Sir Ralph ! "

THE PORTFOLIO OF MR. PETER POPKIN. 565

THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.

An Irish peasant on a small ragged pony was floundering through
bog, when the animal, in its efforts to push on, got one of its hoofs
ito the stirrup, " Arrah," said the rider, " my boy, if you are going

get up, it is time for me to get down."

TWO SPECIMENS OF AN IRISH LAMENT.

The lament over the dead body of a relative or friend is of very
ancient origin. Occasionally the language becomes impassioned, and
even beautiful. The following lament was uttered by an old and
attached nurse in a family, and addressed to the corpse of the master,
whom she had in his infancy loved and nourished.

<f Ah ! ah ! why did you die and leave us ? I rocked your cradle,
— I nursed your children, — I must follow in your funeral ! Your
children are about me ! I see my child's children, but I see not my
child ! I remember your face in youth — its brightness was manly
like the sun's — it made daylight around me ! I remember your
form in the dance, and strong was your arm when you wrestled with
the young men. Oh ! none was like my son to me ! and all your
days were pleasant until the destroyer came ; then your young
cheeks grew pale, and the light left your eyes, and I laughed no
more ! I baked your marriage-cake ; warm was your heart, and
warm the hand that pressed poor old Norah's ! All, all now is cold
and desolate ! "

The following lament, though perhaps uttered with equal sin-
cerity, is converted to the ludicrous by the language taking a less
poetical turn : —

" Why, ahi ! why, Phelim, why did you lave all your good family,
an' the other household furnithur behind you ? Och ! why did you
lave that trivet with the bit of baked mutton an' praties on it ? Why
did you lave the three-legged sthool, on whom you sat so often to
smoke your dudhee ? An' there 's the tortoise-shell cat an' kitten
to match, behind to bewail yer loss! Why did you lave that
penn'orth of brown shugar in the paper, an' your bed-curtins with
the chickabiddy pattern furnithur ? Och ! ahi ! who '11 wear the top-
boots now, that your father gave ye when they got too small for
him ? Och ! ullaloo ! och ! "

HOW TO DISTINGUISH A FRENCHMAN.

Observe when he enters a room, and takes his hat off. If he
makes a comb of his fingers, and settles his hair (which is generally
pretty long) with them, you may be tolerably certain of your con-
jecture. Observe him still further ; and if, when at dinner, he picks
and cleans his teeth with the table-forks, you may be perfectly sure
you are right. Probatum est.

THE SNUFF-TAKING STATUE.

We have often heard of persons mistaking the shadow for the
substance ; in the present instance we have to describe the case in-
verted. An English officer in Venice walking one day from the
Doge's palace, thought he observed one of the figures on the clock-

566 THE FATAL WINDOW.

tower of St. Mark's stoop down and take up something ! He looked
again, and he positively saw the figure take a pinch of snuff! The
officer confessed that he was apprehensive he was losing his senses,
or, that his vision was deranged ; when an old woman, observing his
consternation, soon explained the seeming miracle, by telling him
that one of the figures that struck the hour being out of repair, her
nephew Jacopo was engaged as a substitute till the machinery was
put in order.

THE FATAL WINDOW.

BY TOBY ALLSPY.

WE crack-brained saunterers through life, whose brains are stuffed
to overflowing with the odd shreds and patches of tradition, are apt
to affix a value to circumstances of locality, triffles of no account in
the eyes of sober-minded men, and wholly overlooked by the ordi-
nary observer. Till within the last few months there existed in the
Place Vendome, marring the uniformity of its presentments, a single
window, whose narrow panes and old-fashioned framing afforded a
remarkable contrast to the noble plate-glass so much better propor-
tioned to the majestic architecture of the place which filled the win-
dows of the neighbouring houses. Though the chamber to which it
admitted light was situated on the first floor, or etage d'honneur, ef
one of the finest hotels of the square, it had evidently remained un-
touched from the period of its construction, when even the palaces
of the first kingdom of Europe betrayed, in the inadequate quality
and size of their window-panes, the imperfect progress of one of the
most ancient and beautiful of the arts of invention.

Every other drawing-room of the Place Vendome was adorned
with capacious carreaux, so transparent as to deceive the eye into
doubts of any intervening medium between the cozy warmth within,
and the chilly atmosphere without. Yet in that one window, (the
fatal window, as it was designated by all the old people of the neigh-
bourhood,) there remained the small, green, veiny squares, through
which the financier, Law, used to gaze upon the gathering of the
multitude below ; who first thronged thither to purchase his worth-
less paper ; and finally, with the hope of tearing to pieces the arch-
impostor by whom that scheme of financial knavery was devised for
the ruin of thousands.

It was not, however, during John Law's occupancy of the hotel in
question that the event took place which was the cause of affixing
to the window in question so startling a designation. The sale of
the adventurer's goods and chattels, consequent upon the breaking
of the bubble, placed the noble mansion, stigmatized by his temporary
occupancy, in the hands of one of the most opulent of that unpopu-
lar tribe, the Fermiers Generaux of the kingdom. Monsieur de Ray-
nolle, (whose financial exertions were, not to speak it profanely,
strictly within the letter of the law,) was a man to regard with horror
the dealings of his predecessors as irregularities, innovations, in-

THE FATAL WINDOW. 567

breaks into the routine of financial credit. He considered the post
he had purchased as the means of honestly turning his capital to ac-
count. It had pleased heaven to make him rich ; it pleased himself
to make himself richer. Like the greater number of his confrater-
nity, he did not slumber upon his opulence, but enjoyed an all but
regal share of the luxuries and transports of life ; purchasing at the
highest cost not only the chef-d'ceuvres of art or science, but the
society of the most eminent among the wits, poets, philosophers,
statesmen, and beauties of his time. For such things are purchas-
able; not, as the bargain-drivers say, from hand to hand, but by
splendid banquets, brilliant entertainments, and all the garlands and
frippery suspended by the hand of luxury over the wooden frame-
work of life!

The Due de Choiseul, and the Comte de Lauraqauis, the profligate
Richelieu, and the brilliant Soubise, were the frequent guests of
Monsieur Raynolle, both in his Place Vendome hotel, and at his
splendid chateau de Draveil. Nay, even St. Lambert and Marmon-
tel, the Abbe Voismon and Baron Grimm, crowded eagerly to his
petits soupers. Nothing could be more recherche than the fare ; no-
thing more fashionable than the society assembled. It was impossi-
ble to outrage moral feeling, or laugh at the notion of a Providence,
with a better grace than did the guests of Monsieur Raynolle, the
Fermier General! One might have fancied that this buyer-up of
the good and beautiful things of this world, had also contracted with
the great disposer of events for impunity from j udgment to come.

And yet the reckless libertine had a wife, — young, beautiful, bril-
liant, shrewd,— in name, if not in nature, an Englishwoman.

In the course of his mercantile dealings some ten years before,
Raynolle had become acquainted with a man, named Darley, the poor,
but honest cashier of a house of business, having intimate connection
with the English market, and Raynolle, on discovering that the
daughter, (for whom, in addition to a couple of grown-up sons, the
indigent clerk was indebted to his marriage with a portionless French-
woman, of indifferent reputation,) was young and beautiful beyond
even the renowned beauties whom he was bold enough to consider
his own, made no doubt of attaching her name to the catalogue of his
household property. Neither Hester Darley nor her mother seemed,
indeed, to oppose much obstacle to the supposition. His costly gifts
were so well received, his tedious visits were so obsequiously wel-
comed during the absence of the poor cashier on his daily duties,
that Raynolle was almost pardonable in believing that the time was
not far distant when his further visits would become superfluous.
In this insolent surmise he was strengthened by the discovery that
Hester's elder brother, John Darley, had formed a clandestine mar-
riage, almost as imprudent as his father's, and that extreme misery
might be expected to silence his opposition to the disgrace of his
sister.

Of the younger brother, Gerard, the Fermier General knew no-
thing, for he was with the army in Flanders — a soldier of fortune;
nor was it till on the very eve of the day which Raynolle had marked
for the enlevement of Hester Darley, that the sudden arrival of the
impetuous young man, (to whom some considerate neighbour had
despatched tidings of what was passing in his father's house,) threw
the projects of the Fermier General into confusion.

568 THE FATAL WINDOW.

" I am neither a brawler nor a bully," said Gerard Darley, on
finding Raynolle, as he had been taught to expect, established as
master of the house during his father's absence, " and the airs of
grandeur you would assume with me, Monsieur le Richard, are wholly
thrown away. I fear neither the canes of your footmen nor the
staves of the huissiers, with whose aid you are accustomed to make
war upon your debtors. Only this I tell you, without rancour or
malice, — that you leave this house as the affianced husband of my
sister, or you leave it not alive. Hester is your equal, sir, — for you
possess riches and consideration, she youth and beauty ; and, in
point of family, both alike are sprung from the people. But even
did there exist a disparity of condition, you should have thought of
it before your visits here brought disgrace on an honest family ! "

Madame Darley and her daughter listened in consternation to this
arrogant address, not conceiving that the unsupported menaces of a
youth of Gerard's age could be productive of any other result than
that of incensing against them the munificent patron to whom they
had so many obligations ; and Hester grew pale with rage at the idea
of any interruption to an intimacy which had been the means of af-
fording such luxurious indulgences to her vanity, and rendering her
an object of envy to their less fortunate neighbours. But her vexa-
tion was soon converted into hope of a more favourable issue, on
discerning the weakness and terror of poor Raynolle, when he found
himself yet more vigorously pressed by the reckless young sergeant
of dragoons. With features contracted by rage, he finally yielded to
the imperious demands of Gerard Darley. A notary was sent for; a
legal signature secured ; and when Raynolle, according to his pre-
vious intention, bore the beautiful Hester from her obscure home, it
was as his lawful wife ! One only stipulation did the wily financier
make on the occasion, — that not a syllable should be suffered to
transpire of the mode in which the marriage had been achieved ;
while his sole act of vengeance upon those of whom he conceived
himself the dupe, consisted in a decree that not one of the Darley
family should ever set foot within his gates.

Meanwhile the admiration excited in society by the charms of the
new beauty, (as Madame Raynolle was universally denominated by
the gallants of the court,) almost reconciled her vain-glorious hus-
band to a connection into which he had been forced at the point of
the sword. Of her origin nothing was known ; and the Financier
having been artful enough to make a hurried journey to London
previous to placing his beautiful bride at the head of his establish-
ment, Madame Raynolle passed among her husband's friends as a
belle milady, whom he had brought back with him from the char-
tered fatherland of fine horses and fine women.

Who now so worshipped as the charming wife of the millionary
Fermier Central ? Her portrait was on the easel of every artist ;
her name imparted distinction to every fashionable invention. To
the indignation of Madame de Pompadour, ribbons were tied up into
bows a la Raynolle; chickens stewed a la Raynolle; pralines crisped
a la Raynolle ; carriages painted in garlands a la Raynolle ; every
thing worn, tasted, or displayed at that moment in Paris, was named
in honour of the divinity in whose hair flashed a coronet of diamonds
surpassing even that of the Queen ; and towards whose box at the
opera the eyes and acclamations of the whole assembly were di-

THE FATAL WINDOW. 569

rected. Voltaire addressed to her, under the name of Nesera, one of
his choicest odes ; and the prettiest of Marmontel's tales was dedi-
cated to the presiding angel of the Place Vendome.

The Fermier General was satisfied. Eclat was all he coveted iij
this world ; and his handsome young wife excited as much applause
as his statues of Daphne and Chloe by Couston, or the frescos of his
dining-room, by Boucher. He saw himself an object of envy, and
was content. Already, too, he recognised a kindred spirit in the
lovely Hester. Vain and ostentatious, her nature was cold and arti-
ficial as his own ; and he was indebted to his wife for a thousand
cogent suggestions for the advancement of their position in society.
The purchase of a princely estate in Languedoc, endowed with pri-
vileges of ennoblement, converted them into the Marquis and Mar-
quise of Montmery ; the purchase of an office in the royal house-
hold entitled them to an entree at court. In consideration of the
fair aspirant after the honours of Versailles, Louis XV. made no op-
position ; and though certain of the more stiff-necked of the Queen's
ladies were indignant at seeing a mere bourgeoise raised to their
level, they dared not venture any open demonstrations of displeasure.
In the grand monde of Paris, as in the laws of England, " Le Roi le
veut ! " rendered the rule absolute.

On the nights when the fetes of the new Marquise de Montmery
set the windows of her hotel into a blaze, as vast a crowd was col-
lected in the Place Vendome as in the tumultuous days of John Law.
Many among them had witnessed the triumphs of that unprincipled
adventurer. " At that very window he used to stand, and with
fiendish glee survey the poor dupes below, the last livrc of whose
earnings he was filching! " they would exclaim, pointing to a win-
dow of the first floor, from which now issued a dazzling gleam of
light, emitted by the brilliant boudoir of the lovely Marquise. Others,
turning from the spot, were heard to whisper, " The place is doomed !
A curse ought to be upon the window from whence John Law num-
bered his victims ! "

Instead of a curse, however, a blessing seemed to be on all be-
longing to the Marquis and Marquise de Montmery. As their pro-
digality increased their means became doubled. His speculations
were uniformly triumphant ; till " lucky as Montmery " became a
proverb in the money-market of more than one European city. Fif-
teen years after the marriage (on the origin of which he no longer
suffered a reflection to disturb the harmony of his thoughts,) the
Fermier General was as fast united to his fair Hester by similarity
of tastes and pursuits, as he had formerly been by the brilliancy of a
complexion, which, sooth to say, was now, like most dazzlingly fair
complexions, somewhat on the wane.

The time was now come, indeed, for the Marchioness to experience
a similar change in the colour of her fortunes. One evening, about
ten years after her marriage, during the absence of her husband, who
was inspecting the erection of a splendid conservatory at Draveil, a
strange cavalier insisted on forcing his way into her presence with a
vehemence not to be withstood by a whole regiment of lacqueys.

" Yes, it is I ! " cried Gerard Darley, flinging down his hat on a
table of malachite and gold, on finding himself face to face with his
proud sister in her luxurious boudoir. " You are surprised to see
me here. You had hoped never to see me again. Ungrateful for

570 THE FATAL WINDOW.

the energy of soul and arm which served to place you in the position
you now occupy, you despise your obscure brother; who, trust me,
Madam, renders back with interest the contempt of the Marquise
de Montmery ! "

" You must be aware that the prohibitions of my husband "

Madame de Montmery was beginning.

« I have sedulously respected them," replied Gerard with a bitter
sneer. " I did not appeal to your opulence when your parents lay
dying in misery and neglect. I did not appeal to your affection
when your wretched brother, distracted by the loss of his young
wife, fell by his own hand, leaving two helpless orphans to my pro-
tection. I did not appeal to your pity when one of these poor babes,
requiring tenderer aid than could be afforded by its soldier uncle,
pined away till it rejoined its parents in the grave. I appeal not to
it even now, Madam, though one of the only two on earth in whose
veins blood kindred with your own is flowing, stands in urgent need
of your protection. But I command it, Hester ! I command it in
the name of those who gave you life ! I command it in the name of
that most high GOD who hath called them to himself. I command
it in the name of the world's opinion, more influential over your
mind than either ! "

" What is it you require of me ? " faltered the Marchioness, over-
awed by the resolute sternness of her brother.

" That during my absence in the opening campaign you accord
your protection to the orphan daughter of John Darley," replied
Gerard. " The camp is not a fit home for a girl of her years and
beauty ; and where am I to place her, unless where she has a right
to be, in the household of her nearest female relative ? "

" It is well," replied Madame de Montmery, coldly. " During
your absence my niece shall be duly cared for."

" I had rather the words were uttered in a more womanly tone,"
remonstrated Gerard ; " nevertheless, I accept the pledge. Hester
Darley is now fifteen, — fair and innocent, as was a former Hester
Darley at those tender years. Her birth and breeding, though
humble, are equal to those of the Marquis de Montmery. She must
not be treated as a slave, — she must not be treated as a menial."

" She shall be treated as my brother's child/' interrupted Hester,
eager to bring the interview to a close.

" Nay, more. Unendowed with the means of forming a noble
alliance, I will not have her thrust into the dissolute circles that
frequent this house. Let her dwell in seclusion till my return,
when I shall require at your hands an account of her welfare. You
know me — you are aware that Gerard Darley is not to be trifled
with. Let the prosperity of my poor charge allow me nothing to
complain of."

However irritated by the arrogance of the trooper's tone, Madame
de Montmery felt that the best method to keep peace with him was
to subscribe to his conditions; and within an hour the young girl,
as yet a stranger to her, was deposited under her care. That night
young Hester Darley slept under the roof of the Marchioness.

The only comfort to the aunt, on beholding the extraordinary
beauty of the girl thus peremptorily committed to her charge, was
the injunction of Gerard that she should not figure in the gay society
of the Hotel Montmery. Hester Darley, though presenting an ex-

THE FATAL WINDOW. 571

traordinary resemblance to her aunt and namesake, was a thousand
times lovelier than the Marchioness even in her prime. She possessed
that transparent fairness rarely seen,, unless in persons of English
descent, enhanced by a glossy elasticity, which sadly put to shame
the faded cheeks of her kinswoman, withered by vigils and dissi-
pation.

" This would never do ! " murmured Madame de Montmery, as she
noted the resplendent beauty of the timid young girl. " I would not
that even the Marquis should see me thrown into the shade by this
minion. This very day I shall despatch her, under the care of my
woman, rto the superior at Moret, where, till Gerard's return, she
may abide for the completion of her education ; and should he fall
in the wars, as his headlong rashness renders probable, she may be-
come a permanent inmate of the convent. The good abbess has too
many obligations to us not to accept a moderate dowry with a kins-
woman of the Marchioness de Montmery."

On the return of the Marquis from Draveil, the affair was briefly
explained to him, when, as usual, he approved of the arrangements
of his wife. But he testified little interest in the affair. His faculties
were already impaired by the influence of a malady, which in a few
weeks' time carried him to the grave, leaving Madame la Marquise
sole comptroller of his princely inheritance.

Engrossed by the cares and irritations inseparable from such a
charge, Madame de Montmery had scarcely enough leisure to dis-
cover the tediousness of a year of widowhood. Though resolved to
reappear in the world at its expiration more brilliant than ever, to
imbibe anew the incense of poets and flatterers of the court, and, if
possible, unite herself in second marriage with a man of untarnished
blazon and illustrious lineage, she was too much occupied with pro-
cesses of law, and the comptes rendus of her various intendants, to do
more than direct the preparation of an infinity of rich attires and
costly suits of jewels, in which she intended to blaze forth on her
reappearance at Versailles. Madame de Pompadour's death (which
occurred eight months after that of the Marquis) had cleared the
way for a thousand ambitious projects on the part of the unprin-
cipled beauties of the court of Louis XV.

Of " cettejeune Esther" meanwhile^ the ostentatious widow knew
no more than was communicated once a quarter by her friend the
abbess, — namely, that she edified the whole convent by her piety,
gentleness, and grace, — to say nothing of the divine beauty which,
one day or other, would cause strange emotions among the profane ;
which laudations were, of course, accompanied with the usual claims
for the cost of the young lady's maintenance and education. These
missives were carefully laid aside by Madame de Montmery, to be
exhibited to her severe brother on his return from the army, in evi-
dence of the noble manner in which she had performed her duty to
his protegee.

From time to time there arrived a harsh letter from Darley, de-
manding tidings of his beloved Hester, his nursling, his darling, to
which the Marchioness returned a dry and succinct reply. But she
saw that there must be no trifling with this stern guardian, — that
she was deeply accountable to him for the welfare of the girl, — and
that he was capable of proceeding to the worst extremities to avenge
any evil that befell his favourite niece.

572 THE FATAL WINDOW.

What, therefore, was the consternation of Madame de Montmery
when, at the expiration of the fifth quarter of Hester's residence at
Moret, and of her own widowhood, — just as she was beginning to
enjoy with almost more than her former animation the gorgeous
festivals of Versailles, and the addresses of a hundred noble adorers,
— she was apprized by the superior of Moret that Mademoiselle
Darley (no longer cette belle Esther!") must be instantly removed from
the establishment. In the hope of softening by a gratuity the deter-
mination of the abbess, Madame de Montmery hastened with all
speed to Moret ; but, alas ! only to find her perplexities converted
into utter consternation. The gentle timid Hester, the model of
pensionnaires, had disgraced the convent — her family — herself! Per-
mitted by the indulgence of the partial abbess to accompany the
noble family of one of her companions to a royal rendezvous de chaxse
held within half a league of Moret, during the sojourn of the court
at Fontainbleau, Hester, on the second day of the fetes, had disap-
peared from her friends, — had been forty-eight hours absent, — and
at length made her way on foot to the gates of the convent in such a
plight, as to render her reception a matter of grace on the part of
the abbess. To these humiliating statements, and the bursts of fury
from the Marchioness which succeeded, poor Hester, pale and mo-
tionless as a statue, replied only by an almost unconscious assertion
that she was married, — that time would bring her innocence to light,
— in confirmation of which she showed on her finger a diamond ring
of considerable value. Her two judges were startled. They saw at
once that she had fallen a victim to some bold and practised seducer
of the court. But neither persuasions nor menaces could extract
from the lips of the young girl further avowals, further explana-
tion. So public, meanwhile, had been the scandal, that the abbess
persisted in her refusal to retain her pensionnaire ; and, sorely against
her will, the Marchioness was forced to convey back the humbled
delinquent to the Hotel Montmery.

A secluded chamber was now assigned to Hester. The Mar-
chioness decided that the disgrace of the recent event could only be
obliterated by an immediate marriage ; and nothing was easier than
for the rich widow to secure by a sufficient dowry an alliance suit-
able to the modest pretensions of her niece. She even commenced
negotiations with the intendant of her Languedoc estates for the
hand of his son ; and finally signified to Hester, that unless the un-
known seducer, whose name she refused to disclose, presented him-
self within two months to claim her as his wife, she must give her
hand to Alexis Duval. Madame de Montmery trembled at the mere
apprehension of Gerard's return, till the clearing up of a mystery so
dishonourable to his beloved niece.

Meanwhile, nothing could exceed the wretchedness of the un-
happy Hester. Her obstinacy in refusing to disclose the name of
him whom she regarded as her plighted husband arose, in truth
from ignorance of his title. In offering himself as her protector
when separated from her party by the crowd assembled in the gar-
dens of the palace of Fontainebleau, to witness aj'eit d' artifice in
honour of the King's arrival, he had described himself as one of the
royal household ; and, on her ingenuous avowal of her own name
and situation, had declared himself to be an intimate acquaintance of

THE FATAL WINDOW. 573

the Marquise de Montmery. Confiding in this assurance, the poor
girl, in the course of the scandalous deceptions practised upon her,
after being persuaded to accept a refuge in the palace, gave full
credit to his assertions that his rank and fortune were such as to
preclude all possibility of refusal on the part of her relations, when
he should present himself to claim the hand of his affianced wife.
How could she disbelieve him ? His deportment was so noble, —
his eloquence so convincing, — his manner so graceful ! He was the
only man from whose lips she had heard avowals of admiration,
professions of love ; and even now, amid all her humiliations, (and
the discredit thrown upon her assertions of having escaped from the
palace, on discovering that attempts were made to detain her a pri-
soner,) those professions and those graceful gestures dwelt upon her
memory as endowed with only too dangerous a charm. She felt
that she could love that audacious stranger. Morning, noon, and
night she prayed upon her bended knees that he might fulfil his
pledges, and appear to claim her as his own, so as to prevent her
being forced into a hateful marriage, to the injury of an honourable
man.

Certain, from their former conversation, that he for whose crime
she was making atonement was well acquainted with her abode, and
might have learned at Moret her removal from the convent, she per-
suaded herself day after day that her penance was about to end, —
that he would come, — that the preparations for her marriage with
Alexis Duval would be discontinued, — that happiness was still in
store for her. But every night she laid down her aching head upon
a sleepless pillow ! — no token of his arrival ! — no change in her des-
tinies !

Madame de Montmery had nothing further to apprehend from the
introduction of the poor girl into her coterie. " Cette belle Esther "
was wasting to a shadow. Not a tinge of colour on her cheek, — not
a spark of animation in her downcast eyes. To crown all, the pre-
liminaries of peace were signed, and it was expected that a few
weeks' time would bring back the French armies from Germany,
and the Marchioness actually shuddered as she anticipated the arrival
of her brother.

" Expect not a day's delay after the appointed period," said she
to her suffering niece. " Alexis Duval is already arrived in Paris.
The writings are preparing — you will find that I have supplied a
handsome dowry and noble trousseau. I have neglected nothing to
secure the happiness of her who has so ill repaid my former
bounties."

Sometimes poor Hester persuaded herself that her unknown lover,
not daring to present himself to Madame de Montmery, might be wan-
dering in the vicinity of the Hotel, in the hopes of catching a glimpse
of the object of his attachment. Her allotted chamber overlooked
the court-yard ; she had no means of obtaining a view of the place.
Aware, however, that every day at a certain hour Madame de Mont-
mery quitted the Hotel to exhibit herself and her sumptuous equi-
page on the Cours la Reine, she watched one morning till the coach
and six rolled out of the porte cochere, and the household servants
retreated to the offices ; then, stealing from her retreat, made her
way to those gorgeous saloons which she never considered without

574 THE FATAL WINDOW.

awe, as the habitation of her heartless kinswoman. With a stealthy
step she traversed the gaudy chambers, across whose windows were
drawn heavy draperies of crimson brocade, embellished with fringes
of golden bullion. But the fresh air from without reached her as she
approached the boudoir which terminated the suite. That window
at least must be open. The termination of all her sorrows was per-
haps at hand ! — and, with the sanguine impetuosity of youth, the
heart of the poor invalid beat almost to bursting when she reflected
that she might be on the eve of beholding him whose features were
indelibly impressed upon her memory, — upon her affections. He,
at least, would not despise her — he, at least, must still treat her
with gentleness and respect.

At that moment a strain of music reached her from without. A
military band was striking up in the Place, as if to honour the
arrival of some royal personage. With a panting bosom, regardless
of the strange figure she must present with her dishevelled hair and
long white wrapper, Hester approached the open window. A bril-
liant procession was indeed passing ; the King in person, followed
by his whole etat major, proceeding to pass in review his royal guard
upon the esplanade of the Hotel des Invalides.

Amid the tumultuous clash of cymbals and braying of trumpets
that celebrated the royal progress, the crowd assembled in the
Place fancied they heard a piercing shriek. And it might be so ; for
the royal personage whose uncovered head was so affably declined
to the salutations of the multitude was no other than the lawless
libertine of Fontainebleau ; and the fair wasted corpse which, on the
return of Madame de Montmery from her drive, was found extended
cold across the sill of the fatal window, was that of the predestined
niece of Gerard Darley !

Fortunately for the "Marchioness, her brother was not fated to re-
turn alive to France to work out his threat of retribution. It was
considered a singular circumstance, however, that from the period in
question to the day of her death she never again set foot in her hotel
in the Place Vendome. Many people conceived that her precipitate
retreat to her estates in Languedoc was produced by the refusal of the
King to sign her contract of marriage with the Comte de Hainvilier,
a member of the royal household. But the publication of the
archives of police at the Revolution proved that Madame de Mont-
mery had been escorted thither under surveillance, by virtue of a
lettre de cachet. She was never suffered to re-appear at court,—
Louis XV. being desirous to usurp to himself the monopoly of heart-
lessness and crime, as well as to secure the secret of his disgraceful
excesses.

Such was the history of the fatal window, to which a superstitious
charm was long attached by the after possessors of the Hotel Mont-
mery. The demolition of this strange memento of the vices of the
olden time occurred within the last few months, in the course of
the improvement achieved in the house by its new proprietress, the
Baroness de Feucheres.

675

KING JOHN.

A LEGEND OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT.

IN the year A.D. 1215, the inhabitants of the few cottages that were
at that time scattered along the banks of Whippingham Creek, were
thrown into a state of great alarm by the arrival of four large vessels.
Most of them fled away, and those that were unable to escape were
still more dismayed to bear the chiefs of these intruders and their
armed followers conversing together in a foreign language. They
made no doubt but that it was another invasion of the Danes, for which
they knew the island to be altogether unprepared, as they had been
free from their inroads ever since the Conquest.

The Danes, whenever they came, burnt and destroyed whatever they
found. The present visiters, however, acted differently. Instead of
destroying anything, after turning the inhabitants out, they took pos-
session of the cottages, and set to work to make them as comfortable as
they could for their own residence ; keeping, however, a few of the
natives to slave for them in fetching wood and water, under the threat
of the utter destruction of their property when they went away.

The strangers, however, did not appear to have the slightest inten-
tions of leaving their present quarters again, but seemed to be pre-
paring to make it their permanent abode ; for all that evening men
were employed disembarking deer's hides and costly furs, broad pieces
of woollen cloth, cooking vessels of all kinds, huge piles of dried veni-
son and hams, together with a number of casks of wine. They were
also surprised to see disembark a quantity of 'most costly armour, such
as only the nobility or the most wealthy knights were able to afford.

One of the poor fishermen, who had been thus unceremoniously dis-
possessed of his dwelling, ventured to hint to the person who seemed
the chief of the strangers, and was almost the only one that appeared
to be English, that if they intended to make a long stay in the island,
there were many fairer and more convenient houses to which he would
be happy to conduct them.

" Ha I " said the chief, with an air of offended dignity. " Let me
give you this advice, — keep your prattling tongue quiet, and take no
notice of what you see or hear, or — " finishing his sentence by signs,
putting his forefinger and thumb round his neck, and then pointing up
to a large bough of an oak tree that was spreading over their heads.
" And now it strikes me," he continued, " that it would not be amiss
just to hang one churl at starting ; it would make the remainder more
respectful and attentive. Here, De Mark, send Gigo here with half a
dozen of his men and a halter."

When they had come, he made a sign with his finger, and in an in-
stant one end of the rope was thrown over the bough of the tree, and
the other tied in a running noose round the poor fisherman's neck.

" Shall we lift him ? " said Gigo, turning to his master to see whe-
ther he had changed his mind.

" Lift away," said the chief, looking on with listless indifference.

Gigo's assistants quickly hauled upon the loose end of the rope, and
the unfortunate man was soon swinging in the air. He struggled

576 KING JOHN.

hard, clasping the rope above his head with both his hands, which they
had not thought worth the trouble of tying behind him.

" He is a long time dying, my lord. Shall I lower him a little, and
take a pull at his legs ? "

" No, no ; let him enjoy the liberty of kicking as long as he likes."
His struggles presently got less strong, and he turned black in the
face. " You may lower him down now, Gigo, and throw the carcass
away."

" He is hardly dead yet, my Lord. Your Grace must not blame me
if he should recover."

" Oh, for the matter of that, I do not care if he does. I only did it
for a joke. But here comes the Templar. Well, Anner, what news
from Hugh de Boves ? "

" May it please your Grace, I had letters from him five days since ;
but I had some difficulty in tracing your Grace's movements. I sought
you at the castle ; but old De Vernon said that he had received no
tidings of you. I think, nevertheless, that he is aware of your arrival
here ; for, upon being questioned, he acknowledged that he had heard
of the arrival of certain strangers in the island."

" It was De Malleone's advice," replied the chief, " that we should
not trust our royal self within the walls of Carrisbrook. De Vernon
is ill affected towards us. His castle is strong, and rebellion walks
abroad in the noonday."

Thus spoke King John, for the chief was none other ; and De Mal-
leone added,

" Although De Vernon's grandson is a hostage at Windsor, still, as
the welfare of the realm hangs upon our Sovereign's life, we would not
that anything should be unnecessarily risked."

Not all the hypocrisy of the Templar and respect for the royal pre-
sence could prevent a slight curl of contempt from being visible on his
upper lip.

The King, however, marked it not, but asked, " What were the
tidings from Hugh de Boves ? "

" He writes, that when he showed your signet, vast numbers flocked
to his standard from Poictou, Gascony, Lou vain, Brabant, and Flan-
ders, and that in a week or two at the latest he will sail for Dover
with a powerful host. The time will shortly come when the Barons
will be able no longer to boast that they made their King a cipher, the
sovereign of no dominions, and a slave to his subjects. But your Grace
is ill accommodated here. Shall I summon De Vernon into the royal
presence, and tax the Isle of Wight to support its royal guest in a
befitting manner ? "

" That would be rash, Sir Templar," said de Malleone. " Should
our presence here make much stir, we might draw the Runnemede
Barons upon us before our scheme is ripe. If De Vernon suspects
who the strangers are that have sought refuge in his island, he must be
kept silent by threats of vengeance."

" Ah," said the King's jester, who stood by, " tell him the joke we
played off upon one of his retainers for unnecessarily putting in his
word."

" Peace, fool ! " said the King, perhaps a little ashamed of what he
had done. " Sir Templar, I will intrust you with an embassy to De
Vernon. Go and hint to him about the advantages of secrecy in all
affairs connected with the King. Speak of those here as friends of the

A LEGEN7D OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 577

King. The King himself, mind you, is still at Windsor. On no ac-
count give him the slightest cause to suspect that he is any nearer him
than that."

" I will execute your Grace's order," said the Templar ; " and if it
is your pleasure to let me take twenty of your men with me, I will
surprise his castle, and put it out of his power to tell tales to any one."

" Act as I direct you, Sir Anner. It is absolutely necessary to the
success of our future expedition that our residence here should not be
noised abroad. Our sojourn here must be quiet, and perfectly peace-
ful."

" May it please your Grace," replied the Templar, " I am sorely
puzzled to guess where we are to raise our supplies from, if the royal
authority is altogether to be hidden in its scabbard. You would hardly
like to hear of your caterers paying toll to the Earl of the Isle of
Wight for leave to purchase bacon and long-cail in his market of Ca-
risbrook."

" No, no," said a number of voices together ; " that cannot be."

" It will never do," said Philip de Mark, " for the King of England,
like a greasy burgher, to send his servants to market to buy salt beef
and greens. I see a way to raise our supplies by the King's authority,
without betraying his presence in the island. Let us not prey close
round home like a mangy wolf; but get into our ships occasionally,
and go out to sea and rummage the cargoes of the wealthy merchants,
as they sail backwards and forewards to Southampton."

" Well contrived, De Mark. You are our best counsellor when we
get into difficulties," said the King.

Day after day the King and his attendants spent their time in feast-
ing and drinking deep. Their only other occupation was walking
along the sea shore, throwing stones into the water, or practising with
their cross-bows at the gulls. Day after day passed, and still no farther
intelligence from Hugh de Boves. They did not dare to go much in-
land, or move far from the secluded spot in which they had established
themselves, for fear of exciting attention, and making their residence
known ; for should the English Barons discover the villainous scheme
of their King, who was preparing to invade and lay waste his own
kingdom of England with an army of foreign mercenaries, his life
would not have been safe.

The King himself would probably have submitted to the conditions
of the Magna Charta, had it not been expressly stipulated in it that he
should dismiss his Flemish knights, with whom he constantly sur-
rounded his person. One of the clauses went so far as to banish by
name several knights, most of them Flemings, who were his chief
favourites and counsellors. These were the persons with whom we find
him attended in the Isle of Wight. They urged him on to stir up a
war against the Barons, by constantly holding up before his eyes the
degradation that he had undergone at Runnemede.

" Do not suffer yourself," said they, " to be trampled under foot by
your own subjects, and to be made a thing of nought, and a jest in your
own kingdom."

Urged on by these taunts, he had intrusted Hugh de Boves and
others to collect an .army on the Continent for the invasion of England.
They were directed not only to bring with them an army, but any
number of women and children, to people the counties of Norfolk and
Suffolk, which he intended to lay waste. He had sent also to the Pope,

VOL. VII. 2 T

578 KING JOHN.

offering to deliver up his kingdom to him, and hold it under him as his
vassal, if his Holiness would give him the assistance and sanction of
his name. This was the posture of affairs at the time of which this
story treats ; hence the strict seclusion in which the King thought it
necessary to keep, until he obtained assistance from abroad.

In the course of time, the supplies that they had brought with them
began to run short, notwithstanding that every now and then one of
the knights or archers shot a deer in the surrounding wood, and that
some supplies were daily sent in from the manor of Kerne, which at
that time belonged to the Knights Templar.

" May it please your Grace," said De Mark one day, " our time
hangs heavy upon our hands. Our provisions are running short, and
our wine will be quite out to-night. A pretty bevy of merchantmen
left Southampton this morning; the wind has quite fallen, so that
they will make but little way. We should soon work up to them with
our long oars."

" I wonder how they are manned and armed ? " said the King.

" I know them well," answered De Mark ; " they carry few arms,
and scarcely men enough to tend the sails. In fact, they have little
room for either, staggering as they are under a load of tin, salt beef,
and hides. There was one of them seemed to be piled half way up the
mast with wool-packs ; and it 's not at all improbable that we may trip
up some foreign ship hither bound laden with wine."

" Well, then, you may give orders to prepare," said the King; "but
mark, every knight and man at arms must be in disguise, and nothing
but Flemish must be spoken whilst we are boarding them."

" Long live King John ! " said those around, flourishing their caps in
the air. " Long live the King, and success to our fishing ! "

The news that the King had given orders to prepare for a marauding
expedition spread like wild-fire through the royal colony. All was now
activity ; the ships launching, men at arms embarking, and pages run-
ning to and fro in search of spears, bucklers, and cross-bows.

They were soon at sea ; but no royal pennon fluttered from the mast
of King John's vessel. The only thing that distinguished that ship
from the rest was the court-jester, who had got up to the top of the
mast, as he said, to have the first sniff at the salt beef.

" Uncle John," said the fool, reaching his head down, " shall I tell
you what joint of beef you would like to eat up best ? "

" What is that ? "

" A baron of beef," replied the jester ; " but you do not know how
to carve it when you have got it. The Saxons were the fellows for
carving — those Saxons were clever fellows."

" Explain yourself, most mighty Wisdom," said the King.

" Why, look you, uncle, don't you remember how the Saxons invited
all the British nobles to dinner at Stonehenge, and then sliced them up
with their crooked knives,* as if they had been ribs of beef ? That
was a rare go, uncle. Only think what a feast you might have made
at Runnemede, if you had only had a little of my wit, uncle ! But
perhaps barons are not so easily caught now-a-days : they are getting
up to trap. But it may be we will surprise them a little in a few days'
time, hey, nuncle ? And may be we '11 surprise yon skipper, who ap-
pears to be sitting on a wool-pack eating his dinner."

* Seaxes, short slightly-curved swords used by the Saxons, from which it is sup-
posed that the name of Saxon is derived.

A LEGEND OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 570

" Peace, fool ! " said the King.

" Ah, nuncle, it 's all very well to talk of peace ; but that is a very
warlike man we are going to attack. Look at him. There he is cut-
ting his bread and cheese with a knife as long as my arm ! And what
an irascible temperament he has ! I can read it in the colour of his
beard — his hair is as red as brick-dust. Those red men are terribly
savage. Let 's go and attack one of the other ships, and leave Master
Rufus to finish his dinner."

They were now fast approaching the merchant ship that they were
in chase of; and King John began to give his directions for boarding
her. The men-at-arms lay concealed at the bottom of the King's
vessel until the ships actually struck one another. They then sprang
up, and leaped on board the red-whiskered man's ship.

The jester had been quite right in his estimate of the courage of the
Captain ; for, the moment he saw their intention of attacking him, he
seized a short spear ; and the rest of his crew appeared in arms at the
same moment. It was not until the men at arms had sprung out of
their concealment, and he saw the utter uselessness of defence, that he
threw his weapon down again. While they were rummaging his ves-
sel, however, he showed no signs of fear, but kept boldly demanding of
them by what right and what authority they dared to pillage him ? and
threatening them with the vengeance of the King of England, whose
subject he was.

King John's temper could ill brook this language. " Ha ! seekest
thou my authority ? " said he. " Grigo, chop him down with an axe."

This cruel order was obeyed with alacrity, and the ship of the honest
merchant was stained with its owner's life-blood. Gigo's assistants
threw the carcase overboard, and the ship was allowed to proceed on
her voyage.

King John's other two ships were equally successful, and they re-
turned to their master laden with spoil.

The chiefs assembled in the royal vessel to hold a council what was
to be done next. If they returned immediately to their old haunts
they might be traced by some of those they had plundered. And,
should that be the case, the barons with all their host might soon be
upon them.

" Now if we sail round the outside of the island," said the Templar,
" and return to our old quarters by the narrow strait to the west, it
will then appear to these burghers that we are foreigners, and are
going to cross the open sea."

" Does any one know the coast well ? " asked the King, whose cruelty
was alone equalled by his cowardice.

Upon inquiry it appeared that no one on board any of the ships had
ever been round the outside of the island. But some of the sailors had
heard reports that the voyage round that coast was full of perils. There
was one place on the south-east of the island where, they had been told,
that sometimes out of a smooth sea a long wave raises itself up like a
wall, and, after rising to a great height, curls over upon the luckless ma-
riner, and falls with the noise of thunder. Round the south coast there
were said to be many other spots, where, while the wind was lulled,
and the sea smooth everywhere else, a violent storm would be raging
within its contracted limits. The waves rising up to a great height,
and falling over in all directions, to the imminent danger of such
vessels as were drawn within its limits by the strength of the tide, or

2 T2

580 KING JOHN.

by the magical influence of the water-demons who were the cause of all
this hubbub in the sea. Water-kelpies had, indeed, occasionally been
seen riding a-straddle on the white foaming crests of the waves, comb-
ing their long hair, or singing melancholy ballads in the pale moon-
light,— for they were rarely or never seen in the daytime.

Although these magical storms generally occurred near the same
spots, some of these places were farther out at sea, while others were
close to the shore. In short, the sailing round the island appeared
to be a perilous adventure, which it would be folly to attempt without
the strongest necessity.

" Ah ! " said the jester, " we should be like gudgeons, who, after
catching a nice prey for themselves, get eaten up by the larger fishes.
Just think now, uncle, of being boiled down into soup to make a
dinner for the water-kelpies."

" But, if we go straight back," said De Maleone, " our retreat will
be known to the burghers, and we shall be attacked in the morning by
superior numbers, and your Grace will run imminent risk of being
discovered, if a worse chance does not befal you ; for the rebel Barons
are in high favour at this moment with all classes, and your Grace's
death would be a sure road to preferment."

" What think you, Sir Templar," asked the King, " of the voyage
round the island ? Is there any credit to be given to these strange
stories of enchanted waves and water-kelpies."

" I should be deceiving your Grace if I was to say that I doubt
them altogether. I have myself seen mariners, who have told me of
the sights and sounds that they have witnessed as they sailed by night
round the south coast of the Isle of Wight. Different coloured lights
would be seen hovering along the shore, sometimes over the land, and
sometimes over the sea. At one time a dismal moaning would be
heard ; at another the sound of beautiful music. Among the high
cliffs I have also heard that there are deep caverns in which the sea
enters, in one of which was once seen coiled up a sea-serpent of enor-
mous length. For my own part, however, I think little of these
things. I have seen much of life, and been in perils by land and sea ;
and I have ever found that supernatural terrors shrink into little or
nothing upon a close inspection. My opinion is, that we should sail
round the island, and so return to our former quarters. I think I
might safely stake my honour as a knight that we shall meet with
neither magical storms, Kelpies, nor sea-serpents."

" It 's all very well, Sir Knight Priest," said the jester, who saw how
the land lay with his royal master, — " it 's all very well for you to talk
in this manner, who can exorcise a kelpy with one hand, and cut his
throat with another. Yet methinks your counsel is rather of the rash-
est ; like the advice that the fish gave to his companions in the frying-
pan, that they should all jump out of it into the fire."

" What thinks your Grace," said De Maleone, " of standing out to
sea for a few hours, as if we were sailing to a foreign country, and slip
back again to our old quarters in the dusk of the evening ? "

" We have nothing else to choose," said the King, " that gives us
any hope of safety."

The three ships, in consequence, stood out to sea, as if for the pur-
pose of crossing the channel. There was very little wind, but a long
rolling swell came from the eastward, which in the course of a little

A LEGEND OF THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 581

time began to produce unpleasant effects upon those on board, who had
not been accustomed to the sea.

" Look at Sir Gigo there," said the jester ; " his face is becoming the
colour of parchment. How he opens and shuts his mouth like a dying
oyster ! It strikes me, uncle, that he must be a man of infinite wit."

" Why so ? "

" I mean, judging from the good things that come out of his mouth."

" Foh ! " said the King, " you have quite given my stomach a turn.
I didn't feel unwell before."

" In that case," replied the jester, " I will take myself off to the far-
thest end of the ship. I would sooner pull a lion by the whiskers than
jest with a King who feels sea-sick ; and, as for holding my tongue, it
is a thing that I have never been accustomed to."

After rolling about upon the long swell of the sea, with a hot sun
over their heads, for the rest of the day, as evening began to close in
they turned their vessels' heads towards the shore again ; and about
midnight they found themselves again in their old quarters. Here they
found a messenger, who had been sent to the King from the Bishop of
Worcester, the Lord Chancellor, and Hugh de Boves, who were still
abroad, collecting troops for the invasion of England. Their letters
stated that these foreign allies of King John were on the point of sail-
ing for England : and the King was recommended to come to Dover
without delay, to put himself at their head. The next day there was
a strong east wind, which rendered the King's sailing from the Isle of
Wight impracticable ; and the King, to while away the time, was
sauntering through the glades of the forest that fringes the creek of
Whippingham, attended by his jester, the Templar, De Maleone, and
Gigo, habited as usual in the dress of common sailors.

On turning a corner they came unawares upon a lady, who was sit-
ting upon a fallen tree, caressing a large deer greyhound. She was tall,
and delicately formed, and her dark tresses hung down in long ringlets
upon her bosom. The King was much struck with her beauty and
noble bearing ; and, emboldened by the success that usually attends
royal gallantries, at once familiarly placed himself by her side, and be-
gan a long string of idle and courtly compliments.

" Fairest lady, what a felicity it is for my admiring eyes to discover
such a beautiful form inhabiting so savage a forest. How would all
the beauties of the court shrink into comparative ugliness by the side
of this lily of the island ! "

The lady shrunk back, and tried to separate herself from him, but
in vain ; for the King still continued to intrude himself upon her.

" Who are you ? " she said, " that thus unmannerly force yourself
upon my society. If you are what your dress represents you to be, you
will, perhaps, show some respect to my rank, although you do not to
my sex. Know that I am the daughter of a knight, and I seek not
companions among those that are servile born."

" Gentle lady," he replied, " you would do me wrong were you to
judge me by the dress that I now wear. I am not what I appear to
be. My rank is as superior to that of a simple knight, as your station
is to that of the meanest serf. Lady, I am the King." He watched
her eye to see the effect that this sudden announcement of his royal
station would have upon the mind of a country-bred girl. Great was
his surprise to find that, instead of his disclosure working a change in

582 KING JOHN.

his favour, she shrunk from him more than before, and uttered an ex-
clamation of horror.

" No, no, no/' she exclaimed, " I will never believe that. The King
I know to be profligate, wicked, and cruel ; but he never, never would
have hung a poor, innocent, honest, industrious man, for a mere jest.
Thank Heaven, however, he still lives. He was brought like a dead
man to our house. I was his physician ; and he lives to bless me. Oh,
what an unfortunate being I am ; after all this to fall myself into the
power of such a "

" Speak the word out, lady, fear not."

" Villain was the word, then," she replied, the colour mounting to
her cheeks. " Isabel de Bosco fears you not. Let me pass on my
way."

" Not so, sweet lady," said the King, taking hold of her gently by
the arm. No sooner, however, had he touched her than the deer-
hound by her side gave a loud bark, and flew straight at the King's
throat. The King let go her arm, and started back. The dog also
checked his spring, and contented himself by warning the King of
danger with a low threatening growl.

Presently a number of armed persons were seen advancing through
the openings between the high oaks. The maiden clapped her hands
to draw their attention, and then turning to the King, she added,
" Now I am beyond your power ; and, know further, it only rests with
me to hang you on yon tree, as you hung poor honest Gurton. But,
go your ways now, and mend your manners."

The King, who by no means liked the look of the tree that she
pointed to, was not slack in following her advice. But, as he turned
away with his companions, he muttered between his teeth, " By God's
feet she shall not escape me thus. Am I to be made a laughing-stock
of by a country maiden ? Before we hoist our sails this night, she
shall be my prize."

The supper was over in the old hall of Wotton. Sir Reginald de
Bosco, its venerable proprietor, with his fair daughter, Isabel, had just
received the lamp from their page, and were retiring to their private
apartments. The retainers and visiters that crowded the lower part of
the hall rose out of respect to the knight ; but, before they had time
to leave the hall a loud knocking was heard at the outer door. The
seneschal went down with the porter to the entrance, and questioned
the strangers through the wicket.

" Who knocks so loud, and disturbs the knight's family at so late
an hour ? "

" Messengers to Sir Reginald de Bosco from the Earl of the Isle of
Wight," was the reply.

The bolts were immediately withdrawn, and the door thrown open.
The old seneschal was thrown down, and trampled on by the crowd
that rushed in, and the hall was filled with armed men.

Isabel gave a loud shriek. " That is he that called himself the
King." She ran out by a side-door, and drew the bolts behind her.

" Give chase ! " cried the chief of the intruders.

A number of men instantly ran up the hall, oversetting the stools
and forms, passed the dais, and burst open with an axe the side-door
by which Isabelle had retired.

The lady was presently dragged out again into the hall by Gigo and

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 583

the Templar, and forced by them away from her father's house, fol-
lowed by the remainder of the King's attendants. They had not, how-
ever, gone far from the building, when, as they passed through the
wood, Gigo, who was holding one of the lady's arms, fell, pierced
through by an arrow.

" That was a bold marksman," said the Templar, " who ventured to
send his shaft so near the lady."

" I only did it for a joke," shouted a voice from behind a tree not
many yards off; and, before this sentence was concluded another ar-
»row had scored the skin from off one of the ribs of the King. An inch
difference in the aim, and it had reached his heart.

" Treason ! " shouted the King. " Let go the maiden, and scour
the wood. A purse of gold to whoever secures the villain."

The maiden was released, and made her escape ; and the archer
turned his knowledge of the ground to such advantage that they heard
no more of him.

The next morning saw King John and his followers depart to at-
tempt a scheme of higher import, and deeper villainy, in the prosecu-
tion of which he perished, and the curses of his subjects were heaped
upon his grave.

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

BY JAMES ALDRICH.

IN beauty lingers on the hills

The death-smile of the dying day ;
And twilight in my heart instils

The softness of its rosy ray.
I watch the river's peaceful flow,

Here, standing by my mother's grave,
And feel my dreams of glory go,

Like weeds upon its sluggish wave.

God gives us ministers of love,

Which we regard not, being near ;
Death takes them from us, then we feel

That angels have been with us here !
As mother, sister, friend, or wife,

They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain;
And, when the grave has closed between

Our hearts and theirs, we love— in vain !

Would, MOTHER ! thou couldst hear me tell

How oft, amid my brief career,
For sins and follies loved too well,

Hath fall'n the free repentant tear !
And, in the waywardness of youth,

How better thoughts have given to me
Contempt for error, love for truth,

'Mid sweet remembrances of thee !

The harvest of my youth is done,

And manhood, come with all its cares,
Finds, garner'd up within my heart,

For every flower a thousand tares.
Dear MOTHER ! couldst thou know my thoughts

Whilst bending o'er this holy shrine,
The depth of feeling in my breast,

Thou wouldst not blush to call me thine !

584

AN EPISTLE FROM MISS SELINA SPRIGGINS TO
MISS HENRIETTA TIMS.

Spriggins' Folly, April 1, 1835.
MA CHERB HENRIETTE,

IN the umbrageous solitude of Spriggins Folly, a letter from you
breaks in like a ray of summer sunshine ! How happy am I to learn
that your interesting affaire de cceur progresses with all the felicity
your dear affectionate soul deserves.

You ask me if I am yet unalterably fixed ? No ! my dear Henri-
etta. The truth is, there is such a swarm of (not bees but) would be'g,
that I am really (like a child in a pastry-cook's) puzzled which of
the sweethearts (sweet tarts ?) to select. As at a full Archery meet-
ing, here 's a display of beaux of all sorts. First in the rank of my
admirers is Sir Plimly Supple. He professes the most ardent affec-
tion, — and exhibits certainly a great inclination ; for he is all bows.
He has little conversation ; but manages to fill up his part in the
dialogue with ducking, cringing, bowing in such admirable panto-
mime, that you almost forget he has said nothing. Describe his
eyes or teeth I cannot ; for it is a rare thing to see anything but the
crown of his head ! Alas for him ! his bows will all prove barren,
if the affections of your loving friend are expected to be the fruits of
them. In his presence I cannot help applying ^Esop's maxim, that
" the beau should not be always bent ! " A dear good-natured friend
(who has a son of her own, by the by) whispered my father the
other day, " That, notwithstanding his appearance, Sir Plimly Supple
was very much straitened ! "

" I am glad to hear it," answered my father, to the dame's evident
surprise ; " for really I thought the man was born crooked."

The lady recovered a little at this turn, and added, " That al-
though he assumed so much humility, he carried his head very high
elsewhere."

" Indeed ! " said my father. " Why, I have heard that he has a
sort of pride of pedigree, — boasts of his Norman descent. For my
part, I should guess he was an Angle; for that is the form his slender
and plastic body most usually assumes."

Of my suitors the next in rank is Albert Anyside, Esq. the eldest
son of Squire Anyside, a man of some property, and great conse-
quence in the county, — having a great command of votes. His son,
however, has not mine, and will never be my election. He has been
educated for the bar ; but he is so full of technicals, and so wary in
his speech, that he will never commit himself. He would be a very
desirable ally for any power going to war, for he deals in generals!

Although his declaration (as he would technically term it) sets
forth the most ardent affection, I am afraid his love would turn out
a « little brief! "

Young Conway, his cousin, is worth twenty of him, — a smart,
impudent, careless, rattling youth of five-and-twenty, — but no for-
tune. As he says, however, he has so much of the milk of human
kindness, that he may reasonably be expected to make his own way
(whey ?) in the world !

Upon a late change in the politics of his cousin, he gravely re-

AN EPISTLE FROM MISS ELIZA SPRIGGINS. 585

marked, " If the barrister were a Whig — (wear a wig?) — he is now
a Tory ! "

He is also one of the captives chained to my triumphal car. As
for the rest — why, all I can say is, they do not disturb your Selina's
rest ! But do not imagine for a moment there is the slightest im-
pression. Were it so I would not conceal the feeling for a moment
from my bosom friend and confidant. You shall never say of me,
" She never told her love," — such concealment on my part would be
indeed unwarrantable after the confidence you have reposed in me.

But now, to descend (or rather to ascend) from beaux to belles.
The elder ladies of these parts are rather inclined to loquaciousness
and obesity ; and the junior branches to silence and dowdiness. Sir
Plimly's mamma is a very moral, sententious, strict, old dowager.
Such a pattern ! but very much creased — that is, wrinkled, — like
many other excellent patterns that we know of! She gives very
dashing tea and turn-out parties ; and, I assure you, (however para-
doxical it may sound,) those of her admirers who are " left out" by
no means like the " cut" of the "pattern ! "

Anyside's daughters are mere rustics, but most violent in their at-
tachment to the last new fashion. Conway laughs most imperti-
nently at their vain attempts at elegance.

" Those girls," said he one day to me in a whisper, " are really
walking contradictions, for, though very ' raw ' they are ( well
dress'd.' " He is, indeed, very severe ; and his satirical vein has ob-
tained for him among his companions the apt soubriquet of "Roast-
ing Jack ! " He is a great favourite with papa. He is so full of
anecdote, he says, and is such a good hand at cribbage and backgam-
mon. I am sure he would have little difficulty in gaining his appro-
bation if he had the golden pretensions of his cousin. For, although
papa is very aristocratical in his notions, he is a staunch supporter
of equality in all matrimonial alliances. He brought us tickets of
invitation to a ball the other evening, to be given by a wealthy yeo-
man some six miles from Spriggins' Folly.

He had little difficulty in persuading papa to accept them ; for he
luckily produced them after the old gentleman had just beat him at
two games of back-gammon.

" No doubt," said Conway, " the thing will be done well, for the
old yeoman is an old cricketer, and knows how to give a ball in
good style."

We went ; and I assure you I was highly pleased. My blue satin
and blonde (made for my dear Henrietta's birthday) was displayed
on the occasion. The body and sleeves, I could perceive, puzzled
the rustic critics not a little. They were all eyes, like a peacock's
tail ! There was no fear, however, of their taking it to pieces, for
they could not discover how it was put together !

Quadrilles did not figure much on the occasion. Country-dances
were all the vogue ; and my poor kids suffered a martyrdom in the
lusty gripe of many a sun-burnt hand. It was really a most vigorous
exercise with the greater part of the company. No mincing, or
gliding, or glissading ; but every one (ladies not excepted) did their
work manfully !

" A very pleasant ball," said Conway, as we returned; "but, like
the good yeoman's ale, there was too much of the hop in it for my
taste. O ! Taglioni ! thou compound of music, moonshine, and

586 LINES IN AN ALBUM.

gossamer ! how their eternal thump — thump would have annihilated
thy nerves ! "

But I must stay my pen ; for I have already crossed and recross-
ed my letter, till it has assumed the appearance of a remnant of
check. Remember me affectionately to our mutual friend, Amelia,
and believe me, my dear Henrietta,

Your ever affectionate friend,

SELINA. SPRIGGINS.

LINES IN AN ALBUM TO WHICH LETITIA ELIZABETH
LANDON HAD BEEN A CONTRIBUTOR.

BY B. SIMMONS.

As certain pilgrims bound of yore

To far Judea's sacred shore

Were vow'd a rosary to say

At every shrine upon their way,

So it befits the Bard, each time

An Album cheers his road, to rhyme.

Here, then, a wandering minstrel, weary

With life's long journey dim and dreary,

Pauses amid the desert waste

To hail this shelter spread for Taste,

And bless the fair and graceful powers

That gather 'd here Wit's scattered flowers,

And strew'd these leaves with fancies bright,

And won sweet poesy to pour
Such freshness o'er them that the wight

Now scribbling, shrinks from scribbling more.

Yet, ere I part each favour'd leaf,

Where Genius look'd, and left a spell,
How can this heart repress its grief
While lingering o'er yon record brief

Of her the lost — the loved so well ?
The radiant lady of the lute !

The fire-lipped Sappho of the Isles !
And, is the Queen of Music mute,

Who woke our tears and smiles?
Immortal Passion's priestess, wo

To us to whom thy songs shall be
But springs in bitterness to flow

Above thy lucid memory :
For, as we point to all thou 'st done,

Remembrance of thine early fate
Will count what wreaths were left unwon

Till Grief grows desolate !
Strange fate ! fierce Afric's ocean laves,

Or leaps in thunder by the bed ;
And Afric's sultry palm-tree waves

Above the gentle head
Of HER who deep should take her rest
Far in her own beloved west, —
In some green nook, — some violet dell,
Beneath the rose she sang so well,
Soothed by the lull of some sweet river,
Sparklingly pure and bright, like her, the Lost for Ever !

587

A DAY AT ETON.

" Me quoties curas suadent lenire seniles
Umbra tua, et viridi ripa beata toro.
Sit mihi, primitiasque meas, tenuesque triumphos,
Sit, revocare tuos, dulcis Etoua ! dies."

" Come, parent Eton ! turn the stream of time

Back to thy sacred fountain crown'd with bays !
Recall my brightest, sweetest days of prime,

When all was hope and triumph, joy and praise."

LORD WELLESLEY.

ANY one living habitually in the country would find it difficult to
appreciate the delight which a Londoner feels when he quits the great
metropolis to pass the day either at Hampton Court or Windsor, or
indeed to make any other rural excursion. A primrose, cowslip, or
even the modest daisy, are not regarded by him with indifference. He
thinks the song of the unseen lark the sweetest music he ever heard.
He listens with delight to the notes of the throstle and blackbird, and
inhales the fresh breeze as if he derived from it a new existence. It
is always a satisfaction to witness the delight, the real enjoyment,
experienced by those who, emancipated from the smoke and confine-
ment of London, come to have a day of pleasure in either of the
places referred to : those especially whose means of living are ob-
tained by the sweat of their brow, — who are either chained to desks,
or shut up in offices or shops the greater part of their time, — enjoy
their excursion to Hampton Court or Windsor with a delight peculiar
to themselves. It is a pleasure to witness their happiness, as well as the
orderly conduct that is now becoming every day more and more appa-
rent in visiters to these places, even amongst the humblest class ; a
fact which at once gives an answer to the fears and objections that
were formerly urged against the free admission of the public to pic-
ture-galleries, museums, and gardens. It was impossible to touch
upon this subject without bearing this testimony to the correct conduct
of the working classes, and it is no small gratification to be able to
do so.

But it is time to describe a little excursion I made with an old
Etonian about the middle of last month, in order to see all that was
worth seeing on the spot where his earliest and happiest days had been
passed. It was a delightful May morning when we left Paddington
to go to Slough by the Great Western Railway. This has now become
almost the only public mode of conveyance to Windsor, and it is not
surprising that it should be so. It is unrivalled for the smoothness
and rapidity with which we travel along it, — its punctuality, — its ar-
rangements,— its comparative safety, — the great civility of its attend-
ants, — to say nothing of the stupendous cost of its works, which no
other country but this can boast of, or could have undertaken. All
these place it in the first rank among railroads.*

The bell rang at twelve o'clock, and the train was instantly in move-
ment. We arrived at Slough, eighteen miles and a quarter from the

* The travelling parlour is the very perfection of ease, comfort, and enjoyment.

588 A DAY AT ETON.

Paddington station, in exactly thirty minutes, and an omnibus soon de-
posited us at Eton.

The emotions excited by a view of Eton College are of a far different
nature from those associated with Windsor. Eton is fraught with a
peculiar interest of its own. As we enter the venerable walls of the
College, it is impossible not to call to mind that from this place have
issued some of our greatest statesmen, philosophers, and poets. Here,
amongst other great men, the learned John Hale, Sir Robert Walpole,
Harley, Earl of Oxford ; Lord Bolingbroke, Earl Cambden, the cele-
brated Earl of Chatham, Oughtred, the mathematician, Boyle, the phi-
losopher ; Lord Littleton, Gray, Horace Walpole, West, Waller, Fox,
Canning, the Marquess Wellesley ; the historian Hallam, and, though
last, by no means least, the Duke of Wellington, were educated. Here,
probably, the impulses of ambition were first excited in their breasts,
and here they may have been warmed with the flush of those glorious
feelings, the outbreaking of which has made their names an honour
to their country. As we sauntered through the courts of the College,
we called to mind the numerous great and good men who have been
educated at Eton, and thought that many, perhaps in the zenith of
their fame, had revisited its classic shades, and acknowledged how far
preferable was the freshness of heart which accompanied the thought-
less school-boy, to all the laurels which they had since reaped. Many,
perhaps, beneath its venerable elms, have wept over their early friend-
ships, and breathed a sigh at the recollection of that day, when they
were launched from the sunny stream of childhood into the stormy
ocean of public life. That this is the case with at least one great man,
— one who is equally an honour to his country, as to the school in
which he was educated, — is evident from the following beautiful
apostrophe : —

" Me, when thy shade and Thames's meads and flowers

Invite to soothe the cares of waning age,
May memory bring to me my long-past hours,
To calm my soul, and troubled thoughts assuage.

Come, parent Eton ! turn the stream of time

Back to thy sacred fountain crown'd with bays.
Recall my brightest, sweetest days of prime,
When all was hope and triumph, joy and praise.

Guided by Thee, I raised my youthful sight

To the steep solid heights of lasting fame,
And hail'd the beams of clear ethereal light

That brighten round the Greek and Roman name.

O blest Instruction ! friend to generous youth !

Source of all good ! you taught me to intwine
The muse's laurel with eternal truth,

And wake her lyre to strains of faith divine."

Beautiful as these lines of Lord Wellesley 's are, they are exceeded
by his original Latin composition on the same subject ; remarkable as
having been written by a great statesman in his eightieth year, yet
warm with all the freshness of youth, and the ardour of a true
Etonian.

The enthusiasm of my companion, who had not visited Eton since his

A DAY AT ETON. 589

school-boy days, knew no bounds. Everything he saw delighted him,
because he was reminded of some youthful prank, or some incident
almost forgotten, until the spot where it had taken place brought it
afresh to his recollection. He was ready to exclaim with the poet,

" Ah, happy courts! ah, pleasing shade !

Ah, fields beloved in vain !
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring." — GRAY.

We visited every hole and corner which were accessible to strangers ;
talked of floggings and Montem, Dr. Keate and the late Provost, and
then adjourned to ' ' The Christopher," to partake of one of Mr. Clarke's
good dinners, and afterwards strolled about in the evening till it was
time to take our departure by the last train.

The object of my companion in accompanying me to Eton was to
explore the scenes of his youth ; — mine was to assist my memory, in
order to produce an article for the next number of Mr. Bentley's Mis-
cellany, and to indulge my fondness for viewing the fine chapel, and
the interesting buildings which adjoin it.

Eton College was founded in the year 1440 by that unfortunate
king, Henry the Sixth, and established nearly on the same footing as
that adopted by William of Wykham for his seminary at Winchester.
The foundation at present consists of a Provost, Vice-Provost, six fel-
lows, a head master, lower master, ten assistants, seventy scholars,
seven lay clerks, and ten choristers. Besides these, there are an unli-
mited number of scholars who derive no advantage from the College,
and who are styled oppidans. Those on the foundation are called
King's Scholars, or familiarly Collegers, and are distinguished from
the others by wearing a black cloth gown. The total number has ge-
nerally amounted to about five hundred and fifty, although this number
is frequently exceeded.

In immediate connection with Eton is King's College at Cambridge,
to which establishment, as vacancies occur in it, the senior " King's
Scholars " are elected from Eton every year. Here they are enabled to
complete their education free of expense, and at the end of three years
are admitted to fellowships, without passing through any preparatory
examination.

The College of Eton is divided into two courts, or quadrangles. In
the first of these are the chapel, the upper and lower schools, the
apartments of the head and second master, and those set apart for the
scholars on the foundation, — the oppidans being lodged in boarding-
houses in the town. In the other quadrangle are the lodgings of the
Provost and Fellows, the great dining-hall, and the library of the
College.

The chapel is a fine old Gothic structure ; but, with the exception
of a monument to Sir Henry Wotton, who was a lay provost of the
College, contains no memorial of any particular interest. At the
west end of the ante-chapel there is a beautiful marble statue of the

590 A DAY AT ETON.

founder in his regal robes, executed by Bacon., in the year 1708. On
the monument of Sir Henry Wotton is the following remarkable in-
scription : —

Ilk jacet hujus sententise primus auctor —
" Disputandi pruritus sit ecclesiarum scabies."
Nomen alias quaere.

Or, in English,

Here lies the Author of this sentence,
"May an itching for dispute be the scab of the Church."
Seek his name elsewhere.

In the centre of the principal court is another statue of the founder
in bronze. On its pedestal is an inscription, purporting that it was
placed there in 1719* by Henry Godolphin, then Provost of the Col-
lege. The upper school-room in this court, with its stone-arcade be-
neath, and the apartments immediately attached to it, were built by
Sir Christopher Wren, at the expense of Dr. Allestre, who was Pro-
vost in the reign of Charles the Second.

The library, besides a curious and highly valuable collection of
books, contains an excellent assortment of Oriental and Egyptian ma-
nuscripts, many beautifully illuminated missals, and other literary curi-
osities. It has frequently been added to by the bequests of different
persons who have borne an affection to this venerable seat of learning.
Amongst these are Dr. Waddington, Bishop of Chester ; Mr. Mawn,
Master of the Charter-House; Richard Topham, Keeper of the Re-
cords in the Tower; Anthony Storer; and the Rev. Mr. Hethering-
ton, a fellow of the College. Over one of the fire-places is a fine
painting of the founder on the panel.

The apartments of the Provost contain the portraits of many learn-
ed individuals who have been his predecessors in that office, amongst
whom are Sir Thomas Smith, well known as a statesman ; Dr.
Stewart, Clerk of the Closet to Charles the First ; Sir Henry Saville,
and Sir Henry Wotton. There are also half-length portraits of Queen
Elizabeth and Sir Robert Walpole. In one of the rooms is a painting
of a female on panel, said to be the unfortunate Jane Shore. The
supposition principally arises from a belief that her confessor was a
Provost of the College, for there is nothing in the portrait that gives
any idea of the pre-eminence in beauty which we attach to this cele-
brated female. The forehead is high and broad, and the hair au-
burn ; but the other features are small, and devoid of interest. These
characteristics also distinguish her portrait in Hampton Court Palace.

Having given this cursory account of Eton, it will be expected that
something should be said on the celebrated triennial pageant of the
Montem.

At this ancient ceremony, as is well known, contributions are levied
from all passengers and visiters, and the amount presented to the boy
who has the good fortune to be at the head of the school, at the time
the Montem takes place. For this purpose the whole of the scholars,
habited in different fancy-dresses, march in grand procession to the
neighbouring village of Salt-Hill, where a dinner is provided for them,
and the money, or salt, which sometimes exceeds one thousand pounds,
presented to the head-boy, who is styled for the day, Captain. It is
impossible to detail all the different customs and ceremonies which
take place during these juvenile saturnalia ; a general notion, how-

A DAY AT ETON. 591

ever, may perhaps be formed from the following passage, which is ex-
tracted from an article published some years ago in Mr. Knight's
Quarterly Magazine, and is evidently written by an Etonian.

" We reached, at length, the foot of the mount, — a very respectable
barrow, which never dreamt in its Druidical age of the interest which
it now excites, and the honours which now await it. Its sides are
clothed with mechanics in their holiday suits, and happy dairy-maids
in their Sunday gear. At its base sit Peeresses in their barouches,
and Earls in all the honours of four-in-hand. The flag is waved; the
scarlet coats and the crimson plumes again float amongst us, and the
whole earth seems made for one universal holiday. I love the no-
meaning of Montem. I love to be asked for ' salt ' by a pretty boy in
silk stockings and satin doublet ; though the custom has been called
something between robbing and begging. I love the apologetical ( mos
pro lege,' which defies the police and the Mendicity Society. I love
the absurdity of a Captain taking precedence of a Marshal, and a Mar-
shal bearing a gilt baton, at an angle of forty-five degrees from his
right hip; and an Ensign flourishing a flag with the grace of a tight-
rope dancer ; and Serjeants paged by fair-skinned Indians, and beard-
less Turks ; and Corporals in sashes and gorgets, guarded by innocent
polemen in blue jackets and white trowsers. I love the mixture of
real and mock dignity : the Provost, in his cassock, clearing the way
for the Duchess of Leinster to see the Ensign make his bow ; or the
Head- Master gravely dispensing his leave till nine to Counts of the
Holy Roman Empire, and Grand Seigniors. I love the crush in the
Cloisters, and the mob on the Mount. I love the clatter of carriages,
and the plunging of horsemen. I love the universal gaiety, from the
peer who smiles, and sighs that he is no longer an Eton boy, to the
country-girl, who marvels that such little gentlemen have cocked
hats and real swords. I will not attempt to reason about the pleasures
of Montem ; but to an Etonian it is enough that it brings pure and
ennobling recollections, calls up associations of hope and happiness, and
makes even the wise feel that there is something better than wisdom,
and the great, that there is something nobler than greatness. And
then the faces that come about us at such a time, with their tales of
old friendships, or generous rivalries. I have seen to-day fifty old
schoolfellows, of whom I remember only the nicknames ; they are now
degenerated into scheming M.P.'s, or clever lawyers, or portly doctors ;
but at Montem they leave the plodding world of reality for one day,
and regain the dignity of sixth-form Etonians."

It is, indeed, a bright and joyous scene ; and, in spite of the stern
verdicts of uncompromising censors, may the time be far distant when
its innocent buffooneries shall be at an end, and it shall cease to be a
jubilee for thousands. It is one of those scenes which an assemblage
of youth, and health, and high spirits, alone can produce; it holds
before us a mirror of the past, and brings back that early freshness of
the heart for which wealth and worldly grandeur are but ill-exchanged.
In addition to the objects which have already been pointed out as
worthy of the strangers' notice, he must not forget to visit the interior
of the Upper and Lower Schools, on the walls of which he will disco-
ver the names of many celebrated men who have been educated at
Eton, and which Pepys tells us in his Memoirs they were in the habit
of carving on the shutters of the windows in his time. He should also
stroll into the playing fields, with their rich verdure and venerable

592 A DAY AT ETON.

elms ; the Thames calmly rippling along their banks, and Windsor
Castle towering in the distance. This fine pile of buildings is, per-
haps, seen to greater advantage from these fields than from any other
spot, especially when the last faint gleams of a setting-sun rest upon
them. Nothing, indeed, can be more beautiful than the whole appear-
ance of the Castle, with its numerous towers and Gothic chapel : we
call to mind the many interesting events which from the most remote
periods of our history have taken place within its walls. We think of
Herne's Oak, the Merry Wives of Windsor, Shakspeare, FalstafF, and
all the associations with which they are connected. Our thoughts
wander to Runnemede, King John, and Magna Charta; a distant
wooded rising-ground reminds us of Cooper's Hill, and Sir John Den-
ham ; and then we revert to Windsor Forest, and Pope, and long to
wander over the classic scenes connected with the poet and his song,

" Thy forests, Windsor, and thy green retreats."

The Thames, too, is not without its interest, and how delightfully it
winds through Datchet ! Here the celebrated Provost of Eton, Sir
Henry Wotton, and his old friend and companion, the good Izaac
Walton, enjoyed together the amusement of the rod and line, not
improbably seated on that pretty ait which still belongs to the Provost
and Fellows of Eton College. Here, also, Charles the Second some-
times resorted to pass a few idle hours in catching gudgeons, which
still abound in this part of the river. This circumstance in his his-
tory, which is perhaps not generally known, is referred to in the fol-
lowing lines, attributed in the State Poems to Lord Rochester.

" Methinks I see our mighty Monarch stand,
His pliant rod now trembling in his hand,
Pleased with the sport, good man ; nor does he know
His easy sceptre bends and trembles so.
Fine representative, indeed, of God,
Whose sceptre 's dwindled to a fishing-rod !
Such was Domitian in his Romans' eyes,
When his great godship stoop' d to catching flies.
Bless us, what pretty sport have deities !
But see, he now does up from Datchet come,
Laden with spoils of slaughter'd gudgeons, home.
Nor is he warn'd by their unhappy fate,
But greedily he swallows every bait,
A prey to every King-fisher of state."

We might mention the annual festival at Surly Hall, and the inte-
resting sight on the river of the numerous boats rowed to that place by
Eton boys ; but it is time to conclude.

" Floreat Etona ! "

It is an old motto, and a pure aspiration ; and long may she flourish,
with her classic courts and happy faces, undisturbed by the desolating
mania of reform, and the dangerous experiments of modern improve-
ments.

E.J.

Hampton Court,

May 12, 1840.

593

" This is a real picture ! "

MR. FOXE VARNISH.

THERE are some children — clever little dears ! — who are peculiar-
ly apt in picking up words without fatiguing their infantine brains
with the meanings which they bear. It is sufficient, in their estima-
tion, that the syllables possess a certain striking euphony. Like the
" little busy bee," that is innocently attracted with the simple music
of a street-door key clinquantly applied to the wrong side of a fry-
ing-pan, the sound is all-sufficient to their ears ; they seek not the
sense nor derivation.

Sir Flatman Flunks was a full-grown specimen of this easily-to-
be-pleased-and-gulled genus,

At an early age, — even at that freshly-green period when the
small bag-like trowsers are unconscious of any other suspenders
than the diminutive pea-buttons of a tiny jacket, fashioned from the
same piece of broad-cloth, and forming a fitting case for the embryo
man, — when he was merely designated a " young gentleman," and
was graduating at a spinster's establishment for the education of
downy-cheeked darlings " under nine years of age," Flunks was a
prodigy ! " Hard words " appeared to make a most permanent im-
pression on his soft head — his tender mind, as his indulgent go-
verness chose to phrase it! He was, indeed, taught like a parrot;
and made about as much use of his attainments.

VOL. VII. 2 U

MR. FOXE VARNISH.

Two points, however, were indisputably gained by the happy
knack he possessed of pronouncing " sesquipedalians" so trippingly :
he became the envy of his school-fellows, and astonished the maid-
servants, who " vowed and declared that they were positive-certain
as Master Flunks would, one day, be a very great man ;" but "fal-
lax vulgi judicium," as Phoedrus saith ; for, as his years increased
he " turned out " an uncommonly great donkey !

Most fortunate was it for Flunks that his father was born before
him ! This is so common an occurrence, indeed, that few men are
sufficiently grateful for it; in this instance, however, priority of
nativity was the salvation of Flunks, — for had the father been
" nothing," the filial derivation would assuredly never have risen
above par !

As it was, old Flunks, having accumulated a good round sum in
the cheesemongering "line," died one day, leaving Flatman in the
possession of a considerable fortune in the funds, and an excellent
connection.

Being a man of substance, he was, in the course of events, elected
sheriff, and presenting an address — although a man of no address —
his Majesty was " most graciously pleased to confer the honour
of knighthood," &c. as the custom is. Pie immediately cut the
cheese, and turned connoisseur — admiring everything he did not un-
derstand. He bought pebbles and pictures ; and crammed artists
and authors at his soirees and conversazioni, — the only substantial
good that arose out of his egregrious vanity. Such, Reader, is the
man to whom the obsequious Mr. Foxe Varnish elevates his bea-
ver. Not to know that man is to argue yourself unknown. Why
every man in every ward, from the officious street-keeper, who
pokes his cane into the apple-woman's basket, to the burly alder-
man " with fat capon lined," knows Mr. Foxe Varnish, the picture-
dealer.

Behold, with what a super-suavity of manner he projects his
" finely-chiselled chin " over the rippling gutter as his bright and
discriminating eyes catch the languid glance of the obese Sir Flat-
man.

No industrious spider, on summer flies intent, ever peeped from
his ambuscade at a booming blue-bottle entangled in his web, with
more complacency ! It is impossible to look upon the clean, dapper
little man, with his fair hair, and fine teeth, and flexible form, and
to suppose that he ever washed those smiling features with any-
thing but highly-perfumed " brown Windsor," or almond paste,
there is such a clear, cosmetical appearance about them.

And then his language! so bland, mellifluous, and stuffed with
superfine conceits, — forming a sort of Irish blarney diluted with
honey- water, — it is irresistible ! He is, moreover, naturally so
good-natured withal, that should he even fail in persuading you to
become a purchaser, a rare occurrence, there is no cloudy indication
of disappointment in his handsome countenance, and he ushers you
to the threshold of his shop-door with so much ceremony that it is
ten to one but you repeat your visit, and — are caught at last !

In fine, in Mr. Foxe Varnish the homely proverb of " Honey
catches more flies than vinegar " is beautifully illustrated.

" Good morning, Sir Flatman," said Mr. Foxe Varnish, approach-
ing the great asinine knight with one of his most insinuating smiles,

MR. FOXE VARNISH. 595

"I hope I have the felicity of seeing Sir Flatman in excellent
health?"

"Tolerable, Mr. Varnish , passablement Men, thank'e," replied the
knight, extending his hoof — his hand, I mean — to the sincere in-
quirer. " The gout — the podagra rather troublesome in the extre-
mities ; this pluvial congelation, too, touches my nerves ! " (There
had been a slight fall of kail!)

"That you are well, and wear well, are two points on which
your well-wishers agree in congratulating themselves/' said Var-
nish ; " for you are too valuable a man, Sir Flatman, both in
the eyes of our respected corporation collectively, and the mem-
bers individually, not to be watched with the most affectionate
solicitude."

"Why, Varnish," replied Flunks, with a self-approving smile,
" I believe I may say it, without arrogating to myself too much,, that
' I have done the state some service.' " A hackneyed quotation,
which he was in the habit of daily dealing forth ever since he pre-
sented the Address, and moved a return in the Common Council of
the costs and charges made by the City scavengers since the year
18 — ', and proposed some " sweeping clauses " touching the duties
and remuneration of the said important functionaries.

" Nobody can deny that," answered Varnish. " Had you been
born a Roman, (which our selfish feelings would have made us re-
gret,) you would undoubtedly have been named dictator ! Talking
of Rome reminds me that I have a Carlo Dolce, which I should like
to submit to your inspection. Your approval of it, Sir Flatman, will
augment its value in the eyes of the cognoscenti. I have to add, that
your condescension will confer an obligation on myself personally ;
and I know that you will honour my humble gallery," &c.

Of course the knight put his arm within that of the agreeable Mr.
Foxe Varnish, and accompanied the dealer to his shop, who smirked
and nodded to all his acquaintances, both great and small, whom he
happened to meet in the line of march, determined that they should
see the friendly familiarity with which he was treated by the
wealthy Flunks.

The room into which he bowed the knight was beautifully ar-
ranged and elegantly furnished, the glaring light of the " vulgar
unrefined day " pleasantly softened by blinds, — so as to show off his
merchandise to the best advantage.

Flunks " flopped" himself into a cushioned chair, while his dull
stupid eyes, attracted by the gilding, roved from frame to frame ;
and it must be confessed they were of the most approved and costly
model.

" Ah ! Sir Flatman, I see where your eyes are fixed," exclaimed
Varnish. " That white horse is your mark ! "

Sir Flatman looked in that direction — for the first time. " Ex-
actly," replied he.

" A Wouvermans that, Sir Flatman, eh ? There is no mistaking
his touch, I think ? " continued Varnish.

" Certainly not," replied Flunks. " I should aver, without any
pretension to vaticination, that it is an indubitable original. There
is a tone — a certain je ne sgaisquoi — a keeping about his capi d 'opera
— his chefs-d'oeuvre, that veritably proves him a master — "

" Of the horse ! "

596 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

" A master of the horse ! " said Flunks, extremely delighted with
the joke, which the other had dexterously put into his mouth.

" You 're so ready ! " said Varnish, adroitly making him a present
of the saying, which, indifferent as it was, was very valuable to a
man whose stock of wit was so miserably scant.

Unlocking a case, Varnish placed it in a chair opposite to his soft
and softened customer, and threw back the folding-doors with an
effect.

" There ! " cried he, " that is a gem of the first water ! "

" Beautiful ! " exclaimed Flunks. « Delectable ! "

" Is it not ? Now, Sir Flatman, I may be permitted without exag-
geration to call that a picture — a real picture. Look at the splendidly
graceful arrangement of that drapery ! — the unstudied simplicity of
that infant's head! ! — the natural and glowing tint of the Virgin's
roseate cheek ! ! ! — I have only permitted one of our first living artists
to look upon it, — and only to hear his raptures ! He at once under-
took to submit it to the committee of the National Gallery. It was
a temptation ; but I resisted it : I was resolved that it should adorn
the gallery of some private friend. It is not often that I have the
opportunity of sacrificing my interest to my pleasure. The public,
Sir Flatman, would not generally have appreciated its beauties, and,
as a lover of the arts, I could not — I felt that I ought not to comply.
I know there are many in this city who would thank for it — besides
the price — two hundred and fifty guineas — is really such a trifle."

" Say pounds, — guineas are gone by, — and I '11 write you a
cheque," said Flunks.

" Really, Sir Flatman, I have refused the sum already ten times,"
replied Varnish ; " but I am under so many onerous obligations to
you, Sir Flatman, that — I cannot resist. The gem is yours ! "

So FLUNKS BOUGHT IT !

ALFRED CROWQUILL.

MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

BY DR. W. C. TAYLOR.

MANCHESTER.

THERE can be few objects to attract the notice of a casual and
hurried visiter in a manufacturing town. Space is too valuable to
allow room for architectural display ; time is too important for the
inhabitants to waste it in answering the inquiries and satisfying the
curiosity of a stranger. Those who passed through Manchester on
the coach in old times, retained in their memory a confused picture
of enormous chimneys smoking like volcanoes, steam-engines and
spinning-jennies clattering in factories that looked like prisons, sug-
gesting to an excited imagination ideas of nameless torture inces-
santly operating within their walls ; streets of warehouses, secured
by shutters and bolts, as if an enemy was expected; and crowds

MANCHESTER. 597

hurrying along, as if the storm had commenced, and their foes were
in hard pursuit. To these were usually added a murky atmosphere,
a neglected pavement, and shops that seemed to present "a beggarly
account of empty boxes." Though the town has of late been consi-
derably improved both in its streets and shops, its external aspect is
still far from favourable ; it is ever enveloped in clouds of smoke,
the din of engines is incessant, and people hurry through its streets
as if their neighbours had the plague, and the delay of exchang-
ing salutations would expose them to infection. There are no
sounds of mirth around ; the joyous laugh of childhood is unheard ;
and the very few urchins to be seen about, have a look of care and
anxiety quite inconsistent with their early age. Uninviting as the
externals are, there is no place so deeply interesting when its interior
life is examined. It exhibits a system of social life constructed on a
wholly new principle, a principle as yet vague and indefinite, but
developing itself by its own spontaneous force, and daily producing
results which no human foresight had anticipated.

The factory system, aggregating its thousands and tens of thou-
sands in one narrow district, creating immense towns where some
years ago there was not even a hamlet, disorganizing all the relations
between the lords and the occupants of the soil, combining rapidity
of movement with permanency of influence, is a new element of so-
ciety, which cannot establish itself without greatly deranging old
institutions, customs, and opinions. It is itself an innovation, and a
wondrously great one ; it seems like a giant who sprung fully-formed
from the earth into the midst of a crowd, and of course discommoded
the whole assembly, while elbowing his way to the place he had
resolved to occupy. This jostling of the giant is not very pleasant
to feel, but it is not unamusing to witness ; and therefore our readers
will please to accompany us while we take a glance at his struggle
in Manchester.

The first thing that strikes a stranger in Manchester is, that every
person he meets is in a hurry ; the next is, that he does not see one
vacant face in the passing crowd. On the contrary, every counte-
nance displays a more than ordinary share of intelligence ; a decided-
ly stupid physiognomy could not be found in the town. Again, the
range of intelligence seems to be fixed within pretty definite limits ;
there is no decided superiority, and there is no marked inferiority ; a
great genius appears to be as rare as a great fool. As the faces pass,
rapidly as the shadowy forms of Banquo's glass, the impression of
their intellectual sameness assumes the form of conviction, but at the
same time seems to defy analysis. There remains, however, a pic-
ture in the mind of firmness and steadiness, without a single dash of
enthusiasm, — a spirit of determination and perseverance, unattended
by excitement, — and a power of ingenuity and contrivance, sharp-
ened by being constantly exercised within narrow limits, but, for
that very reason, rendered incapable of any great effort in a new
direction. Many volumes have been written to explain the differ-
ence between inventive talent and creative genius : they would all
be rendered unnecessary, if we could paint the face of a mechanic of
Manchester.

There appears, then, to result from the factory system, judging
merely from physiognomy, an intellectual principle at once elevating
and levelling ; and this produces sentiments of equality and inde-

598 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

pendence, which render themselves very obvious in the manner and
bearing both of the manufacturers and the operatives at Manchester.
In no place is there less of the air of patronage on one side, or pre-
sumption on the other ; insolence is quite as scarce as servility.
But though, from the mere appearance of the streets, one would be
led to imagine that the factory system had fixed the masters and the
men in their respective places, yet when an inquirer enters into con-
versation with them, he finds in both an indefinite feeling that their
relations are in some way or other still unsettled, and that some un-
known change must occur before all are in their proper places.
Chartism appears to be the natural result of this feeling. If
a Chartist is asked "what good the Charter will effect?" his in-
variable answer is, that it will hasten the change ; but of the
precise nature of the change he has never attempted to form a con-
ception.

Strolling along the streets of Manchester, the stranger may soon
discover that, though its growth is modern, its origin is very an-
cient ; and his curiosity will probably be excited to visit some of its
antiquated institutions, for the purpose of seeing how they have
accommodated themselves to a condition of society utterly unknown
at the time of their foundation. Chetham College is one of the
first objects to which his attention is directed ; and no place is
better calculated to show him the folly and mischief of applying to
one state of society the regulations that were framed for another and
a very different condition of affairs.

The visiter enters an open gateway into an unpaved desolate-
looking yard, in which he sees some score of melancholy urchins,
exhibiting the vacant listlessness which characterizes those who can-
not find employment either for mind or body. The contrast to the
faces witnessed in the street is absolutely startling. An ingenious
German, who had a theory for everything, suggested as a plausible
explanation of the difference, that the people of Manchester, from
their intercourse with the East, had adopted the Mahommedan no-
tion of the sanctity of idiotcy, and had founded this institution to
prevent the race of moping idiots from becoming extinct. The con-
jecture has this much to be said in its favour, that the institution is
very likely to answer such a purpose.

Advancing through the court-yard to the building, a range of
filthy cellars meet the view, in one of which still more filthy children
may be sometimes seen kneading dough. Chetham College is cele-
brated for its brown bread : it is not determined what proportion of
the colouring matter depends on the mud and gravel. To the ex-
treme right is a kind of cellar, badly lighted, and worse ventilated,
which serves as one of the school-rooms. Some modern botanists
have proposed to raise plants without air or light ; the invention is
not new, — they were anticipated by ancient schoolmasters. It does
not appear that the plan, however ingenious, is very successful.
Visiters may with some little trouble catch a few of the specimens,
and examine the results of their training ; and if they can in Europe
find greater specimens of crass ignorance, (to use Lord Brougham's
phrase,) they may forthwith offer their services to the British Mu-
seum, as the most ingenious discoverers of curiosities that ever
existed.

To the left of the building is a passage leading to the Library and

MANCHESTER. 599

Museum, and to some handsome suites of apartments belonging to
the officers of the College. The Museum is usually exhibited by one
of the boys, who chants the catalogue like a litany, and is himself
the greatest curiosity in the collection.

Now, can any reasonable man believe that such an institution as
this, richly endowed for doing good, and perversely applied to
effecting mischief, can be maintained among such an intelligent
body as the artisans of Manchester, without creating a contempt and
dislike for ancient institutions ? It would be strange indeed if
people reverenced antiquity, when the only ancient thing before
their eyes was a nuisance that ought to be abated.

There is also a very rich grammar-school, admirably conducted as
such, but remarkable for teaching everything that is useless, and
scarcely anything that is useful, in Manchester. It is richly en-
dowed ; portions of its accumulated wealth have been applied to
founding exhibitions at the universities, and purchasing the present-
ations of livings. It sends forth pupils initiated in the mysteries of
Greek prosody, and able to correct Lord Brougham's translation of
Demosthenes ; many of them can tell the genealogies of the heathen
deities as correctly as Hesiod, and recount their metamorphosis as
fluently as Ovid. But in Manchester, the construction of Greek
verse is not so important as the construction of a steam-engine, and
the amours of Jupiter not so interesting as the price of twist. It is
doubtful if Virgil himself would be endured, had he not the good
fortune to have been once translated by Cotton.

The ancient institutions of Manchester are, in the present state of
society, useless, or worse than useless ; they have ceased to belong to
the town, and seem to be preserved as specimens of the system of
civilization which has fallen into oblivion. The aspect of them
tempts us to regret that nobody ever endowed a college for Druids,
and bequeathed an estate for securing the correct pronunciation of
" Down-derry-down," which we are assured was a sacred chorus
among the ancient Britons.

Quitting ancient for modern Manchester, the visitor's first great
object is to get admittance into a mill. Mrs. Trollope's " Unsatis-
factory Boy," as the publisher, with too much reason, calls his un-
fortunate speculation, will lead him to suppose that this is a matter
of some difficulty ; but this is not the case. The owners, on the
contrary, are anxious to show every attention to visiters ; and a very
casual inspection will show that there is nothing which they should
desire to conceal. When first a visiter enters, and sees the immense
mass of machinery in motion, he naturally shudders with the appre-
hension of danger, and feels disposed to believe that the number of
accidents must be perfectly frightful. It is not until his eye has
caught the uniformity and regularity of all the movements that he
discovers his apprehensions to be groundless. The most dangerous
parts of the machinery are protected by boxes ; and the operatives
must exhibit dullness equal to that of the Chetham students, or still
greater stupidity, if such be possible, to incur any real danger.
There is also a constant care and supervision, which the owners
must exercise for their own sake. Though manufacturers may not
be philanthropists, they are not downright idiots ; if they will not
protect the lives of their workmen, they will at least look after their
own machinery. Accidents are very expensive ', and though hu-

600 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

manity may be disregarded when it involves outlay, we rarely see it
neglected when it produces a saving.

A visiter is generally surprised to find that the inmates of a fac-
tory look both healthy and cheerful. Inquiries further confirm the
impression that their labour is not unwholesome. Tested by the
standards of size, weight, and strength, the factory children are
rather above the average of children in agricultural districts ; and
the tables of mortality give an average duration of life in the manu-
facturing towns which does not differ materially from the rest of the
country.

There are but two processes in the cotton manufacture which we
should regard as unwholesome, batting and gassing. The former,
cleaning the cotton by beating it with canes, is now rarely used.
Except for some peculiar work, the cotton is cleaned by machinery.
The latter, passing the thread through a gas flame to take off the
rough fibres, is not disliked by the operatives themselves ; and those
who were interrogated on the subject declared that it produced no
inconvenience.

A more difficult subject of inquiry is the state of morals produced
by the factory system ; for it is abundantly evident that a system so
peculiar in its forms, creating such fixed habits of life, and inter-
fering so much with all the domestic relations, must produce a very
peculiar effect on public and private morals. It will not be neces-
sary at present to enter into minute details on the subject ; we shall
only note some of the most prominent circumstances. Nowhere is
the operation of physical and material causes on the moral condition
so apparent as in a factory. The arrangement of the rooms, the
position of the staircases, and the minor details for insuring cleanli-
ness, &c. are each and all influential in the highest degree on the
conduct of the operatives. "A badly constructed mill must be a
badly conducted mill," is an aphorism rife in Manchester. It re-
quires very little labour to obtain evidence of its truth. The sepa-
ration of the sexes during the hours of work is not desirable ; on the
contrary, it has been found to have a very pernicious tendency. The
presence of men acts as a restraint on women; the presence of
women acts as a restraint on men. Employers are deeply interested
in protecting morality. Vice, of whatever kind or degree, produces
injurious derangements throughout the factory, which lead to
great waste and loss of capital. Finally, the operatives themselves,
in their several relations of husbands, fathers, and brothers, have
established a far more rigid etiquette in social intercourse, especially
between young persons of different sexes, than is usual among a
rural population.

In a former paper notice was taken of the evils which arise from
the habit of living in crowded lodgings, and the great advantages
which would arise from each family possessing a separate cottage, as
is the case at Hyde. This system would be impracticable in Man-
chester ; but, perhaps the barrack system, which has been success-
fully tried in America, might be introduced with advantage. Rules
for the regulation of such an establishment might easily be framed,
and the power of expulsion vested in the hands of the managers
would insure their observance. So far as our inquiries went we
found that far the greater part of the vices that prevailed could be
traced more or less directly to defective domestic arrangements.

MANCHESTER. 601

We found several manufacturers who were convinced that the de-
rangements in the discipline of their mill arose from improprieties
which occurred outside its walls, and beyond their jurisdiction ; and
all with whom we conversed felt persuaded that some improvement
in the domestic arrangements of the operatives was highly desirable,
and almost absolutely necessary. Some wished for more stringent
inspection; others desired more vigilant police; all agreed that
something was wanting, but they required the almost impossible
condition that it should restrain improprieties, and not abridge
liberty.

Every improvement that is really valuable must be voluntary.
People cannot be made religious and moral by acts of parliament ;
the experiment has been tried often enough, and it has always failed
signally and completely. The operatives would gladly exchange
their present unwholesome lodgings for suites of rooms in a barrack,
and would submit to all the necessary regulations, provided they
had a share in their formation. The great error committed at
Lowell, in the United States of America, was, that the proprietors of
the operative barracks legislated for the inmates ; and, like all legis-
lators, fell into the error of making too many laws. They also kept
the entire administration in their own hands ; and hence their sys-
tem has been found to clash with the levelling and equalizing ten-
dency which is of necessity produced in a manufacturing popula-
tion. A certain portion of self-government is in our opinion neces-
sary to the success of the experiment ; and from what we have seen
of the intelligence, the principles, and the propriety of the operatives,
we feel assured that it may be conceded not only with safety but
advantage.

The co-operative system is not necessarily bad because it has been
perverted by Robert Owen. There can be no doubt that the health,
comforts, and prosperity of the operatives would be greatly increas-
ed if, by the introduction of the barrack system, they could have a
common kitchen, a common garden, and a common hall for meet-
ings, either of business or amusement. This could obviously be ef-
fected without trenching on the sacred principle of private property,
which would, in fact, be strengthened and developed, by being at
once connected and contrasted with the principle of common pro-
perty. Ventilation, a proper supply of water, opportunities for in-
nocent and healthy recreation, could be obtained for less money
than is now spent to purchase the share of a tainted atmosphere, the
seeds of disease, and conditions of existence, which not only suggest
but actually enforce vicious indulgence.

It must not be imagined that what we have ventured to call the
barrack system appears to us the best and most desirable form of
existence ; we recommend it merely to a dense population, crowded
together by manufactures, amongst whom every inch of ground has
its price, and that a very high one. The vast majority of the opera-
tives must live in lodgings ; and we therefore propose to render that
condition of existence — which is one injurious to themselves, and
perilous to society, — tolerable for them, and safe for the empire.
The partial success of Socialism is a proof that some such institu-
tion is wanting. No system which was wholly false ever gained
even partial popularity ; there are truths in Socialism just as there
are truths in every other ism ; and these truths happening to be pe-

MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

culiarly applicable to a certain condition of society, withdraw atten-
tion from the mass of pernicious nonsense with which they are
mingled. It may be said of Robert Owen's proposals that " they
contain much that is good, and much that is new ; but all that is
good is not new, and all that is new is not good."

The employment of children in the factories is a question about
which so much has been written that it would seem as if nothing re-
mained to be said. But there is one point on which we should be
glad to gain some information : namely, what is to be done with the
children if they are not so employed ? It should be remembered
that not only the fathers but the mothers are engaged all day in the
mills, and that they have neither time nor opportunity to look after
their children. In many respects it was advantageous that the chil-
dren should work under the eyes of their parents, and act as their
assistants. The children of the handloom weavers were forced to do
so ; and they were generally more severely tasked and worse treated
than the children in the factories. It is indeed very doubtful whe-
ther the factory bill has not been injurious to the interests of the
children ; many of them are employed in harder work than any to
be found in the mill ; they are frequently sent to toil in the mine
until they are old enough for the factory. No doubt inspection was
necessary ; but it was far more required to protect children from
the rapacity of parents than from the tyranny of masters. We have
made many personal inquiries of the children, and we invariably
found that they regarded admission into the mills as a boon and a
favour.

It must not be imagined that the operatives are naturally and
necessarily harsher parents than others ; but the circumstances of
their position prevent them from cherishing the domestic affections.
In their wretched lodgings it is quite impossible that they should
ever have a family circle. Many of them had tears in their eyes
when they described how impossible it was for them ever to have
their children as companions. Certainly not the least recommenda-
tion of the barrack system is, that it affords opportunities for bring-
ing fathers and children together.

The relations between employers and operatives are determined
by a nice process of self-adjustment, which would be greatly endan-
gered by any external interference ; these relations are not, as some
have absurdly said, those of master and slave; on the contrary,
they are based on mutual dependence and mutual interest. Em-
ployers dare not be tyrants when they have millions of property at
the mercy of the ashes of a tobacco-pipe. There may be capitalists
who demand too large a share of the profits of industry, just as there
are landlords who rack-rent their tenants ; but the capitalist dis-
covers his blunder much sooner than the landlord, for his intellects
are more sharpened by competition.

Nothing but actual inspection will enable a person to comprehend
the phenomena of life in a manufacturing district. A new state of
social existence is opened to the view ; history records nothing like
it; the experience of life in other forms leaves us quite unprepared
for the novelties which meet us everywhere. It must be further ob-
served that this state of society is in continual and rapid progress ;
that it evolves new phases of life, and generates new principles of
action every day ; and that every one of these deranges and dis-

MANCHESTER. 603

places some established institution. Whether this innovating ten-
dency be for good or for evil may be a theme of discussion for spe-
culating metaphysicians ; it is of far more importance to see that it
exists, that it has increased, is increasing, and cannot be diminished.
New institutions are rendered necessary ; for the old are either shat-
tered to pieces, or abandoned as useless lumber. There is, however,
a manifest propensity towards forming institutions for themselves
growing up among; the manufacturing population, — a necessary re-
sult from the levelling and equalizing tendency which we formerly
noticed ; but it is not easy to foresee how these processes of self-
government and self-adjustment will be reconciled with the esta-
blished forms of the country.

The religious condition of the factory population has not received
the attention it merits : the results of the inquiries made by a casual
visiter must naturally be very incomplete ; but still there are a few
important and unsuspected facts which seem to merit consideration.
In every large community following special occupations a peculiar
dialect is rapidly formed, which, though it does not constitute a
new language, renders communication difficult between the opera-
tives and those who are not acquainted with their phraseology. The
clergymen of the established church, classically educated at the
universities, use a refined language, which rises nearly as much
above the standard of ordinary conversation as the operative dialect
falls below it. Hence, in the great majority of instances the sermons
in church are preached to the operatives in what is virtually an un-
known tongue. Those who do not think about religion are, of
course, insensible to the evil. There are many operatives who look
upon it as sufficient to go to church ; and to whom it is a matter of
perfect indifference whether the service be performed in Hebrew,
Sanscrit, or English : but there are many more who think seriously
on the matter, and they desert the church for the conventicle, be-
cause they conclude that whatever they do not understand must be
nonsense. The operatives are aware that their average of intelli-
gence is superior to that of the agricultural population, and they are
proud of their pre-eminence. The most natural result of this pride
is a determination not to be led blindfold ; a spirit of inquiry which,
united to imperfect education, is exceedingly likely to produce scep-
ticism on the one hand, or enthusiasm on the other. The Church of
England has not the machinery wanting to the working-population ;
it has no institution similar to the subdiaconate proposed by the
Archbishop of Dublin, or the orders of preaching-friars in the
Church of Rome ; consequently, there is no system of mutual inter-
pretation between the parson and his congregation, and they for the
most part are not on speaking-terms, because they are ignorant of
each other's language.

The progress of dissent among the operatives in the manufac-
turing districts is greatly favoured by another circumstance ; the
dissenting chapels are opened in the evening when the mills close,
and they offer a place in which a working-man can sit down, who
has no home, or a very uncomfortable one. In these chapels the
music is generally of a very high order ; and out of Italy there is
probably no spot on the surface of the globe so intensely musical as
Manchester. Church-hours, on the contrary, are quite unsuited to
the operatives ; and the less that is said about church music on

604 MORAL ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS.

week-days, or even on Sundays, the better. It is no part of our
business to suggest remedies for this state of things ; it is quite suf-
ficient for us to show that some process of adjustment is requisite in
order to accommodate the old institutions of the country to the new
forms of society generated by the growth of manufactures.

It seems to be generally acknowledged that scepticism, or rather
the rejection of any positive creed, is on the increase ; and this has
been very unwisely confounded with the spread of Socialism. We
know from our own investigations that the great majority of those
who frequent the social hall, visit it

" Not for the doctrine, but the music there."

The dupes of Socialism are so well aware of this fact, that they
strenuously oppose lyceums, and similar institutions for providing
secular instruction and innocent recreations for the people. Unfor-
tunately they have been seconded in their opposition by those who
profess to be most horrified at the progress of Socialism, — by the
sanctimonious, the supercilious, and the monopolizing.

Chartism does not appear to flourish among the operatives so
much as is generally supposed ; it appears to have been a fire kin-
dled from the smouldering embers of the trades' unions, and fanned
into a flame by some who ought to have known that they would be
the first consumed by a general conflagration. At the same time the
combined pride of intelligence, and the feelings of equality gene-
rated by what we have described as the levelling-principle, render
the operatives jealous of their exclusion from the elective franchise.
The peace and prosperity of Hyde seem to be owing in no small de-
gree to the fact that Mr. Ashton has made a great portion of his
working people freeholders. The errors and delusions in religion
and politics which are to be found among the operatives, seem main-
ly to arise from the want of sound instruction. The field was cleared
for the growth of some new principles, and " while men slept the
enemy sowed tares." The tares, however, are not a healthy crop ;
they do not suit the soil ; and intelligent cultivators are alone want-
ing to produce a more beneficial harvest.

It will probably appear to our readers that much remains to be
investigated before the moral and social condition of the manufac-
turing population can be properly understood by the country. The
facts to which attention have been directed in this paper are suffi-
ciently startling ; but many more might be added which would con-
firm what has already been said, that new elements of society have
been developed by the manufacturing system ; that these elements
have dislocated ancient order, and disturbed the working of ancient
institutions ; and that some process of adjustment must be devised
to reconcile the old and the new, or else they will soon work them-
selves into a position of hostility which must peril the safety of
both. We do not, however, disguise our opinion that such an ad-
justment will be a work of great nicety and difficulty ; it is, above
all others a case in which the most careful inquiry should precede
legislation.

605

THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING.

THE Squire, as he was invariably called by the country-folk, was
lolling in an antique-fashioned chair, worked fancifully with figures
and flowers, reading the County Advertiser, after a substantial
breakfast, when the perusal of the account of his hounds' last dash-
ing run was interrupted by the entrance of the huntsman, familiarly
called " Jumping Will," looking peculiarly sheepish, otherwise bash-
ful. He industriously stroked down the straight hair over his tem-
ples with one hand, and engaged the other with plucking a button
from his waistcoat. A heightened colour had spread over his round
cheeks, always rubicund from health ; and altogether Jumping
Will's appearance had fallen from its usual careless and knowing
bearing. The Squire peeped over the top edge of the paper ; and
seeing his favourite servant standing, with a good-natured smile
said, " Take a chair, William — take a chair. All right in the
stable ? "

" Right as a trivet, sir," laconically replied Will, occupying a
seat.

" The kennel in proper trim ? "

e Even as bricks ! "

Then I don't care for anything else," replied the Squire.
But / do, sir," said Will, with emphasis upon the pronoun.
You — YOU care for anything else but the kennel or stable 1 "
Yes, I do, sir," repeated Will.
Ay — -ay ! A good cubbing season, I suppose."
That 's all in good time, sir. But what I now want is your ap-
proval to my getting myself coupled with Nancy, the dairy-maid,
sir."

" What, married, William ? " inquired the Squire, dropping the
paper in surprise, and looking at the blushing Will.

11 Buckled to, as a match pair, is our want, sir," was the reply from
the huntsman, who, drooping his head, felt — as he afterwards de-
scribed it to Nancy, — " like a fox with his earth stopped, inclined to
hide himself, but didn't know where." .

"You want to spoil yourself, spoil the hounds, and spoil the
horses, eh, William? Who the devil is to ride the colts after you 're
married ? " passionately asked the Squire.

" Me, of course, sir," rejoined Will.

"You — YOU ride after being harnessed in the shafts of matri-
mony ! Fudge ! You '11 not take a water-furrow."

" But I will, though ; and so I told Nancy. But, bless your soul,
sir ! she 's the very gal to see a fellow brush a rasper. She boasts
and brags of my riding to all the other maids in the house, and says
she never would have had me but for the way I ride, and "

" And what ? " said Will's master, as he hesitated to complete
Nancy's reasons for having him.

" She says, the fine appearance I cut in the cap and pink," re-
plied the huntsman, looking hard at the Squire's face, after many
attempts to raise his eyes from the carpet.

Will saw the burst of laughter about to issue from the Squire's in-
flated cheeks, and seeing the omen of the success of his suit, he slap-

606 THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING.

ped smartly his doe-skin smalls with his broad hand, and a simulta-
neous roar proceeded from the two, which rang merrily to the roof,
and was echoed far away into hall and kitchen, parlour and pantry.
The fellow-servants, with the fair subject of Will's adoration, were
all assembled, in anxiety to learn the result of the mission, when the
loud laugh informed them of the unquestionable success of it, and
many were the salutes and presses of the hand Nancy received, with
her bright hazel eyes filled with tears of joy, from the happy crowd,
who anticipated the frolic they were sure to have at the wedding.

" I tell you this, William," said the Squire, " if you don't keep
your promise, and ride up to my hounds as formerly, now, mark
me, I '11 discharge you. I 'm not married ; because I 'm certain a
wife spoils a man's riding. I did not expect you would get one
until I did, at least. However, follow your inclination ; but, at the
same time you must follow my hounds in proper style, or somebody
else will."

" I '11 do my duty. You have never had reason to complain ; and
you never shall, sir," rejoined Will, with emotion.

" I never have, William, — never. You were a boy in my father's
stable, and now you are his son's huntsman. During the time of
your long service no ground for complaint has existed. My hounds
nave been hunted with proper spirit, and kept in perfect condition.
I will have them continued thus," firmly said the Squire.

"They shall, you may depend upon it," replied Will.

" Well, William, I hope, and almost believe so ; but a wife is a
terrific cooler for fox-hunting."

" May be for half-breds, sir ; but not for regular out-an'-out blood
and bone. Why, my mother was a daughter of the first whip to
Lord Stanley's pack ; and my father, you know, hunted the late
Squire's for twenty-three years, sir. So I DO think from such a stock
no muff should come," rejoined Will, with a glow of pride mantling
over his features at the reminiscence of his ancestral dignity.

" Give me your hand, William. There, I know you '11 not disap-
point me," said the Squire, shaking the hand of his servant heartily.
" God bless you ! Be kind to your wife, as you 've been faithful and
honest to me. Ride well up to the dogs, and leave the wedding-
frolic to me. I '11 prepare that myself."

Will tried to thank his master, but the words died upon his lips ;
and turning round, he hastily left the room, brushing the tears from
his rough honest face as they coursed each other downwards. Upon
joining the assembled servants and Nancy, Will related all that had
passed between him and the Squire. Loud was the praise bestowed
upon the latter by all ; and when the delighted maid was congratu-
lated as " Mrs. William Wisk, as was to be,"

" Then fresh tears

Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey-dew
Upon a gathered lily."

It was a frosty day in the month of January. The well-heaped fire
upon the hearth glowed fiercely, and crackled away, as log after log
was added by an officious boy, whose duty generally was that of
driving the cows to be milked, and otherwise attending upon them.
His round cheeks bore shining marks of yellow soap, and he was
dressed in his Sunday suit.

THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING. 607

" I think that I ought to have gone to the church to see our Nance
booked, though/' said he to himself. te Every one 's gone but me.
That ain't fair. I 'm left to keep up the fires. Well, then, never
mind ; here goes ! " and another large log was thrown upon the
blazing pile.

A large quantity of holly and ivy was stuck upon the walls of the
room, — a spacious apartment called the " Servants' Hall," — and a fine
large mistletoe was suspended from the centre of the ceiling.

" Here they come ! " exclaimed the boy, clapping his hands, and
peering out of the window.

Along the gravel-drive to the house came the wedding-party from
the village-church close by. The bride and William walked first,
arm-in-arm ; the former in an appropriate dress furnished by the
Squire, and the latter in a new hunting-costume, complete, orna-
mented with a large white satin favour on his left breast. Next to
them came the Squire and the Rector's daughter, who honoured the
happy couple as bridesmaid. Then followed about forty gentlemen
in scarlet coats, and their sporting equipments, who constantly rode
with the Squire's hounds, and came to the marriage of " Jumping
Will," thus dressed, as a compliment to their favourite leader of the
chase. Bringing up the rear were the fellow domestics of Mrs. Wisk,
and the invited guests, all decked in favours, and gaily dressed in
their best apparel.

Across the huntsman's shoulders was slung a beautiful silver horn,
a present from his master. His highly-polished top-boots were or-
namented with a pair of spurs of the like material, given by " the
gentlemen of the hunt;" together with a whip elegantly ornament-
ed, and a cap well lined with sovereigns. The motley group entered
the servants' hall, and Mrs. Wisk was immediately seized by the
cow-boy as she entered, and taken under the mistletoe. A loud
hearty smack was accomplished upon the lips of the bride, before
being aware of the intentions of the young gallant.

" There ! " exclaimed he. " I was determined to be first. Mr.
Jumping Will don't be jealous ; I considered it my right."

The Squire pinched the boy's ear, and with feigned anger, said,
" You young stoat ! how dare you poach upon another's manor,
eh?" '

" If you please, sir," replied the boy, screwing up his face, and
rising upon his toes as the Squire elevated the grasped organ, " I
had a promise for one from Nance herself on the wedding-day ; and
so I thought I 'd be first and foremost."

" Without respect to the rights of precedence," rejoined his mas-
ter, releasing his hold.

" None at all, sir," replied the boy ; but ignorant of the meaning
of the sentence rejoined to.

A capacious bowl was brought into the room by the butler, whose
strained arms and fingers proved that the weight of the burthen was
anything but trifling. Its contents smoked, and to the ceiling a con-
tinued cloud issued of odoriferous steam, particularly pleasing to
the olfactory nerves.

" Now gentlemen, girls, and boys," said the Squire, stirring up
the hot liquid with a ladle, " hold your glasses close ; but don't
touch a drop until I give the word."

In due course of time the respective goblets were filled, and all

608 THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING.

obeyed the instructions given, excepting only the cow-boy ; who,
stealing behind the broad shoulders of his master, cautiously tasted
the tempting mixture. A look of gratification spread over his coun-
tenance, and patting his abdominal regions significantly, he gave an
imprudent crack of his lips. The Squire turned abruptly round,
and discovered the cause of the impolitic effect.

" You disobedient whelp ! what did I order not a minute since ? "
said the Squire.

" Beg your pardon, sir j but I forgot to wait," replied the con-
founded bacchanal, spilling the remainder upon the feet of his
master.

" Wrong upon injury ! " exclaimed his master, shaking the wet
from his boots, and continued, laughing, " come, I '11 fill your glass
once more."

All were charged. The Squire stood in the centre of the com-
pany, and holding his filled goblet high above his head, said in a
loud voice, " Here 's the health and prosperity of Jumping Will and
his pretty wife ! May they live in uninterrupted happiness, peace,
and plenty."

Loud was the shout which rang from the circle of sincere friends
upon the completion of the sentiment. Cheer after cheer rang far
and wide as each continued to express the real fervour entertained.

" Now for one more," said the Squire, " as a finish."

Far away that shout was heard ; in the clear frosty air it went
over hill and valley, wood, and dell, as merrily as the occasion
merited ; and, as it died away into a scarcely audible echo, the
hounds in the kennel not far off answered the cheerful sound by
breaking into a sudden musical cry.

" That 's as it should be ! " exclaimed the Squire. " You hear
those dumb animals prompting you to speechify, William. Come,
let 's have it over."

The huntsman stood forward ; and with a slight exertion to obtain
confidence by a preliminary cough, he commenced,

"My kind master, gentlemen, and friends, if I try at a long
speech, I shall either break down, or get pounded ; therefore the
sooner I cut across country the better. My talking for a year —
supposing I could talk so long, — couldn't say how much I 'm obliged
to ye for your great kindness to me and my wife here. Coming to
my wedding, gentlemen o' the hunt, is more than I could or did ex-
pect ; and now, all I 've to say in conclusion is, take my best thanks
for your favours to me and Nance, and God bless you all."

Will's brief speech was received with acclamations of pleasure
from everybody ; and after much kissing under the Druidical branch,
with the pretended reluctance of the lasses, and the evinced sin-
cerity of the lads, the Squire ordered the prepared dinner to be
brought in.

Haunches of fine venison, barons of beef, fresh-killed pike from
the store-pond, speckled trout, hares, rabbits, pigeon-pies, part-
ridges, pheasants, plum-puddings, and other dainties, too numerous
to mention, were in due time placed upon the long table, squeaking
from the ponderous mass upon its surface. Then followed such a
confusion of noises, out-Babeling Babel. Knives and forks rattled,
plates clinked, chairs and benches were taken, and the feast com-
menced in earnest. The Squire sat in the centre of the guests, and

THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING. 609

was the very life of the scene. He talked to one, laughed with
another, hallooed to a third, and, if the etiquette observed in re-
fined society was disregarded, more good-humour, fun, and frolic,
existed, than in the automaton circles of freezing fashion for an age.

Large round jugs of foaming ale quickly disappeared, and were
as soon replaced. In the middle of the table, just opposite to the
Squire, stood a huge wassail-cup, of antique form. It was filled to
the brim with spiced wine. Taking hold of the sides with both
hands, the Squire raised the vessel to his lips, and, as was his cus-
tom after a feast, said, " I drink to the friendship of my guests."

From him the cup was passed regularly round, and each drank
from its contents, varying the toast to " the friendship of my friend
or master," as the case might be.

The table was quickly cleared when the dinner was over, and nu-
merous bowls of punch were introduced upon it. Bottles of port,
"old as the hills," and of Madeira, bright as the beam of the bride's
laughing eyes, were also placed in rows at proper distances. Now
the smart joke and merry jest were cracked. Light was the laugh
which momentarily came unrestrained from the hearts of the assem-
bled carousers. Pledge after pledge were exchanged, and nothing
was there but delight and revelry.

About an hour after the dinner all rose to clear away for the
country-dance, and romping-reel.

The village Orpheus was mounted upon an empty barrel in the
corner of the hall, and lustily he commenced scraping a rapid move-
ment. The Squire led off the bride in the first dance, and enjoyed
the spirit of it as much as any one.

" On with ye ! Give them a hark-forward, William ! " hallooed
he; and the huntsman obeyed the instructions by stunning the
company with a " Yoiks ! yoiks for'ard ! " and concluded with a
long musical wind upon his horn. On danced the merry company,
until from want of breath they were obliged to pause.

" Now for a glass of punch all round, and a song from William,"
said the Squire.

Loud were the approvals to this suggestion ; and, seating them-
selves, all were attentive for Jumping Will's song ; who, without
hesitation, in a fine round voice commenced,

" Let smiles and bright eyes beam on me,

To glad my fleeting hours ;
I love thee as a honey-bee

Loves bright and blushing flowers.

" Nay, let no pouting curl thy lip,
No tear-drops dim thine eyes ;
But from the morn of life let 's sip
Joy's sunbeams as they rise.

" The world would be a mournful one

If doubts, and fears, and sighs,
Were giving us their lingering tone
To cloud our starry skies.

" So smile, dear girl, and let us say,

When Time has cull'd the flowers,
Our life was like a summer's day,

Pass'd with the laughing hours."
VOL. VII. ^ X

610 THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING.

« Well — capitally warbled ! " said the Squire. " Now for a brisk
reel. Strike up a brave tune, you fiddler there."

Gaily thus the hours fled, and the night waned fast, when, during
a pause, it was proposed by the bride that " some one should relate a
story." Drawing seats in a large circle round the log fire, all were
eager for the tale. But who was to be the narrator ?

" A hunting story from Jumping Will," said a voice, which sug-
gestion met with unanimous approbation.

" Well, it 's rather late for a long story ; but I 've told, so many
times over, all save one, that I suppose you must'have it by way of a
change. When I was a boy, it was told to me by my grandmother,
just on the day I entered the Squire's service. She called it

' THE LEGEND OP HASTINGS* CLIFF.'

I can't say how long since the facts I 'm about telling you took
place ; but that doesn't signify.

" In an old manor-house, not far from the sea-shore, lived one of
the loveliest ladies in England, called Agnes M'Caire. She was the
heiress of a very rich old Colonel, who had passed the best part of
his life in India, and with age and hard service was upon the verge
of his grave, when his daughter captivated — as it 's called by the
gentry — a neighbouring gentleman ; a fine, young, handsome fox-
hunter. Frederick Catonder, for that was his name, loved Miss
M'Caire as others have loved fnot wisely but too well;' and, like
most other women under such circumstances, she took advantage
of his folly. Wild as a fawn, the lady cared not what people
thought of her gay freaks, which were pretty constant in some shape
or other. Sometimes she would mount a vicious colt, deaf to the
entreaties of everybody, and ride him with the speed of a pressed
stag over heath and moor, hill and valley ; her long hair stream-
ing in the wind, and a careless laugh ringing from her lips as she
swept over break-neck fences, walls, and brooks. When the gale
whistled across the tossing waves, occasionally she might be seen
alone, steering a light boat over the mountain-billows, as fearless of
danger as the white sea-gull.

" Her father, who doted upon his untamed, beautiful child, never
for a moment thought of checking with his authority any whim or
inclination, however imprudent it might be. When angry at some
past act of this kind, she would kiss and caress him out of ill-
humour, and thus continued to do just as she pleased.

" 'Tis said that no one could withstand anything desired by Agnes
M'Caire. If a smile did not procure what was wished, a frown from
her black flashing eyes was certain to do so. The talk of the coun-
try round was the heiress of the Manor-house. The poor blessed
her, and prayed for her preservation, for her charity to them was
boundless. The sick would find her gliding into the chamber,
smoothing their pillow with ready hand, and administering the con-
solation of an angel, as she was — in some respects. In appearance,
Miss M'Caire was a perfect beauty. Her skin was pink and white
mingled, like the tints of the lily and the rose ; her figure was tall,
and proud in bearing ; and, notwithstanding her wilfulness, but few
eyes have seen a better, or more lovely lady.

" Among numbers of other gentlemen, Mr. Catonder started in the
race for the prize of Agnes M'Caire. He was a true gentleman,

THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING. 611

with a kind, frank, and open heart. Not one in the county bore a
superior name ; and he was the admitted straightest rider in the
hunt, both far and near. For a long time the lady treated him, as
she had done all others, with doubtful favour. Sometimes a cold
distant look would be returned for an approaching attention; at
other times, an unequivocal one of pleasure. Thus she continued to
toy and play with the feelings of her admirers, just as an angler with
a hooked trout ; but Frederick Catonder had snared Miss M'Caire's
heart, although he was ignorant of his success.

" Tormented and tired with the conflicting conduct of Miss Agnes,
he resolved to settle the affair at a short jump, — as I did with
Nancy, — yes or no \ and one day, mounting his favourite horse, Mr.
Frederick Catonder rode towards the manor-house for this purpose.

" The morning had a dull look ; the wind came in gusts, and then
a dead calm ensued, changeable as the smiles and frowns of Miss
M'Caire, when the lover, full of doubts and fears, cantered between
the row of towering elms upon the hard road leading to the manor-
house.

" The clattering of the horse's hoofs as he neared, called the atten-
tion of Miss Agnes from teaching a pet spaniel to perform some
trick ; for her amusements generally consisted in attending upon her
dogs and birds, and endeavouring to accomplish them in mischief.
Books and music she never thought of, like other ladies ; but occa-
sionally all the servants and people about would stop in their work
to listen to one of her untaught songs, which charmed like the fairy
queen's. It was the old Colonel's greatest delight for her to sit close
to his easy chair in the evening, and in a suppressed voice chant
some heart-melting prayer of her own making, as the sun was set-
ting behind the distant hills.

" Miss Agnes saw the horseman's approach, and at once thought
of the object of his coming. It was earlier than usual for morning
visits, and, from previous reasons, she had but little doubt of the
cause of this one.

" ' He looks very handsome ! ' she exclaimed, ' and he 's a kind,
good, dear fellow. Shall I, or shall I not? That is my choice/
And her fair brow was knit in deep thought.

" Ringing the bell violently for her attendant, she hastily had her
riding-habit put on, ordered her horse to be saddled and brought to
the door immediately, and met Mr. Catonder upon the steps of the
house, just as he had dismounted.

" ' Ah ! Mr. Catonder. What, so early ! I almost regret my in-
tended gallop,' said Miss M'Caire, with as roguish a look as ever
probed the heart of a man.

" * Perhaps you will permit me to accompany you ? ' replied Mr.
Catonder, looking rather confused.

" * Well, I know of nothing that can be urged as a reasonable
objection,' replied Miss Agnes, carelessly.

" ' I should try to overrule any that might be submitted THIS
morning, I assure you, Miss M'Caire,' rejoined Mr. Catonder, by
way of a hint to what he was going to say.

" ' Indeed ! What, so bold, Sir Knight ! ' exclaimed Miss Agnes,
laughing.

" ' The coward often becomes desperate, you know,' replied he.

" ' Come, come, no craven similes. Coward, forsooth ! What

2x2

612 THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING.

gentleman ever had a dastard's nerves ? If by accident there is such
a thing, and he spoke, or even looked at me, I 'd whip him from my
sight like an offending hound.' And the lady's riding switch cracked
in the air as she suited the action to the words.

" ' By my honour, I shouldn't like to come under the lash/ said
Mr. Catonder. ' But I hope that I am in no such danger.'

" ' No, indeed. I believe you may deem yourself free from any
such ordeal,' replied Miss Agnes.

" ' That permission I consider a compliment. But where do you
intend riding ? Is the dew-drop to be brushed from the heath-bell,
or the emerald turf pressed upon the downs ? '

" ' Inquired with all the romance of a time-yellowed novel/ re-
plied Miss M'Caire. c No more of such vapid nonsense to me.
However, we '11 gallop over the downs to the sea-shore. You 've no
objection to ride fast ? '

" ' None in the least/ was the reply.

ts ' If you had, I should soon distance you ; for I dote upon racing
with my greyhounds there. You shall see the fleet fellows outstrip
the wind. I love to see them fly along. Then how my horse tries
to beat them in their matchless speed ! Every muscle is strained to
cracking. He throws back his ears, and sweeps the ground like a
chased hare ; I cheer him in his exertions. His veins full of fire,
and swelled as the fibres on a vine-leaf, on we go in our chase of fun
and glee, merry as a set of mad-caps, as we are/ said Miss Agnes,
flushed with the excitement she felt at her own description.

" The horse was now brought to the door, and no sooner saw his
mistress than, giving a plunge forward, he neighed a loud recog-
nition.

" f You see what it is to be a favourite of mine/ said Miss M'Caire,
smoothing the arched neck of her pleased horse, and springing lightly
into the saddle.

" * That it is an enviable condition/ replied Mr. Catonder, mount-
ing his steed, and at one bound was at the side of the lady.

" A small silver whistle was suspended round the neck of Miss
Agnes : placing it to her lips, she blew a long shrill summons. It
was answered by a leash of large superb greyhounds rushing to-
wards them, which jumped to the saddle-bow, and screamed with
delight, when they arrived at the place where their mistress waited
for them. Then they ran some distance before, and stood with
pricked ears, as if inviting the usual course of a joyful bloodless
sport. It was the only one they were permitted to have ; for no
living creature was ever injured, or allowed to be, by Miss M'Caire.
'Tis said the birds even knew that they were free from danger when
near her, and built their nests in the luxuriant ivy which crept about
her bedroom casement, feeding without fear from her hands. Her
gold fish would frisk about, and allow her fingers to caress them in
the globe, when she dropped in fresh moss and grass, as was her
daily custom. All things loved her, as well they might ; for her
kindness of heart was only equalled by her acts of goodness and
charity.

" Few have had so many blessings showered upon their heads as
Miss Agnes. From childhood her name was never mentioned
scarcely but with ' Heaven save from harm, and watch over the
good lady ! '

THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING. 613

" It is impossible to say which appeared most anxious for the run,
— Miss Agnes, the horse, or the greyhounds.

" ' See how the creatures long for me to start ! ' said she, as the
horse fretted and pulled upon her tightened reins.

<ef And you are equally desirous to obey their wishes, if I 'm not
mistaken,' rejoined Mr. Catonder.

" ' I admit most readily that I am, call me childish or not. So
here 's for Hastings' Cliff, and remember I stop not till there, my
cavalier/

" Her horse reared upon his haunches, and jumped high into the
air as the curbing-rein was slackened. The hounds gave a short cry
of delight, and, to a loud cheerful f Away ! ' from their mistress, on
went the whole at a merry pace. With the speed of light they flew
over the turf; hill and dale, slope and level, were all the same to
them. Now and then a merry laugh was carried back upon the
breeze, as it burst from the lips of the light-hearted lady, which was
all the sound that was heard in that rapid ride, save the heavy beat-
ing of the horses' feet upon the greensward.

" ' She is as wild as an unhooded hawk; but then how beautiful
she is ! ' thought Mr. Catonder, as he rode a little way behind. The
manner in which she managed her horse was sufficient to win the
heart of a fox-hunter. Erect she sat upon the saddle, yielding grace-
fully to the motion as the animal took his long and fast strides. Her
elbows were close to her small waist, and the bridle-hand bent to-
wards the pummel. Straight as an arrow she kept the course, and
no fault could be seen in her matchless riding — a queen of beauty
upon horseback.

" Now they neared a wide brook. Poising her light whip, and
checking the horse's speed slightly, they bounded across it with the
ease and quickness of thought.

" Whether Mr. Catonder' s eyes were so bent upon his fair compa-
nion as she charged the leap, or whether his horse baulked the jump,
was never known; but that he was thrown heavily, many yards
over his horse's head, is quite certain. Miss M'Caire pulled up sud-
denly, and, suppressing a rising laugh at the fallen horseman, re-
turned to inquire if any serious effects had resulted from such an
awkward occurrence.

" ' Nothing of consequence/ replied Mr. Catonder, rising very pale
from the shake.

" ' You look blanched with the tumble. How did it happen ? '
asked Miss Agnes, now laughing heartily at the mishap.

" He was, however, too much chagrined to answer ; his lip was be-
tween his teeth, and a frown bent his brow over his eyes. It may
appear to some a trifling circumstance ; but a fall in the presence of
a lady makes a man feel so ridiculous, that the temporary annoyance
can hardly be exceeded : this, too, before one in whose estimation
he wished to stand superlatively well at this time, was peculiarly
unfortunate and irritating to Mr. Catonder. He mounted again, and,
with rather an assumed good humour than real, said,

" ' I 'm the unluckiest fellow living. However, let us proceed in
the gallop/

" ' No, I thank you. Since it pleased you to stop without my
consent, or indeed your own, we '11 now proceed leisurely to the
Cliff, which is, you see, close to us,' rejoined Miss Agnes, laughing

614 THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING.

so, that it was impossible for her to continue the gallop, if desired.
' What singular taste for a position that of lying flat upon the back
is! ' continued she, chafing him more severely than aware of. ' Oh,
thou Nimrod! where is thy wonted skill? For me to lead and
throw thee ! Well may I say, what a falling off was there ! ' And
then she laughed again till the tears stood in her eyes.

"Mr. Catonder tried to join in the merriment of Miss M'Caire;
but it was an attempt as awkward as his fall.

" They proceeded slowly to the verge of the towering heights
bounding the lashing waves, and dismounting, sat upon the turf to
rest themselves, Miss Agnes still alluding to the accident with hints
and jokes, Mr. Catonder still vexed, and in great ill-humour.

" The mist which hung gloomily upon the boundless waters now
began to roll away, and the bright clear sun broke from his cloudy
curtain upon earth and sea, rendering dull nature in a moment bril-
liant and cheerful. The gull wheeled in lofty flight its graceful
circles over the deep blue ocean, now dipping, and then rising with
a wild scream of delight to shake the salt drops from its snowy
breast; the curlew skimmed with rapid wing his restless course,
hovering over a swelling wave to snatch occasionally his precarious
fare; the bleached sails of a ship were just visible in the horizon;
and altogether the attractive magical scene riveted the attention of
Miss M'Caire from bantering and mirth to thoughtful admiration.
She was sitting in a leaning posture, with one arm round the neck
of a favoured hound, the other holding the rein of the horse, who
was cropping the short herbage for amusement ; her large dark eyes
were bent upon the vessel fading from the view far at sea, when she
felt a hand pressed slightly, and a few soft words whispered in her
ears with faltering tone, that sent the crimson blood into her cheeks.
It was a triumphant moment for Frederick Catonder. No answer
came from the lady ; but from her countenance he saw that his suc-
cess was certain, — that he was an accepted lover ; and he concluded
in brief raptures by thanking her for the silent granting of his suit.

"Did I say concluded? 1 believe after this a waist was clasped,
and upon a pair of ruby lips a first, long, clinging kiss was printed,
yielded without reluctance or affected coyness.

"For many minutes not a word was spoken. At length Miss
M'Caire sprang upon her feet, and said, ' Now, Frederick, we '11
return.'

" How pleasing was that familiar name to Mr. Catonder ! He
looked his delight, and said, < What can I do or say to prove the
sincerity of my affection ? '

"'Words are mere empty sounds, changed and forgotten in a
succeeding breath. This is not the age of chivalry ; brave knights
no longer break lances, or their necks, for smiles, scarfs, and roses ;
therefore neither vows nor deeds are required,' rejoined Miss Agnes.

" ' I wish from my heart that an action could be done, in order to
show that my protestation is not the too common one of mere form/
replied Mr. Catonder, warmly.

" ' Perhaps another leap would not be objectionable, if I wished
it/ said Miss M'Caire, with a sly look, as they turned their horses
towards home.

" ' The Demon's Foot-mark, if it will please you/ replied he, with
flashing eyes.

THE HUNTSMAN'S WEDDING. 615

"Now this Demon's Foot-mark was a chasm in the cliff. It
formed a close resemblance to the mark of a foot of gigantic propor-
tions, doubtlessly occasioned by the continued beating of the sea at
the base, which from time to time had washed parts of the chalky
substance away. The top crumbling for want of support had left
this gaping cleft, which, from the peculiarity of its shape, was thus
so called. It was about twenty-four feet in width, and some four or
five hundred in depth, scooped out of the cliff. Miss Agnes, un-
thinking of the way in which the feelings of Mr. Catonder were irri-
tated at the accident that befell him, recurred to it in jest, as was
her usual way in all things. When he said that he would jump the
Demon's Foot-mark, which was within a few yards of them, Miss
McCaire, not dreaming of the seriousness of the offer, laughed at it,
and said,

" ' Remember the result half an hour since. Be not too brave in
such volunteer boasts, or I shall challenge you to try another
puddle.'

" The words were scarcely out of her lips when Mr. Catonder
dashed the rowels into his horse's flanks, and with furious speed flew
towards the fearful leap. With outstretched neck the punished
horse neared the edge — upon it, and seeing the awful depth, the ter-
rified creature hesitated, drew back upon his haunches, but too late
to avoid the jump, — he sprung from the ground, and fell with his
fore-legs upon the other side of the precipice, his hind ones hanging
over the declivity. Trying to recover himself, he scrambled upon
the verge, sending the earth and stones beneath with his struggles
for life, which fell heavily to the bottom. Sliding at every plunge
farther down, the horse at last reeled like a balanced weight, and,
for a moment becoming still, the rider clutched the broad leaves of
a large dock-weed, just as the groaning animal went backwards
upon the rocks beneath, with every bone broken and sinew cracked.
With one hand grasping the weed was suspended the ill-fated horse-
man over the terrific depth, a few green weak leaves holding him
between warm life and inevitable death.

" Frozen with horror, Miss M'Caire beheld the frenzied action.
Immovable and breathless, she watched the desperate position of
both as they struggled upon the breaking edge of the yawning pre-
cipice. Her hands clasped together, with eyes starting from their
sockets, and ceaseless beating heart, she watched the terrible exer-
tions of the horse. Upon seeing him launched beneath, and the
rider grasp the dock-weed growing upon the brink, just within his
reach, a scream of mingled terror and joy burst from her so loud
and shrill, that an old fisherman said that he heard it a league at sea.
In an instant she rushed to assist him from the peril. Leaf by leaf
was cracking in his hand ; another instant, and the last must have
severed, when, kneeling upon the extreme edge, the lady caught
the hand in hers as the remaining leaf snapped in his fingers, and
thus locked together both fell into the abyss, mangled, shapeless,
and bleeding corses.

" In the dead of night, as the coast-guard paces his solitary walk,
his nerves tremble and his blood is chilled as an unearthly screech is
borne upon the breeze. The fishermen, as they are spreading their
nets, pause and gaze in silence at each other as it sweeps past them ;

616 JUDGING BY APPEARANCES.

but 'tis never heard by any without a prayer for the unhappy lovers
of ( Hastings' Cliff.' "

So ended the huntsman's story.

The night was far advanced, and the Squire, after shaking hands
with many of the guests, departed with his friends for repose.
Most of the company evinced symptoms of somnolency, and one
by one crept away.

All had now left the festive scene save the cow-boy, who seemed
lost in contemplation. He looked with unconscious eyes upon the
dying embers that flickered on the hearth, and suddenly rising from
his seat, he exclaimed,

" What a pity Miss Agnes worn't stronger in the arm loike, or
that weed a little stouter loike ! "

The moon was shining brightly as he crossed the yard on his way
to a hay-loft for bon repose ; but, from some unexplained cause, he
always declared " there were TWO moons shedding their pale light
upon field and flower on the night of « the huntsman's wedding.' "

JUDGING BY APPEARANCES.
MISTAKES IN A 'COURT OF JUSTICE.

I WAS shooting in the county of , shortly after the death of

Rosa, when I was astonished at meeting my friend Doveways rambling
solitarily and sorrowfully under the deep shades of an unfrequented
path in the woods. His reception of me was cordial, and I accepted
his invitation to take up my quarters at his mansion as long as I could
make it convenient to stay.

" I thought you were at Florence/' I observed.

" And there I intended to have remained/' added he, with impa-
tience ; tf but Lady Macedonia arrived, and sent me her card, and in
two hours I was en route for England."

I found that Rosa's untimely death still dwelt upon his spirits.

It was the period of the A'ssizes, and I proposed after dinner that
the next day we should go into court and hear the trials. It was the
last day of the Sessions, — a Friday, — and those awful cases only were
to come on, for which the guilty would unquestionably suffer death.
There was a man to be tried for murder, — a man and woman for coin-
ing,— and finally, a man for bigamy ; for bigamy was at that period
punished by death, if there were any aggravated circumstances in the
case. When the prisoners were brought into the dock, a few gentle-
men acquainted with us proposed that I and my friend, who knew no-
thing of the prisoners, should each exercise our discernments, and judge
by appearances of each man's particular offence.

" That is the murderer," at once said my friend, who was more will-
ing to risk the reputation of his judgment than myself.

I looked attentively at the individual designated, and never did I
see a man more ugly and repulsive. He was thin and short, from

JUDGING BY APPEARANCES. 617

sixty to sixty-five years of age, stooped in the shoulders, and looked
pale and haggard, as if from habitual vice. His face was more than
ugly ; it had the worst expression I had ever witnessed, while deep
furrows occasioned by the smallpox added no beauty to his ferret eyes,
and dark protruding teeth.

" I should think him the murderer," I replied, " were he not too old
and too feeble to commit violence."

" Oh," rejoined my friend, " the murder required but little strength
or courage. It was committed simply by coming behind the victim,
and discharging a pistol through the back of the head."

On this explanation, we agreed that this was the murderer. He
looked the very man whose crime would be committed in such a way.

The next exercise of our penetration was upon a pale, thin, and
rather dandified young man, dressed in the style which is vulgarly
called " shabby genteel." He looked like a Cockney roue, and there
was a remarkable effeminacy in his face and figure. His light hair
grew in long curls, approaching to ringlets ; he had a good set of teeth,
which, even in his awful situation, he was vain in exhibiting ; and his
voice was soft as a girl's.

" That is the prisoner for the bigamy," said I ; and all concurred in
my decision.

There was no other opportunity for the exercise of divination, for
but one man and one woman remained : these were the coiners.

What was my astonishment when the first prisoner, tried for bigamy,
was the hideously ugly and disgusting little old man, whom we had
mistaken for the murderer. His last, or present wife, was a rather tall
and very fat and muscular country wench of twenty, with a face as
round and red as the full moon in autumn. She gave her evidence
with great emotion, and, though she looked a sturdy creature, well able
to go through all the hard work of a farmhouse, was so overcome by
her situation that she sobbed aloud, shed tears, and at last fainted.
The judge was obliged to allow her a chair, and the refreshment of a
glass of water. On her cross-examination the sturdy hussy admitted
that the prisoner had " gone less after her than she had after him ; "
that he had made her a very good husband ; that she had supported
him by her labour, as he could himself get nothing to do ; and that
" she had loved her Johnny," as she styled him, dearly, until she found
that he was " a false, perjury man," and had another wife living.

That other wife was the second witness. She was a tall, awkward,
ill-made, but strong woman of forty, with a long, pale, melancholy vi-
sage, and very prominent features. The expression of her countenance
was that of a gloomy, severe devouee ; and her nasal, drawling tones,
almost disturbed the gravity of the court. This respectable elderly
lady gave evidence that she had been married to the prisoner seven
years ; that she had three children by him ; and, though she delivered
herself with the bitterest malignity, was obliged, on cross-examination,
to confess that she had lived very happily with him • that he had been
a good husband and a good father ; and that she had loved him as a
good wife, and honest woman, ought to love a good husband, until she
found out that he had previously deserted a young wife and child, who
were both still living.

Evidence of this first wife's being yet alive was also put in, and the
prisoner was found guilty.

When the judge pronounced sentence of death upon the wretched

618 ANSWER TO MISS FARRER's CHARADE.

culprit, the tall, cadaverous woman could no longer disguise her satis-
faction ; she clapped her hands, and cried, " He deserves it, and I '11
be at the gallows." The judge was in the act of reproving her, when
a violent scream produced a thrilling effect,— the other wife had sunk
down in an hysterical convulsion.

There was something singular in the case of coining. The man was
tried, convicted, and hanged : but the woman escaped, on the ground
that she had acted under the influence of her husband. This was a
remarkable fiction of the law ; for it appeared that this was the fourth
husband whom she had brought to the gallows. She had originally
been a governess in a nobleman's family, and had married a man who
lived by forgery and coining. On this, her first husband's being de-
tected and executed, she had married a second, and a third, who suc-
cessively met the same fate ; and now the fourth was to be the victim
of the law. It was supposed that in the three preceding cases the
woman, as she grew tired of the connexion, had contrived to lead to
her husband's detection by the police. Her career, however, was now
in all probability finished, for her character had become notorious for
hanging husbands, and she had become both old and ugly ; it was by
no means likely, therefore, that she would be able to seduce another
" good-looking man " into the silken bonds of wedlock. The one now
executed was about forty years of age, and had a very respectable
appearance. He had borne an exemplary character before he had con-
tracted this fatal marriage ; and his fate, together with the escape of
his wife, was a curious contradiction of the maxim of law, which infers
that a woman acts under the authority of, or by the compulsion of her
husband.

The effeminate dandy, with his long hair, fine teeth, and soft voice,
pleaded guilty to the murder, and he was the only one of the convicts
that died with fortitude.

This was the second instance of my failure in "judging by appear-
ances."

ANSWER TO MISS FARRER'S CHARADE,
IN BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY, MAY, 1840.

HER lovers said the maid was COLD

When she their suit rejected ;

Nor dreamt how deeply she could love

One whom her heart selected :

For pure as is the new-born STREAM

From Alpine mountains flowing,

Was that young love — her bosom's guest,

Whose certain empire was confess'd

In blushes brightly glowing

When the beloved one was nigh, —

Whene'er she met his conscious eye,

Although his lot was " poverty : "

And truer love than his was ne'er

By ancient minstrels sung, —

" And nobler heart than his ne'er beat,"

The Coldstream Guards among ! M. S.

619

UNCLE SAM'S PECULIARITIES.

LONG ISLANDERS.

I STARTED one day from Brooklyn in a " Dearborn Waggon," to
pay a visit to an English farmer, Mr. Peter A castor, formerly of
Barnby Dun, in Yorkshire, whose land was situated at an equal dis-
tance from Jericho, Babylon, Rockaway, and Hempstead. The road
from Brooklyn was considered a first-rate turnpike, or 'pike ; — the
difference between a 'pike and a common road being, that the latter
is a slice of country railed off from the land on either side ; but to
which no other labour has been used in its formation ; the original
unevenness remaining to warn travellers against progressing at
night. The 'pike, however, was a very good Macadamised road ;
and in a couple of hours we had run over the flat country about
sixteen miles, through the romantic small forests of cedars and pines,
and the quiet, white painted villages, to Peter Acastor's farm. The
little villages of Jericho and Jerusalem were new and clean, and the
little wooden spires to the churches, the railed garden-grounds to
each cottage, and the neat school-rooms attached to the parsonages,
bespoke an opulence sufficient for rural felicity.

My friend, Peter Acastor, had an excellent farming residence ;
comfortable parlours, and equally comfortable sleeping apartments ;
a well of pure spring water ; and a pond for fish close by the house :
two or three vehicles ; and several " span " (couple) of horses ; an
immense barn, well stored with grain and hay (the latter is never
put up in open stacks) ; the pigs had abundance of right of way
to run over, and the fowl and game (including terrapins, or land-
tortoises), were in sufficient abundance. He brewed his own cider
and wine ; he might have grown his own hops, made malt, and
brewed his own beer ; he might make his own candles, and tan his
own leather ; he might grow his own tobacco, and distil his own
whisky. No prying exciseman could disturb him. He was a farm-
ing nobleman, a lord of the soil, and had the happiness to see around
him neighbours as independent and comfortable as himself. This
was, indeed, a tempting picture of that American felicity of which so
much is spoken, written, and printed, in England ; and on attending
church the following day at Hempstead, the favourable impression
of Long Island happiness was strongly increased. Here were two
churches — one Presbyterian and the other Ecclesiastical (Church
of England), and around each there were thirty or forty waggons
and sulkies,* owned by the families attending worship.

An interesting ceremony took place in the Ecclesiastical church :
the Bishop of New York inducting a clergyman into the ministry
of the church " at the desire of the congregation." The Bishop sat
in a plain chair under the pulpit during the prayers, at the end of
which he arose, and, presenting a Bible and prayer-book to the fu-
ture incumbent, declared that " by these presents " he inducted him
into the preferment. A very excellent sermon followed, showing
the duties of the minister, and the good he might effect among his
pastoral charge.

* Gigs holding one traveller only.

620 UNCLE SAM'S PECULIARITIES.

The streets of the village were broad, and the houses beautifully
clean. There was a newspaper office, and no bridewell ; several
good hotels, a ten-pin alley, and a fire-engine depot and news-room.
This was the prettiest village I had ever seen ; yet it did not satisfy
the inhabitants : they wanted to make it into a city, so that there
might be the little aristocracy of mayor and common-councilmen.
They were tired of having no rank and titles but such as the mili-
tary and militia, the newspaper and the fire-engine afforded. The
village Bonapartes saw in perspective the grandeur and dignity to
which they might aspire in the future city ; the glory and renown
reserved for some one citizen who might be in his own proper per-
son colonel of the militia ; brigadier-general of the " military artil-
lery ;" editor of the " Hempstead Polar Star, or accepted Mason's
Beacon of Liberty ;" churchwarden of the Ecclesiastical church ;
proprietor of the Washington Hotel ; commissioner of the 'pikes ;
director of the fire-engine ; and mayor of the free and independent
city of Hempstead ! What a huge mouthful of honour ! And to be
had by merely making a village into a city, and the payment of a
certain bill of costs to a legislative agent at Albany !

Peter Acastor, who was a widower, had a widowed mother, and
two sons, both mere lads, but one born in Barnby Dun, and the
other in America. The youngest, who was the American son, had
been taught at school to pride himself on the fact of his being a real
native American. Peter was a very quiet man ; but had frequently
to reprove his youngest son for his indigenous patriotism ; while the
eldest son, from the nature of the society into which he was thrown,
was unwillingly -forced to admit the sort of superiority his younger
brother boasted over him. One evening there were present in the
farmer's parlour, facing the pond and farm-yard, and a little hillock
of Indian corn in the distance, Quiet Peter, and his two sons, all
three mending a net ; the old " granny ;" Anacreon Livingstone, vil-
lage schoolmaster ; a dry store-keeper of Babylon — name forgotten ;
and a curious specimen of Yankeeism, ycleped Captain Quare Al-
gord, a one-eyed clipper of Jericho village. The following is a to-
lerably faithful report of the conversation which ensued. The
reader is requested to imagine himself in the writer's seat, near a
window, enjoying the transatlantic prospect; and during the pauses
of conversation laughing heartily at two niggers, who were rolling
over each other near the pond in a sham gouging match.

PETER. There is plenty more of that fruit. Don't spare it. Pine
apples are rather more plentiful here than in England,

SPECTATOR (to Peter, aside). There is no real occasion to inform
your friends that I am an Englishman. Let me be a New Yorker,
if you please. I shall enjoy myself much more if I am not called
on to take up the cudgels for the old country.

PETER (aside.) A nod is as good as a wink.

QUARE. Don't like no sort o' fruit except 'bacca ; that I like,
leaves and all. Were any of you at the sham-fight yesterday ?

SPECTATOR. Was there any sport ?

QUARE. Oh ! famous — famous ! The Rockaway blues mustered
eighty-four, and the Washington greys, of Jericho, forty-six ; be-
sides the niggers as carried the officer's great coats and umbrellas.
Captain Simon Snidge proposed that as the greys were only half as
many as the blues, the greys should be Americans, and the other

LONG ISLANDERS. 621

side should be British ; and laid down a beautiful particular plan
that the British should pretend to fight hard, but should be beaten
at last, natural enough. So the Yankees got up in the cedars, and
hid in the firses, and the British paraded away, beating the drums
like thunder. You should have seen some of 'em imitate the real
English hired assassins. Oh ! it was awful ridiculous, I expect.
How they held up their heads, and beat the foremost, to make 'em
face the enemy, who were peppering 'em like lions from the firses
and cedars. I guess they carried on this game for three hours, till
we were quite tired of laughing. All the front rank were kicked
so that they fell back in the rear ; and at last Commodore Cadwal-
lader, of the frigate Federalist, who was on the ground, gave the
word to charge bayonets, and the British should then have given
way slick ; but I wish I may be skewered on the spot if they didn't
fall on the forty-six, and, contrary to agreement, poked at 'em so,
that in self-defence the Yankee side were obliged to clear out. The
blues couldn't bear to be British any longer ; their real Yankee
blood was up at fomentation point ; and the Washington greys were
bayoneted within a few yards of reality.

SCHOOLMASTER. Capital — capital fun ! but so natural, I forgive
them for it.

PETER'S AMERICAN SON. So do I ; that 's a fact.

PETER. Mr. Quare Algord, it isn't very polite of you to make
fun. of the English in this way, before me.

SPECTATOR. Did any one here ever meet with an Englishman
named Waterton?

QUARE. / never did ; but I hard of him. He went gunning in
the south, and saw a poor runaway nigger, with a white head, and a
bear's skin on him. " Oh ! oh ! " says he, this is a genooine species
of the monkeyana baboonarial tribe, made a-purpose for museums.
Clack — click — pop ! went the gun ; down came the poor devil ; and
this here Waterton cut off his head with a bowie-knive.

AMERICAN SON. What did he do with it ?

QUARE. Why, he had the imperence to put it into two quarts of
Jamaky sperets, sealed up, and showed it to the nigger's owner, who
knowed it at first sight. " Sir," says Waterton, " as this here is a
free country, I 've shot this extravagant fine specimen, to have a
drawing made of it, as a fruntingspice to my work on America."

SCHOOLMASTER. That was cool, certain. Shooting an owner's
property that way, was a powerful pleasant way of being agreeable
to foreigners in an independent country. Any local improvement
paper in the Brooklyn Beacon of this morning ?

DRY STORE-KEEPER. Oh, yes ! Powerful paper on building, I
guess. Recommends the building of a store-corner of Loco-foco-
street, turning on Manhattan and Fulton.

QUARE. That aint to be recommended ag'in. Washington Bigg
should have known that locality is bought, and promised to be paid
for.

SCHOOLMASTER. Who has gone for to consider that a favourable
privilege ground for planting a store ?

QUARE. Why, young Smith, — Warming-pan Smith, as carries the
large Dutch watch, which he lends out in winter to warm the beds.

AMERICAN SON. Who is he ?

DRY STORE-KEEPER. Why, he 's a smart un, he is: — a relation to

UNCLE SAM'S PECULIARITIES.

the Smiths of London, in Great Britain, — military captain one year,
— father a universal clergyman, — uncle kept a grocery. Was raised
in Providence, but went to York to trade in coffins. Now out of his
time, and clearing out to set up for himself. Made nineteen clever
coffins at night-work, while an apprentice, to stock his store with ;
but one was borrowed by his bos, who wouldn't return it, cos he
said the wood was gouged from his store.

SCHOOLMASTER. Where did this young man git the hard Jackson
to plant this building ?

DRY STOREKEEPER. Oh, he hasn't any cash, as you may say ; but
he knows a person who has a brother-in-law, that has hard of a
friend, who will lend a year's deposit on the land, if he gets the
title-deeds, and the coffins. Then he is promised credit for the
bricks, which he intends to give a bill of sale for, so as to raise the
timber and tiles. So here, I think, is a store fixed right away, and
no occasion for cash. He has eighteen coffins for sale now, and the
population is increasing ; so that he may make the spec answer. His
bos was the person that sent the ready-made coffins to New Orleans,
during the reign of Old Choi ; and his brother is famous in the
wooden ham trade.

AMERICAN SON. You seem uneasy, Quare. What 's the fix ?

QUARE. Why, it 's my back ; a hurt from a hoss of Captain Syms',
as I clipped last week. " This here hoss is a vertuous Indi?ie hoss as
ever eat a meal," says the captain, " and has no vice. Sound, jump
well, quiet and grand in harness, first-rate in a sulky, handsome
temper and courage ; kind of hack, hunter, and racer all in one.
Only wants clipping, and his switch-tail screwed off." So he says,
" Clip me this here devil, and square his tail up." And I says, " I '11
clip him smart and smooth ; but I 've a dog as I wouldn't swap
for your hoss no way you could fix it — a grand, clever, liver-coloured
pointer, shot over by Silas Johnnes two falls ; perfect, stand and
back, drop to the hand, drop to game fast as a steamer, range like an
Incline, and all that." Then he says, (t You don't know the vally of
this crittur, — so full of vertue, that I wouldn't go for to sell him to
any but a Presbyterian or Baptist minister." Well, I clips him right
away, and was just going to square his tail, when this very vertuous
hoss took hold of me by the waist, bit a hole in my back, and laid
me on a heap just by. I tried to bark a squirl yesterday, and
couldn't, not being able to stand right on account of my back.

SPECTATOR. What do you mean by barking a squirrel ?

QUARE. Why, didn't you ever hear of that ?

SPECTATOR. We haven't many squirrels on Manhattan Island.

QUARE. Why, sir, when I want to catch a squirl alive, I naterally
don't ought to poke either bullet or shot in him, and. maybe I 've
nothing no way but a gun to make the crittur come to hand. Why
then, what does I do but load with a single bullet, and depend on
the frightful nater of the squirl hisself. I fires at the bark of the
tree, jist by the squirl, so that the bark peels off, and so tarrifies the
crittur, that down it comes in a kind of swoon.

SPECTATOR. That puts me in mind of Col. Crockett. The animals
in the woods were aware that if he fired at them it was certain death.
So, one day when he was out gunning, and was about to take aim at
a 'coon, the creature cried out, " Don't fire ; you 're Col. Crockett ;
I '11 give in, and come down."

QUARE. That 's as true as thunder. Col. Crockett told me the

LONG ISLANDERS. 623

story himself, word for word, three weeks before the gunning took
place.

SCHOOLMASTER. Did you ever hear of the Englisher and American
thunder ?

QUAKE. Go a-head.

SCHOOLMASTER. This here Englisher was a-travelling in this free
country in a Poughkeepsie stage, and he says to a real American
native, as was seated opposite, " You know" says he, " you know hi
ham quite tired of this air free country, you know" says he ; (< nothin'
hin hit his has hexcelknt has hin Hingland, you know, you know." —
" It 's a size or so larger/' says the real American native. ' ' Hi ham
not hinduced to hacknowledge that, you know, you know" says the
Englisher.

QUARE. Tarnation !

SCHOOLMASTER. "Why, then," says the real American native,
" you won't acknowledge that we have powerful peculiar water pri-
vileges, — or that the City of the Falls will be the grandest cataract
location in the world, — or that the City Hall beats all nature, — or
that Astor's Hotel is the grandest boarding-house in this or any other
country, — or that Broadway goes a-head of all the streets in the
entire of Europe? " — " You know," says the Englisher, "you know
hevery harticle his a nundred times more helegant hin Hingland, you
know, you know" Jist at that moment there comes such a great gun
of thunder, and such a prairie full of lightning, that the Englisher
shut his eyes with fright. " There," says the real American native,
" d — n you, have you any thunder and lightning as elegant as that
in England ? "

ENGLISH SON. All Englishmen don't speak in that way. /am an
Englishman by birth, and / don't speak in that way.

AMERICAN SON. But then you 've learnt civilization in America.

ENGLISH SON. No ; I was born civilized.

AMERICAN SON. But it didn't come natural until you were natu-
ralized. Thank heaven, I was born an American.

ENGLISH SON. I am an American citizen, if I wasn't born here.
Don't be so infernally proud of being a native, don't. Father was
born in England, and he is as good, ay better, than you, though
you are a native.

GRANNY. Yer granfeyther was the mon, — worth all the natives on
Long Island.

AMERICAN SON. Where did the grandfather die?

GRANNY. In Barnby Dun, in Yorkshire, on a Thursday night in
October come next month is nineteen years ago, and he was an old
man then. I was out of Wiltshire ; but there was no harm in mar-
rying a Yorkshireman, or Heaven help me ! He fells in the river
getting a sup of water, as saying is ; for we were going to wash, and
I says, " Get a sup," says I, " that we mayn't want any." He was
just smoking his pipe. I 'd give three haypence the day before for
hafe an ounce of baccer, and I says to Mrs. Mulauverer, " make it as
strong baccer as you can," I says, " that it may last a bit ;" for she
war a decentish woman, and would help to save, if she didn't lose
much by it. Many 's the hay penny she took from me when feyther
war aloive. Baccer without end he smoked, and took snuff too, for
that matter ; burning candle at both ends, as saying is.

AMERICAN SON. What of the grandfather, granny ? Come to him.

GRAN NY. Well, as I war saying, my husband war fetching a sup

624 UNCLE SAM'S PECULIARITIES.

o' water for the floor, and he goes over head and heels; the bucket
come arter, and knock him on forehead. Thinks he, " This is
either Hull or Liverpool, as saying is." But he climb up the brink.
Poor fellow ! it war brink o' grave to him. But he manage to come
home, a-growling like a bear with a sore neck, as saying is. Then
he took ill, and went to his bed. He had a wambling and sneezing,
then he had a mowing and chattering. He Avar tweezed so, that he
puled and went into a quandary, and had the saustion o' nature.
The clerical pairson come, and the doctor come, and he war pilified.
The night as he died next morning he felt better, but cold where
the pills was, and he said to me, " I could eat a mouthful," he says,
and I fetch un two sheep heart, and he mumbled and chowed a bit,
but it didn't warm un. So he says, " Fettle me some fettled por-
ter/' says he, for he war fond o' fettle ; " or stay a bit," says he,
" don't fettle me any fettled porter to-night ; but I '11 have some
warmed ale warmed hot in the warmer." So I warms un some warm
ale in the warmer, and he takes it warm and comfortable, and it
warms un till he felt warm all over. And he says, " I feel warm,"
says he ; " that warm ale has warmed me quite warm," he says. So
he lay down, and kivered hisself with the rug, and talks o' taking
old Sal the mare to the farrier, and told me which end o' the field to
dig the next taters, till he fell into a woundy doze ; but when he
woke he war dying, and says, " Fetch me the leather purse, for I feel
I 'm going, and the tithe isn't raised yet," he says. " I 'se lost by the
composition," says he ; " but take all, only don't stress me," he says ;
for his interlicks war a woolgathering, and the pairson had snudged
un once. And then he turns over, and, without saying, Sal, good
by, or waiting for the purse, dies, leaving me a lone widow. And a
sorrowful day it war for me, though we must all go to blissful 'ter-
nity some time : and may be my time is as far off as another's, if it
comes to that. Rich and poor must all take it in turns, as saying is.

QUARE. That 's a mighty tough story of yours, granny. As long
as one of the patent ever-charged rifles, — tire two-and-twenty shots
without exhausting the bullets.

SPECTATOR. That is a novelty. Major Longbow, however, in-
vented a musket that could shoot round a corner.

QUARE. Did you ever shoot with a funnel-bore ? It spreads the
shot so, that you can bring down hundreds at one pull. But I '11
tell you of a peculiar cheap shot as I had with a single bullet. In at
Farmer Spovin's, I see a coop ready to go to Brooklyn, with seven-
and-forty ducks in it. So I says to Spovin, " How much will you
charge me for a single shot among that brood with a single bullet,
whole, and not split ? " — " Two dollars," says Spovin. ( ' Done ! "
says I, slick enough. So I took a little bruised corn and strewed it
along the trough, and out pops the seven-and-forty heads of the
ducks. Then I lay down on the ground right away, and taking a
perspective horizontal view of the whole regiment sideways, I wish
I may be tee-totally substaquilated if I didn't carry off the entire
whole of the seven-and-forty heads.

AMERICAN SON. That was mortal clever. How the bullet must
have bobbed in and out amongst the necks of the critturs.

QUARE. I had a curious winter shot at nineteen rooks as I wanted
for a breakfast pie. These here rooks were perched on a piece of
zig-zag of Farmer Muggs', close to the location house as they built

LONG ISLANDERS. 625

when they were scoping out the 'pike for gravel. Nineteen rooks in
a line, with their feet all spread flat over the top of the stake. So I
slides over the ground, for it was over slithery, and snew powerful,
and gets down into the hollow. I calcylated I shouldn't be able to
hit the whole nineteen with one bullet, so I aims at the stake, and
split it so, that it opened over the whole length on the top, and in
fell the feet of the nineteen rooks right into the split, which closed
ag'in immediate on the whole of their feet ; and I wish I may be
amazing disbelieved if I didn't ring the necks of the whole nineteen,
for they waited patiently while I come at 'em one by one.

DRY STOREKEEPER. That was considerable of a shot. I made a
curious aim once at a livery -button on an Englisher's shoulder.

QUARE. What on airth is a livery-button ?

DRY STOREKEEPER. Kind of branded button as they know a help
by. I said to the Englisher, he ought to be ashamed of himself for
wearing such buttons in a free country. His answer was —

SCHOOLMASTER. " D — n your heyes, you know."

DRY STOREKEEPER. No, that wasn't it.

SCHOOLMASTER. I guessed it was. That 's what they generally
say, I expect.

DRY STOREKEEPER. No ; he said it was a club-button of the
Royal something bow and arrow club. But we couldn't agree on
this here point, and I expect I had to fight him ; but he saved his
life by stamping his foot.

AMERICAN SON. Go a-head, Uncle Sam ! How did he do that,
any how ?

DRY STOREKEEPER. Why, while I was aiming at one of the but-
tons on his shoulder, the word hold was given, which was the signal
for us to let go. He fired no ways slow, and missed by a mile and
a half; and while he was stamping his foot with rage, and swearing
in English, my bullet flew over, dodged under his shoulder, and
only carried away the smallest leetle piece of cloth. If he hadn't a
stamped his foot, I should have carried away the button, and a slice
off his shoulder.

QUARE. I never shot at a man but once, and then I was hand and
glove with him.

SCHOOLMASTER. Then you did it quite tenderly, I guess.

QUARE. Exact ; quite tenderly, yet a leetle notion deliberate or
so. I was out at dirty Pittsburg, and went gunning with a fellow,
— kind of lunatic madman, — who kept preaching considerable of
poetry, Byrom verses, and notions of that make, and then blazed
away without caring three cents where / was fixed at the time. I
warned him of it over and over, ag'in and ag'in ; but what's the use
of speaking grammar to a dead horse ? At last I was considerable of
exasperate, and the steam was up on the high-pressure principle,
when I wish I may be spiflicated if he didn't fire and hit me. One of
the shot grazed my hand, and drew blood. " Oh, oh !" says I ; "am
I in the military or not? Shall I captainise over my troop one day,
and put up with such a 'tarnal confounded insult as this the day
after ? No ways you can fix it," says I. " That shot must call for
blood, and the tip of your finger at least." So I hollars out, kind of
smart, " Where air you, Major ? " — " Here I am," says the Major. —
" Can't see you," says I, " for the immortal heart of me, and the
smoke of that pea-shooter of yours. Hold up your hand, and let me

VOL. vn. 2 Y

626 UNCLE SAM'S PECULIARITIES.

see what part of the fuz-bushes you stand upright in." Well, up
pops a hand over the young saplings, fuzes, and under-plants, and I,
no ways slow, took a tender aim, and carried away the foremost end
of his little finger, together with a piece of his glove. " There," says
I, " that 's what I call a slip for a slap, and no love lost : hand and
glove friends, and no mistake."

DRY STOREKEEPER. Was it that shot of his that made such a
number of holes in your hat ?

QUARE. Don't spurt out any insinuating remarks on my hat.
These holes were made the last gunning frolic. I took a bet of two
dollars to a fip that I 'd poke seventeen leetle shot into this hat
blindfold, and I won it.

DRY STOREKEEPER. Won two dollars, and ruinated a hat worth
five dollars.

QUARE. When I was blindfold, I says to myself —

SCHOOLMASTER. You won two dollars on the circumbendibus, or
endless-rope principle.

QUARE. I says, " There 's no bar to my feeling where that hat is."
So I considers wu'nutely, and finds it.

DRY STOREKEEPER. They only quizzed you when they blind-
folded you ; you were blind enough before.

QUARE. So when I found the hat, I says, " There's no bar in the
wager to my shooting right away. Nothing was said about dis-
tance."

DRY STOREKEEPER. You were so tarnal cute, that you over-
reached yourself.

QUARE. Then I blazed away, and wins the two dollars.

DRY STOREKEEPER. And lost three dollars' worth of beaver.

QUARE. It isn't beaver, it 's rabbit fur. I call it now the patent
ventilating skull-cap. When I 'm seized with absence of mind,
these holes let in the rain, and tell me when to put up my umbrella.
But it is time for me to be getting back to Jericho.

AMERICAN SON. How is that wonderful cat of yours ? Has she
caught any more fish with diving ?

QUARE. No. He has got so tarnal fat, he can't sink in the water,
even with a plumber's lead in his mouth. But I '11 tell you of a real
clever trick he played some rats the other day. We have an awful
congregation of double-bodied rats on our farm, — large elephant-
rats, about half a dozen to the hundred weight, — kind of wholesale
blubberskins. These devils are so fond of rum, that if you lay out
a gallon or two by accident over night, it is all gone in the morning.
My wife says she has seen 'em stand forty or fifty round a cask, dip
their tails into the spirits, and then spoon it off with their mouths,
as natural as Christians. Well, this here cat of mine, as I call the
Brigadier General, one night, wishing to catch a few rats, tempts
'em by dipping his tail into some rum, and then lay down before a
fire quite stiff, as if he were dead. Along come the rats, whee wheek,
cautious/y, cautiously, and thinking the cat dead, attack the Briga-
dier General's tail, for the sake of the rum. Four of the varmint had
laid hold with all their might, a-eating of the tail, and a-drinking of
the rum, when this here cat whips his tail into the air with such a
powerful spring, that the whole four elephant-rats were pitched a
yard and a half into the fire, and no mistake. I wouldn't take five
dollars for the Brigadier General. He is the most scientific and
talented cat in these parts.

627

JOURNAL OP OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON,

ON A TRIP TO PARIS IN 1830.

" As we passed by the market-place of Boulogne I saw the three
grey Bath cloaks, with pink linings, being hawked for sale by Sofie's
friend. That was the French mode of " doing their duty ;" and I had
not been long in the dilly before I discovered — a trump card — a love
— oh ! he was worth any money, both on the journey, and afterwards
in Paris.

" He was a young clerk-looking man, with straight sandy hair, pale
face, serious aspect, and was employed writing remarks and notes in a
little ' washing-book.' I say so, because on casting my sharp eye across
it I read, ' 2 shirts, 8d. ; 1 pock. hand. Id. ; 2 pr. stockgs. 2</. ; 3
collars, 3d. ; owing last week, 2*. 8d. ;' with a continuation in pencil,
( should the following journal obtain that favour which some may
think due as supplying evidence that the writer has not been altoge-
ther a careless, incurious, or indifferent observer of foreign or conti-
nental scenes.'

" This was all I could catch for the present. He, however, after-
wards scribbled in a plain hand, these lines : — ' The intention of the
following pages is to furnish a brief account of the journey and visit to
Paris, interspersed with a few opinions and incidental remarks elicited
by those new and striking scenes which during his sojourn in the capi-
tal of France the writer witnessed.'

ee Resolved to watch this sweet youth, and, if possible, to ingratiate
myself with him, for fun— pour passer le temps, as I found on looking
into my dictionary.

" Monsieur, our manager, began to calculate that he had paid four
francs for each person at dinner, besides the gargons (not dumb
waiters) ; and he also thought that sitting down with such a motley
set was not quite the thing, and was more than he intended or ex-
pected. In short, though he had agreed to pay their travelling ex-
penses, he had no idea that Seymour and Rolandson would have pre-
sumed to intrude themselves at the same table with him. The two
worthy carpenters kept on a half-intelligible conversation, in which
oaths and other imprecations predominated ; on the utterance of which
our pale, serious, fellow-traveller, the journalist, winced, and looked at
them with an eye of indignant pity, which was only returned by Sey-
mour looking in return, and applying his finger to his nose, and shaking
the remaining digits, as he had frequently seen Joe Grimaldi do to a
pantomime character that had threatened him. The journalist refer-
red, somewhat embarrassed, again to his 'washing book.' He then
wrote a description in it. I pretended to be asleep ; but peeped as he
went on. It ran thus : — ' The head-dress of the women in particular
attracted my notice, and arrested my observation from its peculiar sin-
gularity. The individual native female I noticed wore no bonnet ; but
in lieu of it a large linen cap, of a conical shape, and expansive mag-
nitude, with huge flaps hanging down each side her face, extending
laterally, and diverging longitudinally from the cheek-bone beyond the
back of the head, and perpendicularly in height above the pericranium
a foot ; and downwards, in depth, as low as the shoulders.'

" ' Go it, my pippin ! ' thought I to myself. ' The journal will be

2 Y2

628 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

worth something by and by.' The youth then turned to me, and in-
quired whether I had been in one of their French places of worship ? I
told him that I had put up at the ' Flying Horse ; ' and, as it was not
Sunday, I had not even a thought of going to church ; besides if I had
gone he ought to have known that I could not pray in the French lan-
guage, and of what use would the English be in a foreign country ? '

" He stared at me ; but continued, ' When I entered the church at
Boulogne I found a dozen or two of persons, chiefly of the plebeian
order, engaged in their matins, or morning devotions ; and the priest
genuflecting and gesticulating before a crucifix enchased with silver,
in the centre of seven candlesticks of the same metal, and presenting
altogether a spectacle exceedingly unseemly, horrible, and pagan, mut-
tering the prayers in a tone utterly inaudible/

" I bethought me that the young sandy journalist would have pro-
bably given, in regard to tone, the preference to that highly-respecta-
ble American clergyman, who has been described by a recent traveller
in the United States. (Dialogue.} ' Jotham Briggs, what the devil 's
the matter t' other side the river ? Some tarnation accident has
play'd Tommy with the saw-mill. Do hark, naow, haow it grates ?' —
(Colonel Briggs, in reply,") ' You considerable darned idizt, it shows
how you attend to the proper calls of religion and natur' ! it 's the Rev.
Hiram Jenkins a-preaching. He 's a paowerful expaounder, and niver
throws away nothin'. Darn'd if you mayn't hear his word half over
the state. He's a tarnation good practitioner, and WILL be heer'd.'

" On we went, through a number of places of which I cannot re-
member the names; and if I did, they would not prove of any extra-
ordinary novelty, as so many tourists have been before me. However,
they were all down in the ' washing-book ' amongst the stockings and
collars.

" Columbine and her mamma were wonderfully pleased with the
costume of the postilion, and ' sure such a boot was never seen ;' a
child of three years old might sleep in it. These boots must have
descended from generation to generation of postilions, for I never
heard that anybody had ever seen a new pair. I am convinced that
they are of the identical period of Noah's ark ; where, we are told,
that two things of every sort walked in and out again of that won-
derful receptacle together.

" I was told, but I do not know with what truth, that it is contrary
to law for one diligence to pass another so long as it continues in mo-
tion. As we travelled occasionally at about the rate of four miles an
hour, I did not envy the impatience of some Englishmen in the oppo-
sition diligence behind us. They had the benefit of all our dust, and
we did not kick up a little. They did not know the custom, and exe-
crated the conducteur and postilion to the very best of their ability.
I have heard much swearing in my day, — for instance, William Barry-
more, on the first night of one of his pantomimes, when the scenery
stuck, or a trick failed. Oh, dear ! I am not very particular ; but I
never yet discovered that blasphemy relieved a theatrical or any other
defect. That Barrymore would swear until the scene-shifters' ears curled
up. Well, presently the driver of the hindmost diligence sent the head
of one of his fore-horses up to the window where our dear travelling com-
panion, Monsieur Singe, was looking out ; and, of all the droll scenes I
ever beheld, I think it beat them, for the poor monkey was actually
convulsed with fright, and poured forth the most pitiful cries at the sight

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 629

of the horse's head, which ever and anon snorted in at the window. The
gentleman's want of nerve kept the passengers of both diligences in a
roar of laughter. At last he made a bolt off his Italian master's lap,
and hid his ugly face in the straw at the bottom. Then Columbine's
mamma became alarmed, and lifted up her lower extremities into a po-
sition, which was exceedingly perplexing to the inmates of the inte-
rieur, particularly to the pale journalist, who tried to look all manner
of ways. This little contre-temps (dictionary) was overcome by my
taking the beast by the scruff rf the neck, and flinging him again into
his master's lap; in doing which Monsieur Singe's tail went flop into
Seymour's eye, and made it water all the rest of the journey. Consi-
derable more swearing, and the feelings of the young journalist shock-
ed. About this time we were approaching Beauvais, and Monsieur le
Directeur made his objections in strongly-urged French whispers to
our Jew interpreter at the idea of the carpenters sitting down with-
us. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Little did the Parisian manager know of the state
of affairs in requesting the harlequin (for such I have before mention-
ed the Jew-Frenchman was), to ask anything unpleasant of, or to do
anything disagreeable to the persons upon whom his pantomimical ex-
istence depends. To explain this ignorance on the part of the French
Director, I must tell you that when harlequin jumps through a hole, a
picture, or a window, he is always caught safely in a carpet at the
back of the scene by the carpenters. If these men were to be remiss
in their duty, the public would see no more of harlequin for some time,
for, from the velocity with which he takes his leap through the aper-
ture— sans ses amis avec le tapis (dictionary), he would go to immor-
tal smash !

" So the harlequin was afraid to say anything disagreeable to the
stage-carpenters ; and he asked me to break the unpleasant business
to them. Lord, I didn't care a brass farthing. I, pantaloon, never go
through the hole. I always stick in the middle, with my face to the
audience. I am not to be caught by the carpenters. So I went to
them in the most delicate way 1 could, and told them that they must
not take their meals with us again, but that I would take them to a
cafe, where they would have what was necessary.

" Instead of being sulky about it, they told me they should be very
glad to get a place to themselves, an.d Seymour abused the country
where there was an inn without a tap, " that they did not admire re-
straint by any manner of means whatsomedever." So. when we got
to Beauvais, I found them out a cafe in the market-place, where they
had plenty of hot coffee, eggs, boiled milk, and bread and butter, for
one third of the sum it would have cost at the hotel where the dili-
gence stopped. Crossing the market-place, I saw a perruquier's shop,
and crossing my hand on my chin, I said to myself, ' James Barnes,
you ought to be shaved.' So I determined to go in. An old gentle-
man was being operated upon, and, as I was in a hurry, I was going out
again, when the barber's lady took me by the arm, seated me in a
chair, napkined me almost before I was aware of it, and lathered me
well.

" ' Good heavens ! ' thought I, ( what is going to happen ? ' But I was
obliged to sit still, and of all the queer sensations I ever felt in my
queer life, I never experienced anything like that of being shaved by
a female ! It was not unpleasant ; but it appeared to me unnatural.
She touched me up with eau de cologne afterwards. When I returned

630 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

to the inn to breakfast, Columbine and her mamma said, ' Lauk ! Mr.
Barnes, what have you been doing to yourself? We never saw you
look so handsome/ And when I told them the fact, mamma would
not believe me, and said, * She was sure that no woman would have
been guilty of such a thing/ I drily told her, but without severity,
that many women had done worse things in England, such as
' combing the beads of their husbands/ and ' snapping their noses
off;' which, God knows, she had done often enough to her poor
old husband. Well, down we sat to breakfast, and everything was
excellent ; fowls, eggs, cutlets, fruit, pigeons, tea, coffee, wine, and
a little eau de veau to settle all, — and then the manager settled
the rest. On we went. Sometimes the road was lined with apple-
trees, the blossoms of which were just going off. Seeing the trees
in the 'qpen road made me think of the English boys, how they
would be clambering when the fruit was ripe. But though the roads
in some places are planted for miles, nobody steals the apples. In eat-
ing them, I am told, the stomach-ache exceeds the pleasure !

" Remarks on the road. — No hedges, no divided fields, no cattle
grazing ; women doing farm labour ; horses talked to, and reasoned with,
instead of being beaten. If a peasant wants to get on a little faster, he
descends from his roulage, and runs on before the horse, who immedi-
ately sets off after him. No comfortable-looking houses, to which you
may suppose Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Smith, or Mr. Higginbotham to have
retired, after a life spent in business. No nice little gardens, with
monthly-roses, bee-hives, cabbages, onion-beds, in front of the poor
man's cottage ; no wall-flowers near the door, nor tuft of house-leek
over it ; nor little patches of sweet-william, nasturtium, strawberry
plants, currant and gooseberry bushes. Thinks I to myself, ' You may
grumble at home, my boys ; but you would be sorry to change with
your own class in France, — that is, as far as I saw of it. Lord bless

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 631

me ! ' thought I, ' when you come to see a real French village, and
compare it with a scene representing one at a London theatre, — -and
then a STAGE RURAL BALLET crossed my imagination — scene, a beau-
tiful wooded country in France, with a cottage on one side ; lively
music ; Mr. Gilbert comes on as a peasant, in a blue satin jacket with
white silk sleeves, tight white breeches, and silk stockings, which
prove that he has not been to plough that morning, at any rate, — he
taps at the cottage door, and Miss Baliin looks out at the window, and,
although it is just sunrise, she is up and dressed, with flowers in her
hair, with a close-fitting velvet bodice, and gauze petticoat made very
full, and quite enough bustle to keep up the interest of the ballet. He
lifts up his leg as high as he possibly can, and asks her to be so oblig-
ing as to come down and dance with him. She says she has no parti-
cular objection, and leaves the window to descend the stairs, or ladder,
which leads to her cock-loft. The swain now gathers a nosegay, all
ready tied up ; twirls round several times, to see that he is all right ;
hears the door of the cottage opening, trips across to give his bouquet
to his love, when it is snatched by Miss Ballin's mother (Madame
Simon, or old Barnes), who reprehends the conduct of Mr. Gilbert for
coming a-courtiug at that time of day, tells him to go and work for his
bread, and not be idling about there. The rustic swain asks the old
lady to feel how terribly his heart beats ; the mother informs Mr. Gil-
bert that his head is more likely to feel the beating.

" Says he, * at my heart I 've a beating; ?
Says I, ' then take one at your back.' " — KENNY.

She drives him off, and then goes to market, — this market being, in
all probability, further than that of Covent Garden, — and, the cat
away, the young folks intend (like the mice) to have some play. So
Mr. Gilbert re-appears, and clapping his hands, eight of his young
companions, Messieurs Heath, Sutton, Conway, Burdett, Jones, North-
over, Hartland, and Simpson appear. All these are in such an inde-
pendent state in happy France, that they are enabled to quit their
village toil ; and the most singular circumstance is, that all eight are
accidentally attired exactly alike, with pink vests, straw hats, and
light blue smalls, with a black stripe down the seam. (Of these
youths the first named is about sixty years of age, and the latter ap-
proaching seventy-three, which renders it the more kind of them to
come out and fatigue themselves at that time in the morning.) But
there appears an excellent reason for this complaisance, because eight
young female villagers also dressed alike, (excepting one unfortunate,
who has mislaid her white silk shoes, and is obliged to venture out in
black prunella, thereby disarranging the uniformity which is so pleas-
ing in well-regulated hamlets,) come now to the rendezvous. Each
youthful swain in a moment selects his partner, — and sweet is the love
that meets return ! Then all the sixteen point simultaneously to the
cottage, and then touch their hearts and wedding-ring fingers, and then
point to Mr. Gilbert, who shrugs his shoulders, extends his arms widely,
and nods. At this period Miss Baliin runs from the cottage-door ;
Mr. Gilbert is approaching her, when she pretends to be bashful before
so many witnesses ; so, to hide her blushes, she fetches a spinning-
wheel from the cottage, which will not, and never would revolve. Mr.
Gilbert, not liking this move, gently leads the spinster forward, and
asks her to take a little dance with him. A pas de deux then is per-

632 JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON.

formed, the main point of which is to show that a villager may have
very elegantly shaped legs. When this is over, the sixteen make a
bungling sort of shuffling, forming a good contrast with the principals.
Just at this very nick of time three more young ladies arrive, rather
over-dressed for the inhabitants of a French village (the coryphees},
Misses Froud, Lane, and Hall. They do not take the slightest notice
of their assembled friends, but immediately begin to dance with their
backs turned towards them, which is certainly anything but genteel
behaviour. But what can you expect from rustics ? At the conclu-
sion of this, the old lady returns from market, and is naturally sur-
prised and angry to find the young people kicking their heels about,
instead of being at labour. After some threatening, and much en-
treaty, she forgives the enamoured pair ; and Mr. Boulanger arrives
most opportunely, as the baillie of the village, joins the hands of the
youthful couple, who then dance a matrimonial pas de deux, without a
single faux pas, and this sets the whole party off in a pa-s-generale.

" Now this is not holding the mirror up to nature ; for nothing was
ever seen in a French village that has a resemblance to this description.
But I am rambling. Never mind — I am out on a ramble.

" Arrived in due time at the barriers of Paris. Diligence stopped,
and examined by several gensdarmes. Thought of old England, and
as to how I should feel if some of the dragoon guards were to poke
their heads into a stage-coach at Mile-end turnpike. Comparison in
favour of my own country. Frenchmen such tigers, they must have a
military government.

" Drove to La Fitte and Company's bureau des diligences, surrounded
by a host of chattering commissioners. The gensdarmes examining
coats, luggage, parcels of all the passengers — very troublesome. The
sandy-haired journalist whispered tome, ' that the scene reminded him

JOURNAL OF OLD BARNES, THE PANTALOON. 633

forcibly of the notable event recorded in Genesis, of the confusion, and
consequent dispersion, which took place amongst the confederated
builders of the Tower of Babel, in the plain of Shinar.'
" What the deuce did they think I had about me ? "

THE MEETING OF THE DEAD.

IT is said that, after twenty years, when Helo'ise was buried in the same grave
as Abelard, he opened his arms to receive her corpse.

Twenty years ! — a hermit lone,
Clad with moisture, girt with stone,
Earth, dim earth, above, around,
By dark roots of ivy-bound
Fir and cypress, bonds that coil
Through the slowly-yielding soil
As it swells to give them room
In their passage from the tomb,
Gathering life from that beneath
Which has drunk the dew of death.

Twenty years ! — there came a voice

Piercing through this hideous shade,
Giving to my soul its choice

If 't would be immortal made,
And above the stars rejoice ;
Or if, shrunk, confined, and hid
By the heavy coffin lid,
Here it would abide, and dare
Pangs the frame immured must bear —
Loathsome tortures round it cast,
Fearful pains that ling' ring last, —
Stirling, wringing, pressing woes,
Knowing that they will not close
Till the lagging hour shall come
When once more the yawning tomb
Opes its cavern, foul and wide,
To receive a vestal bride.

Twenty years ! I Jve waited well !
Here I chose, even here, to dwell,
Soul and body, in this cave ;
Sentient, free, but yet a slave —
Yes, in faith, hope, power, still free, —
Slave to memory and to thee !

That the same bright fount supplied
Both our beings from its tide.
All I hoped, believed, and taught,
Lived and flourish'd in thy thought :
What was dim to others' sight,
Gleam 'd to thee as purest light.
Once 1 hoped I could not die,

Leaving thee to think alone, —
That each wondrous mystery

Must to each alike be known ;
But my baffled human lore
Reach'd its goal, and knew no more.

Twenty years have linger'd on,
And thou wert on earth — alone !
Every thought for ever mine,
In the cell or at the shrine ;
Every feeling thrilling yet,
Such as neither could forget,
When our cloister'd walls in vain
Held us both in parted pain.

Thou could'st live ! — then not despair;
Such as hatred bade us share,
Penance, torture, varied ill,
None of these have power to kill ;
Knowledge, science, skill, and power,

All we seek and toil to gain,
Leave but this, when all is o'er,

That our wisdom is in vain ;
Passions, wishes, struggles, schemes,
Are but meteors — shadows — dreams.
Love alone, such love as ours,
Gives the soul unwonted powers,
Courage to survive all harm,
Patience and enduring calm ;
Thou to live through life for me,
I to live in death for thee !

LOUISA STUART COSTELLO.

Thou liv'dst on — I knew the same
Spirit touch 'd us with its flame, —

Note. — " The man who, by his great qualities and his faults, by the boldness of his
opinions, the brilliancy of his life, his innate passion for polemics, and the rarest
talent of imparting instruction, contributed in the highest degree to cherish and
disseminate a taste for study, and urge that intellectual movement from whence,
in the thirteenth century, arose the university of Paris — that man was Pierre
Abelard.

" Wherever he appeared, an admiring crowd followed his footsteps ; a desert, into
which he withdrew, became the theatre of an immense auditory. He amazed the
schools, he shook the church and the state ; and, to add to the singular fame which
he acquired, he was beautiful in person, a poet, and a musician. He was loved to
adoration by one of the noblest and most exalted of her sex, who loved like St. The-
resa, wrote like Seneca, and whose fascinations of mind were found irresistible
even by St. Bernard himself, the adversary of Abelard."

Ouvrages Inedits d' Abelard, par M. Victor Cousin.

STANLEY THORN.

BY THE AUTHOR OP " VALENTINE VOX."

CHAPTER XV.

Stanley dreams of Isabelle, with whose name Amelia thereby becomes acquainted.

STANLEY had no sooner left the house than it struck him that he
was bound by every charitable feeling to proceed without delay to the
residence of Isabelle. And yet, where did she reside ? How could he
ascertain ? He might perhaps from Madame Poupetier ; but how ex-
tremely incorrect it would appear if he applied to her then. And if
even he did apply, and the application were successful, he could not,
with even the semblance of propriety, call at that hour upon Isabelle ;
and if he did call, and found that she had reached home in safety, he
of course would be unable to see her to dissuade her from any desperate
act she might contemplate. And if he found that she had not returned,
what would he do then ? Puzzled by the various promptings of pru-
dence on the one hand, and inclination on the other, he walked to and
fro in a state of irresolution the most absolute, until a cab drew to-
wards him, when he entered it mechanically, and at once proceeded
home.

Amelia, who would never retire until he returned, had for hours
been waiting most anxiously for him. She had been in tears. She
had endeavoured to believe that it was wrong to be sad, and that her
grief had its origin in selfishness ; still she could not help grieving ;
the tears would continue to flow. The very moment, however, Stanley
returned, she hastened to remove everything indicative of sadness, and
looked cheerful and happy, and smiled with her wonted sweetness.
Nor was this hypocrisy. If even it had been, it might perhaps be held
to have been venial ; but it was not. She did feel happy on his re-
turn ; her smile of gladness was sincere ; and when she flew at once
to meet and to embrace him, she but obeyed the impulse of her heart.

" Have you passed a pleasant evening, my love ? " she inquired.

" Yes — yes," replied Stanley ; " very pleasant — considering that
my Amelia was not with me."

" You wish me to believe that you do not flatter ? " said Amelia,
with a playful expression. " Well, well, I do believe it. Oh yes j if
I did not, I should doubt your sincerity. But why are you not cheer-
ful ? I am with you now ! "

" I only feel fatigued," replied Stanley, passing his hand languidly
over his eyes.

" You must be, I am sure. You shall have some refreshment, and
then fur a long sweet sleep."

Stanley looked at Amelia, and drew a comparison between her and
Isabelle, of which the result was unhappily in favour of the latter.
Isabelle was more strikingly beautiful than Amelia. It would indeed
have been impossible for her to have been more gentle, more elegant,
or more amiable ; but her features were more regular, she possessed
more beauty, which has in all cases an undue influence when the com-
parison is merely superficial. This result, however, failed to make a
deep impression then. The endearing fondness of Amelia, which was

STANLEY THORN. 635

ever most conspicuous when his spirits were most depressed, caused
him to feel that he in reality possessed a jewel which could not be too
highly valued. He became therefore speedily reconciled ; and, after
reproaching himself for having entertained for an instant a wish that
he had not been married, he returned those endearments which had
been lavished upon him by Amelia, and thus rendered her perfectly
happy.

On retiring to rest, the effect of the excitement of the scene he had
just quitted was that of inducing immediate sleep ; but the circum-
stances connected with what he considered the chief feature of that
scene effectually prevented his sleep being calm. He was haunted by
Isabelle. In imagination he saw her before him ; now with a phial to
her lips, then with a dagger at her heart, and anon upon the brink of
a precipice, from which he tried to snatch her in vain. He seemed
fixed to the earth — he could not stir. He called to her — she heeded
him not. There she stood, looking more lovely than ever, in a position
of imminent peril, while he had not the power to move a single step
with the view of saving her from destruction. Again he called : she
heard him, but shrieked, and disappeared. He felt himself fixed to
the earth still ; but presently a white mist arose from the gulf into
which she had fallen, and when the wind had dispelled it, he saw her
upon the verge of the precipice again. He now experienced the same
feelings of terror as before, and again she dashed off, and again the
mist restored her ; yet so desperately intent upon destruction did she
appear, that she dashed off again and again, but as often as she did so
the mist reinstated her almost instantaneously upon the brink. She
seemed unhurt ; but his apprehensions for her safety were dreadful,
and they increased every time she appeared. And thus throughout the
night was he tortured, writhing to break his imaginary bonds, but
finding himself utterly unable to move an inch towards her whom he
panted to save.

In the morning, therefore, he did not feel greatly refreshed ; but he
rose at the usual hour, with a vivid recollection of all that he had in
imagination seen, and reflected upon each circumstance as gravely as if
the whole had in reality occurred. While engaged in these reflections,
Amelia watched the peculiar expression of his countenance closely, and
while at breakfast said, in a playful manner,

" Who is Isabelle ? "

Stanley started at the question, and the blood rushed to his cheeks
as he echoed, " Isahelle ! " — for he thought it very strange that Amelia
should put such a question at such a time, and half suspected that
some kind friend had informed her of certain circumstances, of which
she might as well have been kept in ignorance. " Isabelle ! " he re-
peated. " What Isabelle ? "

" Why, the Isabelle ! — the little Isabelle ! — the Isabelle whom you
so often addressed in your sleep."

" Oh ! I recollect ! " cried Stanley, smiling ; for he really felt very
much relieved. " Isabelle ! — I remember ! — Of course ! — I suppose I
must introduce you to little Isabelle. Oh! she is such a beautiful
creature, if the vision be faithful."

" The vision ? But do you not know her ? "

" Know her ! Why, she is to be my second ! The sweetest little
dear you ever beheld ! Such eyes ! — such hair ! — such ancles ! And
yet — no — her dress was too long ; I did not see her ancles ; but I am

636 STANLEY THORN.

sure they are beautifully turned. And then she loves me so dearly !
Oh ! I must introduce you to my Isabelle ! "

This Stanley thought very ingenious. Had he pretended not to
know her, he conceived he might have done it with sufficient gaucherie
to excite suspicion j but, by affecting to know and to admire her, he
imagined that the thing would be regarded as a jest. And he was
right in his conjecture — as a jest it was regarded ; for the perception
of Amelia was so acute, that she felt it to be very unlikely he would
make any such acknowledgment if in reality it were so. Whether
ladies in general are thus deceived, while priding themselves upon this
peculiar acuteness of perception, is a point which has yet to be esta-
blished ; it will be sufficient here to describe this as being the effect
upon the mind of Amelia, who believed that Isabelle was a mere crea-
ture of the imagination, which was precisely the belief that Stanley
wished to inspire. Lest, however, any slight feeling of jealousy should
linger, he would not allow the matter to rest even here. He explained
to her how ardently he loved Isabelle, dwelt upon the beautiful soft-
ness of her lips, lauded the luxuriance of her ringlets, described her
figure as being sylph-like in the extreme ; indeed he depicted so lovely
a creature, and declared his passion for her in terms so warm, that
Amelia at length thought it an excellent jest, and the subject became
one of infinite merriment.

Breakfast, however, was no sooner at an end than Stanley's thoughts
assumed a more serious character. He knew not how to act. Isabelle
he believed to be a virtuous good girl, and he was therefore most
anxious for her safety. And yet, ought he to ascertain her residence
and call upon her? Could he as a man, under the circumstances,
justify the pursuit of such a course ? She loved him — of that he felt
firmly convinced ; but what object could he hope to attain by calling ?
It might increase, but could not diminish, her unhappiness ; and what
right had he to sport with her feelings ? He was bound by every ho-
nourable principle to do nothing calculated to augment her wretched-
ness, and the probability was that neglect would work a cure.

In this strain he argued with himself for some considerable time ;
and although he felt anxious, most anxious, to ascertain if she were
safe, he eventually made up his mind not to call.

CHAPTER XVI.

In which the Widow's designs upon Sir William, and Sir William's designs upon
Stanley, are developed.

THIS being the auspicious day appointed for her party, the widow
was excessively busy all the morning ; and, as her primary object was
to astonish Sir William, everything dazzling in her possession was dis-
played in a style the most chaste and superb. She scorned, however,
to depend upon the display of her wealth solely : her faith in the power
of her personal charms was of an extremely high order ; and hence,
after having arranged the inanimate auxiliaries in the most startling
manner possible, and given the most minute and conflicting instruc-
tions to the servants, she proceeded to embellish those personal charms,
— and perhaps there never was such a job ! Everything calculated to
add fascination to nature was put in requisition. The taste of her
maid was in each particular instance repudiated. In reality the girl
had no taste, and such being the afflicting state of things, the widow

STANLEY THORN. 637

had it all her own way ; and therefore, when the whole scheme had
been accomplished, she certainly did feel, and that strongly, that if in
this world any lady ever looked the thing, she did ! Characteristically
illustrated at each grand point, and jewelled after the fashion she most
approved, — " Well, really, now," she observed, as she accosted herself
familiarly, " what can be said against the appearance of Lady Worm-
well !" — for, however extraordinary it may appear that she should thus
continue to harp upon " Lady Wormwell," it is a fact that she felt
that the title became her, and that she had been formed to do honour
to the title.

It was fortunate, perhaps, that foreseeing that she might on this
particular occasion be at her toilet a little longer than usual, she began
to dress early ; for no sooner had she taken the lingering look alluded
to than Sir William arrived. It were folly to attempt to disguise from
the world that she did at this moment feel fluttered. It was a moment
of deep interest, certainly ; and yet, why should she be so tremulous ?
Why should her heart beat so ? Why should she thus catch her
breath, and turn faint ? She sat down to answer these questions com-
posedly ; but, as Sir William's arrival was now officially announced,
she started up and took a deep inspiration. All her courage was re-
quired, and she promptly summoned all, — directed her carriage to be
sent for Stanley and Amelia, which she had deferred expressly, in
order that she and Sir William might have half an hour's sweet con-
versation alone, — took another smiling glance at her peculiarly graceful
person, — found matters all right and imposing, — and then at once pro-
ceeded to receive Sir William in a style which she felt his heart could not
resist. What delight she expressed, what joy she depicted, may be
conceived. But how droll were her sensations ! She trembled like a
foolish little bird ! Yet how sweet is the love which a title inspires !
— what beautiful feelings it engenders ! It is almost as pure and in-
corruptible as that which is solely created by wealth. Happy widow !
She felt this love deeply ; and hence, although she had a trembling
hand, she displayed a sweet smile, and was moreover so fussy ? Sir
William before conceived that she was aiming at something; but her
great design now became palpable. He saw through it all ; but he was
not by any means displeased. On the contrary, he took it upon him-
self to seem flattered, and really enjoyed the thing rather than not ;
for although he was unmarried, and, being comparatively poor, had no
great contempt for wealth, he had certainly not the most remote idea
of entering into anything like a matrimonial alliance with the widow,
albeit it must be confessed that few ladies of large dimensions could
have looked more unique. But he humoured her fancy, and made her
believe that he was not insensible to her charms, because, among other
things, he imagined that she might be made useful, under circum-
stances of a pecuniary nature, the force of which few men knew much
better than himself. He therefore entered into the spirit of the thing,
and listened with great attention to the brilliant discourse of the fasci-
nating widow, who was so extremely communicative, and managed to
explain the precise character of her position with so much delicacy and
tact, that, by the time the carriage drew up with Stanley and Amelia,
he had become, unsolicited, master of the whole matter.

" You kept us waiting long enough, I hope ! " cried Stanley, as he
entered. " I thought that you were not going to send for us at all."

638 STANLEY THORN.

" Upon my word I beg pardon, my dear ; but this watch of mine is
really a very sad deceiver."

" Why wear it, then ? Why not have one that will keep correct
time ? "

" Well, well, don't be angry, my love. I am sorry it happened. It
shall not occur again."

This dialogue, short as it was, discovered to Sir William the true
state of the case. He saw Stanley's influence at a glance, and at the
moment conceived a project for enriching himself. This project must,
however, be left for the present. It was not then even in conception
matured ; and, as there was plenty of time for its execution, he
troubled himself no more about it then, but continued to converse on
ephemeral topics with Amelia, (who could not help fancying that when
she entered he pressed her hand with rather remarkable warmth,) until
dinner was announced.

The dinner passed off very well. It was very rechercht, and very
well managed. Sir William was Sir Williamed to his heart's content,
and nothing but smiles and good humour prevailed.

A variety of interesting subjects were touched upon slightly ; but at
length one arose which had reference to the moral tendency of exposing
vice. The widow expressed a decided opinion, that virtue alone must
be portrayed to induce a high appreciation of virtue ; and Sir William,
as a matter of courtesy, agreed with her, and contended, that if the
vicious were unknown, their example could not be followed, which
was certainly much to the point, clear, and very conclusive. Stanley,
however, was not content with this, and hence inquired of Sir William
if he objected to the system of guarding the virtuous against the prac-
tices of the vicious.

" Decidedly not," returned Sir William. " I would guard them at
every point, by placing before their eyes constantly and exclusively the
beautiful characteristics of virtue."

" Precisely," observed the widow. " Of all guards, virtue is the
strongest."

" But by simply doing that," said Stanley, without noticing the wi-
dow's remarkable observation, " I apprehend you would leave them
unguarded. The inexperienced must be taught what to abhor, as well
as what to admire ; what to shun, as well as what to embrace. And
the beauty of virtue is never so conspicuous as when contrasted with
the deformity of vice."

" Teach men to be virtuous," rejoined Sir William, " and they re-
quire to know nothing of vice."

" But how are they to avoid the snares laid for them by the vi-
cious ? "

" Experience will soon enable them to do that."

" But whose experience ? Their own, or the experience of others ?
We cannot be secure in our own experience, and hence to the inexpe-
rienced an exposition of vice is a blessing. Our own experience cannot
guide us : we must not be left to it alone. If, for example, a young
and lovely creature should fall, ought we not to describe, the villainous
means by which her fall was accomplished, that others may avoid
them ? ' No ! ' exclaims pseudo-morality. ' That young fallen creature
was left to her own experience. Had she been permitted to profit by
the experience of others, she might still have been virtuous, — still
pure, — still the pride of her home, — a blessing to her family, — the

STANLEY THORN.

solace of those whose hearts she may have broken ; but having merely
her own experience to guide her, she was ensnared, and her experience
must, forsooth, not be imparted to others. No ; they, in turn, must
learn by their own experience too ! Society would be wrecked if the
virtuous and the honourable were not constantly warned, by the expe-
rience of others, against those by whom vice and dishonour are prac-
tised. How are we to shun that of which we are unconscious ? How
are we to frustrate the designs of the villain, if we are kept in utter
ignorance of those designs ? How are the young, however exemplary
and amiable, to avoid the specious deeply-laid schemes of the seducer,
if the arts of seduction are kept out of view ? They must be warned ;
and as they can be effectually warned only by the experience of others,
the knowledge of that experience should not be withheld. It is the
duty of all, whether in private conversation, in moral disquisitions, or
in histories which amuse while they instruct, to portray the deformities
of vice with the view of rendering more apparent the beauties of
virtue."

It certainly did not require all this to convince Sir William Worm-
well, that if vice were not exposed, our social system would soon be
destroyed ; but having taken the opposite side, to please the widow, he
felt bound to fight her battle until she was perfectly satisfied, when —
perceiving his occupation as her champion gone — he observed, with a
smile, that he thought Stanley ought to have been in the Church.
This acute observation was very much approved by the widow, who
began to think so too ; while Amelia was delighted with her Stanley,
which is not very marvellous, considering how easily affectionate and
intelligent wives are by such means charmed by their husbands. All
were therefore well content ; and when Sir William had covered his
retreat by observing, that the grand point was to describe the career of
the vicious, so that none might either sympathise with them, or wish
to follow their example, the conversation turned upon the turf.

" Of course you go to Epsom ? " said Sir William.

<f I scarcely know," replied Stanley. " I have not even given it a
thought."

" Then you have no favourite horse in the Derby ? "

" I don't even know the name of any one that has been entered. In
fact, my knowledge of the turf is exceedingly limited."

" In that case, I should strongly advise you to bet only with
friends."

" Would it not be as well," suggested Amelia, " to abstain from
betting altogether ? "

" Decidedly," replied Sir William. " But men, from the highest to
the lowest, who take the slightest interest in a race, will bet. The
impulse is irresistible. If even they have nothing at stake, they can-
not avoid wishing that a certain horse may win, and that is sufficient
to prompt them to back that wish, if they happen to have any one to
bet with. It is, however, folly for the inexperienced to bet with any
but friends."

" But when are the races ? " inquired the widow.

" Next Wednesday is the grand day."

" Oh, I should like to go dearly ! I never was at a race in my life.
I am sure I should -enjoy it above all things. Shouldn't you, my
love ? "

" I should indeed," returned Amelia. " Papa took me down last

640 STANLEY THORN.

year, and I was so much delighted ! You can scarcely imagine what
a lovely scene it is."

" Well, suppose, then, Stanley were to take us ? " said the widow,
who, after smiling sweetly at Sir William, added, "you, I presume,
are engaged ? "

" No ; I have no particular engagement."

" Oh, it would be so delightful if you would go with us ! "

" I assure you that nothing would give me greater pleasure. What
say you ? " he added, addressing Stanley.

" Oh ! / am quite agreeable."

" There 's a good creature ! " cried Amelia. " We will not be the
slightest trouble to you. You can have your own horses down there,
as papa and Albert had, and ride about as you please."

(f Exactly," said the widow. " You can send them forward, and we
can all go down together in my carriage. We shall be so comfortable
and so happy ! "

It was accordingly thus arranged, and the remainder of the evening
was spent most agreeably ; but the greatest amount of delight was ex-
perienced by the widow, who then felt as certain of being Lady
Wormwell as if a formal declaration had already been made. This
Sir William, of course, perceived, and took especial care to give
strength and depth to that feeling, conceiving it to be essential to the
due execution of that scheme of which the outline may as well be ex-
plained. He saw that Stanley was on the high-road to ruin ; that he
derived all the means he had of travelling that road from the widow ;
and that her wealth would be thereby most sensibly diminished, if,
indeed, it were not wholly absorbed. He therefore put it to himself
whether he ought to suffer so golden an opportunity to slip. In a pe-
cuniary sense he was not in a good position ; but he felt that he might
retrieve himself by a little ingenuity, and the only question was, — •
Could he do it in the way proposed with honour ? It was some time
before he could answer this question with any degree of satisfaction to
himself; but he did so eventually thus :—

" We are the creatures of circumstances : circumstances govern all
our actions. Is not therefore non-resistance venial when circumstances
surround us in the shape of temptations to acts which in a strict sense
partake of the character of dishonour ? Besides, the means I propose
to employ are means which the world calls " honourable," and none
can be disgraced by the employment of those means in the eye of the
world. Why, then, should not I, by those " honourable " means en-
rich myself ? If this fortune is to be lost, why should not I win it ?
I will : and while doing so defy the world to say that I violated in any
single instance its own code of honour."

By this ingenious species of ratiocination he tranquillised his con-
science, and having laid the basis of success by appearing as amiable as
possible in the eyes of the widow, who was in raptures, he left for the
night.

STANLEY THORN. 641

CHAPTER XVII.
Bob makes a discovery which is calculated to be highly advantageous.

As it has been already placed on record that, in consequence of
Stanley's departure from the park before the friends of the lady whom
he had rescued had time to express their gratitude, Bob felt that he
had been to a sensible extent victimized, it may now without any im-
propriety be stated that, as he could not suppress this purely natural
feeling, he had been ever since looking out for the old groom with un-
paralleled sharpness and zeal. His expectation of meeting with that
ancient individual had been particularly lively and strong ; his object
being to impart to the friends of that lady through him the fact that
Stanley was the person by whom the gallant action was performed ;
for, being a pure and faithful servant, he held it to be a pity that they
should remain in utter ignorance of him who was justly and so emi-
nently entitled to their thanks.

He had, however, been signally unsuccessful in his search. He had
described with artistical fervour the chief characteristics of the ani-
mated piece of antiquity in question to every gentleman with whom he
had the honour of being acquainted ; but, as they were unable to give
him any specific clue to the discovery of the ancient, he felt quite at a
loss ; for he did not conceive it to be strictly correct to advertise him
in the Hue and Cry, or, indeed, in any of the public papers, although
he would with much willingness have offered a reward of five shillings
for his apprehension, to be paid on conviction of his being the same
man.

Notwithstanding he had been grievously disappointed in spirit in
divers instances in which he had made sure of having the honour to
run him down, Bob nobly scorned to give the thing up : he felt per-
fectly certain that he should have the pleasure of meeting the old gen-
tleman at some period somewhere ; and to show the rather extraor-
dinary correctness of this conjecture, it will be necessary to explain that
immediately after Stanley and Amelia had started to meet Sir William
at the widow's, he miraculously beheld, as he was walking down Re-
gent Street to have an hour's private conversation with a friend, the
identical individual on horseback, behind a lady who really looked
very much indeed like the one who had been so providentially pre-
served.

In an instant Bob knew him. He could not be mistaken. He could
have sworn conscientiously to his being the same man. But then, what
was he to do ? They were trotting rather briskly ; and the proximity
of the groom to his mistress was so remarkable that he really could not
speak to him then with any degree of convenience. He could there-
fore pursue but one course, and that course he did pursue. He start-
ed off with the inflexible determination not to lose sight of them, see-
ing that he felt at least two sovereigns all but in his pocket. He had
not the smallest doubt that they resided in May- Fair, or its immediate
vicinity ; and, as they turned up Piccadilly, he darted after them with
joy, although he found it excessively hot. They passed Bond-Street
and Sackville Street, — which, of course, was just what he expected ;
but then they dashed up to the Park, — which did by no means meet

VOL. vii. 2 z

642 STANLEY THORN.

his views ; and he could not avoid expressing privately to himself an
innocent wish that it had been otherwise. There was, however, no
help for it, although it was very sultry. He still kept on, resolved
not to be beaten ; but it cannot be denied that he found the perspira-
tion becoming unpleasantly profuse. It is, however, the spirit which
sustains a man under circumstances of an adverse character : it is that
which enables him to overcome difficulties, under which he would else
of necessity sink. Bob highly appreciated this profound philosophical
fact ; and hence would not permit his manly spirit to flag. Still he
thought it very hard, for he felt very warm and uncomfortable as the
conviction flashed vividly across his brain, that, instead of the lady be-
ing on her way home, as he had fondly conceived, she had in reality
but just come out ; and, when he took into calm consideration the
character'of ladies in the aggregate, he thought it extremely probable
that Heaven only knew when she meant to return. He, notwith-
standing all this, disdained to lose sight of her, but still kept on
running; and, as he ran, an infinite variety of ideas kept darting
into his head, and darting out again. There was, however, one
which made a short stay, and this was, that if he went back to the
gate he should be just as secure as if he ran round the ring. But
then, he asked himself how he could, in the nature of things, tell
that she would not go out at one of the other gates ? This was a
question to which he could give no satisfactory answer ; and, as at the
moment the ghosts of two sovereigns, as if to warn him, flitted grimly
before his imagination, he felt strongly that it would not do at all to
leave anything to chance, although he had a horrid notion that he
should not be able to keep the game alive much longer, seeing that he
actually did feel as nearly as possible exhausted.

Having passed Cumberland Gate, the lady, with great consideration,
walked her horse, which Bob held to be a blessing, and was very
thankful for it. It enabled him to recover his breath a little ; when,
perceiving that all was quite safe, he took a short cut back, still keep-
ing his eyes fixed with surpassing firmness upon his object, and being
prepared to dart after her if she offered to turn ; but, happily for him,
no such offer was made. Gracefully and deliberately she came along
the drive, and at length passed into Piccadilly.

At this point Bob tried to attract the attention of the ancient groom,
who happened to be a greater distance behind his mistress than usual ;
but that gentleman, being absorbed in his own private reflections, fail-
ed to notice him ; a circumstance which Bob did not care much about ;
for, in the first place, he was not in a fit state to speak to any one
having the slightest pretensions to respectability ; in the second, he
could not have held any lengthened conversation with him then ; and
in the third, he imagined that there could not be two strictly rational
opinions about his being able now to discover their residence with ease.
Under these peculiar circumstances, therefore, he continued to follow
them; and, albeit from Park Lane to Burlington Arcade the lady
caused him to run with great velocity, he was firmly determined
that it never should be said after all that he gave in. From Burling-
ton Arcade to the Circus they proceeded very coolly ; but they dashed
off again up Regent Street, where several individuals of Bob's ac-
quaintance turned to marvel what on earth it could be which caused
him to run at such an ungentlemanly rate. He stopped not, how-

STANLEY THORN. 643

ever, to explain ; but kept on with great spirit until the lady can-
tered calmly over Oxford Street, at which point his heart sank with-
in him.

<( Is it possible," thought he, " that she is going to have a turn in
the Regent's Park ? " As she passed Langham Church he held it to
be very possible ; but, just as he was putting it to himself — first, whe-
ther he was able to hold out ; and, second, whether, if even he had the
ability, it was worth his while to do so, she stopped before a door,
which was immediately opened by a porter, when with the necessary
assistance she dismounted, and Bob felt revived. It was all safe, then ;
but he really felt dreadfully out of breath, and therefore, instead of
accosting his old friend at once, he followed him coolly to the
stables.

" Whose servant is that, my little buffer ?" he inquired of a boy
who was cleaning a patent bit, and hissing at it like a young
serpent.

" Vot Venerable Joe, in the next stable ? Gene'l Johnsonses."

" I '11 give you a ha'p'ney," said Bob, " if you '11 tell him that a gen-
tleman wants to see him at the tap when he 's done."

The lad promised to do so, and took the reward, when Bob went to
the tap, and proceeded to restore to some extent the respectability of
his appearance.

Venerable Joe, when he heard that a gentleman wished to see him
at the tap, did not suffer much time to elapse before he made his ap-
pearance. Had his presence been required at the General's residence,
it is rational to suppose that he would not have been in quite so much
haste ; but the tap was a place which he specially favoured, having no
tender wife in the hayloft ; no lovely little cherubs hanging over the
bar to cry, " Mother ! oh, look ! father 's going it again ! " He was a
man without incumbrance, a perfectly free man, and, therefore, the
moment Bob's ambassador had explained the precise object of his
mission, he slipped on his easy dress, and started off to obey the
summons.

" Ah ! my old Scoglivax ! Well, and how are you ? " cried Bob, as
the ancient groom entered.

" Vy, middlin'," said Venerable Joe ; " but you Ve got the adwan-
tage on me, railly."

" What, don't you remember my master the other day dragged off
your missus, you know, off that horse ? "

"Veil, I thought, some'ow or other, I'd seen yer afore. Veil, 'ow
are yer ? "

"Oh ! hearty. Come drink. But I say though, how did you man-
age to catch that there bolter ? "

"The warmint ! He voodn't let me ketch 'im at all. He vorn't
brought back till the follerin' mornin', and then p'raps, he vorn't in no
state ! "

" You went after him, of course ? "

" In course I vent arter 'im ; but, at my time o' life, yer see, I allus
takes things heasy ; and so, ven I found I couldn't ketch 'im, yer see
I guv 'im up."

" Well, sit down, and make yourself miserable."

ee Vait a bit. Von't be a minute. I '11 jist git vun o' them 'ere
boys there to rub down my 'osses, and kirn back ag'in in a instant."

2z2

644 STANLEY THORN.

"Well," said Bob to himself in strict confidence when Venerable
Joe had departed, " of all the rum things in human nature, the princi-
ple of keeping on old files like that in a family is just about the rum-
mest. Why don't they superannuate the bucks ? What are they good
for ? If a horse bolts away they can't catch him. They 're just good-
for-nothing; and yet they are sent to protect young ladies whose
blessed little necks may be in danger a thous'and times, without
their even attempting to do any good, because they will take things
easy. Why don't they pension the old buffers off ! That 's my senti-
ments."

Venerable Joe soon returned ; and when he did return he duly in-
quired of Bob how he felt himself by that time, which was very affec-
tionate ; and Bob made an appropriate reply, and then went to work
in earnest.

" Well," said he, " that was a queer start, though ; wasn't it, eh ? "

" I believe yer," said Venerable Joe, " it just vos. Your gov'ner
must a bin rayther a rummy un to 've cotcht that air warmint, 'cos he
ain't no dirt."

" No, he 's a decentish sort. But was your misses hurt at all ? "

" Not a bit ; but werry frightened. Ven she come round she vun-
dered oo it vos. Says she, ' Joseph,' says she, ' d' yer know,' says she,
' that air genelman ? ' — ' No, miss/ says I, ' I carn't say/ says I, ' I
know oo he is ; but I think/ says I, ' I 've see'd 'im afore.' The old
General, too, vos werry anxious about 'im j but I couldn't tell oo he
vos, 'cos I didn't know."

" My governor, you see, is such a bashful cove. I wanted him to
stop ; but he cut away as if he was afeard of being thanked, which
was not the thing exactly : but do you tell them that it was him. It 's
a pity they shouldn't know, for it really was very well done."

Venerable Joe quite agreed with Bob, who gave him his master's
address, and thus laid the foundation. He then had the pot again re-
plenished, and they became very friendly and very communicative, and
entered into each other's views, and conversed on various topics with
great eloquence and point ; and, in the course of conversation, the an-
cient explained how many miles he once walked within the hour, how
many runs he once scored in one innings, how many sparrows out of
eleven he once killed from five traps, how many pins he got down nine
times running at skittles, how many quoits he once rang out of a do-
zen ; with a full explanation of an infinite variety of equestrian
manoeuvres, which never could have been performed by any other
man.

" Well," said Bob at length, " and how do you stand for the
Darby ? "

" Vy, I carn't say as I 'm in for much thish 'ear, although I know
the 'oss as is to do the trick as veil as his rider as is to 'ave a thousand
pun' note ven he vins."

" Well, I don't care much," said Bob, " I 'm all safe ; but I shouldn't
mind standing a drop of anything you like to know that."

" Vy, yer see, I don't know that I can tell yer jist yet, yer see, vith-
out betraying confidence ; and if I do that they '11 never tell me no-
thin' ag'in ; but I shall see yer ag'in, no doubt, werry soon, and you
shall be the fust to 'ave the office. 'Ave you got a heavyish book thish
'ear ? "

I

STANLEY THORN. 645

" Why, not a very heavy 'un/' replied Bob as he produced it. " I
always bet wet. Dry bets are so troublesome to get in. Men don't
like to fork out dry money ', and if you bore 'em, you know, it 's a de-
licate thing, besides, it looks so, when they don't mind paying for what
they have part of. I 've got — let me see, I 've got down forty glasses
of brandy-and-water, six-and-twenty of rum-and-water, seventy-two
fourpenn'orths of gin-and-water, thirty pots of ale, and eight-and-
twenty ditto of half-and-half ; and, according to my reckoning, if one
horse wins — and I 'm quite nuts upon him — I shall win twenty glasses
of brandy-and-water, sixteen fourpenn'orths, and twelve pots of ale ;
and if he loses, let it go how it may, I can't win less than six of brandy-
and-water, ten of rum-and-water, four fourpenn'orths, and eight pots
of half-and-half."

" But, vether he vins or loses, the whole b'ilin' 's to come in."

" As a matter of course, every drain. Now I 'm open to take seven
to two against the favourite in anything."

" That don't suit my book," observed Venerable Joe. " I can bet
five to two."

"Brandy-and-water? "

" No ; aither fourpenn orths or arf-an'-arf."

" Wait a bit," said Bob, who again consulted his book, while the
ancient knitted his brows, and looked very mysterious. " Make it
brandy-and-water, and I '11 take you."

" Werry well, I don't care ; but let me adwise yer as a friend not
to be too spicy upon the favourite. I on'y mean it, in course, as an
'int."

" Oh ! I 'm safe enough. Let s see — General Johnsonses Joseph,
five to two, brandy-aud-water. That 's all regular. Now let us see
how I stand/

Bob then proceeded to make up his book, and found himself still in
a very fair position ; and when they had had another pot of half-and-
half he took leave of his antique friend, again impressing upon his
mind the implicit character of the faith he had in his promise that he
would at once inform the General where Stanley was to be found, and
the warm re-assurances of Venerable Joe made him happy.

" The General," thought he, " is now certain to call ; and when he
does call, of course he '11 inquire about me ; and, when I see him, I
don't see how he can make me a present of less than a sov., and the lady
herself can't stand less than another. So that it 's not on the whole a
bad move by any means ! "

Nor was it. As far as the calling of the General was concerned
Bob's conjecture was very correct, for the General did call the follow-
ing morning, and Amelia was delighted to see him. He was a friend
of her father — a bosom friend ; and therefore, although Stanley was
from home at the time, he sent his card up to her, in the full convic-
tion that he was right, for the name of Thorn had been impressed upon
his mind by the circumstance of its having been at Richmond made
the subject of many bitter puns.

"My poor girl!" he cried, as Amelia approached him. "I hope
you are well."

" I thank you," said Amelia, " quite well. Oh ! I am so glad to see
you. This is indeed kind."

646 STANLEY THORN.

The General explained why he had called, and then shook his head
mournfully.

" You would reprove me ? " said Amelia.

"No, no, my poor girl! not you — not you ; I blame him : but I
shouldn't have cared even for that if he had been a good fellow."

" Good, General ! What may you mean ? "

" Sad dog ! — sad dog ! — sorry for you — very sorry/'

" As far as my Stanley is concerned, upon my word you need not be,
for he is one of the kindest creatures that ever breathed."

" Silly girls ! — silly girls ! it is just like you all. Why, I hear —
but, no matter — no matter. I can but regret it."

" If you have heard," said Amelia, " anything at all unfavourable
of him, you have heard that which is highly incorrect. They who
state that he is not a dear, kind, good, affectionate soul, basely wrong
him."

" Well — well," said the General, again taking her hand ; " but,
tell me, now, candidly, — I know you are all very anxious to conceal
the faults of those whom you love, — but come, tell me — it may be
better for you, my poor girl, in every way, — is he really, now, what
you represent him to be ? "

" He is, indeed," replied Amelia fervently. <( Believe me he is
kind — most kind."

"Then, by Heaven! the Captain shall hold out no longer. I'll
make him come round. He shall do it."

" Oh, if you could induce dear papa to forgive us."

(< He shall ! " exclaimed the General. " A man has no right to be
severe without reason ! "

" I feel that I have given him great cause to be severe ; but do use
your kind influence. Do, there 's a dear soul ! Pray — pray do assure
him that his anger is now the only thing which renders our happiness
imperfect. Do this, and I will bless you ! "

" Depend upon me, my dear girl. " I '11 run down to-morrow. I '11
make him come round. I thought you had a mad, harum-scarum,
rakish rascal for a husband, who delighted in making you wretched ;
instead of a fine, brave, high-spirited fellow, who, while he knows
what is due to himself, can respect the best feelings of others. I know
he 's a fine fellow. I 'm sure of it. If he had not been, he couldn't
have saved my poor girl. I respect him. I admire him. Rely upon
it, I '11 put matters right down at Richmond."

Amelia thanked him, and blessed him, and begged of him to give
her dear love to her papa; and to implore in her name his forgiveness.
All which the General promised most faithfully to do ; and then left
her in tears, which were not those of sorrow.

647

TO THE EDITOR OP BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

MY DEAR SIR,

I have just received the inclosed from Seaforth, in reply to an ear-
nest supplication for news of your great City. You are aware that he
has been bit by a mad Poet, and goes without his cravat. What is it

all about ?

Yours,

THOS. INGOLDSBY.

Tappington, May 15.

A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS.

Omnibus hoc vitium cantoribus. — Hoti.

DOL-DRUM the Manager sits in his chair,
With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air,
And he says as he slaps his hand on his knee,
" I '11 have nothing to do with Fiddle-de-dee ! "

— '« But Fiddle-de-dee sings clear and loud,

And his trills and his quavers astonish the crowd ;

Such a singer as he

You '11 nowhere see,
They '11 all be screaming for Fiddle-de-dee ! "

— " Though Fiddle-de-dee sings loud and clear,
And his tones are sweet, yet his terms are dear !

The ' glove won't fit ! '

The deuce a bit.
I shall give an engagement to Fal-de-ral-tit ! "

The Prompter bow'd, and he went to his stall,
And the green-baize rose at the Prompter's call,
And Fal-de-ral-tit sang fol-de-rol-lol I

But, scarce had he done

When a " row " begun,
Such a noise was never heard under the sun.

" Fiddle-de-dee !

Where is he ?
He 's the Artiste whom we all want to see ! —

Dol-drum ! — Dol-drum ! —

Bid the Manager come !
It 's a scandalous thing to exact such a sum
For boxes and gallery, stalls and pit,
And then fob us off with a Fal-de-ral-tit I —

Deuce a bit !

We '11 never submit I
Vive Fiddle-de-dee ! a bas Fal-de-ral-tit ! "

A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS.

Dol-drum the Manager rose from his chair,
With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air ;

But he smooth'd his brow,

As he well knew how,

And he walk'd on, and made a most elegant bow,
And he paused, and he smiled, and advanced to the lights,
In his opera-hat, and his opera-tights ;
" Ladies and Gentlemen," then said he,
" Pray what may you please to want with me ? "

" Fiddle-de-dee !—
Fiddle-de-dee ! "

Folks of all sorts and of every degree,
Snob, and Snip, and haughty Grandee,
Duchesses, Countesses, fresh from their tea,
And Shopmen, who 'd only come there for a spree,
Halloo'd, and hooted, and roar'd with glee

" Fiddle-de-dee I—-
None but He ! —

Subscribe to his terms, whatever they be !
Agree, agree, or you '11 very soon see
In a brace of shakes we '11 get up an O. P. ! "

Dol-drum the Manager, full of care,
With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air,

Looks distrest,

And he bows his best,
And he puts his right hand on the side of his breast,

And he says, — says he,

" We can't agree ;

His terms are a vast deal too costly for me.
There 's the rent, and the rates, and the sesses, and taxes —
I can't afford Fiddle-de-dee what he axes.

If you '11 only permit

Fal-de-ral-tit "

The Generous Public cried, " Deuce a bit !

Dol-drum 1 — Dol-drum ! —

We '11 none of us come.
It 's < No Go ! ' — it 's ' Gammon ! ' — it 's ' all a Hum ! ' —

You 're a miserly Jew ! —

* Cock-a-doodle-do ! ' —

He don't ask too much, as you know — so you do —
It 's a shame — it 's a sin — it 's really too bad —
You ought to be 'shamed of yourself— so you had ! "

Dol-drum the Manager never before

In his life-time had heard such a wild uproar.

Dol-drum the Manager turn'd to flee ;

But he says — says he,

" Mort de ma vie f
I shall nevare engage vid dat Fiddle-de-dee ! "

A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS. 649

Then all the gentlefolks flew in a rage,
And they jump'd from the Omnibus on to the Stage,
Lords, Squires, and Knights, they came down to the lights,
In their opera-hats, and their opera-tights,

Ma'am'selle Cherrytoes

Shook to her very toes,

She couldn't hop on, so hopped off on her merry toes.
And the " evening concluded " with " Three times three ! "
" Hip !— hip !— hurrah ; for Fiddle-de-dee ! "

Dol-drum the Manager, full of care,
With a troubled brow and dissatisfied air,

Saddest of men,

Sat down, and then
Took from his table a Perryan pen,
And he wrote to the " News/'
How MacFuze, and Tregooze,
Lord Tomnoddy, Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues,
And the whole of their tail, and the separate crews
Of the Tags, and the Rags, and the No-one-knows-whos,
Had combined Monsieur Fal-de-ral-tit to abuse,

And make Dol-drum agree

With Fiddle-de-dee,

Who was not a bit better singer than he.
Dol-drum declared " he never could see,
For the life of him, yet, why Fiddle-de-dee,

Who, in B flat, or C,

Or whatever the key,
Could never at any time get below G,
Should expect a fee the same in degree
As the great Burlibumbo who sings double D."
Then slyly he added a little N. B.
" If they 'd have him in Paris he 'd not come to me I "

The Manager rings,

And the Prompter springs
To his side in a jiffy, and with him he brings
A set of those odd-looking envelope things,
Where Britannia, (who seerns to be crucified,) flings
To her right and her left funny people with wings
Amongst Elephants, Quakers, and Catabaw Kings ;

And a taper and wax,

And small Queen's heads, in packs,

Which, when notes are too big, you 're to stick on their backs.
Dol-drum the Manager sealed with care
The letter and copies he 'd written so fair,
And sat himself down with a satisfied air ;
i Without delay

He sent them away,
In time to appear in " our columns " next day !

Dol-drum the Manager, full of care,

Walk'd on to the stage with an anxious air,

And peep'd through the curtain to see who were there.

650 A ROW IN AN OMNIBUS.

There was MacFuze,

And Lieutenant Tregooze,
And there was Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues,
And the Tags, and the Rags, and the No-one-knows-whos;
And the green-baize rose at the Prompter's call,
And they all began to hoot, bellow, and bawl,
And cry " Cock-a-doodle," and scream, and squall
" Dol-drum !— Dol-drum ! —

Bid the Manager come ! "

You fd have thought, from the tones

Of their hisses and groans,

They were bent upon breaking his (Opera) bones.
And Dol-drum comes, and he says — says he,
" Pray what may you please to want with me ? " —
" Fiddle-de-dee !

Fiddle-de-dee !

We '11 have nobody give us sol fa but He ! "
Manager Dol-drum says — says he —
(And he look'd like an Owl in " a hollow beech tree,")
" Well, since I see

The thing must be,
I '11 sign an engagement with Fiddle-de-dee I "

Then MacFuze, and Tregooze,

And Jenks of the Blues,

And the Tags, and the Rags, and the No-one-knows-whos,
Extremely delighted to hear such good news,
Desist from their shrill " Cock-a-doodle-dos.'
" Vive Fiddle-de-dee !

Dol-drum, and He !

They are jolly good fellows as ever need be !
And so 's Burlibumbo, who sings double D I
And whenever they sing, why, we'll all come and see ! "

So, after all
This terrible squall,
Fiddle-de-dee
's at the top of the tree,
And Dol-drum and Fal-de-ral-tit sing small.

Now Fiddle-de-dee sings loud and clear

At I can't tell you how many thousands a year,

And Fal-de-ral-tit is considered " Small Beer ;"

And Ma'amselle Cherry toes

Sports her merry toes,
Dancing away to the fiddles and flutes,
In what the folks call a " Lithuanian" in boots.

So here 's an end to my one, two, and three ;
And bless the Queen, — and long live She !
And grant that there never again may be
Such a halliballoo as we 've happened to see
About nothing on earth but " Fiddle-de-dee."

INDEX

TO THE SEVENTH VOLUME.

A.

Ainsworth, W. Harrison, Guy Fawkes

by, 1. 107. 219. 333. 441. 545 ; Jack

Sheppard, 92. 137.

Aldrich, J., My Mother's Grave by, 583.
Allspy, Toby, the Fatal Window by, 566.
American \V ar, legend of the, 469.
Anecdotes of Fleet Marriages, 177.
Anglers, list of celebrated, 264.
Angling, observations on, 254. 263. 265.
A. R. W. legend of the American War

by, 469.
Aunt Fanny, a Tale of a Shirt, 414 ; see

Ingoldsby.

B.

Babylon, Lions of the Modern, 80.
Bagman's Dog, Mr. Peters's story, 265 ;

see Ingoldsby.
Barnes, the Pantaloon, journal of, 457.

627.
Birnie, Sir Richard, anecdote respecting

his knighthood, 124.
Black Forest, a day in the, 186.
Blind Girl of Castel Cuille, 249.

C.

Chapter on Haunted Houses, see Haunted
Houses.

Charade, 478 ; answered, 618.

China, the real state of the case, 479.

Clink, Colin, see Colin Clink.

Cock Lane Ghost, see Haunted Houses.

Colin Clink, his attempt to liberate James
Woodruff, 50 ; his journey to London,
54 ; adventures in the Yorkshire House,
289 ; makes an acquaintance, 298 ; gets
into difficulties, 295 ; pursued by Mr.
Palethorpe, 404 ; his meeting with him,
407.

Colman, George, anecdote respecting him,
128.

Confession, the Death-bed, see Death-bed.

Cousins, the Two, story of, 362.

Croker, Mr. anecdote told by him respect-
ing the consumption of Whiskey in Ire-
land, 47.

Crowquill, Alfred, Mr. Macaw by, 89 ;
Mr. Nibble, 153 ; Mr. Trickett Donks,

305 ; an Impudent Monkey, 358 ; Mr
Foxe Varnish, 593.

Cruise along the coasts of Posilypo and
Baiaj, 156.

D.

Dalton, the Picture Bed-room by, 349.

Day in the Black Forest, 186; Day at
Eton, 587.

Dead, meeting of the, 633.

Death-bed Confession, from the posthu-
mous papers of a late surgeon, 497.

Dibdin, Tom, anecdote of him, 130.

Donks, Mr. Trickett, a sketch, 305.

Downs, Major, anecdotes of, 126, 377.

E.

Early Friendship, or the Slave of Passion,

513.
Elder, Abram, Esq. The Wishing Well

by, 17; King John, 575.
Elliston, Mr. R. W. anecdote of, 380.
England's Queen, an ode, 185.
Epistle from Miss Selina Spriggins to

Miss Henrietta Tims, 584.
Eton, a Day at, 587.
Evening Star, 456.

F.

Fairer, Miss A. Charade by, 478 ; an-
swer to, 618.

Fatal Window, story of the, 566.

Fawkes, Guy, see Guy Fawkes.

Flaherty, Watty, see Watty Flaherty.

Fleet Marriages, anecdotes of, 177.

Fullerton, Lady G., M. Jasmin and the
Blind Girl of Castel Cuille by, 247.

G.

Graham, Aaron, anecdote of his anony-
mous letter, 563.

Great Western, extracts from the Letter-
bag of, 11.

Greenwich and Greenwich men, 279.

Guy Fawkes — account of an execution in
Manchester, 1 ; Ordsall Cave, 9 ; Ord-
sall Hall, 107; the search, 118; the

652

INDEX

pursuit in Chat Moss, 219 ; the disin-
terment, 233 ; Doctor Dee, 333 ; the
Magic Glass, 339 ; the fate of the Pur-
suivant, 441 ; pilgrimage to Saint Wi-
nifred's Well, 446; the Vision, 545;
the Conspiracy, 548.

II.

Hair and Beard, as fashioned by Politics
and Religion, 300.

Hallowell, Captain, presents Nelson with
a coffin made from the wood of the
L'Orient, 289 n.

Harley, the comedian, anecdote respect-
ing his performances at Gravesend,
375.

Haroun Alraschid, Caliph, a poem, 24.

Haunted Houses, chapter on, — the Palace
of Woodstock, 161 ; the Demon of Ted-
worth, 164 ; theCock Lane Ghost, 166.

Heath, James, account of his portrait of
General Washington, 563.

Herdsman, the, 235.

H. J. M. the Death-bed Confession by,
508.

Hooton, C., Colin Clink by, 50. 289. 404.

Huntsman's Wedding, 605.

I.

Impudent Monkey, a sketch, 358.

Indigence and Benevolence, Part II. Re-
lief of the Poor, see Moral Economy.

Ingoldsby, Thomas, a Lay of St. Odille
by, 172; the Bagman's Dog, 265;
Aunt Fanny, or a Tale of a Shirt, 414 ;
a Row in an Omnibus, 647.

Inman, G. E., Haroun Alraschid by, 26 ;
the Two Cousins, 362.

Irish Lamentations for the Dead, 565.

Irish reason for not robbing the Mail, 184.

Isle of Wight, legends of: the Wishing
Well, 17; King John, 575; see Le-
gends.

Izaak Walton, see Walton.

Illumination, the, 329.

J.

Jack Frost, a poem, 496.

JackSheppard — the pursuit, 92; released
from his irons, 94 ; attends his mother's
funeral, 97 ; recaptured, 100 ; taken
back to Newgate, 101 ; conveyed to
Westminster Hall, 141 ; his procession
to Tyburn, 145 ; execution, 151 ; bu-
rial, 152.

Jenkinson, Olinthus, the Round Table by,
194.

Jesse, Edward, Izaak Walton and his
friends by, 254 ; Eton Montem, 587.

Journal of Old Barnes, the Pantaloon,
457. 627.

Judging by Appearances : Mistakes in a
Drawing-room, 508; Mistakes in a Court
of Justice, 616.

Ju.enile Delinquency, remarks on, see
Moral Economy.

K.

Kelley, Michael, anecdote of his pony,

563.

Kemble, John Philip, anecdote of, 376.
King John, a legend of the Isle of Wight,

575.

L.

Lamb, Charles, anecdote of, 376.
Lay of St. Odille, a poem, 172 ; see In-
goldsby.
Legend — of the American War, 469 ; of

the Isle of Wight, 17.575.
Le Gros, W. B. a rambling cruise along

the coast of Posilypo and Baiae by, 156.
Letter-bag of the Great Western, extracts

from, 11.

Lines in an Album, 586.
Lions of the Modern Babylon, 80.
Loit, one of the Tshuktshi chiefs, account

of his residence, 494.
Long Islanders, Uncle Sara's Peculiarities,

619.
" Lyra Urbanica," by Captain Morris,

poetical review of, 540.

M.

Macaw, Mr. a sketch, 89.
MacCulloch, Mr. his statement respecting
the consumption of Whiskey in Ireland,

Mackay, C., chapter on Haunted Houses
by, 161 ; the Hair and Beard, as fa-
shioned by Politics and Religion, 300.

M'Teague, P. the Herdsman by, 235.

Manchester, observations on the Moral
Economy of, 596.

Marriages, see Fleet Marriages.

Mathews, Mr. anecdotes of, 124. 129,
130.

Maxwell, W. Hamilton, biographical
sketch of, 331.

Mayhew, E. a Tale of the Morgue by, 27.

Meeting of the Dead, 633.

Medwin, Captain, 'Tis he ! by, 380.

Mistakes in a Drawing-room, 508 ; in a
Court of Justice, 616.

Monkey, an impudent, a sketch, 358.

Monks of Old, a song, 246.

Moral Economy of Large Towns — In-
digence and Benevolence, Part II. ;
Relief of the Poor, 131 ; Juvenile De-
linquency, 470 ; Manchester, 596.

Morgue, a tale of the, see Tale.

Morris, Captain, review of his " Lyra Ur-
banica," 540.

INDEX.

653

Mother's Grave, a poem, 583.
Mountain Ash, song of the, 202.
Mountain, Mrs. anecdote of, 378.

N.

Nelson, Admiral, song respecting, 287 ;
prayer composed by, 288 n. ; a coffin
presented to him by Captain Hallowell,

Nibble, Mr. a sketch, 153.

O.

Ode to England's Queen, 185.
Odille, St. lay of, 172 ; see Ingoldsby.
Omnibus, row in an, 647 ; see Ingoldsby.
Ostrovnoi'e, account of a Tshuktshi fair at,
484.

P.

Palace of Woodstock, the, see Haunted

Houses.
Payne, Lady, Sheridan's epitaph on her

monkey, 564.
Peters, Mr. story of, — the Bagman's Dog,

265 ; see Ingoldsby.
Picture Bedroom, the, 349.
Poems — Haroun Alraschid, 24; lay of

St. Odille, 172 ; the Blind Girl of

Castel Cuille, 249 ; the Evening Star,

456 ; My Mother's G rave, 583.
Polito, Mr. notice of his Menagerie, 376.
Poole, Mr. anecdote of him, 127.
Popkin, Mr. Peter, anecdotes from his

Portfolio, 123. 375. 561.

Shamauns, account of their influence with
the Tshuktshi, 492, 493.

Sheppard, Jack, see Jack Sheppard.

Sheridan, R. B. his epitaph on Lady
Payne's monkey, 564.

Sheridan, Tom, anecdote of him, 129.564.

Simmons, B. lines in an Album by, 586.

Shirt, a tale of a, see Ingoldsby.

Siberian Fair, visit to a, 484.

Slave of Passion, 513.

Songs — in praise of Whiskey, 40 ; of the
Mountain Ash, 202 ; the Monks of
Old, 246; of Trafalgar and Nelson,
287 ; for the End of Term, 421.

Sonnet on Izaak Walton, 256.

Soul-Agent, the, a German Romance,
366.

" Spalpeen," The Herdsman by the au-
thor of the, 235.

Spriggins, Epistle from Miss Selina, 584.

Stanley Thorn, early characteristics of
him, 59 ; his interview with Mr. Rip-
stone, 203 ; his trip to Gretna Green,
315 ; his first night out, 422 ; his visit
to a modern Pandemonium, 430 ; per-
forms a gallant action, 526 ; his mys-
terious interviews with Madame Pou-
petier, 530 j dreams of Isabelle, 634.

Suett, Dicky, anecdotes respecting him,
124.

S. W. P. Jack Frost by, 496.

Star, the Evening, 456.

T.

R.

Rambling Cruise along the Coasts of Po-
silypo and Baiae, 156.

Reeve, John, anecdotes of, 375, 376.

Relief of the Poor, Part II. of Indigence
and Benevolence, see Moral Economy.

Rennie, Dr. his statement respecting the
reduction of the duty on Whiskey, 47.

Reverie, the, 357.

Reynolds, J. H. Greenwich and Green-
wich Men by, 277.

Round Table, the, collection of ballads
and sonnets, 194.

Row in an Omnibus, 647 ; see Ingoldsby.

Russell, J. the actor, anecdote relating to
him, 375.
— , S. anecdote of, 501.

Russian Traveller, visit to a Siberian Fail-
by a, 484.

Tale of a Shirt, 414.

Tale of the Morgue, 27.

Taylor, John, anecdote of, 129.

, Dr. W. C. Moral Economy of

Large Towns by, 131. 470. 596.

Term, song for the end of, 321.

'.' The Spalpeen," Watty Flaherty by the
author of, 391.

Thorn, Stanley, see Stanley Thorn.

Tis He ! a tale, by Captain Medwin,
380.

Tshuktshi fair at Ostrovnoi'e, 484; re-
marks on the Tshuktshi, 489, 490 ;
account of the Conversion of a young
Tshuktshe, 491 ; revolting customs
among them, 492 ; description of their
camp, 493 ; account of the residence
of one of the Chiefs, 494.

Two Cousins, story of the, 362.

S.

St. Winifred's Well, legend of, 455.
Sam Slick, Letters from the Letter-Bag of
the Great Western by, 11.

U.

Uncle Sam's Peculiarities : Lone Island-
ers, 619.

654

INDEX.

V.

" Valentine Vox," Stanley Thorn by the
author of, 59. 203. 309. 422. 526. 634.
Varnish, Mr. Foxe, a sketch, 593.
Visit to a Siberian fair at Ostrovnoie, 484.

W.

Wade, J. A. Song of the Oak by, 57 ; of
the Laurels, 106; of the Mountain
Ash, 202 ; a Reverie, 357.

Walton, Izaak, remarks on his character,
254 ; sonnet to him, 256 ; his ac-
quaintance with Sir Henry Wotton,
257 ; his rejoicings at the Restoration,
259 ; remarks on his " Complete An-
gler," 260 ; his friendship for Charles

Cotton, 261 ; his illustrious connexions,
263.

Watty Flaherty, story of, 391.

Whiskey, a -chapter on, 38; song in
praise of, 40 ; attempts made to lessen
the consumption of Whiskey in Ire-
land, 41 ; anecdotes respecting, 43 ;
effects of the reduction of the duty on,
47 ; comparison between the London
and Dublin whiskey-shops, 48.

Wilkinson, the actor, anecdote respecting
his performance at Gravesend, 375.

Willis, H. the Soul- Agent by, 374.

Wishing Well, the, a legend of the Isle of
Wight, 17.

Wotton, Sir H. his acquaintance with
Izaak Walton, 257.

Wordsworth, Mr. his sonnet on Izaak
Walton, 256.

END OF THE SEVENTH VOLUME.

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